But if Darla was now in Moore's custody…
Well, we'll have to see. Time to get the hell out of here. I finished the tea, tucked the gun in my belt, took the torch, and left.
These woods were strange, strange. I now knew full well what Lori had meant by 'funny feelings.' As I walked, the memory of what I had seen just before being knocked out grew sharper, though I was still having trouble distinguishing it from the crazy dream?stuff I had swum through on the way to full consciousness. I didn't want to dwell on it, though. Best to keep my attention on where I was going.
The path began just where Chubby had said it did. It went straight for a few meters then twined through the underbrush, bearing generally downhill. All around, immense treetrunks stood like columns in a vast dark temple. I had a vague sense of presences lurking among them. I was worried about the torch. Moore and a band of his men might be coming this way. A light appearing up ahead then suddenly vanishing might clue them in that somebody who didn't want to be sociable was about. They'd damn well guess that it was me. No, I'd have to walk in total darkness.
I stopped. Why not test my eyes now? I flicked off the torch.
Moonlight. I could see quite well. I walked a few paces. Down the path a break in the canopy let a tiny glowing bit of full moon peek through. I stood watching it for a while. It was so bright it almost hurt my eyes. The strange-colored foliage around me glowed shy. From the darkness under the trees came twittering sounds, sharp clicks, rasping buzzes. The longer I stood there the more sounds I heard, coming from farther and farther away. Everything, everywhere, seemed to throb with life. A whooping cry came from my right and startled me. It sounded vaguely human. A plaintive wailing began in the opposite direction. It was a long way off, but sounded less vaguely human. I didn't like it, nor did I care for the muffled porcine grunting that came from behind.
I moved forward, telling myself that a light would only attract whatever was out there. I didn't believe myself, but walked on into the half-gloom anyway. I'm like that. I can be a real pain in the ass sometimes.
I felt better physically. I was no longer certain I was going to die. A garden-variety agonizing headache had settled in, and the nausea was mild, with gusts up to medium-awful. But I was getting better with each step. Nothing like a brisk walk in the woods. The air was pleasant, bracing but not chilly. The smells were numerous, like an assortment of perfumes, heady and invigorating. Soft, milky moonlight dripped through the branches overhead. There was no wind. The path was worn and smooth, springing to the step like a bed of moss. The whole environment seemed more like a park than a wilderness. I half expected to see painted benches and trash receptacles along the way. The path turned sharply to the right, then began a gradual climb. I walked on, increasing my pace, trying not to jump at every chitter and twirp that sounded in the bushes as I passed. Damn, these woods were alive. Insects mostly. Just insects, he said, grinning nervously.
Those smells… The perfumes of the night. Intoxicating they were, and I couldn't tell whether their effect was to dampen my trepidations or augment them. Or maybe cause them. Ordinarily I have no fear of the dark, and while I have all sorts of respect for the uncertainties of an alien world, I'm not afraid to walk one alone. I've done it many times before. But there was something about Talltree that tapped into a reservoir of primal… stuff: Stuff that lies moldering in the human hindbrain. This was the archetypal enchanted forest. Fearful, yes, but also magical, preternatural, alive with ancient mysteries.
Damn, a fork. Chubby had mentioned one, but he'd been talking about the main road, hadn't he? The paths diverged into the night and I stood there a moment, trying to tell which one looked to have taken the most traffic. The one to the left seemed a little wider. I flashed the torch on it briefly. Okay, to the left.
The undergrowth thinned out, revealing puddles of silver light on the forest floor, beds of pale-petaled flowers moonbathing within them. To my right and up a gentle grade, bluegray shelves of rock paralleled the path, outlining what may have been an ancient stream bed. I thought I smelled water nearby. Sure enough, the path descended to a quiet, narrow stream which I took in two hops, using a wide flat stone in the middle as a springboard. The path wound up a gentle grade. I still heard the snorting to my rear. It was beginning. to worry me a little, because whatever was doing it seemed to be following the path. But it didn't sound as though it were gaining, just yet.
'Bleu.'
I stopped. Someone or something, off in the bushes, had said bleu. Not blue, mind you, or blew, but bleu, with an admirably correct nasal intonation of the vowel.
'Bleu,' came another voice. It was rather a flat statement, matter-o-fact.
'Bleu,' confirmed still another from a different direction.
'Bleu,' the first voice agreed.
'Okay, so it's blue,' I said. 'So what?'
Silence for a moment. Then: 'Bleu!'
I started walking again, peering into the shadows. I couldn't see a thing.
'Bleu?' It sounded like a question.
'Damned if I know,' I said.
'Bleu,' another voice stated.
I walked through this laconic dialogue for two or three minutes, bleu-sayers to either side. Nobody got really excited, save for an occasional bleu! or two.
What had Chubby said? Ten minutes at a quick pace? I was sure I'd been walking for at least that long. I rarely wear a watch, and now regretted it. Time to start thinking about doubling back and taking the other fork. Well, I'd go a little farther. Besides, that snorting and snuffling did sound a little nearer now. I was sure of it. Or was I just getting spooked? Easy enough to get spooked with things bleuing at me out of the darkness. Sounds I could deal with. It was all the same to me, as long as the speaker remained anonymous. I wasn't up to making new acquaintances right then.
I stopped. I thought I heard splashing.
'Greep.'
This last was near enough to make me jump. I backed down the path, then turned and began jogging.
The snorting and snuffling was definitely louder and now took on a menacing quality. Whatever was doing it was also grunting, panting, gibbering, and possibly slavering.
I ran, setting off a chorus of greeping in the undergrowth.
The path went uphill for a ways then leveled off. I was soon out of the land of the Greeps and into neighborhoods where other voices spoke. Warble, chirp, breep, chitter, jub jub, you name it, somebody was saying it. The forest was alive with gossip. He's running! Look at him run! they seemed to babble. Tremulous cries, frantic war-whoops came from the distance. Word was spreading. The thing behind me was gaining, its wide snout pushed to my scent. Panicky screeching came from the treetops along with the nervous flap of leathery wings. A small, rounded dark shape lay ahead Of me on the path. It squawked and bolted into the weeds. I heard hooves pounding against the turf off to the right, twigs breaking in the path of some frightened running thing. That made two of us. The thing behind me was big and sounded as if it were moving on two huge feet. It was running now, chasing me, gibbering maniacally. The path went into an S-curve, straightened, then went into a hairpin turn to the left, leading up the slope of a steep hill. I puffed up the trail, turned into the switchback, listening to the sound of thumping feet below me. The thing was fast, gobbling up distance in big strides. The hill didn't slow it down. I raced up the trail. The sounds it made were nightmarish, half-human. There was a note of ravenous glee to it all, a fiendish chuckling as if it reveled in the pleasure of the chase.
Three more switchbacks and I gained the top of the hill. The trail continued along a ridge, then swung into the trees. I decided to make a stand. I didn't think I could outrun the thing and the dash up the hill had taxed me. Getting off the trail would be a good idea. If the thing were big it might have trouble following me through the underbrush. I hoped.
The trail swung right and ran along the narrow crest of the hill. The underbrush grew thickly on either slope. Something big lay across the path ahead?a fallen treetrunk. I drew my pistol, took cover behind the trunk and took aim up the path. It was coming. I couldn't see anything yet, but it was coming. It didn't slow, didn't hesitate, kept running full tilt, drooling in anticipation, its feet whumping against the mossy softness of the trail. It growled, it giggled, it heaved and panted. It made one hell of a lot of noise. All around, the forest screamed in a mounting crescendo of terror. Flocks of panic-stricken creatures took wing into the night. Unseen things in the shadows burbled and greeped and went bleu! Voices in the trees shrieked their dismay. Thousands of tiny things stampeded through the brush. The beast shambled toward me, its breath like blasts of steam. I still couldn't make it out. No good; I'd have to be able to see it to shoot it.
