The Woodlands

For a moment, it was quiet. I heard birds off in the distance, a flutter, a foreign scampering sound of some unknown, forest-dwelling creature. We sat there for about an hour, pushing our toes into the mud, looking at the endless sky, the odd cough breaking the stillness. As I watched, little puffs of pink smoke were being exhaled by the girls. They floated up, carried by the breeze, dissipating into the atmosphere.

Then it started, very slowly. At first.

It began with restlessness—girls moving, shaking their heads, and touching their stomachs. Then we heard a girl shout out, then another, and then soon there was an immense chorus of wailing girls. I realized then that the purple smoke was some kind of quick working antidote to the fog. Some of them were screaming, “What have you done to me?” Some were crying, some were calling out for help. One thing was clear—these girls had woken up. The drugs were wearing off. The people in white were exchanging glances, nervously. What they had said before was true. There was only one of them to ten girls. One man was bracing himself, his fists clenched, his chest puffed out, as if ready for a charging stampede. I saw one, with a face as white as her coat, drop her gear and run for the trees. Action was necessary but they all stalled. Then the decision was made for them, as girls started to stand and run. Some pushed through, parting the bodies like they were swimming through a fleshy sea. Some just ran right over the top of the others. Most of them were trying pull themselves out of the fog still, and they were the first ones that received the needle to the arm.

It was pandemonium—girls dropping to the ground unconscious, girls fighting, girls screaming hysterically. One girl was louder than most, yelling, “It’s coming, it’s coming.” I stood up to help, but Clara was holding my arm, not allowing me to step forward. For someone so small, she seemed immensely strong, her iron grip making an imprint on my forearm.

Soon the needles were too time-consuming and the bigger men started walking through the crowd, knocking girls out with large, rubber batons. Swiping and chocking them in the temples like they were knocking posts into the ground. There was blood and pain all around me. I felt my nerves about to fray and spark into a thousand tiny threads, each one pulling at me, hurting me—burying hundreds of shocking, violent images in my memory.

A few girls who were not far along, their stomachs showing little or no bulge, turned on one of the men. He was hitting out at them desperately as they scrambled and scratched at his face, their eyes feral. They took him down and grabbed his satchel, needles falling to the sodden ground. One of the girls picked up a needle and plunged it into the man’s eye. Her reddish hair swung around her face as she whipped it from side to side quickly. She crouched over him like a deranged, wild creature protecting its prey. I have never heard a noise like that in all my life—a gurgling, strangled scream like a stuck animal. Just for good measure, the girl elbowed the man in the face, ceasing the screaming. She then sprung from her crouched position into a full sprint, her long legs carrying her gracefully to the edge of the woods and beyond.

Then I was dragged into the play. A man, badly bleeding from his leg, was limping towards me. At first, thinking he needed help, I moved towards him, not noticing the baton in his hand until it was too late. He raised it above his head, his eyes showing no mercy. He was as delirious as those girls, caught up in the craziness. I put my arm over my head and shut my eyes. Not even thinking to run or fight back, just sitting there, an easy target. I heard the deadening thwack of wood against flesh and opened my eyes to see him fall to the ground. Clara stood above me with a blood-stained branch in her hand.

“We have to go,” she said as she jerked me to my feet. Where she was pulling this strength from I’ll never know, but I followed her into the forest, leaving behind me a mess of panicked souls on both sides. To my left and right there were girls ru

Clara kept charging through, never letting go of my hand, never looking back. I, on the other hand, was fervently looking backwards, forwards, and sideways, wondering how long it would be before someone caught up with us. Anticipating rough arms grabbing my shoulders and pulling me down. Suddenly Clara stopped dead and listened, her head cocked sideways like a wolf.

“What are you doing?” I shivered as a breeze blew through my thin, cotton gown.

“Shh!” she said, pressing her tiny, dark finger to my lips.

I didn’t want to stop. I could barely hear the girls anymore. I didn’t want to think about why that was. I was hoping against hope that if we kept going, maybe we wouldn’t get caught, that we could escape this nightmare. I started tugging on Clara’s arm, figuring the horror had just hit her and she was temporarily incapacitated.

“Get down,” she hissed. But it was too late. I felt the sting, and then warmth coursing through me, before I dropped to the ground.

I was getting quite tired of waking up like this. Being rendered unconscious and coming to in a strange state or a strange room. I knew they must have caught us or at least me. Maybe Clara had got away. I hoped so. I was captured, I was sure of it. I had that same groggy feeling I always had after being jabbed in the arm by the White Coats.

I opened my eyes, fluttering them suspiciously, not really wanting to see the sickly glow of the ceiling of my underground room. But what greeted me was not the glowing fluorescent lights from the room Clara and I shared, but the night sky. A million twinkling stars, against a deep, dark black. I reached my hands out to touch it. Surely it was painted on. But my fingertips were only grasping at air.

“It’s real,” he said. That voice. Full of sadness. Kind and regretful. I hadn’t heard that voice in such a long time. I didn’t want to look. I must have been dreaming. It was not just unlikely, it was impossible that he could be here. I let myself dream a little longer and continued to stare at the sky. One side of me felt cold as ice. The other side, a little too warm. I looked to my left to see flames dancing in the half-light. I counted five other bodies lying by the fire. One tucked up in a sleeping bag, with an enormous mound of a stomach illuminated by the fire, masses of black, springy hair protruding from the head end of the bag. She had her back turned to me but it was Clara. Thank God she was all right. I swept my eyes in a circle above me, the sun was gone but I could still make out shapes of tall trees looming over the top of us. Pines.

My stomach grumbled. I was starving. I pulled myself to sitting.

“Are you hungry?” he said. That voice. I turned around, ready for the dream to disintegrate. His face was the same as it had always been. Still smiling, although he looked tired and perhaps a bit thi

He handed me a piece of bread and some dried meat without waiting for an answer. I had a million questions to ask him. But my stomach had other ideas. I grabbed the food and started devouring it. He waited patiently, hands collapsed casually over his knees, watching me polish the food off, licking my fingers. The leech kicked me and I moved uncomfortably, putting my hand to my stomach.

Joseph’s eyes showed concern as he moved towards me just slightly. Concern and something else indiscernible. The fire casting orange light on his beautiful face, lighting his hair up like a crown of gold. Sadness swamped me. I must have looked so different to him, a swollen, pitiful teenager. Most of the time, I tried to pretend it wasn’t there, but with someone from my past staring at me, it was hard to ignore.