Dire Woods
Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Mrs. Wickaby shook John Joseph and Emily awake at the crack of dawn. They emerged from their blankets, disheveled and groggy eyed.

“It can’t be morning already!” Emily complained. John Joseph wondered, not for the first time, exactly what her grandmother saw in her. He himself was too happy to complain, as for the first time ever, he had a wand he might actually be able to use.

“It’s been morning for at least five minutes,” Mrs. Wickaby exclaimed, “And if we’re going to Haven before John Joseph’s aunt replaces us, we need to get moving quickly.”

Emily grouched all the way out of the tent. She gave a long, loud groan when she spotted the bog cat approaching from the river. “Grandmother, why is that creature still here.”

“It seems to like us,“ her grandmother replied. “And as it’s come in quite handy, I’m not chasing it away.”

John Joseph agreed silently. He’d rather have the bogcat within view than lurking behind him as he stumbled through the woods.

“Breakfast is a little basic,” Mrs. Wickaby continued, “We’ve got cheese, bread and fruit for as we don’t have time to cook, or for that matter, anything we CAN cook. By my reckoning, we’re only a day or so from Blighter’s Bend and there’ll be hot food there.”

“I’ve never heard of Blighter’s Bend,” John Joseph commented. “And it doesn’t sound too cheery.”

The old woman gave him one of her contagious smiles. “It is, actually. You’d have to travel pretty far to replace a more entertaining and welcoming band of cutthroats and misfits.” Her smile became a face-splitting grin. “You‘ll fit right in.”

He hoped so.

Breakfast didn’t take long. A few bites of cheese, some chomps of quickly toughening buns, a molar squish, a gulp of fruit and breakfast was finished.

“Could you two start packing up our gear?“ Mrs. Wickaby asked. “I need a few quiet minutes on my own.“ The old woman went to sit on a mossy outcropping. She plucked a single blade of grass and held it in her hand.

John Joseph and Emily Lavender were bickering within minutes. Emily seemed to think she was in charge and that John Joseph was her personal servant.

“Can you two please do something constructive?” Mrs. Wickaby requested. “Without screaming at each other?”

“Possibly,” Emily admitted, her eyes cast down.

“Then fill the water bags in the river,” she instructed. “I’ll take down the tent.”

They walked in strained silence across the meadow. The enforced truce lasted until they approached the rocky banks of the river.

John Joseph spotted a tiny sandy spot between the bulging stones on the edge of a swirling pool. He figured it would be the safest spot to fill the bags. He inched his way over the moss-covered rock.

“Would you hurry up,” Emily groused.

“I‘m doing the best I can,” John Joseph reminded her, dipping the canvas bag under the surface of the water while trying to maintain his footing on the dew covered rocks. “Why don’t you help instead of just complaining?’

Emily’s cheeks flamed a deep red and her eyes blazed. “Complaining?” she screeched, “What could I possibly have to complain about?” She put a dirt-smudged finger to her chin and stared towards the cloud-speckled sky. “Could it be that I’ve been dragged into these stupid woods where I got oh, four hours sleep in a tent? Could it be that if you and your stuck-up attitude had never shown up at my school or at my grandmother’s I’d be safe in a soft bed right now, not scrambling through swamps with an idiot and his over-sized cat!”

John Joseph felt a heat that started in his stomach and foamed up into his mouth. “You know, you really are the most self-centered girl I’ve ever met,” he retorted. “Do you really think I wanted all this to happen?” The water bags lay forgotten. “Do you really think I wanted my insane aunt coming after me? And speaking about parents and grandparents, at this moment I don’t know if mine are alive or dead.”

Emily’s eyes became slits. “That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Yourself?”

John Joseph threw the empty water container at her feet. “You are the limit,” he shouted. “You are the most obnoxious, selfish person I have ever met and I have had enough of you! I don’t know what the heck happened, but you are nothing like your grandmother and I can’t take another minute of you.”

Emily started, eyes wide in amazement as John Joseph tossed the other, bulging water bag at her feet. “Get the rest of the water yourself!”

He jumped on the closest boulder and scrambled downstream.

“Where are you going?” Emily hollered.

“As far away from you as possible!” he responded.

Emily’s voice faded beneath the sounds of the tumbling water as he skidded from rock to rock.

Who did she think she was, and why did she hate him so much? His foot twisted as he stomped down on a thick patch of moss covered stone. With a crunch, the rock shifted beneath his feet. His arms cart-wheeled as he tried to balance himself. It didn’t work. With a lurch and a bellow, he toppled into the swirling waters.

Sputtering and coughing, John Joseph scrambled to grab onto a rock, a branch, anything. The current was moving too quickly. He was left with a few crushed leaves in his hands.

He careened from side to side, twirling like a frog on a leaf, head down, then up, gurgling and gasping. His legs felt water logged, his body bruised, his brain full of flashing yellow lights. One minute he was flapping like a wounded bird, the next he was sinking like a stone. He didn’t think he was going to make it.

A branch hit him on the side of the head. He grabbed at it weakly. Another limb smacked him, on the arm this time. Then again, one more prodded into his back.

Are the trees trying to kill me? Is the water taking too long to finish me off?

“Grab on!” screamed a voice from the bank. “I’ll pull you in.”

It was Emily.

She poked a large branch at him one more time, but either it was too slippery or his hands were too weak, and it slipped from his grasp.

“Hang on, you idiot!” she hollered. This time scrambling amazingly quickly over the shoreline, she shoved the branch in front of him and he careened right into it. It was enough to slow him down. Enough to let his feet get a slippery purchase on the rocky bed of the creek. He hung on like a leech.

Emily reached down, grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him onto the rocky embankment. “Breathe,” she instructed.

It took five minutes of panting gasps before John Joseph’s heart stopped pounding and he could stand up. Knees trembling, Emily’s arm around him, he stumbled up the shifting edge.

“Thanks,” he whispered, “I thought I was dead.”

“You almost were,” she replied, “and by the way, you’re welcome.”