The Wilds Read online

  The Wilds

  Richard Laymon

  The Wilds copyright ( c ) 1998 by Richard Laymon

  All right reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This tale is dedicated to

  Algernon Blackwood

  with special thanks for

  “The Willows” and “The Wendigo”

  June 16

  I guess I’m all set to go. First thing in the morning, it’s off to the wilds.

  Fun and games.

  I don’t know why I’m doing it. To get over Cora, maybe. Or maybe it’s just to torture myself. Who ever knows about this stuff anyway? The thing is, we had it planned for a month. The day after finals, we’d drive to Lost River Wilderness Area and spend five days backpacking. Just the two of us.

  It was all planned.

  It was about the only thing we talked about, how cool it would be. We mapped the trip, planned the menu, bought camping gear and supplies. We even got okays from our parents. I don’t know what she told hers, but I let mine think I’d be going off to the boonies with a couple of guys from the dorm.

  If they’d known I was going with a girl, they would’ve shit. Probably. They’ve got this thing about me finishing college. They seem to think if I get really serious about a girl, I’ll end up marrying her, dropping out of school and turning into a wino. They would’ve considered a campout with a girl very serious.

  Anyway, they don’t have to worry about me and Cora.

  The bitch. Fuck her.

  I’m going anyway. I’m going without her. Why not? Who needs her? Thoreau says, “I’ve found few companions so companionable as solitude.” Something like that. And he was right. You start getting really close to someone, and the next thing you know you get the dump.

  Well, you can’t dump yourself.

  It’s not that I WANT to go alone.

  I want HER to go with me. Oh, God, it would’ve been so great.

  Shit. This isn’t supposed to be a goddamn whiny sob-sister diary. So cut it out. This is the journal of my great adventure – Ned Champion, Pathfinder, Frontier Scout, Mountain Man.

  June 17

  I slept in. Even after I woke up, I had a hard time getting up. It was like, with Cora gone, there wasn’t any good reason to do anything.

  Pretty dumb. I literally didn’t know she existed until last September when school started. We never talked till we ended up sitting next to each other in French – and that was after the winter break. It was March before we ever did anything together. So, basically, when it comes right down to it, I was going along just fine without her all my life until four months ago. Pretty damn stupid to get so crazy about losing her to that cocksucking piece of shit Whitworth, considering how I used to be just fine without her.

  Hope they both rot and drop dead.

  (There I go again. Oh well. Guess I can write whatever I damn well want. Who’s going to stop me? I’d just better make sure this thing never falls into the wrong hands.)

  Anyway, I didn’t want to get up this morning so I stayed in bed thinking about Cora and how she wasn’t really that big a deal. We’d had a fling for a few months. So what? Plenty of fish in the sea. (That’s what Dad used to always tell me after I broke up with someone. It helped a lot. What a crock.) But the thing is, I told myself that Cora hadn’t been the right girl for me. Obviously, ha ha. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have – anyway, the RIGHT GIRL must be still up ahead for me. Waiting somewhere in the future. Maybe even today.

  So I finally got going. Better late than never.

  The place here is called “Randy’s.” I don’t know whether Randy is the name of the owner or how the waitress makes you feel. Right after I finished my bacon cheeseburger and started catching up with this stuff, she stopped behind me so close that her hip pushed against my shoulder. She wore this very short skirt. She felt hot, and made me hot – hot both ways, embarrassed and horny. I shut the notebook real fast, probably too quick for her to read anything. “Whatcha up-to, honey?” she asked. “You an author?”

  “I’m just keeping track of my travels,” I told her.

  “Gonna put me in there?” Her hip gave me a soft bump.

  I looked up at her. What I saw was mostly boob, but her face was up above it, grinning down at me. “Sure. You’ll be in it.” That seemed to please her, so she mussed my hair for me. Then she went away. It kind of choked me up, the way she’d mussed my hair. I don’t know why. I think it made me feel kind of lonely.

  Her name is Donna, by the way. It’s on her nametag, is how I know. Donna. It’s such a soft, sweet name. It makes me think of marshmallows.

  Anyway, I’d better finish this off and get going. I’ll leave Donna an extra big tip.

  * * *

  I made it. Took longer than I thought, though. I stopped for supper at a really neat place in the boonies. It had gas pumps out front. Inside, it had everything. It was part general store, part bait shop, and had a lunch counter at one end where I ate a cheeseburger and fries. A lot of interesting people were there, including a couple of cute gals, but nobody talked to me so there isn’t much to report.

  I got here after sundown. At dusk.

  By here I mean the end of the line. It’s a roadhead in the middle of nowhere. Cora and I had found it on our map of the Lost River area. It’s as far as you can go by car. Our plan was to park here and start hiking.

  To get here, I had to spend at least an hour on a dirt road that wasn’t any wider than my car. Bushes kept scraping the sides. This roadhead is nothing more than a wide place where the road comes to a stop.

  Mine is the only car here.

  Funny, but I kept on thinking how maybe there would be one other car – Cora’s yellow VW bug. When I drive in, she leaps out and runs to me. We run to each other and hug, both of us crying because we’re so happy about being together again.

  It’s funny the stuff you think after you’ve broken up with someone like that.

  Anyway, she didn’t come. Nobody is here except me.

  It’s kind of spooky.

  I haven’t even stepped out of the car since I got here. But there’s no reason to step out, anyway. Since I’ve arrived so late, my plan is to spend the night in the car. Why bother taking everything out and setting up camp? This way, I’ll save a lot of unpacking and stuff. I’ll be more comfortable, too. And safer, ha ha.

  It’s been getting darker. Right now, all the trees and bushes look like different shades of gray. Nothing outside has much color. It’s like a black and white movie. And the black is everywhere, just beyond where the trees start. You can’t help wondering if somebody is out there, watching you.

  It’s more than just wondering. You feel like someone’s spying on you. Someone wild and predatory.

  Great. I’m going to scare myself if I don’t watch out. I just now had to turn on the “courtesy light.” Now I can see what I’m writing again.

  The doors are locked. Though a lot of good that would do if anyone wanted to get at me.

  I can always drive away if there’s trouble. I’ve kept the key in the ignition, just in case.

  Probably, nobody is out there. The old imagination is doing this to me, cooking up boogeymen.

  It’s all because I’ve never gone out like this alone before. I’ve always camped with Mom, Dad, Bob, the Boy Scouts, or buddies. Never alone. It’s being alone that’s giving me such a bad case of the creeps.

  Nobody is out there – for sure not some kind of slobbering Wildman eager to gnaw my bones. It’s stupid.

  Probably nobody within miles except for me.r />
  June 18

  It’s morning. What a night! I had to quit writing before I was done. I just couldn’t stand sitting in the car with the light on. I felt like I was in a display window. Talk about getting a case of the creeps!

  I’m some outdoorsman, all right.

  Once the light was out, I spent about an hour staring into the dark. It got so I thought I could see people sneaking around, peeking out from behind tree trunks, rushing from one tree to another.

  I climbed into the back seat. Did it like a kid, crawling over the top of the front seat. I did it that way so I wouldn’t have to get out of the car. Then I stretched out and tried to sleep. I shut my eyes. I tried to think pleasant thoughts. Cora sure didn’t qualify. Thinking about her only got me upset.

  So I thought about Donna, instead. The way she looked in her fresh white waitress uniform. The way her hip felt pushing against me. I made up a story in my head about how she wanted me to meet her in the parking lot at the end of her shift. The story didn’t go very far, though. I must’ve fallen asleep pretty fast.

  All of a sudden, I was wide awake and scared. The way I was stretched out along the back seat, the only window in sight was the one above my feet. Moonlight was shining through it.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Any second, some kind of horrible face would press against the glass. I must’ve stared at that damn window for an hour.

  Had a thoroughly wonderful time.

  While that hour was going on, I decided to drive back to civilization first thing in the morning. Screw the camping trip.

  Anyway, I finally figured that the locked doors would probably keep out the boogeyman long enough for me to scurry back into the driver’s seat and get the hell away. That calmed me down. I almost fell asleep again. But then I had to take a leak.

  It wasn’t a necessity yet. But the urge was there. Once you know you’ve gotta go, there’s no way to fall asleep till you’ve taken care of it. All you can do is lay there and think about it and feel it getting worse and worse.

  It shouldn’t have been a problem. I’ve normally got no qualms about peeing outside, just as long as there’s some privacy. But it was a problem. A major problem. If I stepped outside the car, somebody might jump me.

  Totally irrational. But I was totally scared.

  I lay there for the longest time, my problem growing worse, and tried to figure out a solution. One thing was impossible – holding it till sunup. I searched for a container. Nothing. In with my camping gear were things that might’ve been used: water bottle, tin cup, mess kit, hiking boots, and so on. But all that stuff was locked in the trunk. So I couldn’t get to them without leaving the car.

  On my feet were Nikes of porous fabric, which would leak all over the place.

  For a while, I considered climbing into the front seat and driving off. But what would that accomplish? A change of location, that’s all. I wouldn’t be able to hold it long enough to reach civilization.

  So it came to a choice. Do it inside the car and smell the place up, or not.

  For a while, I toyed with the idea of shooting it out an open window. Not being able to stand up, though, how would I go about that? There might be a way to position myself at an open window, but it would be awkward. It would require being snug against the opening (if I wanted to miss the car) with my dick outside my pants. What if somebody reached up and grabbed it?

  Another possibility was to kneel on my seat, ease the door open just a bit, and aim through the gap. Better by far than hanging it out a window. But hardly safe.

  Not being able to see alongside the car – or underneath it – I just couldn’t help but worry that some horrible person might be hiding, waiting to grab me.

  While all these things ran through my head, my condition got worse and worse. Time was running out. Something had to be done soon, or it would be too late.

  Nobody’s out there, I kept telling myself. It’s all in your head. You’re nothing but a little kid afraid of the dark.

  A yella-belly.

  I’ve been called yellow a lot, ever since I was a really little kid. But I had a higher opinion of myself. I wasn’t yellow, just smart. Prudent. Too bright to do something stupid and reckless.

  But sitting in the car last night, gritting my teeth and trying not to pee my jeans, I knew I was yellow. I’d always been yellow and I was still yellow.

  And then I decided to stop being yellow.

  A line from Julius Caesar kept going through my head. It’s one of my favorites. “Danger knows full well that I am more dangerous than he.” I kept thinking that over and over again.

  It’s a little weird what happened next.

  I was a little crazy, I guess.

  It seemed to me that if “Danger” got the idea that I really was “more dangerous than he,” then maybe I’d be safe. Like a Wildman might be afraid to attack a wilder man.

  Something like that probably only makes sense when you’re scared out of your mind.

  Anyway, I actually felt pretty wild as I stripped off my clothes and sprang out the door. Yelling and waving my knife overhead, I ran around the car. After the first trip around, I knew that nobody was lurking there. But I didn’t stop. I dashed around the car again and again and again. To make it look good, maybe. To make it look like I was really a dangerous lunatic.

  Then I dashed straight into the middle of the parking area, where the moonlight was. I stopped in the milky glow, spread my feet wide, arched my back, thrust both arms high and did a pretty good Tarzan call. And answered nature’s call.

  I didn’t feel a bit scared.

  I didn’t feel a bit cold, either, even though a chilly wind was blowing and I didn’t have on a stitch of clothes except for my shoes.

  All I felt was free and wild and excited.

  Between that excitement and how bad I’d needed to go, I probably set some kind of new distance record.

  I felt really good.

  I spent a while outside the car, but then started to worry that a ranger might come along and see me. That’s a laugh. What had happened to being scared to death of wild forest boogeymen?

  Anyway, I got dressed and stretched myself out on the back seat and fell asleep right away.

  This morning, I built a fire and made coffee. I ate some dried fruit and nuts. I’ve been drinking good, hot coffee while working on my journal.

  I changed my mind about driving off. Obviously. Somehow, last night, I conquered my fears of being alone in a place like this.

  I can hardly wait now to get started on my long hike into the depths of the wilds.

  * * *

  A hard uphill slog. My Christ. Switchbacks. And not a tree around for shade. I’m sweating like crazy. Thought I’d stop to rest for a few minutes, catch my breath, write a little.

  I’m almost to the top. I think. I hope.

  Anyway, a fabulous view from up here. Gray, craggy peaks off in the distance. Snow on plenty of them. The valley where I started out is way down there. It’s so thick with forest that I can’t even see the stream where I filled my water bottle and washed up this morning. I can’t see my car, either, but a trace of the dirt road is visible. Not much wider than a hair.

  A while ago, I met some people on their way down. They stopped and talked. A married couple, both pushing thirty I bet, but good looking. Both of them tanned and rugged. Wore matching costumes that made them look like they were on an African safari. But they wore cowboy hats, not pith helmets. They told me about a lake just below the pass, and how it has some decent campsites. They hadn’t stayed there, but they’d stopped by the lake for a rest. “I went in for a dip,” the woman said. “It was quite refreshing.” Quite. She sounded and looked like a snob. They both did, for that matter.

  I wonder what she wore when she took that dip of hers. If anything. Wish I could’ve been there to watch. She looked damn good in her safari outfit, probably looked a lot better out of it.

  Ah, yes. I’m starting to feel better already.


  Time to move on. Hope I don’t drop dead of heat and exhaustion before I get to the top of this damn trail.

  * * *

  Yes yes yes! I made it – God knows how – to the top of the switchbacks. Very windy up there. It’s sort of a pass between a couple of major-league peaks. I kept going until I found the lake. It was about half a mile beyond the ridge, a little bit lower, in a small valley all its own with trees along one side and nothing on the other side except for barren mountainside.

  Nobody is here but me.

  I’m staying. I’ve dumped my stuff at a campsite that has a fire circle with logs around it, and some sheltered, flat areas where people have probably pitched tents from time to time.

  I got out of my hot sweaty clothes. Right now, it’s a little past three in the afternoon. I’m in my swimming trunks and Nikes, sitting on a shelf of granite on the shore of the lake. I’ve got my pen and notebook, my water bottle, a good thick chocolate bar and a couple of trail cookies. The chocolate and cookies are designed for campers. They’re so hard you can hardly bite into them. You feel like you might break your teeth. Good stuff, though. Scrum-bunctious!

  The sun feels warm, but not too hot. There is a mild breeze that smells like Christmas trees. It also smells clean and brisk, making me think of snow. It blows softly against my bare skin.

  The lake is clear blue. It sparkles with sunlight. Its surface is rippled a little by the breeze, and I can hear quiet hushed sounds as the water licks the rock in front of me.

  I can also hear seagulls squealing. A few of them are coasting over the lake, gray or white against the blue of the cloudless sky. It amazes me that there are gulls at these high alpine lakes.

  Getting here was hard. Torture. My legs still tremble and my shoulders ache. It was worth everything, though, to be here in this beauty and solitude.