So I'm walking to class, thinking about whether or not I'm going to be able to sit next this really hot Indian chick, when I realize it's kind of chilly. The sun is out, making the new growth on the trees glow like fluorescent green lights, but I feel like I need a jacket. Now that I think back on it, it was kind of spooky, but right then, I just sort of shivered and turned off the path.
The walkway is lined with trees and shrubs, but it's hard to miss the shortcut trampled by zillions of Birkenstocked feet. When they first laid out the campus, someone came up with the brilliant idea: Why pour concrete where you think folks should walk when you can have the students plan the whole thing with their feet? Tracks developed, sinuous things that no architect would've dreamed, and only then was the paving laid. Recently, new construction has brought different philosophies. The thing is, given the choice between a brilliantly designed, dramatic sweep of concrete walkway and a straight-line jaunt through the redwoods, which do you think the average undergrad is going to take? So new paths develop almost as if to spite the architect. The only thing you have to look out for are the tree roots when it's damp. They're slicker than snot.
I don't have to worry about this because it's spring quarter, the skies are blue through the redwoods, and my mating hormones are running thick. But even the thought of Rangi's perky nipples can't keep me from thinking that it's damned cold now. I stop and look around. A mist has rolled in, tendrils of it snaking through the trees. Not unheard of in these hills, but now I'm thinking spooky.
I start walking again and pick up the pace, partly because I want to warm up, partly because I'm starting to get a little freaked. Suddenly the trampled path just peters out. The mist closes over me and I know I'm fucked. I stand there, listening to my breathing, very aware of my bowels clenching and ball sack tingling. I'm being stupid, like when I was a kid and was convinced that the monster was finally going to get me as I walked down our dark hallway. I'm surrounded by what the aborigines called a pogonip, a freezing mist. While I think that, some lizard part of my brain is going crazy screaming "Run! Run! Run!"
Well, I don't run. I don't have anywhere to go. I can only see clearly in a ten-foot circle. The fog has blocked out most of the light. Everything is rendered in grays. I feel like I'm under water. The tree trunks are like vertical whales rising out of the darkness.
Something flickers. There it is again, tickling at my peripheral vision. My eyes shoot to it and it's gone. Christ, I only had one tab and that was three weeks ago. What the hell did those Latino fuckers poison me with?
That's one of my last rational thoughts, because she's standing right in front of me. My yelp grates out as a strained hiss.
The woman looks like she stepped out of the mist. She her skin is alabaster. Fabric hardly more substantial than an eddy wraps her spare form. She's staring at me with hollow eyes.
She moves, gesturing to her throat and grimacing. My eye bug out even further and I sort of whimper. She gestures again, almost impatient. My mouth opens and I start to emit this weird "uh. uh." sound.
She shakes her head and moves toward me. I'm frozen with fear.
As she bends towards me I watch her silver hair shift and fall off her shoulders. A hand like ice water slides into my pocket and draws out my jackknife. She fumbles with it for a bit and unfolds the small blade. Taking my hand, she lifts my arm. The blade presses against my wrist. The only thing I feel is mild surprise when I see a trickle of blood. She presses her lips to the small wound. I can feel her cold tongue lapping at me. She pulls a way, letting my arm drop, and speaks.
"Have you brought the beast? Where are your companions?"
Her voice is as weak and hollow as her eyes.
"Uh. huh?"
"The sacrifice! We must speak with you!"
She sounds irritated.
"I. uh."
"Where have all your winged words flown? Resourceful indeed!"
Her disgust sparks a little indignance and I manage to reply.
"Look, lady, I don't know what you're talking about."
"Blood! We need the blood of the ram to speak! If everyone where to slake their thirst on you, you wouldn't last very long."
I now notice that my small circle of mist is now ringed with shades, very thirsty looking shades.
"Five thousand years we've waited. Five thousand years. You living don't understand time. I remember. Here, a moment stretches into an eternity."
"I'm sorry. I. uh. look. there's been a mistake or something."
"Obviously. The gods cannot resist a joke."
"Uh."
The milling bodies around me demand my attention. I see a man in a breast plate, a woman with braided hair. They all press against each other. They all wear the same desperate, hungry expression. I'm starting to loose the ability to talk again.
"Uh."
"I suppose we can't sacrifice you. You would just join us and probably be fairly put out about it too."
"Uh. uh."
"What a waste. Here, you may have your blade"
She flips the open knife at my feet and turns away. With a couple strides, she threads through the ghostly bystanders and is gone. The others slowly filter back into the mist.
I find I can't stand so I sit down unsteadily. The blood on my arm sparks some part of my brain and I apply pressure to the cut. Looking down at my knife, I see that it's rimed with frost.
Acid flashback or not, I still don't take that shortcut.
Pakeha