Page 105 of Mazywood

As a child, he had backed away from killing. He had tracked the monster to its nest and been sure he’d seen those silver-blue eyes staring out at him. But it had been smaller then, nothing like now. If it had been this big, he never would have run away, convincing himself he hadn’t seen anything hiding in…

A tree.

The memory clapped Johnny, making the sky seem brighter. A large tree like something in a fairy tale had stood by itself, a huge trunk with a gap at the bottom big enough for the creature to fit through like a fox. The tree had been dead even then, its branches bare and craggy. Was it still standing?

That tree had been near an escarpment, not in these pines. He barely remembered the pines—just that single craggy tree. Even if the creature’s tracks hadn’t led him to it, he would have guessed that it was its lair on sight. With his rifle in his hands, Johnny felt like a thirteen-year-old doggedly searching for the creature’s trail, except now he was tracking his daughters. But he’d had clear skies then. Snowfall had erased today’s tracks.

Johnny’s breathing sped. He was close. Not a hope, a certainty.

If ghosts were real and not just walking, talking proof that he’d broken with reality, could he summon Uncle Ricky to help him one last time? Or could he talk to Tasha on this terrible day that had stranded his family between the living and the dead?

“Tasha…” Johnny whispered. “If you’re there… I’m coming. Help me find them, baby.”

As if in response, Johnny noticed the smell of smoke. Burning wood. He stopped walking to raise his nose like a sniffing dog, searching for the direction of the fire.

Whether it was his daughters or campers, people had to be nearby.

Breathing harder, hope venting his lungs, Johnny surveyed the area to look for tracks or movement from the creature. Fear of ambush was his reason for silence, but his rifle made him less cautious. He was about to raise his voice to shout for his daughters when he emerged from the thin pines and saw the escarpment of his youth, a snapshot. He oriented himself, taking a few steps into a clearing for a wider view.

The flickering glow beckoned him to the tree standing above it, every bit as imposing as he remembered, so mismatched in this terrain of sparse scrub and thin pines.

A campfire was burning at the mouth of the monster’s tree.

When Imani saw a hunter walking toward their shelter in snowshoes and a single ski pole with a ready rifle, she thought she was only willing herself to see the visage. She noticed that his jacket was the same olive-green color as Daddy’s, but she still stared without moving, waiting for confirmation that he was only a trick of the twirling snow.

She and Sharise were huddled at the mouth of the hollow with their arms folded around their knees, as close to the flames as they could get without being outside. Sharise was hypnotized by the fire, but Imani kept her eyes on the heat-wavy landscape beyond, on the lookout for the Beast. And on her watch, she had imagined this man who looked like Daddy.

The hallucination persisted, walking closer. Nearly tripping in his snowshoes.

“Is that Daddy?” she whispered. Sharise’s chin popped up higher as she stared too. Imani watched Sharise’s face moon, and that was how she knew she hadn’t only dreamed him. Daddy had found them! And somehow, he had the rifle.

“Daddy!” Imani yelled.

“Stay inside!” Daddy’s voice was hoarse almost beyond recognition. “Are you both there? Are you okay? Where’s Sharise?”

“I’m right here!” Sharise called, her tears streaming again. But she was grinning.

Imani observed her sister’s joy as if she were behind a glass pane, separate. Imani felt it too—some of it, anyway—but her emotions were dulled as if she were on her medication.

“We’re not hurt!” Imani said, since Daddy needed the facts. “We tried to find Mom, but we lost the tracks! I ran out of bullets.”

“That’s okay,” Daddy said, making his way closer. Finally, he was standing directly over the fire, his breath a cloud as he exhaled. His clothes smelled like home, even the sharp scent of his perspiration. “You did real good. Real good. I reloaded it. Just… stay there.”

They had shelter. They had fire. They had a gun. They had Daddy. They might survive.

“I was praying so hard that you would find us!” Sharise was saying. “It worked!”

But Imani noticed how hard Daddy was breathing and that his jaw was shaking. Now that he was closer, she saw the frost pasted to his hair and eyebrows. He wasn’t wearing a hat. He had a jacket, but he was covered in snow as if he had been rolling in it. Hypothermia. The word came to her. Daddy had been hurt before he started looking for them, and the search had cost him.

Daddy staggered to the side of the fire to lean inside the nook and hold his gloved hand out to them. They both clasped him tightly. Imani wished he could fit inside with them. This painful separation tainted their reunion.

“Okay…” Daddy said, still breathing hard. “Okay… we’re together.”

“Daddy, I have an emergency blanket,” Imani said.

“Good. Yeah, hand that to me. Thank you, muffin.” Daddy hadn’t called her muffin in years. His voice sounded slightly slurred, but Sharise didn’t seem to notice. Imani released his hand to scramble to grab the blanket from the rear of the shelter, where it was crumpled, shining in the firelight.

“Dad, Imani is a badass,” Sharise said. “She almost shot it! And she built this fire. She’s so good at this stuff.”