Future Past

Chapter 1-2

The next morning James awoke to a silent world broken only by the trills and twitters of small birds. He stretched his stiff, aching body, grimacing as his muscles protested against the exertion after a night spent roughing it. He sat up and ruffled the leaves and dirt from his short, blonde hair. A sharp, gnawing ache in his belly reminded him he hadn’t eaten since lunch the previous day. If only he’d made it a more substantial meal than a hamburger and Coke.

He climbed to his feet, extended his arms and arched his back in a long, drawn out stretch which banished the last of the kinks from his muscles. He gave a small shudder and then manoeuvred his way through the tree trunks to the edge of the grove, though as he surveyed the landscape before him a deep crease formed in the skin between his eyebrows.

Gone was the vast field of wheat and in its place was an open meadow, where the grass grew wild, broken only by spots of colour provided by wild flowers. Bird song filled the air and to his left, by a meandering stream, a small herd of deer grazed in the gentle sunlight.

James scratched his head. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the small clump of trees he’d sheltered in the night before was now part of a great forest that stretched back as far as the eye could see.

“Very funny,” he called out. “You got me. Joke’s over.”

It was the only explanation. Someone must have seen his car, broken down by the side of the road, come looking for him, and found him asleep in the only place a stranded motorist could possibly have sheltered. Somehow, for a laugh, they must have taken him further down the road to where the forest was thicker. If that was the case then the culprits must be somewhere nearby, laughing at his confusion.

“All right. You got me. Show yourselves!”

He scanned the meadow, eyes peeled for the slightest movement. Taking a couple of steps further away from the trees, he called out again.

“Come on, guys. I’ve got to get back to my car.”

His voice was tinged with annoyance. He didn’t have time to mess around. He could take a joke as well as the next guy, but he had business to attend to and an ex-boyfriend to seduce.

Perhaps it wasn’t a joke. Perhaps he was still alone. If that was the case, he’d have to get on with the job of finding help. Since the landscape in front of him looked completely at odds with the way he remembered it, he concluded he’d have more success if he backtracked through the forest. There was certainly no sign of the road where he was now and if he was going to make it back to civilisation, finding the road was imperative.

He returned to the forest, leaves crunching underfoot as he wove his way through the trunks and branches. All the while he was aware of his hunger, growling at him like an angry dog before developing into nausea, gnawing and unrelenting. He should have gone down to the stream. There might have been berries, or fish. At the very least he could have slaked his thirst. Too late now. The tiny flutter of panic in his stomach refused to let him turn back. He had to find that road!

The forest was so dense that only the scantiest rays of light filtered down through the canopy. Nothing grew on the ground. It was just leaf-covered dirt. Yet he kept his eyes open. A person could never tell what surprises nature had in store.

Small twigs scratched at the bare skin of his face and hands, tearing small holes in his trousers, and catching on his jacket. He hardly noticed the biting sting as they tore tiny red lines into his flesh. His sole focus was on getting to the other side of the forest, to the fields of wheat and to the road. Once he found them, he’d be home and hosed. Where there was wheat, there had to be a farmhouse, and in that farmhouse there’d be people and telephones. In a matter of a couple of hours his car would be fixed and he could put this rural nightmare behind him.

Eventually the forest became less dense. As he pushed further ahead he also noticed there was moss growing on the forest floor and small mushrooms. He bent to pick one then remembered something about how not all mushrooms were edible. How could he tell? He sniffed it, but it just smelt like mushroom. He took a small nibble, testing it to see whether or not there was any physical reaction, then thought better of it and spat the tiny morsel back to the ground. He threw the rest of the mushroom down and hurried along his way.

Soon the moss and dirt became grass and there was even an occasional flower. Bushes and shrubs grew in amongst the trunks, though none of them bore anything that looked like food. Some had small buds on them, but he wasn’t so hungry he’d risk putting something unknown into his mouth. It was bad enough he was starving without adding vomiting and cramping to the mix.

It was then he thought he heard the sound of a drum.

He paused mid-stride to make certain he wasn’t hearing things. c*****g his head to one side, he listened carefully. Another drum beat. And chanting. His heart began to race. A smile blossomed on his face as he hurried towards the sound of people. His smile grew wider and by the time he ran out into the meadow he was laughing. The sun felt warm and golden on his face and the fresh air was perfume in his nostrils, though now was not the time to enjoy such simple pleasures. He had to find whomever it was singing.

He ran towards a small grassy rise, almost tripping over his feet in the process. The chanting was louder and he knew that once he got to the top of the slight incline he’d find salvation.

“Hello,” he called out to the people gathered below.

‘Strange how they're all facing me.’

He smiled and waved.

“Hello,” he called again, this time drawing their collective attention.

But they were clearly nowhere as happy to see him as he was to see them. In fact, some of them gasped. One elderly man walked toward him, shaking his fist.

James took a step back.

What had he got himself into this time?