Infested

Infested

Mark R Faulkner

©2014 Mark R Faulkner

Many thanks to Fay, Kath, Julie and Emma.

One

A light mist was gathered over the river, causing the willows which
overhung the opposite bank to appear ghostlike. Above it, the sky was watery
blue as the sun, not yet risen above the rolling hills, brightened the eastern
horizon. A bittern boomed into the stillness of the morning and for the first
time in as long as I could remember, I smiled.

The bank was steep but not high and I pointed the canoe out over it, so
it hung in the air before pivoting nose first into the water while I tried to
steady it from the back. The canoe slid down in amongst the reeds, which were gently
swaying in the current. I used the bright yellow, nylon painter to tie the
canoe to a branch while I scrabbled back and forth up and down the muddy bank,
loading it with all my gear for the week. Most of my things were already
packed into two bright blue plastic barrels, each fitted with a screw-top lid
to keep them water-tight. The tent, sleeping bag and all my other camping
supplies were stowed in a bigger drum. All three had been acquired from the
back of takeaway restaurants and one of them had originally contained capers,
which left a lingering vinegary smell no matter how many times I’d scrubbed it
out.

My battered, blue Ford Fiesta was parked in a layby just on the other
side of the field and before embarking on my journey I trudged back over to it
and without opening the doors, cupped my hands to peer inside, checking nothing
obvious had been left behind or on display for thieves. For the final time, I crossed
the field to the river and slipped my keys into the dry-bag I’d left on the
bank, along with my wallet and phone. They were all things I wouldn’t be
needing for a while.

I leaned out over the water’s edge and swung the dry bag into the canoe
behind my seat, before untying the rope from the tree and pondering how I’d get
in without wetting my feet. The only way I could see was to take one big
stride and hope the canoe didn’t slide away and dump me comically into the
river.

Planting one foot as close to the middle of the boat as possible, I
balanced as best I could before swinging the other leg in after it. The canoe
rocked violently, but quickly settled as I planted both hands firmly on the
gunwales and dropped to my knees, shuffling my backside onto the webbing seat
with my legs tucked underneath it.

The mist lent an ethereal stillness to the morning; nothing stirred until
I lazily dipped the paddle. There is no sound more beautiful than the paddle entering
the water on such a morning. Almost silent, it slips into the river followed
by a faint gurgling as it breaks surface again; a soft flurry of dripping as water
slides from the blade. Somewhere nearby a fish jumped; a dull thud and splash,
a much louder noise than I was making, but no less pleasing to the ear.

Within two strokes I was in the middle of the river and turning the
canoe to point downstream. The flow was strong, yet gentle, and carried me along
so all I needed to do was keep the boat pointing in a straight line by means of
an occasional, lazy dip of the paddle. The blue barrels were stowed neatly in
the middle of the canoe, leaving me enough room to stretch my legs out in front
of me if I needed to shift position to make myself comfortable.

From here on in there was no timetable, no deadlines, just me, the
river and any passing wildlife which might happen to glance my way. I chuckled
to myself. Already my face ached from smiling, a sure sign the muscles there
hadn’t been used nearly enough for far too long.

The stretch of river was by no means wide and was crowded on either
side by thick reed beds where bulrushes grew tall. In parts where the current
was slack, lilies grew in great swathes, leaving only a narrow channel, just
wide enough to navigate. White and purple flowers, pastel in the mist, faced
upward to catch the sun in their petal cups.

I took a deep breath. The sun’s rays were already warming the top of
my head, but the air was still cool and fresh. I held it in my lungs for as
long as I could before slowly letting it out again. For a brief time the mist
thickened as the morning warmed the river. The sky greyed and the sun shone
through the fog as a pale white disk, but its heat soon won out and the mist
quickly evaporated to leave the day bright and brimming with vivid colours.

As the morning drew on, the heat of the sun grew more intense and so,
rummaging behind me in the dry-bag, I fetched out my old battered and trusted,
wide brimmed hat. It had been many years since I’d suffered sunstroke but it was
not an experience I cared to repeat. Just in front of my knees, I’d put a big
square water carrier and I drank straight from it, spilling a good mouthful
down the front of my vest. After the initial shock, the coolness was welcome.

For the next couple of hours, at a guess, I travelled lazily down the
river, occasionally having to steer around sunken trees or rocks. Every now
and again, the water sped up as it flowed over and around such obstacles, creating
choppy riffles which accelerated me downstream before spitting me out into calmer
waters below. In these places the sunlight danced on the tousled water, at
times dazzling and full of colour, and then the surface was flat again and the
dancing golden light became replaced with deep reflections of trees and reeds.

When the time seemed fitting, I spied a place to pull over for a while,
where the bank was not too steep, nor too muddy and I could easily disembark
with minimal chance of falling into the river. After coaxing the life back
into my legs - they’d been folded beneath the seat for too long - I scrambled
up the bank to take a look at my surroundings. In a canoe you are often afforded
the view of the river, its banks and the immediate landscape, but nothing of
the wider country though which you are passing.

Now I straightened and looked around, breathing a deep sigh of
contentment. For as far as the eye could see there were only fields; yellow,
green and brown, stretching to the horizon in all directions. A church steeple
rose from behind a copse of trees and the sound of its bells, summoning folk to
worship, carried softly to my ears. Other than that, there were no signs of
human habitation; there were no roads and no people.

I lunched on cheese and onion sandwiches, which were a little squashed
but hadn’t fared too badly from being stuffed into the bottom of the bag. When
I’d finished eating, and taken another few mouthfuls of water, I lay back on
the edge of the cornfield I’d found myself in and gazed up at the sky. For a
while I did nothing but watch rare clouds drift slowly across an expanse of
blue, too insubstantial to diminish the sun’s rays. At the edge of the field a
kestrel hovered for a few minutes before diving out of sight, taking back to
the air some time later, presumably after also finishing its lunch.

When it felt like I should, I headed back out onto the river. The
afternoon sun was hot and despite the protection afforded me by factor thirty
sun-cream and my hat, I could feel the skin on my arms and legs beginning to
burn. Although the sensation wasn’t an unpleasant one, I feared it would be
later that evening and so, as much as possible, I paddled close to the bank and
in the shade of the trees which hung out over the river.

At length I came across a place where a narrow, wooden footbridge
arched overhead. The banks were high and I could see no road or dwellings but
nonetheless, a dozen or more teenagers were gathered on the bridge – boys bare
chested, wearing knee length shorts while the girls wore bikinis. All of them
had their attention on the downstream side of the bridge, watching, egging each
other on and laughing as one by one they climbed onto the balustrade and threw
themselves into the water.

“Coming through,” I shouted up to them, bringing the boat to a stop and
holding it steady in the water. None of them had seen me approach and a
handful turned to look my way before warning their friends. The warning came
too late for a blonde-headed girl who was already about to jump. She tried to
stop herself, wind-milling her arms for a few moments before plummeting with a
splash.

“Sorry,” she said as she surfaced.

“No problem,” I laughed, half contemplating warning them of the dangers
posed by jumping off bridges, but who was I to stop their fun?

When there was no danger of some unfortunate child crippling themselves
on the front of my canoe, I passed beneath them, looking up to shout my thanks
as I appeared through the other side of the bridge. The next youth was already
balanced on the rail, ready to leap the moment I was out of the way. I put
some effort into paddling, not wanting to hold them up any longer, and the
sounds of splashing, laughter and fun receded behind me. Two bends later and I
was alone once again, accompanied only by the sounds of birdsong and the gentle
splashing, gurgling of the paddle sliding in and out of the water.

Two

When the sun was sinking in the west and shade was offered more freely,
I thought it would be a good idea to stop for the night. It was some considerable
time later when I spotted a suitable place to pull the canoe out of the water,
in the shape of a much trampled and muddy piece of ground leading down to the
water’s edge where livestock came to drink. Not being the biggest fan of cows
– having more than once being surrounded or chased by inquisitive bovines – I
thought I’d get out first, to take a look around before going to the effort of dragging
all my gear up the bank.

The mud was thicker than I’d hoped and covered with a liberal smattering
of goose droppings and, as my feet sank half way into the ooze, I found myself wishing
I’d pressed on a little further to find a better spot. However, twilight was
upon me and there wasn’t much hope of finding anywhere else in the dark. To my
satisfaction though, the field was empty of livestock. There were cows grazing
in a different field, almost on the horizon, and I could see no sign of the
farmer or his house and so it was a safe bet I’d be able to spend the night
undisturbed.

Rather than traipsing back and forth through the mud, I decided to haul
the fully laden canoe up the bank without emptying it first. The effort almost
wasn’t worth keeping my feet dry for, but I put my back into it and heaved.
Slowly the canoe inched up through the mud, listing to one side once it got
half way out of the water and almost emptying itself, but my luggage
miraculously stayed inside and was soon safe and dry in the field with me
leaning on one of the barrels, panting. By now it was almost dark and my first
task was to unscrew a barrel lid and rummage inside for a torch. The heat of
the day had expanded the air inside and my nostrils were assaulted by the acrid
aroma of capers as it hissed out, so I had to take a step backwards before
returning to fully remove the lid. While I was rummaging, I fetched out the
small camping cooker, a sleeping mat and sleeping bag. The torch had wormed
its way into the bottom of the barrel but I managed to fish it out by feel,
rather than removing anything else which I didn’t need, or poking my head in
too deeply.

I had beans for tea, but before I even thought about heating them I
took off my socks and shoes. My toes were wrinkled from being wet. I dried
them on the grass and cleaned off most of the mud, first from my feet and then
my shoes before squatting on my haunches and lighting the stove. I ate the
beans on their own, straight from the pan. In the cooling summer evening air,
on my own with stars beginning to manifest in the heavens, it was possibly the
best meal I’d ever tasted.

With the necessity of food dealt with, it was time to sort out my
sleeping arrangements. I had a tarp with me – a large square of tent fabric used
to make a shelter, often using paddles for poles, or strung out between trees -
in case of rain but the evening was fine and I wanted to be able to see the
stars. So, I spread the mat on a relatively flat piece of ground near my feet
and lay my sleeping bag on top. Then, rolling a cigarette, I sat quietly for a
while, listening to the evening sounds while sipping on a bottle of cider from
the stash I’d thoughtfully packed.

The crickets were loud and something was rustling in the bushes near
the river bank. An owl called out, and received a response from a stand of
trees a few hundred yards away, now only visible in silhouette, soon to be
erased altogether by the fast encroaching dark.

In the middle of nowhere and alone with my thoughts, anxiety began to
sink its teeth into my serenity. There was guilt too, just a little. I
wondered whether they’d found the bodies yet. Funny, how life can change in
such a short time; one small lapse in self-control overriding what we know as
right and civilised. Had the car been discovered? Was there already a large
scale manhunt underway, searching for me? Tempting as it was to fetch my phone
from the bag and check the news, I resisted, realising that if I turned it on
the signal could be traced.

I tried to push the worries from my mind, determined to enjoy the last
piece of freedom I was ever likely to know. It was new moon and by now
completely dark, so I needed the torch to roll another cigarette and open
another bottle. For a while I just sat, my eyes finding nothing to focus on
other than the glowing tip of the cigarette which floated bright where I could barely
see my hand. In between each inhalation of smoke I filled my lungs with clean
night air, which carried the faint, muddy - but not unpleasantly so - odours of
the river and cows.

A heavy dew was settling and I could feel it damp on my hair, so I
crawled into the sleeping bag and pulled the hood tight over my head. Lying on
my back I gazed up at the stars, of which there were many more than I could
ever see from the city. The Milky Way cut a hazy swathe through the sky, from Cassiopeia,
through Cygnus until sinking down to where I knew the teapot of Sagittarius
lay, too low on the horizon to be easily seen. Looking up toward the centre of
the galaxy, hidden behind millions of faint stars, my troubles seemed
insignificant. My deeds and my life would have no impact on the grand scheme
of the universe; everything was spiralling toward its doom in the supermassive
black hole which lurks deep within the nebulous veil of our galaxy. These
thoughts, instead of depressing me, placed my mind at ease.

Faint movement at the edge of my vision caused me to peer at another
part of the sky, where the pin-prick light of a satellite tracked steadily
overhead, looking just like a star but for its movement. I watched as it grew
bright and then faded again, so it had all but disappeared from view long
before it completed its trip across the horizon, and I imagined it, miles above
in space, rotating and catching the glare of the sun with splayed solar panels,
which the round bulk of Earth now shielded me from.

A shooting star bisected the arc of the satellite, fast moving before
it burned up.
I wish I could be left alone
to live my life in peace.
I knew it was too late for that, but it
didn’t stop me making the wish. Just as I was lamenting what I’d lost, another
meteor streaked across the sky, much brighter than the first and with a bright
tail. I imagined I heard a faint whoosh as it passed overhead. “Wow,” I
muttered out loud, scanning the sky in the hope of seeing more like it.

I didn’t have to wait long before they started coming fast. I’d never
seen, or heard about, anything like it and as I lay on my back, my mouth opened
in awe. One shot directly above me and this time there was a definite noise to
accompany the meteor as it lit the black sky around it green and blue. And it
was not alone. In the space of a few minutes I must have seen over fifty
streak overhead, some breaking up into fragments which fanned out toward the
ground, and I was only looking at a small piece of sky.
Some of those must have landed,
I
deduced.
I‘d love to find a meteorite.
And
although I had no intention of deviating from my canoeing trip, I vouched to
keep a vigilant eye, in case I happened to spy one which had landed along the riverbank.

The unprecedented meteor shower - or was it a storm? – distracted my
mind enough to put the smile back on my face and my eyes drifted shut as I was
lulled to sleep by the sound of something, fowl or fish, sploshing in the
margins.