Lynne asked after a long silence.
They left town about an hour and a half ago and she still felt too high to be driving.
Its not like that, Wesley responded, a little too quickly to be convincing, Hes only seventeen.
OVAN
So what, then?
Were you planning on like, mentoring him or something?
Some kind of gay studies program?
He was easily antagonized and Lynne could seldom resist the urge to get him riled up.
I didnt have any plans for Braxton, nefarious or otherwise!
Wesley declared, No matter what his fucked-up parents think, my conscience is clear.
At least in this matter?
You know my tastes go for the more experienced.
I have no use for some fumbling little virgin who doesnt even know what hes doing.
Anyways, I think Im pretty close to patching things up with Andrew.
God, I hope this little escapade doesnt fuck that up.
But were going through with it anyways, Lynne grumbled.
She missed her couch and practically lusted for a bowl of macaroni and cheese.
Breckenridge and Wesleys little foundling Braxton were still more than an hour away.
An hour, it should be mentioned, of endless pitch-black wilderness and anonymous one-gas-station towns.
The last one had a massive anti-choice sculpture courtesy of the local KoC.
Well its the right thing to do, Wesley said, a touch self-righteously.
Its my fault he got kicked out.
Your level of blame is tertiary at best.
Lynne sighed, and added, Sorry for being a bitch.
I guess Im just up past my bedtime.
Apology accepted, Wesley said, Pending, that is, no further resurgence of Bitch Lynne.
Anyways, when we get to Breckenridge well be meeting at Barrys Nite-Owl.
How does that sound?
Macaroni, Lynne answered, signifying agreement.
Another lull in the conversation ensued, both parties lost in their thoughts.
One frantic phone call by an unwillingly outed acquaintance brought a dramatic divergence to the nights plan.
But she promised to stop bitching.
It was this highway she hated the most, she decided.
KS-77 was the highway to nowhere and nothing.
All of this wilderness unnerved her.
Her territory was the city, Legerdemain.
She had only been to Breckenridge once, as a teenager, with her dad.
Somehow she got roped into coming along, much like this time.
Her impression of Breckenridge was less than positive.
She later told her friends that it was like the ruins of a once-mediocre society.
That, and a slaughterhouse.
So once again, death.
Shed been there before.
Not Holy Oak specifically, but places like it.
They only began to feel comfortable again once the giant fiberglass Icey Freez Cowboy disappeared from the rearview mirror.
She never ate at another Icey Freez again.
I love this song!
Wesley cried, shocking her from the fog of her thoughts.
They had already passed through Holy Oak and she scarcely noticed.
About this, she gave no comment.
She calculated that this could be construed as bitchiness, from which she swore to abstain.
The song was Danger!
High Voltage by Electric Six, a song Lynne also loved.
They sang it together, a duet.
Before it ended, her megrims and mulligrubs were all but dispelled.
Their expedition began to feel like an adventure again.
Do you remember the first time we heard that song?
Wesley asked, waxing nostalgic.
God, years ago.
It was… Lynne began.
God, I partied way too hard that night.
I couldnt drink tequila for years after that.
I was dressed as the Riddler, you remember?
Everyone was doing a Batman thing.
I got smashed and went around posing riddles to everyone.
Oh yeah, that was obnoxious, Wesley said, Eventually they werent even riddles.
You would just go around saying shit like Riddle me this: Where is the bathroom?
and Riddle me this: Im drunk!
and you jostled me enough to put me over the edge.
Wesley remembered, What happened after that?
You disappeared for a while.
Well, I dashed straight for the bathroom, and wouldnt you know?
There was a line stretching halfway down the hall.
Hahaha, oh fuck, Wesley said, shaking his head.
So I threw up a little on my Riddler jacket.
Natch, Wesley said.
Then I dashed out the door where who else but Donovan was standing.
On whom you had a huge crush, if I remember correctly, Wesley added.
Lynne grimaced from the memory, So he asks me something like How are you enjoying the party?
and I proceed to knit a Cosby sweater all over my pants and shoes.
Probably the biggest puke I ever launched.
I never spoke to him again.
Well, at least you went out with a bang, Wesley concluded.
Yeah, Lynne agreed, distractedly.
Thats a silver lining I guess.
Do you think thats a cop?
Wesley said, confused.
Behind us, dingus.
Is that a cop?
Its a truck, Wesley said, glancing through the back glass.
Cops have trucks sometimes.
Lynne asserted, Its the country.
No bubble, no brush guard.
Uh, the license plate says H0T2TRT.
Im pretty sure its not a cop.
Cops are hot to trot sometimes, Lynne smirked.
Dont be fatuous, dear.
It looks like shes digging around at something on her floorboard.
I think its a she.
Oh god, Wesley groaned, No brake checks, okay?
Oh, Im gonna brake check this bitch, you wait and see.
Lynne was a notorious brake checker.
A lonely highway in the middle of nowhere would be a terrible place for that to happen.
He glanced back again.
The drivers silhouette jerked and bobbed behind the wheel.
What is she doing?Wesley wondered.
He could feel sweat slicking the back of his neck.
Wesley always sweated when he was nervous.
I think shes drunk or something.
Wesley said, Shes all over the road.
Be careful, Lynne.
Where did she even come from?
I swear shes the first vehicle Ive seen coming this way all night.
No idea, Wesley replied, you saw her first, remember?
Just- I dont know- keep an eye on her?
In the distance, a bridge emerged, which meant the shoulder was about to disappear.
Slow down, Lynne, Wesley hissed, Shes gonna hit that bridge.
Fuck, Lynne whispered, easing off the gas.
Her heart started pounding.
Illuminated by Lynnes headlights, they could see the driver in greater detail.
Her movements did not suggest drunkenness, but distress.
With one hand on the wheel, she seemed to struggle with something unseen in the cab.
Her head jerked from left to right and it almost seemed like she was crying out.
What was happening to her?
I dont like this, Lynne said, her voice trembling.
I dont eith- Oh shit, here comes the bridge!
Wesley cried, shielding his eyes from the sight.
They breathed a sigh of collective relief, though it was flush the danger had not been passed.
She snatched her hand free from whatever unseen threat harried her and slapped her palm against the back glass.
A bloody, splattered handprint remained on the glass.
Wesley asked, Is she trying to signal us?
Maybe, Lynne answered, But what are we supposed to do?
venture to keep up with her, but like, stay back.
I dont think thats paint on the window, Wesley answered, If thats what youre asking.
Is there something in there?
It seems like shes wrestling with something.
Wesley frowned, Maybe shes just badly injured and trying to get to a hospital.
She might just be trying to keep pressure on the wound while shes driving.
I guess, Lynne allowed, Its hard to tell from here.
They passed another sign.
I just want to be away from that truck and put all this behind me.
Its okay, Lynne, Wesley consoled, Look, she made it this far, didnt she?
Im sure everything is going to be- Fuck!
It must have been going almost seventy when it ran off the road.
She sped past the wreck, where black smoke was already beginning to billow from the hood.
Lynne, you gotta stop the car!
Lynne hit the brakes and the car screeched to a stop.
It was stuck in her throat like a fat lump of steak.
Wesleys fingers were digging so deeply into his thighs that the nails were biting into his flesh.
There was a speck of light just visible in the rearview mirror.
The trucks engine was on fire.
Lynne muttered in a flat, strange voice.
We have to go.
Wesley asked, not understanding.
What if shes alive?
We gotta help.
Lynne said, with that same flat voice.
Her heart was still beating rabbit-fast.
He didnt move, not even to pry his fingers from his legs.
I think Ive got a first aid kit in the trunk, Lynne said.
It took her three jabs to make contact with the trunk release button.
Wesley followed her lead at last.
They circled to the trunk and began the search for the first aid kit.
As a bonus, they found a flashlight with working batteries.
Wesley grabbed the light and they set off after the wrecked truck following its bobbing yellow beam.
Do you hear that?
Wesley asked when they were still about a quarter-mile away.
They had finally come to a complete stop nearly a mile from the wreck.
Ive heard it for a while now, Lynne told him.
Her mouth was dry.
Your hearing must not be great.
Its not, Wesley said, distractedly, Too many loud concerts.
Its screaming, isnt it?
Come on, Lynne said, picking up the pace.
Even that was obscured by a thin scum of black clouds.
Apart from the paltry glow of the flashlight, the darkness was nearly total.
In this darkness, the womans screams filled them both with a sense of doom.
It felt like they were alone in the universe with it.
Downwind of the wreck, their nostrils stung with the stench of oil-rich smoke.
The two of them approached the twisted wreck filled with trepidation and dread.
Bright red images of what they might find in the cab flashed in their minds.
Jesus, Lynne said, softly, This is really bad, isnt it?
Wesley swallowed thickly and muttered, Yeah.
They stood on the shoulder, unable to summon the will to look inside.
Do you have your phone?
Wesley said at last.
Lynne swore, No.
I left it in the car.
Ive got mine, Wesley said with some relief.
You go check on her.
Okay, Lynne said.
It seemed difficult to speak above a whisper.
Give me the light.
Wesley handed Lynne the flashlight readily enough and fished the phone out of his pocket.
As Lynne trudged through the tall grass toward the truck he dialed the three digits for emergency service.
A dispatcher answered the call, 911, what is your emergency?
Oh no no no…
He shook the thought away.
The dispatcher was asking him a question.
He said, sheepishly.
Some good he was in an emergency.
I said, The dispatcher repeated with no trace of irritation in her voice, is the victim conscious?
One second, He asked the dispatcher.
He called out, noticing the beam of the flashlight jerk suddenly.
From his voice, or the sight in the cab?
Is the victim conscious?
Lynne says shes gone, Wesley told the dispatcher.
Shes not in the truck at all.
I can still hear her moaning but I cant tell where its coming from.
Just as he said this, the moaning abruptly stopped.
The ensuing silence seemed a bad omen.
Was she thrown clear of the wreck?
Hold on, Ill check, He answered.
Shine the flashlight around!
Maybe she was thrown clear!
I think- Lynne began.
She was cut off by a long and terrible shriek coming from somewhere in the woods.
In his shock at the sudden sound, Wesleys grip slipped and he dropped the phone.
The screen shattered, flashed, and went black.
Oh no, no, no, Wesley cried as he snatched the phone from the ground.
He pressed the home key again and again, but it was flush the phone would not start.
Tears of panic and frustration stung at his eyes, followed by a blinding light.
Lynne was back, shining the flashlight carelessly into his face.
He shielded his eyes from the light until she swung it away from him at last.
My phone is bricked!
He moaned, I dropped it.
The scream went on and on, accompanied by a strange crackling, grinding sound.
The grinding sound was somehow worse than her terrible screams.
What is that?!
I dont know, Lynne answered, frantically, Its coming from the woods.
The grass was- blood!
The grass was matted.
It looked like- Shes in the woods!
She was thrown into the woods?
Looked like- Fuck, I dont know.
Did you call 911?
I told them where we were.
She said we should stay where we are.
Even in the dim light, Wesley could see the terror in her face.
She said, No!
I cant stay here.
Wes, do you hear that sound?
No, we have to get out of here.
The ambulance knows where to go.
Lets get out of here, okay?
Wesley stared out into the woods as Lynne swept the beam of the flashlight back and forth.
He said, Lets go back to the car.
Theres nothing we can do.
We dont want to be here when the cops show anyways.
Im sure we reek of weed.
Especially after hot-boxing in the car when we started.
Theyll probably think we caused the accident.
What if it explodes?
I have no idea.
What do we do now?
Lynne asked after a few minutes.
Lynne asked, hopefully.
Were much closer to Breckenridge than home.
I say we grab Braxton like we planned and then get a cheap motel room for the night.
Neither of us are fit to drive another couple of hours.
This was not the answer Lynne hoped for, but she couldnt argue with the logic.
Okay, She said, but youre driving.
I feel-
Lynne was interrupted by a thunderous CRUNCH!
emanating from somewhere ahead of them.
What was- Wesley began.
What they found instead baffled them both.
They cried in unison.
There was only one problem with this theory.
Lynne burst into tears, wailing, What do we do now?
Wesley, feeling close to tears himself, answered, I guess were waiting for the ambulance.
Nothing else we can do.
Wesley opened his mouth to answer, but something else answered for him.
Something on the edge of the woods spoke to them in a bizarre, inhuman voice.
It gibbered and squeaked in some rapid-fire and wholly foreign tongue.
Lynne shone the flashlight toward the source of the voice and screamed.
She didnt feel like laughing, however.
She felt like some fundamental understanding of reality had just been torn away from her.
She looked at Wesley and saw that he felt the same.
Was that… She began.
This is so fucked up.
Were stranded in the middle of nowhere and were being stalked by a garden gnome.
Whatever that thing was, it couldnt have crushed our car on its own, right?
Lynne burst out in rueful laughter.
Get out of here?
Do you want to run all the way back to Holy Oak?
I know, lets call a cab on that goddamned phone you broke!
Dont be shitty, all right?
Wesley hissed, It was an accident!
Look, someone has to pass by eventually.
Well just flag them down and hitch a ride.
Whens that going to happen?
The only car Ive seen on the road in ages crashed into a tree!
No one comes through here in the middle of the night.
It could be hours before anyone comes through and in the meanwhile were sitting- Fuck!
Lynnes words were cut off by a blunt impact and a sharp pain in the side of her head.
She clutched at the injury and her fingers came back bloody.
Lynne trained her flashlight at their feet and found the culprit.
Someone threw a rock at me!
Theyre all around us!
What do you want?!
Wesley called out into the darkness.
Shielding their face from the volley, Lynne and Wesley did the only thing they could: They ran.
The stones continued to rain down upon them from either side of the road.
Before they had gotten far they could hear an enormous, splintery crashing sound in the distance.
Did the truck- Ow!
Wesley began, struck in the back of the head by another stone, Did the truck explode?
Lynne cried, taking a stone in the right elbow.
She narrowly avoided dropping the flashlight.
I dont think so- ah!
It didnt sound like a truck blowing up, did it?
Missed me you bastards!
Wesley answered as a stone buzzed past his ear, But what else can it be?!
As Wesley nursed his most recent injury, Lynne pulled ahead and called back, Just keep running!
Wesley forced himself to match her speed, running now at a dead sprint.
The revelation, however, brought them no comfort.
Just beyond the crashed truck, their escape was stymied by an impossible roadblock.
The top of the wreckage towered far over their heads.
I think we can climb over it, Wesley said.
Lynne glanced behind them, scanning for any sign of movement or malice.
The silence discomfited her.
She said at last.
Its a bad idea.
What else can we do?
Wesley started, You mean through the woods?
No way in hell.
Lynne trained the flashlight toward the origin of the sound and moaned.
Staring down at them at the top of the heap were several of the gnome creatures.
From their hollow eye holes and the hinged splintery mouthpiece emitted an ethereal green glow.
They chattered and shrieked down at Wesley and Lynne, hammering upon the wood with their gnarled fists.
Despite their strange language, their intention was clear: No climbing.
The pair backed away from the roadblock, intending to turn tail and initiate the other way.
This plan, however, was similarly obstructed.
Each of them was carrying a crude, though wicked-looking, spear of wood and flint.
They began to squeal and gibber, beating the butt of their spears against the pavement.
The light behind their masks glowed fiercely, seemingly in anticipation.
Oh Christ… Oh Christ… Oh Christ… Lynne muttered.
She could not will herself to move.
Wesley held her, as much for his own comfort as hers.
Slowly the gnome creatures began to advance upon them.
The gnomes above them scrambled down through the fallen trees with the practiced ease of Capuchin monkeys.
The sight of their rapid approach broke the spell for Lynne.
She screamed, dragging Wesley by the wrist.
The darkness and the forest swallowed them whole.
Any notion of circling around the blockade was lost once in the woods.
Lynne and Wesleys destination was in the general direction of away.
At last, they stumbled onto a deer path, offering at least minimally easier progress.
The gnome creatures had no trouble traversing the woods, though they seemed satisfied to keep their distance.
Perhaps they were relishing the chase.
Lynne and Wesley, for their part, were pushing on through adrenaline alone.
Neither of them were suited to the task at hand and the threat of fatigue was setting in.
The air they drew into their lungs and their sorely tested muscles burned.
It seemed to fall for a very long time.
The bulb winked out before it stopped.
Along with this sound was a ubiquitous susurrus, like a sudden wind.
She became suddenly aware of the wounds she had sustained both in the fall and in the chase.
The bruises, scratches and outright lacerations that covered her seemed to sing in unison with the unearthly chorus.
She wept silently, though this she noticed not at all.
Wesley groaned up at a lightless sky.
During the fall he slammed his head into a rock.
He thought his vision might have been blurring, but with nothing to see he could not be sure.
Experimentally he attempted to raise his head, until a wave of dizziness forbade it.
He was still lucid enough to be glad the rock was not any sharper.
He was not quite lucid enough to fear the fate coming to him in droves.
So it was that Lynne saw them first.
Hundreds of ghastly, illuminated faces stared at them from every direction, including directly overhead.
Their chanting had grown almost deafening.
The glow of their faces reflected on the water like the stars of some distant universe.
As he watched, a passing ant tumbled into one of the pits.
Once inside, it could not climb out again.
The grains of dirt were too steep and finely ground for its tiny legs to find purchase.
Finally, in exhaustion perhaps, it fell to the bottom of the pit.
A larger insect sprung from the dirt and captured the hapless ant in long mandibles.
They both disappeared below the surface.
Not even his older brother could comfort him, explaining that such a bug was called an Antlion.
And the hell of it was…
They were leading us here, He whispered.
It was Lynnes turn to cling to him.
All this time, they were leading us here.
She could see that it was true.
At the shoreline was the bloody remains of the woman from the truck.
She had been nearly picked clean by those terrible creatures, those gnome things.
Could these wretched things really be the tiny men in the old stories?
In the phantasmagorical glow she could see their bearded mask-faces and she wondered.
Wesley hissed and directed her attention to the lake.
The lake was no longer illuminated by reflection alone.
Lynne hissed back, Whats coming?
Before Wesley could answer, a massive shape breached the surface of the water.
The shape continued to rise.
The light, directed upon them, was nearly blinding.
The form rose still.
The gnomes grew frantic and reverent in their endless chanting.
They rattled their spears and stomped their feet, howled and gibbered in perfect unison.
Ten crooked branches breached the surface and curled into the muddy shore, the things hands.
Lynne cried, her voice quavering and barely audible over the chanting of the gnomes.
What is that thing, Wes?
Wesleys response was harder still to make out, small and awed.
He told her, Its the God of the Forest.
Lynne barely heard him.
Still, she tried, mindlessly scrambling against the slick, granular surface.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear Wesley scream and moan, a melange of agony and fright.
No trace of Lynne, Wesley, or the woman from the truck was ever found.
