Page 89 of Wildwood

The woods are safer.

I hear Lydia in my head. Are you helping me? Or leading me out to die in the blizzard, finally enacting your revenge?

I trust her, God help me.

I take off across the field to the backwoods. There’s about six inches of snow on the ground. It’s hard to move but not impossible. I don’t have any shoes on but thankfully am wearing thick socks. The snow is powdery enough that the socks don’t immediately get soaked through.

From across the field, back toward the road, I hear a car door slam, and then I hear a male voice calling my name.

“Elinor!! Get back here, you fucking bitch!” And I see the faint beam of a flashlight pass over me from behind.

Shit, shit, shit. He’s going to be faster than me.

I slip into the woods and begin to make my way diagonally back toward the river. I realize that I’m making little yelps and cries as I move and then grit my mouth shut to make as little noise as possible. Not that it will help, I’m leaving tracks, clear as day. The woods are safer. I hear the voice, coaxing me, spiriting me along.

“Elinor!” I hear a shot fired from behind and the crashing of a man moving through the woods at great speed, breaking through whatever branches cross his path.

I’m crying as I run, I can feel the warm tears roll down my frozen cheeks. Please help me, Lydia, I think. Please, please help me.

The snow is getting thicker and falling faster. It’s getting even harder to see. The scene in front of me is almost all white punctuated with black. Like static on an old television.

It’s all so white that I almost don’t realize that I’ve come to the river until it’s too late.

I come to a halt, looking down, quickly calculating my options.

“Stop,” the voice commands me from behind.

I look briefly over my shoulder. Julian is standing, looking like a black bear against the white snow. He’s holding a hunting rifle, pointed right at me. The snow is swirling in front of him, making him squint, and I can tell he’s having trouble seeing.

“There’s nowhere to go,” he says.

But he’s wrong. He doesn’t know these woods like I do.

And so I close my eyes and jump, and as I do, the last thing I see is a pair of glowing eyes behind him, ready for vengeance, and a low, guttural growl.

* * *

As I fall, I hear the sound of the rifle as Julian takes one futile shot after I surprised him by disappearing over the riverbank. The water is like a million knives cutting into my skin, injecting ice throughout my body. I go under and it feels like my head is going to explode. I fight my way to the surface, gasping as I break through into the night air. The current begins to swiftly carry me along.

He wouldn’t have thought I’d do this. Normally the river is too shallow to jump in, especially this time of year. But Julian doesn’t know about the plunge pool. Wasn’t accounting for the rain.

My feet bump over the rocks. My head slips under the water, and I claw my way to the surface. I swallow big mouthfuls of water, coughing and sputtering. I try desperately to propel myself over to the edge. If I can just grab onto a tree root, then maybe, just maybe I can get out.

I grab a few times, but my hand slips on the cold wet bark, and in the darkness, it’s impossible to get a good grip. I’m going farther and farther downriver. Eventually, I know I’ll end up in the Connecticut. If the cold doesn’t get me first.

But then, I pass one low, looping root. I scream as I reach and grab the root with every ounce of strength left in my body. I manage to hold on, but the water is beating past me, smashing my body against the rocky, ice-covered riverbed. I can’t possibly let go with one hand to try and pull myself up. If I let go with one hand, I’ll be carried away.

“Help!” I scream. I know it’s futile. I’m all alone out here.

Then I hear something echoing in the darkness. I must be delirious. It’s a sound that I’ve been hoping to hear for days. Hugo’s call. But it couldn’t be. Hugo is dead.

And then I feel a set of strong hands grabbing my shoulders. The person hauls me up and over the riverbed. We both collapse into the snow.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Elinor,” Alice says. “I told you Joan was a bitch.”

As I lay there panting, holding on to Alice, I could swear I sense Hugo whimpering and pacing beside me.

Chapter 78