Mark Tufo - Whistlers

I check my compass every so often, trying to keep us moving in the same direction. I have no idea what the needle is actually pointing to. North in Amissus could be something entirely different, but it does provide a way to keep us aligned more or less in a single direction. To march through the night only to walk in a circle and arrive back at the water tower would totally suck.

The screams faded some time ago as we make our way under the dark branches. The silence is almost complete with only our soft footsteps on the forest mulch and occasional scuff as John earns his moniker and stumbles over some small obstacle. I have no idea where we are headed, seeking only to make it through the night, and will attempt to orient ourselves with the coming dawn. At that point, I intend to find our way back to the highway and try to find out what happened to Mike. I assume he’ll also try to make his way back to the road. I wish I had another radio which I could have given him.

That sure would have made things easier , I think, pondering the situation.

I’m walking through a dark forest in some land named Amissus, which, according to the man at my side, means ‘lost’.

They certainly have that right .

My traveling companion is some hippie, from yet another world, whose mind has become addled from years of drug use but has some uncanny abilities which show up at the most unusual times. He hit a falling block of C-4 out of the air with a slingshot while hanging from a tower ladder. I shake my head at that one. Not only because of the shot, but because I can’t figure out why he did it. Those out-of-the-blue actions could jeopardize us, but I can’t very well just leave him out here alone. Plus, we did get away and he did save me while we were still recovering. I’m wondering just how exactly those angels on his shoulder work.

As we move along, I keep thinking this nightmare will end and I’ll find myself back at Cabela’s, hearing a chuckle from Red Team as a story is finished. So far, that’s not to be. I’ve never had a dream as detailed as this one, nor one that has lasted so long. I can’t understand, and am beginning to seriously consider that this is more than just a dream. It’s too real and lasting too long. I need to figure a way out. I really miss my kids and Lynn. I feel a deep ache in my heart at the thought that I could be trapped here forever and never see them again. I think that maybe I could have entered into another coma and that my mind may be lost in this place. The worse possibility, the one that scares me even more, is that they were the dream and this is reality.

A faint shriek drifts through the trees, penetrating the stillness of the woods. Other screams follow from behind. It’s hard to tell how far away they are within the densely packed trees, but I can only assume our scent has been picked up. There isn’t any breeze to speak of so our smell will linger along our path. It may dissipate some to the side but the night runners behind will eventually home in on us.

“We need to run, Trip. Do you think you can manage?” I ask. I’ve stopped calling him John as he just looks around when I do, looking for another person.

“I suppose I could use my flashlight,” he answers.

“Wait, you have a flashlight? Why didn’t you say so to start with?”

“You didn’t pull one out, so I thought you wanted to hike in the dark.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” I say, incredulous.

We could have made much better time and been farther away had he just said something. I guess I could have asked and note that I’m going to have to be very specific when talking with him.

“Why would I do that?” Trip asks, fumbling in his pocket and looking around. “Where’s Mike?”

“We lost him when the tower fell. You remember the tower falling, right?” I ask.

“A tower fell. I bet that would have been fun to ride.”

“You did. We were on it. You don’t remember that?”

“So, did Mike get in line for a second ride, then?”

“No, Trip, he left to find another ride,” I answer.

“Oh. And he didn’t even say goodbye. That was kind of rude. Is that where we’re going, to find the other ride?”

“Yeah, that’s where we’re going and we need to beat cheeks there. Do you hear those behind us? They’re trying to get there ahead of us, so we need to hurry,” I state.

“Then we need to get going,” Trip says, switching on his flashlight. “There, that’s better. Now maybe you’ll stop trying to pull my arm off and leading me over every obstacle. I see we’re still in the trees. I can’t believe they’d put a ride in the woods.”

The shrieks grow louder as the night runners grow closer. There isn’t a real clue as to which direction we should take. I have a feeling the highway is to the left but I don’t have a clue of how far away it is. There is still a lot of night left and we need to find some defensive location soon. The road is our best bet for locating one. Tangling with night runners in the dense forest will only end in tears.

Quickly removing my T-shirt, I toss my shirt off to the side, opposite the way I intend to escape.

“Why are you and Mike constantly throwing clothes away,” Trip says, heading over to where it landed. “I’ve kept my clothes since ‘78.”

“Trip, leave it. We need to go.”

“Okay, fine,” he says, returning. “If you didn’t want it, why didn’t you just say something? I would have taken it. It looked like a mighty fine shirt to me. Do we have time for a toke?”

“No, we don’t. You don’t want those behind us to get there first and for us to have to wait in line, do you?” I ask.

“No. You’re right. We’d better hurry,” he answers.

And with that, we turn and begin running through the night under interlaced boughs.

We race through the trees…well…race being a relative thing. I’m not in the shape I was once in and Trip, well, he’s just Trip. I think the only time he ever runs is if he sees something to munch on. We slow to a fast jog when I hear him start to pant heavily. The night runners are virtually tireless when they catch scent of prey and I know for a fact that they’re faster. My only hope is that they are thrown off by the scent of my shirt and we can gain a little more separation. I carry no illusion that it will fool them for long and that they’ll be on us again soon. We will need to evade long enough for the sun to rise, or until we find shelter.

Trip pulls up a short time later with the screams of night runners resonating off the trees around us. He leans over on his knees, wheezing. The night runners have found our scent and are on our trail once more, gaining by the minute. I don’t know how much more Trip has in him. We may end up having to stop and make a last stand.

“I need to stop, Jack. I haven’t done something like this since I was young and running from the cops.”

“We stop…we die, Trip,” I counter.

He rises, taking in gulps of air. “Well, I guess that doesn’t leave us much choice then. I’d like to see my wife again. I just hate that Mike made it there ahead of us and is already enjoying himself. I’m ready.”

“Give me your shirt,” I say.

“What? Missing yours already? You shouldn’t have tossed it away. See, that’s why I keep mine. But, what’s mine is yours,” he says, stripping it off.

The odor that drifts up when I take it nearly waters my eyes. I look for and spot a tree still sporting a stub of a lower branch — one high enough that it’s out of reach, but not overly so. I toss the shirt up. It takes a couple of tries, but I manage to catch it on the knot of wood.

We change directions and again start across the forest ground. My breaths are deepening. Our time before having to face the numerous night runners on our tail is growing shorter. No matter how many times we distract them, it is only a matter of time before they catch us. I have no clue what time it is, but I do know sunrise is still hours away. An armored truck would be handy right about now. I also wish that I still had some of my grenades and a claymore or two.