Dead Tree Forest (10 page)

Holding onto Ginnumarra, Ray kicked and paddled fast with his one free hand, heading towards one of the broken trunks. Pulling Ginnumarra along wasn’t as difficult as he had thought; it was like dragging a hunk of wood.

When he arrived at the tree, he poked his head inside and saw it was hollow, its walls slathered with the red and yellow goo. The fading afternoon light was a round ball high above.

He ducked out and looked back at his rotten cargo.

Needing to act quickly before he ran out of air, he pulled the body towards the tree trunk and then pushed it into the crack. The bloated body was a tight fit, and for a panicked moment Ray worried that he wouldn’t be able to get Ginnumarra all the way inside the tree. He pushed and finally, with a sucking noise that sounded like a wet fart, the body popped into the tree.

The body hovered within the hollow, gently rolling around in the flesh and blood-walled tomb like a foetus inside a womb.

So is that it? Do I have to say a prayer or something?

Ray wasn’t a god-fearing man. He had never gone to church, and he didn’t pray. His wife prayed for Gemma, but he had never bothered. He figured any god who could inflict the big C upon a child wouldn’t care about a few measly prayers.

Fuck it. I don’t think the Aborigines would’ve said a prayer—at least, not of the Christian kind
.

Ray just had to hope that simply placing the body inside the hollow tree was enough for Ginnumarra’s soul to be able to ascend to heaven.

With his lungs starting to burn, Ray turned away from Ginnumarra’s coffin and swam back up to the surface.

He broke through the water. He sucked in much-needed air.

Immersed in the dirty water that stunk of old flesh and salty blood, he waited.

He hoped that whatever was going to happen would happen soon; he didn’t fancy swimming to the shore and he could only tread water for so long.

Just as he was beginning to fear nothing would happen, he began feeling a change. It was like bags of stones were being ripped out of him. With each pulsation, he felt lighter, healthier—younger.

His exhaustion lessened and his arms and legs began to feel strong. His eyesight improved, as did his breathing. It was an amazing sensation, like the sun shining after a sudden dark storm.

The water around him also began to change. The muddy brown colour seeped away, like it was being sucked down an imaginary drain, leaving only clear water. The smell changed from horrid to a fresh, earthy smell.

But perhaps most incredible of all, the surrounding forest began to alter.

Immersed in the clear lake, treading water with ease, Ray watched as the dead trees started to fill with life once again. The trunks went from a lifeless grey to various shades of brown; green pine needles and other types of leaves sprouted from the once naked branches with brilliant speed. It took only a minute or so for the forest to become a healthy and vibrant sea of colour and life.

“Wow,” Ray said, and then he swam freestyle back to the shore.

He hopped out of the lake and stood tall, relishing the feeling of being young and healthy again.

“I’m alive!” he cried.

There was now a scent of fresh pine in the air, along with freshly dug soil; the smells seemed strong to him. It was like his senses were heightened. Maybe coming back from the brink of death does that to a person.

He turned and looked back at the lake. He noticed that one of the trees was dead; it sat among all the other trees that grew out of the lake—grey and lifeless, without any foliage.

Ray said a silent
Thank you
, and then he turned around and gazed out at the now unfamiliar forest. It hit home then just how difficult it was going to be finding his way out. He had no idea which way to head.

The sense of relief and wonder of the curse being abolished vanished and was replaced by a sense of overwhelming hopelessness.

Just relax. Find your bearings, and then walk straight. You’ll get out of this forest eventually. You have to.

Even if he couldn’t find the meadow again, and then the way back down to the van, surely he would find some kind of civilisation. Eventually.

He scanned the area. None of it seemed familiar. He couldn’t even remember which direction he had arrived at the lake.

Ray shivered.

The afternoon was rapidly fading into evening. It would get very cold very quickly, and he didn’t have any change of clothes or anything to help build a fire.

I have to find one of the rucksacks...then I would have a change of clothes, as well as a tent and a sleeping bag
.

The realisation of just how alone and vulnerable he was buzzed around him like the mosquitoes that had suddenly appeared. If only he had Chris here to help guide him.

He chuckled, but the laughter quickly died.

Fuck it. Better start walking before it gets too dark to see. I need to find one of those rucksacks.

And the Esky, too. His stomach was rumbling and the thought of a beer and a sandwich made his mouth salivate.

Figuring heading straight was as good a direction as any, he started walking.

The wet clothes chilled against his skin; there was a mild breeze that he hoped wouldn’t get any worse. He glanced at the moss-covered rocks and various newly-arrived plants as he strode through the forest, but he didn’t stop to admire them. He couldn’t.

As he walked through the forest, he looked for any sign of the bags they had dropped earlier. He knew it was a long-shot, but he had to assume he would find one—the alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

On and on he walked. The light faded, the moon was only a quarter full and only sporadically visible due to the clouds that had drifted over the forest.

The night air grew colder, and Ray’s hopes grew dimmer.

Without a torch, he knew he could walk right past one of the rucksacks and not even see it.

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

He pulled the amulet from his pocket. Unfortunately the light wasn’t particularly bright.

Cold, his bearings completely out of whack, Ray clutched the amulet to his chest. He welcomed the small bit of warmth it offered him.

Please, help me reach salvation. Guide me towards safety. Or shit, let me at least find one of the rucksacks. Whatever you do, please let me live through the night. I have to survive. I have to give Gemma the amulet. She deserves that much. I don’t deserve any rewards, I know that, but please, give my kid a break
.

He knew the amulet wasn’t a magic lamp; there was no genie inside eager to grant him three wishes.

But he was desperate.

He listened, thinking that maybe Chris’s spirit would guide him out of the forest, just like the spirit of Ginnumarra had guided them to the lake.

But all he heard was the wind howling through the newly sprouted leaves.

Christ it’s cold.

Christ I’m hungry.

Christ I’m lost
.

And that last thought was never more evident than when he broke through a line of trees and saw the lake.

He stopped.

Thought—hoped—that it was a different lake. But he saw the lone dead tree sitting among the live ones, and he collapsed to his knees.

“No,” he sobbed, and all at once he felt eighty years old again.

The exhaustion, the pain, the sense of wanting to sleep, it all came crashing back down on him. He had spent the last hour walking, and for what? To end up at the same place he had started.

It was hopeless.

He was never getting out of this forest.

And without something to keep him warm, he knew he wouldn’t make it through the night.

I’m sorry Gemma. I tried. I have the amulet, but I won’t be able to give it to you.

Then a voice, soft, like the breeze whooshing through a shock of pine needles; maybe Chris’s, quite possibly his own:

You can still give your daughter the amulet; remember tree between heaven and earth.

Ray looked up. He thought he might be able to see Chris in the darkness, but in the shadowy moonlight all he saw were trees swaying.

Remember tree between heaven and earth? How would that help me get...?

And then he remembered.

When Chris told him about the sacred burial rite, he talked not only about the soul being able to ascend to heaven, but also about how the soul is able to visit loved ones to say their final goodbyes before they moved on from this world.

Would that work? Could I give Gemma the amulet if I...

A cold chill passed through Ray.

He had no choice but to believe it would work.

The forest wasn’t going to let him leave.

There was no doubt he would die before morning broke, and if there was any chance of helping his daughter, then he had to take it. It’s what this whole trip was about.

Besides, he was cold and tired and just wanted to sleep, and he was sure this was what Ginnumarra wanted.

So Ray got to his feet, drew in an icy breath, and with the amulet clutched against his chest, he walked towards the inky lake.

* * *

In the dream, Daddy was in a forest.

Daddy was walking through it, smiling, and she had never seen him smile like that before.

Daddy held out his right hand and sitting in his palm was a necklace. Attached to the end was a small brown rock, with a pretty coloured rock in the middle.

She took it from Daddy and as she did, Daddy nodded, winked, turned around and walked back into the forest.

She watched him disappear among the tall leafy trees.

When Gemma Lambert woke up, she saw it was still dark outside, but the nightlight was on, so she could see Mummy sitting in the chair beside her bed. She was snoring.

Gemma threw back the covers, and in her hand was the necklace from her dream.

She clutched it to her chest, felt warmth spread through her small, frail body. The queasy feeling immediately started to fade. She smiled; wondered what she was going to tell Mummy about how she got the necklace.

Gemma shrugged, lay back down, muttered, “Goodnight Daddy,” and soon drifted back to sleep.

About The Author

Brett McBean was born and raised in the suburbs of Melbourne, Australia. He started playing the drums at age ten and after high school, studied music at Box Hill College, one of Victoria’s most renowned music schools, where he earned an Advanced Diploma. Shortly after completing the music degree, he turned his attention towards writing, and he now prefers to pound the keyboard rather than the drums.

His books (which include
The Last Motel
,
The Mother
and
Concrete Jungle
) have been published in Australia, the US, and Germany, and he’s been nominated for the Aurealis, Ditmar, and Ned Kelly awards. He is a member of the Australian Horror Writers Association, where he has been a member of the judging panel for the Australian Shadows Award (2008), the AHWA Flash & Short Story competition (2010) and a mentor in their mentor program. He still lives in the wilds of Melbourne with his wife and German shepherd. His website is:
http://brettmcbean.com