12. || meet me in the woods.

A warm hand grasped for Finley's arm, tearing her from the black binding sap that oozed from the pine's trunk. Its boughs weeped in recoil, folding in on itself and the distance grew between them as River pulled her away from its roots and back to their path.

"River, I–I think I'm still buzzed or high or..." Finley sunk her fingertips into the soft suede of River's jacket to steady herself. "The trees look like they're moving, like they're walking with us. Or against us? And that pine..."

She turned to glance behind, but the tree had passed them by like the others.

"Now Boots, first of all, trees don't walk." River's soft laugh warmed her ear as they leaned closer. "They lumber."

Giving them a nudge, Finley clenched her teeth, caught somewhere in between a smile and a glare as she dropped their arms. Sap still remained on her palm, clinging only to her skin. She rubbed her thumb against her fingers to examine it closer.

"Second..." River took her hands in theirs again, pulling her attention from the sticky black stain. "That's why I said to stay close. See?" As they both stood there still as stone, there was no mistaking it, the trees continued to move around them. The bare gray trunks of the sugar maples and black cherries slipped past in no hurry, carried by some kind of subterranean current. Looking down at Finley, River must have read her bewildered mind. "I stopped questioning these woods long ago. All's I know is if we take this path, we get there twice as fast."

Keeping still, Finley could feel the rumble of earth beneath her borrowed boots, pulling them deeper into the forest like a terrestrial tide. "So it's like an autowalk," she wondered aloud.

"What's that?"

"Those moving walkways in big airports." But River just shrugged. "You've never flown before?"

"If I was meant to fly, then wings I'da been given." River let go of her hands and nodded towards a clearing up ahead where a bold crick cut along the edge of the forest. "You been some places though?"

"Oh yeah, all over." Walking at River's side, she focused on the stream to keep from addling herself all up again. "Every continent actually, except Oceania and Antarctica."

"Shit, you gotta be the most travelingest girl I ever met."

"My..." And there was that taste again. Curds of hot vomit filled her throat, but she pushed it all down and found a new word for what had become her new normal. "My ex was a hunter." And ex didn't barely begin to describe the Demon, but until she was sure she could trust River with her whole truth, it'd be wise to split the two for now. "We went on a lot of trips together."

"Ex, huh?" River didn't so much as side glance her, but she could feel curiosity radiating from them. "You ever hunt together?"

Just as its prey.

Phantom pains slithered up her leg as she slugged through decayed leaves and pine needles, trying not to fall behind again, but the little white worms were hungry and she could feel their teeth gnawing at her inside and out.

Shaking the thought from her mind, she pressed on. "I uh, tried once. It didn't end well."

"Huntin's tough, 'least it should be. Choosin' to take a life is no small thing." River stopped so she could catch up. "But if it's an equipment issue, I can help—"

"I can shoot just fine," Finley assured them. "But I only pull the trigger if I have to."

"Good to know." River's grin creased their eyes and its familiarity dug far deeper than just yesterday. "Your grandpappy taught ya well, I'm sure. He's one of the good ones. One of few."

"So you did know him, then?"

"He uh, helped me with a map project I was workin' on a couple years back."

"Emery's been in the grave for five; was sick years before."

River slowed as they reached the water's edge of what had to be Dewdrop Run. "Guess it was a lil longer'n that." Adjusting the rifle on their back, they looked for a shallow spot to cross. "What finally did him in? If ya don't mind me askin'."

"On paper, it was the Black Lung." Kneeling down at a gentle pool, Finley dipped her black sapped hand into its waters. "Doctors couldn't figure out how he'd made it to eighty-five, but he was managing enough. Til my mother jacked him from the cabin and dumped him in a home in the city for his benefit money. Same as she did to my gram."

If the old logging roads were the veins of the mountain, the brooks and streams and springs were its arteries, carrying its lifeblood to the rest of the forest. But this stream before them bled shades of toxic orange from years of gutting the mountain of its black gold. Acid and iron leached from this ruptured artery and still continued to spill from the mountain's old wound.

As Finley rubbed at the sap beneath the water, red and orange sediment began to separate from the crickbed, swirling around her hands; her right one in particular that bore the garnet ring.

"I always thought it broke their hearts to leave these woods," she continued, studying how the sediment pooled around her hand. Any sign of the black sap on her palm had washed away, leaving just the rust residue of the stream. "But now I'm starting to think our spring kept them alive far longer than they were supposed to."

As she glanced up, River quickly looked away, fumbling for their pockets. "Aye, uh, all these streams held some kinda... gift. That is, before greed poisoned every one of 'em." Finding a hankie, they handed it down to her. "'Cept ours."

The sediment dispersed and sunk back to the bottom of the muck as Finley removed her hand from the water and dried it off. Stitched in three corners of the hankie was the same triangle symbol that scarred River's forearm; their initials filled the fourth. Before she could give the triangle and its crescents much thought, her gut wrenched at the sight of the white fabric turning that familiar shade of red, the same shade that'd stained her dress.

"It'll warsh up no problem," River said, nodding down to the hankie that she held all taut between her white knuckled fingers. "But go on and keep it for now."

Loosening her grip, Finley stood up and tucked it away in her pocket as she watched River hop down into the shallows. With a careless ease and slight stagger, they stepped from stone to stone the whole way across, not slipping once.

The water rushed around Finley's ankles as she tried her best to mirror River's steps, but their legs were longer than hers and her feet were heavy like they were wanting to take root back on the forest's side. Nearing the opposite bank, she paused to look downstream, following the orange water's winding path in and around the forest where it would eventually seep into the soil and the fresh tendrils of ferns and the bellies of thirsty animals.

"Wasn't the state supposed to be cleaning up the mine runoff?"

"Oh, they tried," River laughed. "Summer of '77 I believe. Even sent a special military unit with fancy scientists out this way, but they didn't last too long."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, them trees you was rubbin' branches with started pickin' them hifalutin D.C. boys off one by one."

Whipping around to look back at the forest, Finley slipped off the rock she was standing on, but River was ever quick to catch her arm.

"Lotta nasty things came crawlin' out the ground when the mine exploded, but nobody listens to ol' River," they drawled extra heavy with a chuckle. "So I just been tryin' to clean up what I can ever since."

"Ever since..." Finley echoed with a whisper. As she found her footing and turned back towards River, it wasn't a question of demonic trees or the so-called nasty things that crawled out the ground that plagued her mind. No, as she stood there barely balancing on a slick limestone slab, she stared deep into River's brown eyes, trying to figure out what they weren't telling her. "How old are you, River?"

"How old I look?"

She held their stare, studying the scar in their brow, the lines around their eyes, the crooked little bend in the bridge of their nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice, and hell, probably again last night. She studied their tan skin that stretched tight around their cheekbones, their lips that pursed to a smirk, the sharp edge of their chin. But whatever their age, they wore it well. With one last look into their eyes, Finley stepped around River and scrambled up the muddy bank, leaving the forest behind.

But as she cut through the clearing, her bold stride slowed to a complete stop. Barren rock jutted from the earth, sloping down into a rugged valley where it seemed only briars could grow. Not a speck of green or even autumn's sallow broke the gray hillside other than a pasture field in the far distance. A pair of turkey vultures circled the air above, rising and falling with the updraft in search of scraps of life in what was left of an old leased strip mine.

River seemed slow to catch up, hesitant even, to step beyond the forest. The mischievous glint in their eyes was gone and there was a new heaviness about them as they stood next to Finley, staring out over the man-made wasteland.

"Boots, I uh, I promise I'll tell ya more about me," their voice trailed a little like they were going to say something more. Cracked knuckles brushed against Finley's and the urge to lace her fingers with theirs overcame her, but they quickly pulled away to clasp the worn leather gun strap across their chest. "Now's just not the right time."

"I'm sorry, River. I have no right to be asking you anything when I haven't even given you my damn name."

"You will." The corner of River's lips twitched, but didn't quite turn up enough to smile. With a heavy sigh, they made their way down the narrow ridge and Finley followed close behind.

While the woods felt disorienting, there had still been a reverence to them, some kind of holiness, a goodness even, despite their alleged hunger for human flesh.

But nothing about this place felt good.

And whether that was just River's energy rubbing off on her, Finley couldn't be certain. But the earth broke and crumbled beneath her feet with every step like the brittle bones of what had once been fertile forest. A sour stench not belonging to the woods burnt her nostrils and scratched at her throat, fading only when they passed the briarpatch. Neither of them spoke a word crossing the scald land til the crunch of gravel softened to the squelch of mud and grass as they reached the pasture.

A barbed wire fence ran the perimeter, enclosing at least twenty acres of open grassland. Within it, a little shack stood a couple yards away and an old weathered barn sat at the far end of the fence with a white farmhouse a little beyond. Finley realized then that they were just down the road a couple miles from their cabins. And while she was glad to recognize this landmark and put some distance between her and that barren pit of sorrow, this still wasn't the entrance to the mine.

Before she could ask, River started creeping along the fence until they reached a locked metal gate. Squatting down at its post, they ignored the chain and instead fixated on the mud at their feet. Finley hurried without question and crouched down at their side. What looked to be fresh tire tracks cut through the length of the pasture and went straight back into the belly of the wasteland. River slid the duffle bag off their shoulder and removed a pair of binoculars, holding them up to their eyes to scan the briarpatch.

"River, what are you doing?" Finley finally whispered, glancing behind them at the pasture for any movement.

"Oh, just bein' a nebby neighbor."

They lowered the binoculars, reluctant to tear their eyes from the scald all of a sudden. Whatever heaviness had weighed them down on the hike in, now buoyed them with curiosity. Looping the binoculars around their neck, they let them rest on their chest and turned towards the shack. They slid the rifle down off their shoulder and slipped it through the barbed fence, along with the duffle bag, then lifted the wire wide enough for themself to squeeze through.

"All right, let's watch that pretty head of yours." Lifting the wire, River glanced around and ushered Finley through, cupping her head to protect her from the barbs. After she slipped under unscathed, River grabbed up the rifle and bag, and jogged to the backside of the shack. Holding the binoculars back up to their eyes, they panned from the barn to the farmhouse a couple times before they seemed convinced no one was home. "Just keep an eye out for me, will ya? Ol' man McAfoos won't think twice 'bout puttin' a bullet in my hide."

Slinking around to the front of the shack, River slipped a pry bar out of their bag and made quick work of the rusted lock on the door while Finley kept watch, or was meant to be, but she was mostly too caught up watching River and wondering what the hell they were getting her into. The rough-cut wooden door opened with a quiet groan, but the cloud heavy sky didn't offer much light to brighten the shack's interior. River waved her in and closed the door, letting darkness fall all around them.

"Watch your step," River warned, catching her by the belly before she could move another inch inside.

"As much as I'm enjoying this little adventure with you, River, if you wanted to take me up on my offer earlier, I think I'd have preferred the comfort of your place over this shed."

Slivers of light cut through the wall cracks, illuminating just enough of River's face to catch their smile. They carefully leaned the rifle against the wall behind them and then dropped the duffle bag from their shoulder onto a workbench, digging through a side pocket to find a mini lantern–a dim vintage battery operated one at that. Hanging it on a rafter above, River then strapped a brighter wristlight on Finley before turning back to the bag.

As she waved her wrist around to light up the shed, her eyes fell to the dirt and limestone floor and a gasp escaped her throat. A square hole stretched nearly the width of the shack and dropped down god knows how deep into a black abyss.

"River, what is this?"

"Just an old vent shaft."

River unzipped the duffle bag and started laying out shiny clips and rope and strange pulleys and it didn't take much more for Finley's stomach to start getting all twisted up in the same kinda knots River was untangling. As she took a step back, she stumbled into a wall of shovels and rakes, knocking them down with a clang.

River looked up from the knot they were tying and looped the coiled rope over their shoulder. "You look plumb peaked, Boots." Tossing a rusted oil can off an old whiskey barrel, they made her take a seat then knelt down in front of her. "You feelin' okay?"

"This—this isn't the entrance."

"Well, the entrance, no. That special military unit blew up the main portal. But this is an entrance, ain't it? In fact, it's the only one ya got."

"I'm scared of heights."

"Scared of heights," River repeated as their eyes shifted between Finley and the vent shaft. "Yet, you been miles sky-high all over the world? Thirty thousand feet's a helluva lot higher up than this hole in the ground is deep."

"Flying on a plane is a little different than climbing right straight down an abandoned mine shaft. Planes have a captain and a whole crew and hell, free alcohol for premium flyers."

Squeezing her leg, River stood up. "I got you." They went back over to the bag and pulled out something else shiny and metal. With a wink, they tossed it into her lap. Finley groaned as she looked down at a full flask, but didn't hesitate to unscrew the cap and gulp down a couple swallows. River smiled as they hoisted their harness up around their waist and removed a clip of anchors varying in size. "It's not the height that you're scared of, it's the chance of fallin' again, right?

Finley lowered the flask. "How do you—"

"Doesn't matter." Wedging an anchor into the limestone, River gave it a hard tug. "'Cause it ain't gonna happen." And another tug. "I got you." And one more hard tug, before clipping it to the rope's double figure eight. "I'll have a safety line anchored into the limestone here and hooked through me, Cap'n Hawthorne at your service." River held out their hand for Finley, guiding her carefully over to the ropes and a harness. "And you'll have your own rope to belay yourself down at your own pace."

River had a knack for putting her at ease or maybe that was just the moonshine kicking in. She took another swig just to be sure. But putting her life in their hands wasn't what she had planned. Not like this. If she fell from here, there'd be no hemlocks to save her again, no Green Man to wake her from death's slumber. Just River, the brown-eyed, long-legged, hillbilly tethered to the other end with a flask of magic moonshine. But the more she thought about it, the more she remembered the Green Man having brown eyes too.

Reluctantly, Finley stepped into the harness and River pulled it up around her waist. A hint of pink blushed over their cheeks as they tightened it between her legs. "How does that ol' Whitman poem go? 'O' Captain, my capt–'"

"River, the captain is dead in that poem."

"Right." River bit their lip to hide a smile as they looked up through their heavy brow. "I didn't exactly get much schoolin' up here."

"You didn't catch the school bus to Two Lick?"

"Oh gosh, no. But the family I boarded with, the wife, she let me in on some lessons with her kids and a few others in the holler. Taught me enough to read and write. But mostly I just worked the farm and tended the animals, then later me and the mule worked the mine."

"The mine?" Finley asked, but River kept their eyes fixed on tying the knot between them. Maybe a 'Not right now' question. "I uh, didn't realize they were still using mules in the mines."

"He was a good mule."

"Will you tell me about him sometime?"

River rubbed at their scarred eyebrow as they looked up at Finley. "I'd like to, yeah. You uh, still feelin' nervous?"

"Nervous?" Taking another swig of the moonshine, Finley wrinkled her face as she peered down over the black edge. "No. Not at all."

River took the flask from her and twisted the cap back on, slipping it into a buttoned pocket on her leg. "Just lean back and trust the rope."

"I'm trusting you."

"Even better."

Inch by inch, Finley backed up until the heel of her boots hit the edge. The rope in her hand remained taut as it slipped through the belay device and she took her first step down the shaft, then her next, stopping to look up at River for reassurance.

"You're doin' great, Boots. You were born to abseil."

She continued down a few more feet, but stopped again. "What about a helmet?"

"I won't drop nothing on your head."

"What if I fall?"

"Boots, if you fall, a helmet won't do you no good. Just watch your head once you get down there, mind the rusticles, keep your light on. There's some snaplight flares on your harness if you need 'em." River's face darkened with shadow each foot she descended. She'd be glad when they were both on the same horizontal plane again. "Oh, and say hey to my old buddy Bél if you happen to see him."

"Bél...?" Finley's knees locked as she looked back up at River. "Wait, you're not coming down with me?"

"Oh, hell no."

"River!"

"You never said nothing 'bout joining ya. Get ya to the mine, says you can do the rest your ownself. Why do women–"

"That was before you told me demon trees took out the damn military."

"Well, there ain't no demon trees down a mine," River laughed. "And besides, they seem to be taken by ya for some reason."

Finley glanced at her hand where the garnet was beginning to glow red again. "Yeah, some reason..."

"Ya know, it ain't too late. You could just pawn the damn thing."

"Something tells me it'd just find its way back." Looking up at River, Finley guessed she was about halfway down.

"Who says it won't from here?"

"I owe it to the women in my family to try."

Finley unhooked a flare from her harness, snapping it against the wall of the shaft to get it to glow. Red, of course. Giving it a good shake, she let it drop to the floor of the mine. Maybe fifty more feet to go.

"My great-great granny was sold to the foreman of this mine. Was left a widow from the explosion, then drowned herself in the springhouse after birthing her first daughter. And that daughter was locked up in the state hospital after losing half her babies. She died there. My gram raised her siblings on her own, but she wound up marrying an alcoholic who nearly killed her every time he came home from the bar. But she got lucky and escaped. Came back here and met my grandad. And my mother, I guess she did her best, but the only way she knew how to escape was through pills."

The silence through the shaft broke as Finley's boots thudded to the floor of the mine. Relief and adrenaline continued to pump through her as she looked up at the outline of River's legs dangling over the edge.

"River? I made it."

"I knew ya would. And I know you'll break the curse."

Maybe it was the faded echo of the shaft, but there was a strange softness in River's voice. As Finley unclipped the harness, she tucked the remaining flares into her pockets.

"Hey Boots?"

"Yeah?" Finley tried to shield her eyes, but only River's dark silhouette could be seen.

"You asked how old I am. Well, I was born in '92."

"No shit? Me too. What are your big three–"

"Eighteen ninety-two."