Dead Roots (The Analyst) (26 page)

“Is he still following us?” Artie called out. There was no answer. It was then that he realized there were no footsteps, either. He swallowed, and felt a twinge in his chest.

“Hello?”

********

Can you understand me?

“Yes.”

You will go back, and remove Akebara from here.

“Am I... dead?”

Can you understand me?

“I said, yes.”

Then you are dead.

You will go back. Do you understand?

“I don't.”

You will go back. I will do this for you, this one time. Do you understand?

“Wait, what's going on?”

I will have my due, and you will go back. Remove Akebara. I will not help you again.

“I don't-- why are you...”

********

Artie felt the codeine taking its course. It had been several minutes since he'd seen any sign of either of his companions. He held the revolver at the ready, but the only footsteps he heard were his own.

He'd backtracked what felt like miles with no sign of either of his companions. He couldn't figure out which of his impulses to follow. Had they gone on ahead? Had something gotten them? Were
they
looking for
him?
He didn't know where to start, so for a long while, he just stopped, and stood still.

Suddenly, there was something.

In the days when he was starting out, he had tried to describe them as a 'glow', but his definition had evolved since then. They weren't visible to the eyes, but he sensed them in his mind as if they were shining like campfires in the black forest. Now he knew what he was dealing with, and he felt much more at ease.

The glowing figures, as he might've described them to the uninitiated, were looking as lost as he was. They were some thirty or forty feet apart from each other. One was Heather, and the other was Keda. Heather had her shotgun propped up and was wheeling around frantically, her mouth moving in silent yells. Keda was stationary and calm.

Artie nodded. Keda knew what was happening, and knew to stay put. Heather was not so lucky.

The three of them could not see, nor hear each other. Akebara had thrown a veil over their senses of sight and sound. Artie could sense his friends now, in his mind's eye, but they remained silent, and invisible. He would have to be the one to act.

As he approached Heather, the codeine's effects deepened, and he realized they were no longer alone in the woods. What he could only describe as hands ascended up from the ground. He interpreted them as red, awful things, not glowing brightly like his friends, but emanating and ebbing such that he could sense them but not quite focus on them.

They were everywhere. For every few trees there was now a hand rising up out of the ground, on the ends of long, shapeless stalks.

One suddenly sprouted up just next to Artie. He startled and stepped back in a futile effort to get out of its reach. It snapped forward and grasped his shirt. He grabbed the 'wrist' and pried the thing off of him. He pointed the revolver flat against its palm and fired. The hand dropped to the ground immediately and the stalk retracted, sending the hand retreating back into the ground.

Several were popping up near Heather. She hadn't seen them yet, and Artie knew she couldn't hear his gun going off. He approached her quickly. A hand arced forward and grabbed her by the hair. Artie saw her scream, saw her fire her gun at the air. She grabbed at the thing holding her, scratching at it with her nails. Another one snaked along the ground and gripped her ankle.

Artie made his way through the trees as quickly as he could. By the time he reached Heather, another hand had grasped her wrist. A fourth was trying to tear the shotgun away from her. She fired silently, making it hesitate.

Artie grabbed the one pulling at Heather's hair. He pushed the gun up underneath its wrist, making sure it wouldn't hit Heather before he fired. She could not hear the gunshot, so her ears were safe. Its grip waned, but didn't release. Spurred, he pried its fingers off one by one and then gripped one hard, still holding it by the wrist. He twisted it until he felt the bone snap.

 The hand shook and convulsed in his grip. He wrapped his fist around another one and broke that one, too. He released it. The hand shook as it hit the ground, presumably in pain. It slid along the ground, its stalk taking it back into the earth.

Heather fell to the ground, dropping her gun. The hand on her ankle was dragging her along the forest floor. Artie rushed over and stood on it, stopping it. He knelt down and scrabbled for a strong twig.

Artie snapped the end of the twig over his knee, feeling the tip of it with his finger. With the thing's arm wriggling underneath his foot, he pressed the sharp, broken end of the stick into its hand, pushing and pushing until he felt the skin yield. The hand convulsed and released its hold. Artie pressed it against the ground and kept pushing. The stick broke through to the other side. Artie twisted the stick until the other end broke off, tossing the hand aside with the wood lodged through it. The hand withdrew. Two down, he thought.

********

Tom's neck hurt.

********

More hands were appearing. Artie felt one at his side, gripping the shoulder of his leather jacket. As he tried to pry it off, he felt another one get his ankle, making him lose his balance. Another appeared to replace the one he had just dispatched, and he and Heather found themselves both being slowly dragged through the dirt.

Artie could see that they were near the holes from which the stalks dragging them grew. Artie saw the one around his ankle receding into the ground. He jammed his foot against the opening, trying to work his foot into the hole, and felt the hand twist around in response. Heather was only a few feet away from a hole now, herself.

Artie fired his gun into the hole, to little avail.
Only two shots left,
he thought in a mild panic. He felt necrotic hands tug at his clothing and arms. One flew to his face, covering his mouth and nostrils and hindering his breathing. He gripped it with his last free hand, trying to break its thumb.

Artie felt a small jolt of motion at his back. The fingers gripping his shoulder let go. He wrenched the fingers off of his mouth and looked up. Keda, burning brightly to his mind, was standing over him, wielding his pocket knife and cutting fingers loose from Artie. It was to little avail. Artie’s leg was getting tired from resisting the tugging at his ankle, and he still had a dirty, gnarled hand trying to choke him.

Artie sensed something else. Some fifty feet away from them, the lumberjack from before was standing at the edge of the path, motionless, watching them.

“Keda,” Artie shouted. Keda kept on trying to remove each of the hands from Artie, and now, he was dealing with one of his own. “Keda,” he repeated. There was no answer.

He remembered that Keda could not hear or see him. Keda would have noticed the hands dragging and clawing at
something
, but not even known which of them it was. Keda could, however, see the hands—and feel them.

Artie grasped the one gripping his face, and fired his last two bullets into its wrist. Its strength waned and he was able to grab a length of it. He swung his own arm out and tapped Keda on the shoulder. Keda tried to retaliate with his knife, but missed. Artie tapped him again. Keda stopped swinging. Artie had his attention.

“
Hah,
” Artie exclaimed in triumph. Still gripping the hand that had been choking him, he twisted its digits, balled its fingers and thumbs into a fist and pointed the index finger out.

Keda hesitated, noticing Artie’s attempt to communicate. Artie thrust the dead hand towards the lumberjack, jabbing the index finger forward through the air repeatedly.
Over there, over there.

Keda pointed his flashlight towards the lumberjack, and saw what Artie was trying to tell him. He nodded and got up.

Artie listened to Keda's presence dashing through the woods. He saw him run up and expertly disarm the lumberjack, taking away his axe.

“
Get 'im,
” Artie shouted, hoping some kind of encouragement would reach Keda. Keda lifted the axe up and swung in a horizontal arc. He planted a sideways wound across the lumberjack's face to match the vertical one. He pulled the axe out with some effort, and swung again, burying the blade in the shoulder.

The lumberjack dropped to his knees and crumpled to the ground, wood axe still lodged in his neck. Artie crossed his fingers.

His gambit paid off. The dead hands around him released their grips. He saw Heather's release her, too. The hands all at once began to recede back into the earth, disappearing into the darkness of the forest. Artie watched from the ground as the lumberjack was dragged away. He, too, vanished, his only trace the sound of his body scraping against the dirt and fallen leaves.

Artie coughed loudly. He started taking long, slow breaths. Keda and Heather faded back into view of his eyes. Heather crawled up to all fours, and patted around in the dirt in search of her gun.

“Artie,” she shouted. “Keda.”

“We're here,” Keda responded. He jogged back to his companions and knelt to help Heather stand up. She shook in his arms. Artie treated himself to a smoke, illuminating his face by the flame from his lighter.

“Give,” Heather stated simply. Artie obliged her, handing over a cigarette and lighting it for her. She took it gratefully before she hitched her shotgun back onto her shoulder.

“You okay?” Artie asked.

“Fuck this entire shit,” Heather said shakily. She took ginger steps past Artie. “Come on, the sooner I can get back and drink myself to death, the better.”

Artie followed along behind her. The river was close by.

********

Tom stood upright. His feet were rooted in the blood pond. He couldn't move his legs. Looking down, he saw that everything from his thighs downward had become solid wood. He screamed.

“Be a fucking man, Thomas,” Ashley's voice shrieked at him. Her head bobbed back and forth in front of him with an expression like death. “For
once
in your life act like an
adult.
”

“You will doom this place, Tom,” another voice proclaimed. Tom looked to his left and saw Keda standing there, at the edge of the pool.

Something was different: Keda was shirtless, and long, dark red tentacles protruded from his palms. They whipped and thrashed in the air around him. Several more had erupted from his chest and shoulders. They writhed at the air like feelers.

“I thought I was dead,” Tom demanded. He pulled impotently at his wooden legs. The affliction spread, creeping up past his pelvis and to his abdominal muscles. He could now move only his arms, shoulders and neck. Ashley's head continued to scream in his face.

“You were dead,” Keda stated, his voice deepening. “You traded the lives of these people for your own.”

“What the fuck are you babbling about?” Tom shouted.

“Come with me and we will make things right,” Keda said. This deep, everywhere-at-once voice was no longer Keda's. Tom recognized this voice. It was Aki's.

“Leave me alone,” Tom insisted. He punched Ashley's hanging head. She growled at him in pain, spitting a mouthful of blood across his face.

“Take my hand,” Aki offered. Tom looked over at Keda and saw the Medium’s mouth fall open. and stretch to reveal Aki's eye in his throat. The eye rose up and filled Keda's maw, a sick yellow thing surrounded by teeth.

Tom didn't answer. He felt like he was struggling in quicksand. The more he fought, the more of him became wooden. His chest hardened over and within, causing him to shudder as he felt his heart come to a stop. His lungs were now part of the tree, and he was no longer breathing-- he just
was.

Tom could still move his neck, and one arm. Soon, it was only the arm, his gaze frozen on the approaching Aki-Keda monstrosity, with Ashley's voice still screaming in his ear.

“Justify your bargain,” Aki said. His voice rumbled the world. “Take my hand and validate your pitiful choice. Only I can free you.”

Tom sputtered and gasped in desperation as he felt his throat crust over. He sucked in a final breath before his esophagus became wooden bark. His mouth was locked open. Seconds later, he could not see out of his left eye.

“
Take my hand.
”

Tom reached out with his arm, the last part of him he could move. Aki's tentacle wrapped around it. Aki’s touch filled his body with fire.

********

“Tom?”

Keda's voice seemed miles away, but as Tom's eyes slid open he saw that the Medium was so close, they were touching. He drew his hand away blearily. He sat up and stared at Keda, only half-conscious.

“Hey,” Tom said simply.

“My God, Tom, how did you survive?”

“I'm tough,” Tom said through a dark-stained grin. He spat out a mouthful of red liquid onto the airbag and pushed it out of his way.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” Keda added, trying to pull Tom out of the car. Tom swatted his hand away.

“I'm... I'm fine,” Tom said, not even sure he believed the words, himself. He placed a foot on the wet bank, his shoe sinking into the dirt. As he stepped out into the cold evening air, he took in a deep breath, and looked around at the forest and night sky with an alien sense of calm. He turned his head, and his gratefully intact neck cracked loudly. After a brief moment of surprised discomfort, the popping in his joints felt nothing short of heavenly.

He turned and looked behind him at the wrecked car. Keda was saying something urgently, but Tom wasn't paying attention. He knelt down and examined the caved-in front of the vehicle. Glass shards were everywhere and the roof was folded. The car was totaled. How did he walk away from this?

“Tom,” came Artie's voice. Tom flinched as he felt Artie's arms wrap around his torso. He braced himself for the pain from his broken ribs, but there were none. Aside from some throbbing around his face and the taste of blood in his mouth, he seemed to be totally unscathed.