The Remedy Page 9

  Her only chance was to somehow double-back and try to make it to the road. She had a snowball’s chance in hell that a car would drive by at that exact moment, but would the man be daring enough to continue his pursuit outside the cover of the woods? She prayed he wouldn’t risk acquiring a witness to his sadistic mission and sink back into the trees, in search of another outsider to torment.

  Where the fuck is the road?

  The frantic question was ripped from Alex’s mind when her boot slammed into a large, pointy rock jutting from the earth. Her stubbed toe sent her into a headfirst tumble, her face crashing to the dirt below. Teeth rattling and knees scraping the forest floor, she was already planting her hands to push herself up—

  And that’s when she saw it:

  The hollow, rotten trunk of a fallen tree.

  Remaining in her prone position, Alex crawled to the hollow log like a commando sneaking up on an enemy base. She just barely made it inside the rotten wood when Bugger sprinted into view. To her panic, he stopped dead in his tracks.

  “Oh, little laaaady!” he called in a singsong manner, his hands cupped around his mouth. “Where are yoooouu?”

  He sniffed the air.

  “I can smell your insides.”

  From within the fallen timber, Alex’s entire body quivered so badly she feared she might quake the rotten wood to pieces. She clamped her mouth from screaming, her sweaty palm squeezing all the blood from her lips.

  Something with many legs crawled across her bare calves.

  Oh God…

  A snap in the distance brought Bugger’s eyes to the trees beyond her hiding place. In an instant he was gone, chasing after whatever had miraculously acted as bait just when she needed it.

  Alex counted thirty seconds. And then ran.

  Although she couldn’t hear him, it didn’t mean he wasn’t right on her heels, quietly toying with her before striking her down with a razor-sharp machete or something equally terrifying. But Alex didn’t dare turn and look as she sprinted into the endless forest, not even feeling the sting of the pricker bushes that stuck to her legs. She did, however, feel a growing pressure in her exhausted lungs, her legs turning to jelly, and cramps jabbing into her sides.

  The world was beginning to spin. The ground and sky were coming together in a dizzy dance. She was going into shock.

  But then, through her blurred vision, Alex saw that the trees up ahead grew further apart. She had almost made it to the clearing, and the thought of what that meant gave her a boost of strength and numbed her incapacitating pain. The road would be just past the clearing, and with it, her best chance at escape.

  A burst of optimism fueled her pumping legs.

  But all hope vanished with her next step.

  Her left leg snapped as it left the ground, taking the rest of her body with it. Disorientation swallowed her world as Alex flew above the forest floor, dangling upside down from the branch of a towering pine tree. When was done bouncing her up and down like a rag doll, Alex achingly lifted her head to discover the loop of a snare trap tightly wrapped around her ankle. Abdominals cramping as she attempted an impossible crunch, she groaned in an effort to grab the out-of-reach knot.

  A pain as sharp as a dagger ripped through her lower back, and she could do nothing to stop her core muscles from releasing their tension. Her body unbent itself with a pathetic whimper of defeat, and her arms flew beneath her.

  She just did not possess the strength.

  The tears began to flow.

  Alex cried in silence, not even possessing the strength of spirit to bawl with vigor. She swayed back and forth in the air, listening to her weight make the overhead branch creak and the birds sing a cruel celebration of the lessening rainfall.

  Then she heard a sound.

  Bugger stood below, chuckling with delight.

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  He rubbed his hands together in childish delight.

  “Fresh meat.”

  Chapter 10

  It’s starting to clear up.

  Weirdly, that was Marshall’s first thought as his eyes slowly opened to the thinning clouds above. The black had lightened to a soft gray, and the sky was beginning to peek through in brilliant blue strips.

  This observation on the weather was immediately followed by a second thought:

  My fucking head!

  The back of Marshall’s cranium throbbed in a slow, excruciating rhythm. Using two fingers of his right hand, he gingerly prodded at his hair, which was crusty with dried blood. By gritting his teeth and taking long, difficult breaths through his nostrils, Marshall examined the wound. It felt roughly the size of a quarter, but not deep enough to reach the bone. He knew he needed to seek medical attention as soon as possible, but the bleeding had stopped and he was starting to regain his bearings. As long as he didn’t trip and knock his noggin a second time, Marshall was hopeful he’d be able to reach help before passing out again.

  The depleted battery of his cellphone made it impossible to know how long he’d been unconscious. But judging by the drastically changed weather, it must have been a considerable length of time. He thought about checking the surrounding area for Alex in case she had come looking for him, but quickly changed his mind. She’d been beyond pissed when she sent him on this treacherous errand, and probably hadn’t even bothered waiting for him to return. She was most likely flirting with a border patrolman by now, while her boyfriend nearly killed himself to fulfill her wishes.

  “Fuck it,” Marshall grumbled as he took his first shaky step forward. He’d go directly back to the road. If Alex wasn’t there, he’d jump off that bridge when he got to it. For now, he had his hands full trying to navigate the remainder of the hill without his blurred vision bringing him down. This trip was not going to be easy.

  As if to prove that point, the slick carpet of wet leaves under Marshall’s right foot suddenly slid forward and sent his arms shooting out to both sides. Fortunately, an ash trunk to his left provided the handle he needed to keep himself afoot. He cursed at himself for his carelessness. He couldn’t afford to let another breaking branch or unearthed plant send him somersaulting to his second crash landing.

  Marshall turned his head toward his hand pressed against the trunk—and opened his mouth in a silent scream.

  His hand was gone.

  At first, Marshall thought he’d somehow sunk his extremity into a mound of tree-hugging fungi without noticing. But when he tried to wiggle his fingers and the pile of green fungus moved, bile rose in his throat with a dreadful realization:

  The horrendous growth was growing on his hand.

  With his other hand, Marshall slowly reached out to gingerly touch the green, fuzzy mass. He brushed the edge of a mushroom that was growing from the knuckle of his index finger. His nerves tingled.

  No…

  The mushroom wasn’t growing on his skin,

  It was his skin.

  Marshall turned and vomited sour, white foam into a patch of drooping ferns at his feet. He stood there hunched over, dry heaving until he was able to take a deep breath without gagging.

  Though his brain still felt as if it were swimming laps around the inside of his skull, Marshall took a deep breath through his nose and tried to settle his nerves. If his father’s meditation techniques were ever going to work, Marshall prayed they would now. At least his hand wasn’t burning like before. Through the dark murk of his hazy memory, Marshall could recall how it had felt as it were on fire seconds before he lost consciousness.

  “Okay, man,” he whispered to himself, trying not to hyperventilate. “Keep it together and find some help.”

  Trying to not even glance at his infected-beyond-recognition hand, Marshall started to jog down the last slope of the hill. He knew he was going faster than he probably should have in his condition, but the injury to his head had become the least of his concerns. As a surfer, he’d knocked his skull around plenty of times before, giant waves throwing him against both t
he ocean floor and his own board. A few stitches were nothing—a hand made of mold was something else.

  The ground finally leveled out under his feet and Marshall breathed a sigh of relief. The clearing was just ahead and then, thank God, the road. Once his first foot hit the road’s gravel, Marshall would run as fast as his throbbing head would allow. Maybe he’d even send Alex ahead so she could reach help faster. That is, if Alex was even still there waiting for him. He now found himself hoping she’d gone ahead and already made it to the border. Pushing branches away with his good hand, Marshall fantasized about reaching the road and being greeted by a patrolman’s cruiser. But no matter how he did it, he had to find someone to help him—and fast. It might’ve been his own imagination, but he swore he could feel the fungus spreading upward to his forearm. Just past his shell bracelet his skin was beginning to itch.

  Marshall, however, did not feel the burning irritation for long. When a final spruce branch swept past his eyes to reveal the clearing, all concerns for his own well-being vanished.

  Alex dangled upside down by one leg from a gargantuan pine tree.

  “Alex!”

  It was only when he reached the area directly underneath her that Marshall realized he had no idea how he was going to get her down. Alex’s raspy snoring instantly reminded him of the time his buddy TJ was launched from his moped while not wearing a helmet. Marshall came upon his friend to find him taking long, gurgling breaths through his open mouth. Alex was making the exact same noise now.

  Marshall looked up at his girlfriend. “Alex?” he said. “Can you hear me? Come on, wake up!”

  Still, she didn’t respond.

  A gnarly stick lay a few feet to Marshall’s right. He retrieved the limb and reached up to gently prod Alex’s shoulder.

  “Come on, baby girl. Wake up for me.”

  No response.

  “Alex!” Marshall screamed. “Wake up!” He poked the stick into her cheek.

  Her eyes fluttered open.

  “Ugh,” she moaned groggily, her pupils rolling in her sockets. It was impossible to know the extent of her injuries, but Marshall smiled all the same. She was awake, and that’s all that mattered. They were probably both suffering from concussions, but now at least Alex could help Marshall figure out a way for her to escape and get the hell out of these godforsaken woods.

  “There we go,” Marshall soothingly whispered as Alex awoke. ‘It’s okay, baby. I’m here.” But try as he might to maintain this calm charade for Alex’s benefit, he could no longer keep his panic bay. “What the fuck happened to you?”

  Marshall scanned upward to examine her body and discovered the mangled condition of her ensnared leg. It was obviously broken, and Marshall grimaced at the complications this was sure to bring to their escape.

  Alex coughed and winced in pain, jolting her out of her daze. After blinking several times, her eyes finally landed on her boyfriend, a wave of recognition washing over her face.

  “Ma…Marshall?”

  “Yeah, it’s me.” He looked up and tried to regain his worry-free smile.

  “Marshall?”

  Orientation and short-term memory were always the last thing to return to a recent victim of head trauma. Marshall could remember how TJ had asked, “What day is it?” about fifteen times once he had come to.

  “Yes, honey. It’s me, Marshall. I’m right here.” He was compulsively nodding in an effort to reassure her.

  “Marshall!”

  Just as Marshall watched Alex’s eyes pop open like a jack-in-the-box, a tremendous force slammed into his knees and sent his feet flaying out from underneath him. In that single moment of hang-time, Marshall felt just like the goons he’d laughed at so many times as a kid in Home Alone. But there was no nostalgia when he slammed facedown into the dirt and felt his kneecap nearly shatter under his body weight.

  Marshall inhaled to scream but a blow to his ribcage pushed all the oxygen from his lungs with an excruciating snap. Every shallow breath that followed was like a red-hot poker being thrust into his side.

  Unable to move and hardly able to breathe, Marshall could do nothing to defend himself from his unknown assailant. Something wet landed on the back of his neck. He assumed it must be his own blood dripping from whatever blunt object had battered him. But when a hard kick to his gut rolled him onto his back, he realized the falling drops were Alex’s tears. Another splashed on his cheek.

  “Leave him alone!” Alex wailed, as helpless as her boyfriend. Her plea was returned with the most sadistic, high-pitched laugh Marshall had ever heard.

  The broad heel of a muddy boot pressed down against his throat. Through his fading vision, Marshall squinted to see a gaunt man in mechanic’s overalls standing over him and baring his brown teeth in a rotten grin. Over his shoulder rested a long walking stick with a large, solid knob on the end, like an Irishman’s shillelagh. A dark splotch of dried blood stained the cane, and Marshall knew he wasn’t the first to feel its bone-crushing power.

  The man pressed his boot down harder, temporarily blocking off Marshall’s windpipe.

  “Stop it!” Alex screamed from above. “You’re killing him!”

  The man looked up and guffawed at the girl above him dangling like a worm on a hook. “Killing him?” the man asked with a crooked smile. “Nah. We just havin’ a li’l fun. That’s all.” The foot gave from Marshall’s throat just as the world was beginning to turn black. Through spots and stars, his vision slowly began to return.

  The man turned his head back down toward his victim on the ground. “But I guess you’re right, little lady,” he said. “This really isn’t the time to be playing games. This pretty boy needs help.” With that, the man reached behind his back and retrieved a round, rusty object that instantly chilled the sweat dripping from Marshall’s brow.

  A circular saw blade.

  “It was you,” Marshall whimpered.

  The man shrugged and moved his foot from Marshall’s neck to his forearm just above the fungal hand. With his hand securely pinned to the ground, Marshall squeezed his eyes shut and heard the man say, “Now don’t move, you hear?”

  A second later, Marshall heard an airy whir buzz by his ear. A flash of sharp pain ignited his wrist, as sudden and quick as a spark of static electricity. And then it was gone, and everything below his forearm went completely numb. He thought he could still feel the rest of his arm, but it was strange. Different.

  It felt lighter.

  “There.” The man crossed his arms at his chest in triumph. “Good as new.”

  Marshall knew what he would see when he unclenched his eyes. Regardless, that did not stifle the surprise of seeing a blood-spurting stump where his hand had once been. Though shock was temporarily sparing him from the intense pain that was sure to arrive at any moment, the gruesome image of his own severed limb was horrific enough on its own. He could see his sliced bone protruding from the bloody stub, the streak of white so bright against the arterial blood that it almost seemed to glow.

  And yet, Marshall did not feel the slightest compulsion to scream. In a churning ocean of dizziness and shock, a soothing wave of relief immersed him like a warm bath. Removing his hand had been like extracting a tick or a leech from flesh—you’d let someone crush a burning cigarette into your leg in order to get it off, wouldn’t you?

  “I don’t care, just get it off!” you’d shout. “Just get it off! Get it off!”

  And now it was off.

  Marshall’s eyes drifted from his oozing stump to the redneck surgeon who had performed the operation.

  “Thank you,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth pulling up in a perverted smile.

  The man threw his head back, releasing a loud, excited hoot. “My pleasure, boy!”

  Above, Alex had gone comatose, staring straight ahead while a constant tremor vibrated her body.

  It was the last thing Marshall saw before he lapsed into darkness.

  The last sound he heard was the man’s laugher echoi
ng throughout the towering evergreens.

  Chapter 11

  Leigh had been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed how slow the patter of the rain had become until Sam said, “You hear that? It’s finally letting up.”

  Looking out into the damp trees and undergrowth, she could see that Sam was correct. The rain had slowed to a gentle drizzle and the clouds above were breaking apart.

  “I guess we should go tell Rob and Eliza,” she said before her mouth opened in a jaw-stretching yawn. “Now we can get back to the nice, warm van. After the day we’ve had, I could use a nap.”

  Just as Leigh grabbed each armrest of the rocking chair and prepared to push herself up, Sam placed a hand on hers.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “What?”

  Sam glanced away, his cheeks flushing. “I wanted to ask you something.”

  Leigh smiled, amused by his timidity. “”Okay, shoot.”

  His foot rolled a twig back and forth across the ripples of the porch’s old wood. “I, uh, noticed all your friends are dating each other. But why didn’t your, um…boyfriend…come with you on your trip?”

  “Well, I think the answer would be pretty obvious,” Leigh said with a little laugh. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Really?” The shock in Sam’s voice sounded sincere. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “I guess that’s because you don’t really know me.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Leigh hesitated when she realized what she was about to say had never been shared with anyone since she began college. Not even Alex knew the part of Leigh’s past that she was about to reveal. This, of course, raised the question, “Why share it with this guy?” Maybe it was because of the indescribable connection to him she had felt the moment he took a seat beside her in the van. Maybe it was because of the way her usual defense mechanisms, pessimism and cynicism, had failed to diminish her attraction to him. They had never failed her before.