Water, the little voice said.

But he needed to walk faster. None of this tiptoe bullshit. It’d take hours to do the test at the rate he’d moved across the road.

After a deep breath Matt set out through the Goldie’s fern and sedges that led to the Black. Each step made him grimace and perspire. Thick vegetation slapped against his bloodstained jeans. For the first time since being trapped, a bird chirped in the forest, a black-capped chickadee fluttered in the branches of a yellow birch.

Finally, he thought. The orchard and surrounding woods had always been full of birds.

After another deep breath and expectant silence, Matt dodged several of the pit springs and reached the Black. Then he angled down the slope, acting as if he were going to fill a water jug.

No unusual sensations overcame him.

Across the Black, wind blew the tops of the maples and balsam firs, the branches chaffing against each other like dried bones. He gripped an exposed root as support and eased into the cool water. As he stepped through the stream, several bullet shapes darted from the bank and disappeared downstream. Brook trout. He thought of his father casting for brookies in this very bend and frowned. Those were simpler times.

Certain he wasn’t going to fall, he trudged in between two boulders, water curling past his waist. The alder and lady ferns on the other side of the Black hinted at freedom.

Behind him, the ground shook as if a rhinoceros had neared.

Matt twisted his torso in midstream, trying to locate the source.

Thud, thud.

Half circles emanated from water’s edge as bits of dirt crumbled down the bank. For a brief, discombobulating moment, the streambed undulated beneath his feet. He knew it wasn’t an earthquake. The vibrations were spaced apart, as if something was walking. Rough, elephantine breathing came from behind him on the Julip Road side of the bank. Something whipped and slashed the air high above.

Before he could make his next move, Matt’s chest tightened as needles poked and prodded his skin. The air around his body distorted and bent. Slowly he began to choke, spittle peppering from his lips.

There was only one thing he could do. He calmly turned west and pushed back across the stream. Each step west eased the uncomfortable sensations, and the symptoms tapered off. Scared but encouraged, he climbed the steep bank with the assistance of a balsam root, pulling himself up like a wet rat. Then he collapsed to the bank precipice.

The ground vibrations decreased in intensity, but increased in pace. The Goldie’s fern and rich sedges flattened in certain patches, and dust clouded Julip Road. Then, nothing but the birds in the canopy.