Alone in the Woods Read online

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  Maybe we should’ve held out for a half-hidden cave or a collection of fallen logs in the shape of a makeshift fort. Maybe we should’ve tried to dig a hole like a burrow that we could’ve curled up in and covered ourselves with big ferns. We could’ve even made a double-seater leaf throne. But we were exhausted, and daytime was disappearing. Back home, summer days seem long when the light lingers after sunset. But in the woods, the canopy of trees snatched twilight away. So instead of getting creative with our surroundings, to make a shelter fast we simply did the best with what we had: the damp beach towels in both of our bags, the deflated inner tube, and the extra-large Ziploc. I spread the tube flat on the spongy, moist ground and placed the dry bag at the top. It made the covered surface just long enough that one of us could stretch out onto it and neither feet nor forehead would be on the dirt. My thin life vest—which I’d still been wearing all afternoon, like it might somehow help us divine the direction to water—was perfect for a stand-in pillow. Well, if you consider smelling foam that has marinated for years in river mildew perfect.

  “We can cover up with the beach towels to keep the bugs off,” I said. The mosquitoes got even more persistent at dusk. The buzzing around my ears was constant. I still had those two bug wipes in my bag, and I was glad I hadn’t used them yet—we would need repellant to protect us while we slept.

  I was on the tube, cataloging what supplies I still had in my backpack, and Alex stood next to me, wary of sitting. “Do you have anything in your bag that could help us?” I asked.

  Alex shook her head, looking ashamed. She’d dragged her tote around the forest all day, but nothing in it was useful. Unless it turns out you can survive by eating lip gloss. Then her eyes brightened with an idea. “Well, maybe we could use my magazine for something?”

  “Actually, yes! Hand it over.” She yanked it out and tossed it to me. I spread the glossy rectangle on the ground right next to the ziplock bag, then arranged my life vest across both. “Now we both can lie flat and share the vest pillow.”

  “Great.”

  I was about 90 percent sure Alex was being sarcastic. But then she sat down next to me and tested lying flat, and I knew it felt better to have something relatively clean and human-made under her head and neck, instead of pointy twigs and slimy leaves. And whatever was living under the slimy leaves. Possibly the broad-banded forestsnail. Which actually lives in its beautiful amber-colored curlicue shell.

  “What now?” Alex muttered, staring up at the darkening sky and not me.

  For the first time, I wondered if it was dark so early because of the cloudiness that had slowly overtaken the sky. What is tonight’s forecast? I guessed we’d find out.

  “Dinner?” I asked, reaching for my bag.

  “Please tell me you have a cheeseburger in your backpack. Maybe some fries?”

  I ignored the fact that I don’t eat cheeseburgers, and she knows it. I also refrained from snarking about how this went against Alex’s extreme pickiness about the healthiness of her food. That was a new thing, and definitely a Lexie thing. Instead, I answered, “I have another energy bar, and we can drink more water.”

  “WATER,” she begged, making grabby hands.

  I tossed her the bottle. “Only drink a little—for real, this time.” Alex understood that we had to ration now, because she took only two dainty sips.

  I dug in my backpack for another energy bar. Should we eat half of it and save the rest? Now that this is going to be an overnight…adventure. But, surely, tomorrow we’d be going home. How far could we possibly have wandered? They’d probably even find us tonight. I pictured Alex and me asleep on our tube bed as a spotlight shined down on us—from a helicopter or something? I wasn’t sure what rescuers up north used to find lost people. Anyway, then we’d be bundled up in blankets and whisked back to Buttercup Lake.

  I split the whole bar in half and handed one piece to Alex. There was still an untouched bar left in my backpack, after all. Along with a single squirt of hand sanitizer, maybe two globs of sunscreen, a bandage, one bug-spray wipe (because we’d broken down and applied the other), my camera, and my sweatshirt.

  We ate slowly and in silence. But the forest around us wasn’t silent. The ambient noise shifted as the light dwindled. The drone of insects grew louder. The breeze had strengthened, and above our heads, the branches groaned and leaves rustled like maracas. The air held the sweet scent of incoming rain, which worried me. Occasionally, we’d hear the sharp crack of a stick breaking or a crunching sound, and I’d stiffen, wondering if something was heading in our direction. I didn’t see any other creatures around. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Forest animals are good at staying hidden. I wondered what might have already seen us, followed us. I shivered. I’m sure I was just imagining it, but I felt watched. The growing pit of fear in my stomach made it hard to eat.

  I couldn’t stop shivering, so I couldn’t avoid my sweatshirt any longer. I reached into my backpack and pulled it out. The fabric was deliciously soft on my sun-baked, bug-bitten, mud-covered, scratched-up, goose-bumped skin. Putting the sweatshirt over my torso felt like wrapping myself in a hug, and till then I didn’t know how much I’d needed one.

  Alex glanced at me. She licked her lips, trying to get every last crumb of the energy bar—but maybe also from envy of my sweatshirt. She curled inward, arms crossed, and her knees tucked into the cover-up as much as possible. She rocked back and forth slightly, like the motion was helping keep her warm. I met her gaze, feeling a tiny bit vindicated that my sweatshirt—this particular sweatshirt—was really coming to the rescue.

  Alex nodded in the direction of its wolf illustration. “I hope none of those find us tonight.”

  I sighed. “Wolves are generally not dangerous to people, Alex.” In normal encounters, wolves shy away from humans. They certainly don’t try to hunt them.

  “But we’re, like, two weak and stranded humans. You can’t tell me that any predators that come across us are just going to prance away and try to snag a measly rabbit instead. We’re sitting ducks.”

  I shivered again, despite the sweatshirt. I couldn’t tell her that predators would leave us alone, because I had no idea what would happen if something found us in the night. There have been cougar sightings in the Northwoods, although biologists think they don’t breed in the state, just pass through. But there were also plenty of coyotes, bobcats, and bears.

  “Let’s not go there,” was all I said, my voice wavering a little. An image of the cabin flashed into my mind, warm and cozy and inviting, and I wanted to be there so badly, my heart actually hurt. Like Nolan had accidentally kicked me dead center in my chest while splashing in the pool.

  The last rays of dusky sunlight hovered below the tree line. Kind of like having a night-light on in a bedroom. I slept with one on in my room till I was nine—I didn’t like trying to go to sleep in total darkness. I felt that way again, for the first time in years. I wondered if I’d even be able to rest once darkness really overtook the woods. Probably not. The longer we sat in the waning light, the more scared I felt.

  “I’m going to try to sleep.” I lay down on the inner tube and pulled the beach towel over my body, right up to my chin. I don’t know how it could possibly still be damp, but everything was, even though it had been hours since we got out of the river. I turned my head to one side, my nose centimeters from the ground. You don’t realize that dirt has a smell until you’re in a place like this, where it doesn’t have to compete with all kinds of other scents. (Well, except for Alex’s stinky-mango body spray.) I turned my head again, trying to find a position where nothing sharp was digging into my skull.

  “Already? It’s not nighttime,” Alex said.

  “I’m not going to be able to fall asleep when it’s totally dark,” I mumbled. Then it hit me, so suddenly: the wave of fear and sadness, a tsunami of feelings. I couldn’t believe the s
ituation we were in—it was real danger. I couldn’t believe how alone we were. I couldn’t believe how alone I felt, even with Alex beside me.

  An owl screeched nearby. The noise made us both startle. Even after I realized what it was, and that a screech owl wouldn’t hurt us (although owls’ talons are extremely sharp), my pulse kept pounding. Every muscle in my body was tense.

  Alex lay down next to me. “Um, yeah. I don’t think I’m going to be able to fall asleep in the dark, either.”

  Even though the tube was small for two people stretched out across it, and our heads were sharing a life vest for a pillow, our bodies curled as far away from each other as possible, like we were making the shape of a wishbone. Alex draped her towel over herself, but because she’s taller than me, it only covered from her calves to her shoulders.

  There was so much I wanted to say to her right then—mostly how freaked out I was. Instead, I whispered softly, “Good night.”

  I didn’t think she’d heard me until I heard her whisper back, “Night,” in a quiet voice that sounded equally terrified.

  Somewhere, off in the distance but close enough that we could still hear it, something howled.

  Ten

  A cold drop hit my face. Then another and another. When I blinked open my eyes, a droplet splashed right into my eyeball.

  With a gasp, I sat up. My fingers wrapped around the top of my towel, drawing it up with me. I wiped the water off my face. In the darkness, splashed out of sleep, I was disoriented. For a second, I wondered if we’d actually found the river. If we were by a waterfall or something. I couldn’t see anything around me, not even my hand in front of my face. Not Alex next to me.

  Of course when I realized it was simply raining, I felt like an idiot.

  The drops were picking up speed. I wrapped my towel around my shoulders and scooted closer to Alex. I wondered if I should wake her, even though there wasn’t much we could do other than hope this was a quick passing shower and try to keep our bags dry. So I silently groped for the Ziploc beneath my half of the “pillow” and shoved my backpack and Alex’s tote inside.

  Lightning flashed, and for a moment, everything was illuminated. I saw the outlines of all the trees and rocks and plants, and the silhouette of Alex’s sleeping body next to me. Then the darkness returned, and seconds later, thunder clapped in the distance.

  You know what is scarier than sitting in the forest in total darkness? Sitting in the forest in total darkness, then suddenly getting a lightning flash to show all the creepy unknown things—or creatures—surrounding you. A glimpse of sharp, gnarled branches pointing like fingers, just long enough for you to remember you’re not safe in a shelter somewhere but totally exposed and totally unaware of your environment—and what else you might be sharing it with. I swear I saw a set of glowing yellow eyes as the darkness returned.

  “Alex!” I hissed, nudging what I think was her shoulder but could have been her backside. She mumbled, and then I sensed her adjust to sitting up.

  “What’s going—”

  Another flash of lightning interrupted her. Alex’s eyes shined wide, scared, in the momentary light. This time, the thunder clapped much more quickly after the flash.

  “Thunderstorm,” I said. A cold front moving through brings them. Sometimes, they can be really severe: high winds, hail, flooding, and even tornadoes. Back home in Madison, tornado sirens warn you to get to a basement. And the Channel 27 News weather team even tells you the exact minute the storm cell is going to pass over your street. Out here, alone in the woods—there was no Bob Lindmeier, chief meteorologist, to warn us.

  What if the forest flooded and we got swept away?

  What if lightning struck us? Or hit one of the nearby trees, and then it fell onto our tube bed?

  What if a tornado came barreling through and sucked us up?

  The raindrops pelting my face mixed with my silent tears. I didn’t want Alex to know I was crying, even though I was pretty sure she was also crying. Either that or shivering really violently next to me. My teeth chattered uncontrollably.

  “C-curl up like during a tornado d-drill,” I stammered.

  We moved onto our knees and tucked down to kiss the ground, protecting our heads with our arms. It was a position we’d practiced since kindergarten. There was nothing else we could do but wait.

  The only good thing about summer storms is that they usually move fast. The worst part probably lasted for ten minutes, but it was a really terrifying worst part. With all the lightning, it felt like being at a rock concert or on an amusement park ride with a strobe effect. You could almost smell the sizzle of the lightning strikes, feel the electricity in the storm clouds. My hair became staticky from the charge. Maybe because there was no roof or walls to dull the sound, the thunder clapped louder than I’d ever heard it. Each time it cracked, Alex screamed next to me and covered her ears. Sometimes I plugged mine too.

  With every flash of light, I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see what was in the darkness surrounding us. I didn’t want to see those yellow eyes again. I just wanted to pretend we were safe and dry, up in the cabin’s aerie, where because the walls are thin, and it’s right under the roof, storms can seem pretty intense. But never like this.

  Eventually, the lightning died down. When thunder sounded, it was a low rumble, faraway in the distance. The forest went back to being pitch black, the sky without even a single star. I wished I could look up and see the constellations. There would be comfort in them, knowing that the same stars and shapes visible at the lake and at my house in Madison were there for me to see in the forest. To know that even if we were lost, at least we were still under a familiar sky. But instead it was just darkness, nothingness, nowhere.

  The cold rain continued to drench us long after the wind and thunder died down. When it finally stopped, Alex and I, exhausted, lay back on the tube, which was wet as a Slip ’N Slide. I thought back to the time we’d camped at Echo Valley and our tent flooded, so we’d played in the rain till dawn. Alex and I had managed to make that fun, an adventure, just by being together. But here in the forest, we curled closer to each other only out of necessity. Neither of us spoke. There was nothing fun about our situation. It was a nightmare. Underneath my soaking-wet towel, I shivered and begged for sleep that I didn’t think would ever come.

  * * *

  My everything hurt.

  I opened my eyes, and even though I couldn’t see my reflection, I could tell my lids were thick and puffy, like after I’ve been crying. The inside of my mouth felt like I had been sucking on those silica packets that come in a new box of shoes to keep out moisture—not that I have ever tried that, but the extreme, aching dryness is what I imagine that would feel like.

  The night before seemed like a strange and unreal dream to me, as I lay on the tube, whose plastic was sticky and chilly, and blinked painfully at the bright morning sunlight. After the storm had passed, I’d woken up dozens of times from a noise or the cold. It had been unbelievably cold: bone-chilling cold, teeth-rattling cold, ache-in-your fingers cold. The thin, wet beach towel had barely helped at all. I had curled myself into a tiny ball, and then I’d wrapped my sweatshirt around my head for warmth and to block my ears. Noise was the most terrifying part of the forest at night. Every time I heard a rustle or the crack of a branch somewhere, I held my breath, wondering what was heading our way. If those yellow eyes I might’ve seen or might’ve imagined during the storm belonged to it. Whether it had claws. If it was hungry.

  I was hungry—as night had dragged on, the sensation both gnawing and hollow in my stomach had been harder to ignore. When I’d tried to fall back asleep after startling awake, my stomach’s churn had kept me up. Now, in the early light, I finally felt safe enough to find food. Or safe-ish, because I could at least see anything that approached us. And it wasn’t raining. If I weren’t so incredibly hungry, I’d lie back down forever,
but thinking of the one energy bar left in my backpack gave me the will to sit up.

  Moving was painful. Slowly, I lifted myself off the tube. My sweatshirt wrap flopped off my head, and the towel unraveled from my upper body. For the first time, I saw my skin. It was horrifying.

  My arms were covered in bug-bite welts, the round lumps so close to one another that it looked like I was made out of bubble wrap instead of skin. Red bubble wrap, because the big bites were super irritated, and despite wearing sunscreen, I’d still managed to get burned. I pulled the towel off my legs and saw that they were just as red and lumpy. Everything itched so, so badly. I reached my hand down and scratched my calf. Then I couldn’t stop scratching, even though my skin turned the color of a maraschino cherry.

  I had to wrap the towel around myself again so I would stop. Also, because it was just after dawn and still so cold, especially with morning dew coating everything in the forest, including us. Rain puddles were everywhere. We were never going to dry off from that storm.

  Next to me, Alex’s eyes were still shut, although not in the peaceful way she normally looks while sleeping—I’ve seen Alex snoozing a lot over the years, at sleepovers and in her backyard hammock and on long car rides, like the one to get to the cabin. Her expression was a grimace, her brows knitted together and her eyelids squeezed, like she was in pain or trying very hard to shut out the world or something.

  Alex doesn’t sunburn easily like I do, but her skin was still kind of blotchy and red. The bugs had definitely feasted on her. She’d shrugged her towel up to cover her arms and chest, but below her cover-up, her legs were bare. Welts and scratches coated her calves. Her feet were so swollen that the plastic of her flip-flops pressed down into the tops of her feet, like a cookie cutter into rising dough. Just thinking of her trying to walk through the woods made me wince. I inspected my own feet, still in their tight water shoes. They were puffy too, and my heels were crusted with dried blood. When I wiggled my toes, the fabric rubbed harshly against blisters. Maybe we should’ve taken off our shoes to sleep. But if we’d needed to run for our lives in the night…