Moments later, a van roared by. The brake lights illuminated. It swerved off the road about hundred yards ahead. I grabbed binoculars and slipped into the driver’s seat with the AA-12 in my lap.
Three burly men climbed out, shirtless and grimy. Ages ranged thirties to forties, my guess. They walked around a T-boned Escalade in the left lane, packing the standard artillery. Pistols in shoulder and hip holsters. Rifles strapped to their backs. Bulges around their ankles and thighs meant concealed weapons.
A low growl erupted next to me.
“Platz.” My voice was firm. Darwin lay on the floorboard, but his hackles didn’t relax.
They rummaged through a few more SUVs, unable to start or move any of them. Finally, they drove away in the van they came in. I rolled back my shoulders, tried to release the knots there. Then I patted my thigh. Darwin’s head dropped in my lap.
Since Leonard Wood, I had managed to dodge man and aphid. Same could be said about ladybugs, ghost children and other phantasms. Did I miss the visits from my A’s? Most days, the vacant cavity of my existence was too much to bear. Still, amidst the void, something tugged. Kept me moving.
A U.S. map of the east coast sprawled on the drivetrain. We would reach Appalachia soon. I was okay with that. Maybe the mountain air would give me strength. And help me rebuild.
I arrived at the northwestern edge of Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia the next night. Colorful deciduous trees dappled the steep mountain range and warmed my soul.
Darwin hung his head out of the window. The perfume of fertile soil and fallen pine needles swirled around us. The sound of cheery birds and whirring winged insects made me feel less alone. Though I feared alone was the only way a woman could survive in this new world.
I made camp along an overgrown hiking trail and plopped next to my modest campfire. The crickets chirruped in the dense sedge. Rodents stirred up leafy debris. A sward of mountain oat-grass whistled under the erratic flight of a nighthawk. Could I make a future there, in that place full of life? Would the isolation grant the peace I sought? I ran my fingers over Darwin’s back, his body stretched in repose. He seemed to think so.
We spent our first three days content and lazy. I didn’t want to stray from the truck until I trusted the absence of threats. So we picked through the nearby bramble and investigated narrow paths and creeks.
The fourth night, I greased the pistol next to the campfire, sheltered by a wall of saplings and rocks. Something stirred near the Humvee. Darwin sprawled next to me, undeterred. I went back to the pistol.
Footsteps scraped, soft but sure. Darwin didn’t move. I strapped on the carbine and approached the truck.
The forest chatter died and through the silence, I felt her presence. She fluttered within me, surged through my veins.
“Annie?”
A melodious twitter echoed back. I followed it into the thicket. Thorns and stems reached, tearing my legs. Ferns slapped my face. But my clambering was nothing to the sound of my heartbeat.
Annie perched on a slope crowded with sugar maples and American beech. Leaf litter clung to the hem of her dress. She clapped when she saw me. Then she ran, the gold in her hair like metallic ribbons in the moonlight.
I followed her. We sloshed in bogs and waded through streams. I hauled myself over a dead tree, my lungs burning. On and on we went.
My back ached under the weight of the carbine and the speed at which we moved. I was always too far behind. Never able to catch up. Then I smacked into wet rock wall carpeted with lichen and clubmosses and fell on my back.
She stood on the bluff above me. I gulped heavy breaths and contemplated defeat. My ghost didn’t need to climb. She could simply float. My chest ached. Not from exhaustion, but desperation. She curled rosy lips and twirled her skirts. I longed to be with her. To hold her.
I dug in a toe and began the climb, using the roots as rungs. When I reached the crest, she spread out her arms, imitated an airplane, and zoomed down the other side. I wrestled for breaths, my shoulders drooping.
She sang with soprano as she ran.
Ladybird ladybird fly away home
Your house is on fire and your children are gone
I caught up with her in a clearing. She stood in front of a fire surrounded by a shallow stone hearth. Fire? Was that part of the delusion?
Her eyes glittered as I drew near. She continued her ballad.
All except one and that’s Little Ann
For she has crept under the warming pan
I extended my arms to embrace her small frame. Her delicate chin lifted. The freckles on her nose sparkled in the firelight. Then she melted into a shroud of mist between my fingers.