The Black Seas of Infinity (29 page)

Desolate stretches of grassland lead into
weedy thickets harboring a few trees. Deeper forest shouldn’t be
far. I was trying to avoid this with the Land Rover, but I’ll take
what I can get.

Straining my hearing, I can make out the
sounds of a highway far off to the left. The motors of distant
automobiles are vaguely discernible over the more proximate bustle
of small animals and insects. I don’t know my range, but it sounds
miles away. I wonder what it is? Route 199? Not that it really
matters.

The sun has spanned much of the sky by the
time I finally enter some real woods. The diversity of life here is
astounding. Centipedes as large as snakes. Crickets the size of
rats. Giant iguanas crawl around unmolested, surveying me with a
cool detachment. The hard black shell of a flying insect that looks
like a cross between a bee and a fly, except that it’s the size of
a half-dollar, whines by with an annoying buzz. As far as I know I
don’t radiate any ambient heat or scent. My motion might attract
attention, but nothing that should disrupt the wildlife too much.
Animals tend to keep their distance regardless, fearing you more
than anything. The ground remains smooth and level, not quite the
decent into the tropics I had anticipated. Packed dirt predicates
an abundance of small trees, their skinny trunks stretching out
into a flurry of red gum leaves, the upper reaches tangling
together into a throng of foliage that blocks out the sky. Blots of
sunlight speckle the floor, flowing over the endless maze of roots
and palms that weave in and out among the underbrush.

Often, every step forward is a fight, the
vegetation so thick it snares and entangles. I almost trip half the
time, hidden roots snagging my foot. A swarm of insects throng
about my legs. Green aphids, crawling arachnids in lime green and
shimmering gold, and strange, bright orange creatures that look
like oversized ants, all caught up in my invading tromp through
their native habitats. They can’t bite me, but some deeply buried
revulsion still lingers. The brush thins out in areas, the ground
becoming more level and giving way to huge, blooming flowers and
lush, overgrown plants.

Night sets, and the forest falls into
blackness, but a blackness unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
I’m bombarded with the sounds of croaking frogs and bustling
insects. I can’t see a foot in front of me. Feeling useless, I
squat on the ground to wait until morning. It turns out to be
easier said than done. The impatience is a mind killer. After a few
minutes, I anxiously stand up and try to walk. I move a few feet
before I smack into a tree. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s abrupt and
makes me feel stupid. I try to walk around it, and trip over a nest
of roots, flailing in an awkward plunge toward the forest floor. My
hand catches something, skimming loose bark as I crash down into a
rotted tree trunk. Tiny insects swarm over me as I’m subjected to a
rain of decaying wood. Leaping up, I scour my face, my vibrating
motion spilling me sideways and into a cluster of jagged rock. A
jarring collision, and I fall backwards into the waiting embrace of
the forest floor. Seething in anger, I pound my fists into the
ground, vowing to make plenty of torches for the next night. Then I
roll over into a slumped squat and wait for daylight.

It seems to take forever, but dawn finally
breaks. A misty dawn, all but obscured by the omnipresent fog. I
stumble around. It’s somewhat futile, but at least I can see enough
to avoid the trees. A giant span of fern leaves materializes out of
the mist. Parting the verdant curtains, another tree looms in
front. I start to inch around it and almost trip as I stumble
through a mess of roots. Shuffling around awkwardly, I lurch
forward. Hidden underbrush keeps snagging my feet, causing me to
sway unsteadily. I’m probably traveling in circles. Foraging down
through the veiled brushwood at my feet, I pick up a random stick.
Maybe I can use it as some sort of navigational aid. Wandering
blindly forward, the outstretched stick plumbing the foggy depths,
I hit some resilient barrier, and the soggy branch snaps in half.
Great. Dropping the sprig, I tramp forward, hands outstretched,
feeling utterly ridiculous.

Finally the fog thins and I begin to make
some progress. I climb fallen trees, circle blooming flora, and
seem to be always ducking some hanging vine or low-lying branch.
After a few hours I finally break out of the thick and onto the
grassy shoulder of a small creek. The water has dug a path through
the soil, the walls dropping down three feet and scarred with the
protruding roots of nearby trees. The current is a seething flow of
murky water. I wonder how deep it is. I pick up a stone and toss it
in. It sinks with a liquid gurgle, announcing nothing. I jump in,
the water rising only to my knees before my feet slam into the
lumpy riverbed. As I start to wade across, something clamps tightly
onto my ankle. Reaching down, I sift through the water until my
hand catches something long and slimy. I rip the snake free from my
leg, pulling it out of the depths and up to eye level. It’s black,
with a charming yellow stripe flowing down the center. Probably an
inch thick, it trashes around in my hand. I toss it down the creek
and keep walking. A few short steps, and I reach the opposite bank.
Another three-foot wall of mud, it’s dotted with spindly roots.
Grabbing a bundle of roots in each hand, I attempt to pull myself
up. I almost make it, the roots breaking at the last minute,
dropping me back into the water. Waves shoot up on all sides, my
heavy frame quickly cleaving through into the mass of pebbles
below. A grinding crunch, and the water swells back in, burying me
beneath the currents. I lie still for a moment, staring up through
the milky veil at the abstract blurs of darkness and light,
thinking how pointless all this can seem.

Rising back up, I grab a new bundle of roots,
pulling more together this time in as wide of a grasp as I can
manage. A couple of gentle yanks, and they don’t move. Seems solid
enough. I dig my feet into the embankment and make a second
attempt. My feet slip a few times, and some of the roots pull
loose, but I manage to scramble over the top. Dripping muddy water,
I keep walking.

The overhead light, filtering down through
the gaps in the leaves, shifts as time passes. The shadows slowly
drift from west to east as the hours tick by. I start looking
around for sticks to burn. Most of the branches are wet, and a few
are rotten, falling apart in a barrage of insects as I pick them
up.

I toss aside more than I keep, but manage to
collect an armful. I’m sure this would be hugely annoying if I had
to worry about muscle fatigue, but aside from feeling a little
bizarre, I tromp around with the growing cluster in my arms. I slow
my step—no quick hands to save me from a sudden fall! But the
leisurely pace beats a night of sitting and doing nothing.

Time passes, and it starts to grow dark. I
drop the bundle and try to remember the Boy Scout trick of rubbing
two sticks together to start a fire. It’s been quite a while, but
my memory has become much sharper now.

I eventually get my small pile of bark and
twigs smoldering, then it blossoms into a full-on fire. Picking a
large stick out of the remaining bundle, I bury the tip in the
flame. The end ignites, and I pull it free. Holding it aloft, I
stomp out the ground fire and wander forward. The trees have become
dark pillars, my shifting glow casting flickering patches of
brilliance and throwing the depths into a deeper gloom. I know I
have nothing to fear, but the thick of the forest at night in an
unknown country is surreal at best. No amount of reasoned banter is
going to chase away the dark shadows of the night, I don’t care
what anyone says. It doesn’t help that I know there are things out
there well beyond explanation.

The torch keeps me from walking into trees,
although I still manage to stumble over underbrush. The branch
burns up faster than I anticipated, and when it’s nearing its last
few inches, I start scouring the forest floor for more wood.
Finding a dry stick, I light it just as the previous limb has
burned down to within an inch of my hand. If I were human, I would
have dropped the old torch in pain long ago, but aside from a
slight sensation of warmth, I feel nothing. Just to be on the safe
side, I start looking around for more. Holding the torch aloft, I
bend over and slowly scan the tangle of leaves and soil. I hear a
soft crack, presaging something of substantial size approaching. A
sharp mass pounds into my ribs, lifting me up and throwing me
sideways. Then everything dissolves in a fiery brilliance.

The intense light pulls away, receding into
nothingness as I find myself in the heart of a crater. Charred
earth encircles me, the singed fringes of tree limbs still alight
in a ring of miniature flames. Beyond the crackle of fire I hear a
muted gibberish in Spanish. Then a round slams into my
shoulder.

Way to seal the deal! You want to play? We’ll
play! I run my hand through the soil, feeling for a rock. Alighting
on one about golf-ball-sized, I scan the trees for movement. The
circle of flames marginally hides the antagonists, but a light slit
for the eyes, perfectly outlined by shadows, is a dead giveaway. I
hurl the rock. With a moist thud, it burrows robustly through flesh
and bone, cracking off a tree. A muffled wallop is followed by the
sight of a limp body rolling out of the bushes. It looks like a
member of the rebel group I encountered earlier. Little sandy
spurts explode around me as the guerrillas shell me with retreating
fire. I walk over to the corpse. Definitely some para-military foot
soldier. A belt harboring an RPG shell loops over his brown vest.
That would probably be what I was hit with. A familiar red bandanna
girdles a thick neck, a scrap of pinkish-white brain protruding
from the damp gash in the back of his head. Flipping him over in
disgust, I riffle through his vest pockets and find a Maglite.

This will come in handy!

Elated, I kick him aside, thumb the light on,
and wander through the circle of fire and into the woods.

The forest is beginning to lose its charm
with all this endless wandering. I spend a couple more days
stumbling around before the light finally dies. It fades with a
slowly dimming aura, the black mass of forest steadily closing in
until only a small circle of illumination remains. The blurred
traces of something pulls the edge of my sight, and I swivel
quickly to catch it. Nothing! As I slowly turn back to the front, I
hear the muffled sound of faint laughter. What the fuck? That
sounded human! A glimpse of something pale tears between the trunks
ahead of me, and my light promptly fails. I stumble forward, my
feet catch on a swarm of roots, and I trip, crashing knee first
into what feels like a stump. Glancing off, I spill sideways into a
mass of underbrush. I try to pull up, but vines hold me back.
Tearing angrily through, I cleave apart the foliage in a desperate
effort to get free. With a dry rip, the flora parts to reveal a
dimly lit forest floor. I can’t make out the source of light, which
seems to come from everywhere all at once.

The floor ascends into a sandy bank that
stretches between the distant trunks. A blur of motion, and a
figure bursts out from behind the far right tree, darting toward
the next trunk in a flurry of ebony dreadlocks and tan skin. Olive
corduroy jeans tightly hug legs in fluid motion, the small, unclad
breasts bobbing up and down in a steady rhythm. I pause for a
moment. That looks like my wife! Just as she is disappearing behind
the far tree, I burst forward, trying to call after her, but I
can’t talk!

Rounding the trunk, I see her figure running
into the woods. I pursue, madly scrambling around bushes and
through undergrowth. The ground slopes up, and she ascends, her
pace not slowing with the incline. I pump my legs as hard as they
will go, but I can’t gain ground. Just as the peak crests, she
turns back, still running, her eyes looking straight through me in
a dreamlike trance. She leaps forward with a soft cry, just as I
catch up with her. I can see the ground below her. It’s a huge,
rock-encrusted hole. I try to scream with all my might, the
frenzied sounds of utter terror and frustration coursing through my
head in hot waves. She plunges, a giddy smile still on her face,
and somehow I know she’s disappeared into a bottomless abyss. I’m a
human being again, for a moment, and tears well up in my eyes. A
flash, and I’m back in the woods, clothed in darkness and on my
knees. My hands grab the sides of my head. I slump into a ball and
weep silently. Hours pass, and I don’t move the rest of the
night.

The next day, I come across some half-buried
remains. Probably a village at one time, the piled stones have long
since succumbed to the ravages of time. An aura of something long
dead and not altogether wholesome lingers. The woods are utterly
silent. No breeze disturbs the foliage. Nothing moves in the
mottled light. The animals and insects appear to be avoiding this
place. Curious. Turning, I wander back into the forest. Any path
leading from the village has long since been swallowed up, making
it more of a curiosity than a guidepost.

It takes another day and a half, but
eventually I see the remnants of stones that, at one point in
history, were influenced by human hands. I follow these curious
markers for a while through the forest, most of them half-buried
under an avalanche of greenery, and eventually they become more
populous. The ground levels out as well, as though it were some
ancient path or trail.

The small totems flow up a steep hill
smothered by underbrush. I start to climb, fighting my way through
a gargantuan tangle of thorns. My feet lose their bearing, and I
almost fall in a half-buried sinkhole, grasping onto overhanging
vines at the last minute.