Page 111 of Grave Matter

And that’s when I remember Ihaveseen him before.

He was on the seaplane with me, sitting at the back with the other new staff member at Madrona.

What the hell?!

“Where do you thinkyou’regoing?” the man says to me, his voice low, his hand resting on the wheel as his eyes bore into me.

“Uh, for a walk,” I say.

“You’re not allowed to leave,” he says, the wind whipping back his straggly hair. “We can’t let you leave.”

Oh fuck.

“You’re going to have to come with me,” he says, starting to get out of the vehicle.

Hell no!

I start running.

I sprint down the logging road until I hear the start of the engine, and then I quickly veer to the right and run into the forest, wondering if I can lose him for long enough that I’ll find the road again. I crash through the bushes, blackberries ripping at my leggings, reminding me of being a child, pushing myself off the trunks of spruce and pine.

I run through thickets of sword ferns that tangle at my feet, through pockets of aspen groves, until I finally come to a stop, leaning over with my hands on my thighs, spitting on the ground and trying to catch my runaway breath.

“Okay,” I wheeze. “Okay.”

I glance up, looking around. I’m surrounded by cedar, the undergrowth primarily salal in patches, though most of the ground is bare, covered in needles. Blue stain fungi show up on the trunks of some of the trees; on dead ones, oyster mushrooms abound.

I spit again and stare at the ground, straining my ears for sounds of the ATV or that man running in the forest after me. I don’t hear anything but the wind howling.

I try to think about what to do next, where to go, when something on the ground steals my focus.

The blob of spit that just came out of my mouth…

…it’smoving.

I lean in closer to get a better look, frowning.

Did I spit on an ant or something?

But I don’t see any insects.

Except a worm.

Exceptworms.

Tiny, thin white worms are wriggling in my spit.

“Ew,” I say, looking around at the soil. But there are no other worms around.

No.

No.

I put my hand to my mouth and hastily wipe at it.

When I take it away, thin worms wriggle against my wet fingers.

“Oh my god,” I cry out, stumbling backward until I hit a tree. I open my mouth and start retching, dry heaving violently, until I’m able to vomit up the bacon and eggs from this morning.

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