Worship You

Chapter Ten - The Wild Dogs and the Cleft of the World

Two days before we were supposed to leave for New York, Cassie and I were in my car driving around. She was happy and excited and so I was happy and excited. We planned to leave the day before New Year's Eve and drive all night to New York. Then we'd rest up in a hotel room so we'd be ready to hang in Times Square on New Year's Eve until they dropped the ball.  

At ten-thirty that night we were driving around, Cassie suddenly got quiet and focused, like she had a plan. 

"Turn left," she said. "Take Route 29 east." 

We drove on 29, which used to be a major highway once upon a time in the 1950s - Four lanes! Two in each direction! - but it was now just a back country road that wasn't used very much. Most people took the new Super and bypassed 29 altogether. It was raining of course, that gentle freezing rain that pinged and tinged off the car's hood and made you cold just to look at. Cold, even though we had the heat on high, pouring out of the vents under the dash, practically burning our shins.  

There was a mist forming in the rain as it let up and the headlights showed for just fifty yards and then died, dispersed in fog. It was like flying. Blind. I just kept the nose of the car tracing the white line that came shooting out of the gray cotton mist and hoped nobody stopped up ahead to change a tire or make a phone call.  

I lost track of time and I guess the beat of those white broken stripes appearing and disappearing under the wheels had put me in a kind of trance.  

Cassie said, "This is your exit." 

My exit? I didn't know where the hell we were or how long we'd been driving. But I managed to find the turn-off (at the last possible second, it suddenly jumped out at me). I knew we were out in the boonies, a huge loop of the county that the Super had bypassed and left to die. There were few houses and no developments, not strip malls or even gas stations. Just empty fields that had once been farms and large patches of woods that would suddenly spring up out of the dark and throw your head lights back at you. 

We took two more turns and then the road went down and the land rose up on either side. I could hear rocks kicked up against the underside of the car and I knew we were on a back road, unpaved.  

"Stop here," said Cassie. 

I stamped down on the brake pedal and the car lurched and Cassie was tossed forward. She threw up her hand onto the dashboard and kept herself from hitting the windshield. 

We were still for a moment and then Cassie reached and turned the key and the engine died. It ticked softly, cooling in the night. Everything was silent, except for that ticking. We didn't move for the longest time. Around us the night was slowly revealing itself as the dim light of the dashboard faded. And then the moon came out. 

There was a forest over there. I could see it, spiky and dark, spreading out to the east.  

Then Cassie opened her purse, throwing back the big leather flap. She didn't dig deep, but gently picked something off the top, something that was waiting. She drew it out, a dark cube resting on two fingers. 

"Eat this," she said. 

I tried to see it. I peered at her hand until my eyes opened enough to see in the dark. The thing she held was an inch and a half long and as thick as a fat finger. It had a texture like a clump of new cut grass.  

"What is it?" I said. 

"Just herbs. They'll help you see." 

I laughed softly. "What?" 

"Trust me." She lifted her hand toward my mouth. "You won't regret it." 

I ate the thing. It was hard to swallow without water. Not only did it look like grass it tasted like grass. And other things.