The River at Night(17)

Rachel opened her door, the corner of which wedged into the muck and high swords of grass because of the way we were pitched. Her hiking boots sank into a foot of mud; it flowed up over the tops of them, flooding them with carbon-black ooze. Sandra tumbled out after her, laughing and cursing, then turned back to me with a questioning look.

“Let me know if you need me,” I said with a weak smile, picturing snakes and other evil creatures that lived in muck.

I felt them heave into the back of the truck as Pia revved the engine, cursing and slapping at the dashboard. We surged half a foot, maybe, far from what we needed to get out of that hole. I sat in a ball of shame, loathing my fearful nature, a sudden headache pounding behind my eyes. More groaning and pushing, some heated discussion, then Sandra’s face in my window, coated in black mud. She smiled, her teeth and the whites of her eyes gleaming.

“Wini, hon, I think this might be an all-hands-on-deck sort of deal.”

The mud was up past her knees, almost up to her shorts. Shuddering, I pushed open the door and lowered my legs into it, never losing eye contact with her. She grabbed my hand and together we Frankenstein-stepped to the back of the truck, the hum of insects constant around our ears.

“On three!” Rory grunted, and Pia gunned the engine as we all leaned into the cold, immobile bumper. Sheets of slime shot back, covering every square inch of us; I tasted it in my mouth, felt it clogging my ears. I stood with the others, spitting, coughing, and laughing at the sight of each other. Baptized in primal ooze, a weird joy flooded me; the inception of a new kind of freedom. It was only earth, water, decayed plants and animals. We came from it and we were all headed back someday.

Rory rested his hands on his narrow hips. “Sorry about this, but, you know, shit happens.”

“Let’s keep going!” Pia yelled from the front, and we put our shoulders back into it. Each time more mud slammed back at us, but nothing was budging and the truck only sank deeper.

Pia sprang from the cab. “We need to put something under the wheel.”

She began to gather reeds and long grasses; we all did, Rory helping with a knife he carried. We put together a mat of stalks and branches and wedged it under the tire. The wheel turned once, then caught, and the truck leapt forward and up, as if flying into the morning sky.

? ? ?

We drove a few minutes more after the swamp, passing a hillock of twisted apple trees and the blackened carcass of an abandoned truck. Ancient stone walls crisscrossed the fields, at places in stunning shape and in others more piles of rocks than anything else. Once I thought I saw something dark and lumbering dissolve into the forest, but I couldn’t be sure; at the time I chalked it up to a play of shadows from passing clouds or simply my skittish imagination.

Rory eased the truck up and over a crest of shale and loose rocks, nosed it into a stand of white birch that skirted the forest, and killed the engine. Silence had its moment before woodland sounds started up again, a whir of insects and the rustle of unseen creatures among trees and undergrowth.

“I never felt so disgusting in my life,” Sandra said, shifting in her seat in her filthy clothes. We laughed, and dried mud cracked and fell in chips off our faces and onto the backseat.

Like a lost tribe of mud people, we followed Rory to a stream just outside the truck, really only a trickle of water that slipped over mossy stones before disappearing under a mess of tree limbs. It was so meager we had to take turns cleaning ourselves, which we did politely. All we could do was splash the worst of it off our faces and arms and legs, not anything like a real soak that would have done the job.

Rory tossed our gear out of the truck bed as if it weighed nothing, leaned our packs up against the birch trees, and locked the doors of the cab. This was it. We were into it now, the wild green world—about to shed even the truck and vanish into the forest. The sun lingered at its apex, warming the tops of our heads. I could feel it beating into the part of my hair. Pia sprayed herself with Off! and we all copied her.

“We’ll get to the river tonight,” Rory said as he rummaged in his pack and pulled out a rag. He soaked it in the stream and wiped his face. “We can really get washed up there.”

Something metal glinted from the side pocket of the pack where he’d gotten the rag. I hadn’t seen too many in my life but knew it was the handle of a gun. I looked away but felt Rory’s eyes burning into me as he stuffed the rag back over it.

Pia hoisted her pack over her shoulders, clipped the belt, and laughed. “We’re going to be so beautiful by the time we get this mud off.”

“Impossible,” Rory said. “You ladies couldn’t get any more beautiful.” The rest of us chuckled politely, but Pia actually perked up at this comment. Rachel gave Rory a long, hard look as she downed a few swigs of water. Sandra grimaced, cursing softly as she worked a wide-toothed comb through mud-hardened hair.

“You know what,” Rory said, “I really like how you all handled our situation back there. You jumped right in, no hesitation. Well, most of you.” He winked at me, and I felt myself redden. “That’s a survival skill.” He knifed a piece of apple and slid it in his mouth.

Rachel wandered over to the entrance of the trail, a subtle opening in dense green forest. “So does anyone, I don’t know, live out here?”

“I doubt it. Bear, moose, that’s another story. If you see a bear, don’t run, whatever you do. Especially a cub. Speak in a low voice and back off slow and gentle.”