"Into the Woods"

Spencer cut his engine and set the kickstand, parking his motorcycle on the side of the road, near the bluff that supported the road above. Stepping off, he joined Jacks and Stovepipe at their vehicle as they looked out at the deep gash in the road. The trio had made it across the slide debris—Jacks' trike wallowed up the slope like a behemoth, while Spencer zipped ahead with ease. The collapsed road was more effectively blocking their path, however.

"Well that's a bitch," Stovepipe said, spitting over the edge and watching it fall.

Jacks shrugged. "Looks like we're on foot from here. I just hate leaving my baby out here in the middle of nowhere though." He ran one massive hand over the trike's sleek chrome frame.

Spencer knelt in the dust at the broken edge of the gap. He traced deeply gouged hoof marks with his fingers, then examined the tracks left by a two-wheeled vehicle with narrow tires. "Somebody went across here," he said, straightening and wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Too bad that somebody ain't gonna be us," Jacks said as he opened the large panniers on the back of his bike. "Come get your junk, 'Pipe."

From the edge, Spencer had a view straight down the mountainside. Below he could see a few heavier vehicles struggling with the landslide. As the faster travelers separated from the slower, the mass of Hunters had thinned out over the course of the morning. As they each reached this first test, most would find it impossible and be forced to turn back or find an alternate route.

Spencer turned to see Stovepipe pull his machete from its sheath and examine the edge before sliding it home. He secured the weapon to his back with a harness that crossed his chest. Much like Jacks, his arms were bare and dusty, but he wore a vest of sturdy leather covered with overlapping metal discs. A pair of leather bracers covered by thin strips of metal protected his arms. Instead of pants, the dwarf wore a green kilt and sandals laced up to his blue knees.

"Um, Stovepipe," Spencer said as he retrieved his own pack from where it had been strapped to the rear of his motorcycle. "I've been meaning to ask you, mate—"

"What's with the blue?" Stovepipe interrupted. "Don't worry, people ask all the time. It's a vegetable-based dye. I bathe in it every two, three weeks to freshen the color."

"But why?"

"Why not?" Stovepipe shrugged. "I like being blue."

"Actually, that isn't what I was going to ask," Spencer said, scratching the back of his head. "Where'd you get a name like Stovepipe?"

"Oh, that's easy!" Stovepipe reached into one of the panniers and withdrew a tall black hat with a flat top and narrow brim. "It's 'cause of my hat," he said, pulling it down on his head.

"Right," Spencer nodded, a slightly dazed expression crossing his face.

Jacks finished slipping wooden stakes into loops on his belt and hefted a massive mace, resting it on one shoulder. The spikes studding its cylindrical head gleamed in the late morning sun. "Either of you two ladies got one of them maps?" he asked. "I kinda lost mine."

Spencer rummaged in his pack, eventually digging out a piece of crumpled paper. "Yeah, here."

Jacks accepted it, smoothing out the creases. "This map sucks," he said, frowning as he examined it.

"The sheriff did say nobody's been up here for a while," Stovepipe said.

"Yeah, but this thing don't even have those logging trails we passed earlier." Jacks gave the map back to Spencer. "Worthless piece of crap."

Stovepipe knelt and tightened the laces on one of his sandals. "Who cares, man? We know which way to go." He straightened and pointed at the road above them, where it continued to ascend, inaccessible. "Up."

Jacks laughed, hitching the mace higher on his shoulder. "Now I remember why I keep you around." He and Stovepipe headed for the shoulder of the road, where thick grass made a narrow verge beside the road and led into the encroaching forest.

Stovepipe paused and turned back, looking at Spencer. "You comin'?"

"Huh? Oh, right." Spencer looked up from studying the map. "You're right, mate. Map's no good, but it did show a river or somethin' off the road a ways." He shoved the map into his pack and slung the pack over his shoulder, trotting to catch up with the others. "Might be an easier way than straight up the hill."

Jacks shrugged as the trio entered the shade of the forest's edge. "I'm thinking straight up alongside this road's gonna save more time. Gotta get around this damn bluff though."

"We could just climb it," Stovepipe said.

"You're kiddin' me, right?" Jacks rolled his eyes and glared back over his shoulder at Stovepipe, who was jogging in an effort to keep up with the huge man.

Stovepipe shrugged. "Just a thought."

Spencer, taking the rear position, craned his neck upwards, looking at the top edge of the offending escarpment. "It's not too high, but looks pretty crumbly. I don't think I'd wanna try it. 'Least, not without ropes and gear."

"See!" Jacks called back from his position as trailbreaker.

The three Hunters pressed on, following the cliff as it ran perpendicular to the road. The foliage became denser as they moved away from the road, blocking out much of the sunlight and leaving them in an eerie green twilight. They ate from their supplies as they walked, not wanting to waste time stopping for the noon meal.

To their left, the cliff gradually dropped away, or rather, the faint trail they seemed to be following rose on a slight incline. After another hour of walking the cliff remained no more than a jumble of broken boulders strewn across the steep incline. Scrub trees and twisting vines grew among the stones, and around them dark columns of trees rose tight together, with little growing between their trunks. Damp leaf litter covered the ground in thick layers. Around and above them, the forest was alive with birdcalls and the rustling of wings and small creatures.

"Hold up," Jacks said, dropping his mace and resting his meaty hands on the pommel. Stovepipe sank down on a nearby stump and started fishing around in his sandal with his finger.

Spencer shifted the shoulder strap of his rifle to a more comfortable position and crossed his arms, standing at ease. "What's up, mate? Tired already?"

"You dream," Jacks said with a rude gesture and a grin. "Naw, I figure it's time to decide. Up, or find that river."

Stovepipe flicked a pebble out of his sandal. "I vote up."

"That's two," Jacks said, "counting me."

Spencer remained silent, looking past his two companions deeper into the woods. "River," he finally answered. "Sorry mates, I just got kind of a feelin' about this one."

"Hell, nothin' to be sorry about!" Jacks slapped Spencer on the shoulder, nearly knocking him down. "You got your way, we got ours."

Stovepipe waved as he walked past. "See ya, man. Hope you find some werewolves, 'cause we're gonna be cashing in the big prize."

Spencer smiled and watched them push ahead, climbing over the tumbled rocks littering the slope. Their voices drifted back even as their figures grew indistinct in the green half-light. "Hey look, there's even a path this way," Spencer heard Stovepipe call out. Concern briefly clouded Spencer's features, and he unslung his rifle. Flicking the safety to OFF, he set out in a new direction, diagonally away from the path his friends trod.

Deep in the gloom, shadowy shapes flickered between the ancient trunks, slipping in and out of view. As they ran, the birds overhead fell silent and the small creatures scurrying in the leaves below froze in terror. A chilling aura swept out in all directions as they loped between the trees, gray ghosts at home in the perpetual twilight. Even after they passed and were gone, the forest remained silent and still.

-------------------------

The wind of her passage whipped her tangled hair into even more impossible knots as Marcella pushed her bike as much as she dared up the twisting mountain road. Here the trees were thick, growing right up to the road—even into it. Some hardy specimens had taken advantage of cracks and thrust themselves upward through the decaying surface, their roots splitting the ancient pavement even further as they pushed it aside. Branches spread above, enclosing the road, now little more than a track, in cool shade. Marcella was grateful for the protection for without her hat she was more vulnerable to the sun and had already expended a great deal of energy this day.

Marcella knew something was amiss when she saw D standing beside his horse. As she approached, the trees that had pressed close to the road, obscuring her view, suddenly cleared and she could see why he had stopped. The road was gone. Completely.

As though a giant or some great, impossible force had carved away the mountainside, a vast chasm sliced across not only the road but the land to either side. In the distance, the mountain rose in huge, squared-off terraces with sheer, almost polished sides. Nothing grew on them—any soil was long swept away by wind or water until only bare stone remained. The road extended a short distance over the chasm but some time in the past it had fallen, leaving only a broken stump.

Marcella brought her bike to a halt beside D. "That doesn't look natural," she said, raising her dusty goggles to get a better look. She squinted in the bright sun.

"It isn't," he replied. A cool wind from across the chasm stirred his dark hair and fluttered the hem of his cloak, disturbing the absolute stillness of his form. "From the look of the cuts, I'd say this was a quarry. It was probably where the Nobility harvested stone for the castle."

"Is there any way across?" Marcella could see a similar stump of road on the far side, indicating there was once a bridge. The road then sliced into one of the huge steps as it continued its way toward the castle. "At the least, would climbing down and crossing it from below be an option?"

D shook his head. "The walls of the ravine are perfectly smooth. It's quite deep as well."

Marcella rubbed her forehead, smearing dirt. Standing in direct sunlight was rapidly making her feel ill and she glanced back at the trees lining the road and their welcoming shade. "What do you suggest then?" she asked, her voice strained and tired. She looked up in shock at a slight touch on her shoulder.

"It's nearly noon," D said, his pale face unreadable. "Stay here, rest in the shade. I'll look for a way across."

Marcella wondered if she had imagined the touch. She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut immediately to seal in the moan that tried to escape. Her thoughts swirled in confusion—she needed to get out of the sun, immediately. Nodding her agreement with D's plan, she stumbled back toward the trees, leaning on her bike more than pushing it.

D followed, leading his horse. He stopped it near Marcella's bike, which she had propped against a large tree. It snorted at the smell of gasoline wafting from the engine. D calmed with a low-spoken word, then flipped the reins over the horse's head and left them to trail on the ground. This activated the horse's programming to remain in that spot as if tied.

Marcella unslung her backpack and dropped it on the ground. As though her legs could no longer hold her weight she sank to the grass beside it. The ground was cool beneath her, and already her head was starting to clear although it ached fiercely. She looked up to see D standing nearby, his expression inscrutable. "What?" she asked.

"You should have a hat," he said and removed his own, offering it to her.

Marcella stared at him for a moment, confusion and surprise plain on her face. Suddenly scowling below the dark goggles perched on her head, she waved the hat away, refusing it. "I don't need a pity-hat," she muttered, looking away. Snatching her pack she wrenched it open and shoved her hand inside, rummaging. In a moment she extracted a wadded nightshirt. Marcella shook it out with a vicious snap, then ripped the seam out of one side.

D put his hat back on and watched as Marcella twisted and prodded at the nightshirt, tucking in the material until something resembling a lumpy gray turban covered her head. One sleeve flopped over her sightless right eye. She left the shirt tail draped across her shoulders to protect her neck. Leaning back against the tree with a smug look, Marcella pulled the small metal case out of her vest and took out a dark cigarette, lighting it with a match struck off her boot.

"I'll be back soon," D said, turning away. As he did a slight expression flickered across his face. Had anyone seen it, they might have thought the Vampire Hunter looked annoyed for that split second. He walked away, returning to the chasm's brink to follow it as it sliced through the forest.