CHAPTER 4: HERE WE GO, VERTIGO
Thickets. Nothing but thickets everywhere. That's what exists beyond the walls of the cabin, and in the absence of halfway-decent machetes, Joe, Nikki, and I are forced to hack and slash through the spiky stems all around us with my knives. We're making so little progress, it's not even funny. I'd ask Joe some questions about the Church of Atropos or whatever. Or I'd ask Nikki to explain how she got here a little better. But it's taking all our concentration to get through this double-damned mess.
I mean, bloody hell...
I stop and hold up my fist as I hear something crunching behind me - and it's neither of my traveling companions. "You hear that?" I ask.
"It's not the bloody hellhound again, is it?" asks Nikki.
Joe and I both do double takes - she's not British, so hearing that word come out of her mouth is a bit strange. Not to mention, it makes me think of Ichabod. Not that I don't want to think of him, but I really don't need the additional distraction right now.
"It can't be," I say. "Unless I only killed it temporarily...which would not surprise me."
"How typical," says Joe. "Dead things don't just stay dead. Which, I know, is ironic coming from a guy who's currently on a mission to return from the dead himself. Go figure."
Nikki looks back, and I resist the urge to make a "turning into a pillar of salt" or, even better, an "Orpheus in the Underworld" joke. There's no more sound from behind us for about ten seconds, and at that point, I elect to lead us forward once again. We can't afford these kinds of delays, or to get jumpy at every single thing that goes bump in this eternal night.
Leading us forward, however, doesn't do us much good when the thicket comes to life and wraps its octopus-like tendrils around us. Then it throws us up into the air as we scream our heads off - at least, until the thickets realize we're making noise and start covering our mouths. I know I'm not the only one shaking my head violently, trying to shake the damn thing off, but it's not working. So I stop, and I relax, hoping it'll help. It should - I saw it in a movie somewhere.
It doesn't get the thicket to let go of me, but it does allow me to get an idea of how it's carrying us. Every so often, its grip relaxes for a split second before redoubling. The whole time, we're moving forward, inexorably.
I think the thicket is basically making us crowd-surf. That's how we're moving.
Moving where, though?
That's what I'm hoping we find out sooner rather than later. Unfortunately, even being able to see over the endless mass of plant life doesn't do us much good - the thicket spreads out as far as the eye can see.
And given how much of it we've been roughly cutting for the last few minutes, I don't expect it to have a kind goal in mind.
...Well, crap.