Anne was a regular Snow White when it came to animals. The raccoon rummaging around in the backseat of the Ford Focus scared us half to death, but after a couple of minutes, he was sitting on her shoulder, eating almonds from her hand.
“Aww, you’re not so scary, are you, little guy?” She gave him a little scratch behind the ear with her free hand.
“I don’t know if you should be doing that, Anne. Don’t raccoons have, like, diseases and stuff?”
“Oh, chill out.” She put him on the hood of the car, and he rolled onto his back like a dog, exposing his belly. She took the hint and rubbed it.
“He reminds me of a friend I used to have,” she said. “Cameron.”
“How, exactly, does this raccoon remind you of your friend?”
“He seems all scary and dangerous, but he’s just a little sweetie pie underneath,” she used that baby voice people do when they talk to their pets. “I’m gonna call you Cammy, how does that sound?”
To my surprise, ‘Cammy’ made a little chittering sound, as if answering in the affirmative. I timidly reached out my hand to give the little guy a pet. His fur felt coarse and wiry, but somehow also soft and warm.
“See? Nothing to be afraid of. Now how about we try to start one of these cars.”
“Eh, I already tried. None of them have keys. I was able to turn my radio on, which is how I heard that radio broadcast, but it wouldn’t start.”
“Damn,” she thought for a moment. “Wait, hang on.”
She walked back to her trunk and pulled out a little red tool chest. Cammy followed and jumped inside.
“What, are you gonna try to hot wire it?” I laughed.
“Well, yeah.”
“What? Who are you?”
She smiled. “It’s a long story, maybe I’ll tell you sometime.”
While our new friend curled up in the Mustang’s cozy trunk, Anne fiddled with the wires under the Focus’s steering column.
“A few extra wires and junk, but really not that much different than a car from the 90s.” She tapped a couple wires together and the engine roared to life, followed immediately by the intense blaring of the car’s alarm.
“Shit, shit, shit!” she swore above the booming siren. “Maybe not exactly the same.”
The forest erupted with the sounds of fauna rushing to escape the threat of danger. We were a few miles out, but I was still worried the sound could carry through the valley into town. Anne frantically messed with the wires, trying to stop the alarm.
“Screw it,” she said, yanking at the rat’s nest of wires until the alarm stopped and the thrumming motor with it. “Well, damn.” She sighed and slapped her hands on her knees. “Shall we try another one?”
“I don’t know, Anne,” I chuckled. “That was pretty loud.”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby, we’re miles from town.”
“We’re in a Valley, what if the sound carried?”
“Relax, Em, it couldn’t carry that far.”
I gave in and we moved on to another car. With my own car out of commission and Anne refusing to mess with hers, it was between the 2012 Civic and the 80s BMW. As she explained it, the BMW would likely have a superior security system, while the Civic might be beyond her technological skill-set. We went with the BMW. Anne popped the hood and went to work, noting the state of decay and grumbling about chewed up wiring.
“Shh. Did you hear that?” There was a noise about fifty feet away, some rustling in the brush.
“Probably just some more critters,” said Anne, “or maybe just the wind.”
She had a point there, the wind was picking up a little, rustling the forest canopy and providing a stinging chill.
“Yeah, maybe.”
More rustling, closer now.
“Okay, yeah I heard it that time,” Anne pulled away from the car and we shined our flashlights in the general area. We couldn’t see anything.
“Look, maybe we should call it a night and try this again in the daylight,” I said, suddenly worried about bears or wolves or The Huntsman, or whatever else might be lurking in these woods.
“Yeah…” Anne said. “Maybe you’re right.”
We turned back around and in the middle of the car graveyard stood a massive golden elk. It must have been eight feet tall, not including its long, twisted antlers.
“Holy…” Anne’s mouth was agape. The beast stared at us long enough for me to look into its dark, obsidian eyes. In that moment I felt connected to the animal, like I could feel what it felt. Scared at first, then… I don’t know… Thoughtful, maybe? Hopeful?
There was another rustle in the brush behind us and we turned around quickly, fear rushing over us. Again, our flashlights shone on nothing visible. We turned back around to look at the elk again but it started to run, bounding over my car and into the dark forest. Anne and I looked at each other and there was another rustle, almost directly behind us this time.
Without looking, we took off running, following the elk, hoping it would lead us to safety. I don’t know why, but I felt like it was there to help. From the way Anne looked at me, something told me she felt the same. I ran through trees and bushes, twigs and branches whipping across my face.
I’m not sure when Anne and I got separated, or at what point we lost track of the elk, but after what felt like fifteen minutes of running, I found myself in front of a large cave opening. I pointed my flashlight back out into the forest, looking for any sign of Anne or the elk, but I could hardly see past the tree-line. Everything illuminated in a bright white flash of light, followed shortly by the sharp crack of thunder as a deluge of rain began to fall.
I sought shelter in the damp cave, and my already weak flashlight began to dim. I gave it a couple smacks on the side and it brightened just long enough for me to see a giant, life-size painting of the golden elk on the cave wall.
- Emmett Brewer, cave dweller