Part Six - We Hate Fire

The Room

“What’d the machine look like? Was it futuristic, or something more like we’ve got around here?” Scott said. He was ready to start entertaining fantasies to keep Milo comfortable. The statement about the imagination filling in the kids gaps during the centuries of unknown made Scott cringe with the invisible prospect of accuracy.

“It was big, ugly, like it shouldn’t run at all. It almost looked like trash, people threw in the woods. Litter, or junk, a big square of it. Especially from a distance,” Milo said.

“Wait, did you ever see it up close?” Scott said.

“Yeah, yeah, a few times, but only with fire.”

“With fire? I thought you guys didn’t have tools in there? How’d you manage to make a fire?”

“Everyone, everyone knows how to make a fire, Scott. We’re genetically predisposed to it. We need it like we need air.”

“So you figured it out. I’m impressed.”

“You should be impressed that I survived at all, Scott.”

“I am, believe me, I am, but tell me more about starting the fire.”

Milo looked disinterested and crossed his arms. More scars curled up off his forearms like little blemished slugs. It seemed like with every detail, image, and piece of storytelling being unloaded on Scott, the more he noticed the crusted deformities riddled across Milo’s body.

“I mean did you rub two sticks together like Bear Grylls? What kind of tool did you use to make it?” Scott said. He had to start establishing some authority in the interview, so leaving questions open wouldn’t be an option going forward in the conversation.

“Basically, Scott, it was a little inarticulate, but we had no choice. We needed fire to try and break the trees apart. It was our only option,” Milo said.

“To stop them from grabbing you? Did it work? You’d think it would work?” Scott said.

“If it worked, Scott, do you think I’d be the only one talking to you today? Do you think I’d have mentioned how Samuel and I are the only ones to survive?”

Scott felt uneasy talking about the infant. They’d managed to steer away from it this entire time, but it was another monstrous elephant in the room. He pulled out a little photo of the baby from the woods. It looked like a doll, like it wasn’t real in the sterile edged government photo. The labs and doctors had done tests on the baby, and it was the genetic equivalent of Melissa and Ron, the two missing children.

“You want to talk about, Samuel?” Scott asked.

“Where is he? You’re not doing tests on a baby right?” Milo said.

“What would we ask an infant? The child is in a foster home. We’ll be turning him over to you once we’re done here. Contrary to popular belief, Milo, we can’t just throw people away in labs for forever.”

“When will I see him, for real, Scott?”

“I just said after we’re done with our conservation. Now, we have 48 minutes left on the clock, so why don’t we make them useful? Why don’t you tell me about what happened with the first fire you started.”

“We started it, and the forest put it out.”

“Oh, I see, so did trees not get affected by it?”

“They did, but, it wasn’t them that stopped it.”

“Who stopped it?”

Milo rubbed his face again, as he felt colder in the room and the walls were narrower.

“It, the Phantom.”

The Woods

It took them three hours to even get a clean spout of smoke to billow upwards from the stack of wood along the path. Melissa had stacked the sticks together into a pile. Ron grinded away with a flat log in the middle. Milo would whistle his best at the base of the grinding twigs, in the effort to make a small spark form upwards. Ron’s hands were red and ugly looking, like all the heat was being forged against his fleshy palms, and not the bundle of building fire they were working on. The winds were quiet while they worked, almost like they were curious about what they were building in their green trap. The woods along the path were drawn back and patient, waiting to swipe at the children with their tendrils if they tried to escape the woods or even the path. On the fourth hour, after they finally managed to seal the air escaping from their pile, a small puddle of flames formed at the base of their brambly pile. Melissa quickly fed the fire with dead leaves and kindling, and started to push the fire upwards.

“Alright, let’s do it, we need to burn the place down,” Ron said, wrenching a white stick free of the contorting pyramid of flame.

“Aim for the edges, where they won’t let us out or anything,” Milo said, following suit. Both boys charged down the path towards the entrance to the forest like a tiny angry mob ready to storm down an evil doctor’s door. The trees immediately came alive like chained squids from some deep sea horror film, flailing and thrashing at the two boys. The strikes were hard enough to take the deepest sections of skin away, and the pain made Milo drop his fiery weapon. Vines immediately wrapped around the broken fire, putting it out, while losing a few husks to its blazing top. Ron was slashed so hard, he dropped the torch back into himself and fell to the ground. The vines trapped him a like a spider web. They were so insistent of their wrapping, they actually bound the torch to his skin before he could start moving away from it. The fire burnt his skin nearly to the bone before it went out against the coiled stalks of the forest. Melissa dragged both boys away from the vines and trees. She pulled them to the crooked bend of the path right next to the dark water.

“Keep calm Ron, keep calm,” Melissa said. “You’re in lots of pain, so just stay still, we to wash the wound out with water to keep the fresh from burning.”

Milo had partially recovered, and helped Ron into the water. Ron was barely conscious, which was nice so he wouldn’t argue with Milo or Melissa. The water stayed shallow for them as they helped Ron into the oozing pond shore. The bog did not want to terrify the children like it had earlier with Ron and the pearled faces along its depths. This time the bog wanted to see how the children reacted with such a serious wound, to study their efforts to practice compassion, and hope. Milo looked back briefly at the campfire they’d made along the path. It was completely gone. The woods had eaten it up like a buzzard would a piece of rot. The forest was standing tall and quiet, and the path had gotten smaller. A figure was retreating into the woods. It was the hooded figure from before. It was dark, hanging, and faceless in the shadows. It moved like a trapped piece of light, like a reflection. The cloak around its body was fluctuating and fluid. Golden claws hung out of its hands along the figure’s side. It petrified Milo, but he managed to tug at Melissa, who was supporting the comatose body of Ron above the water. She turned as the figure retreated into the woods without parting a leaf.

She could only scream.