River’s End

to flirt with the desk clerk, then snagged one last doughnut for the road and headed out.
    He spotted Olivia immediately. She stood in the gloom, rain pattering on her bush-style hat, fog twisting around her boots and ankles as she spoke to a quartet of guests about their planned route for the morning. The dog milled around, charming head scratches and handshakes out of the early risers.
    She acknowledged Noah w ith a nod, then watched the group head off.
    “You set?”
    Noah took another bite of his tractor wheel. “Yeah.”
    “Let’s see.” She stood back, skimmed her measuring glance up, then down, then up again. “How long have those boots been out of the box, ace?”
    Less than an hour, Noah thought, as he’d bought them in San Francisco. “So I haven’t been hiking in a few years. Unless we’re planning on climbing the Matterhorn, I’m up for it. I’m in shape.”
    “Health-club shape.” She pressed a finger against his flat belly. “Fancy health club, too. This won’t be like your Stair-Master. Where’s your water bottle?”
    Already irritated with her, he held out a hand, cupped it and let rain pool in his palm. Olivia only shook her head. “Hold on a minute.” She turned on her heel and headed back into the lodge.
    “Is it just me,” Noah asked Shirley, “or does she browbeat everyone?” When the dog merely sat, shot the doughnut a hopeful look, Noah broke what was left in half, tossed it. Shirley caught it on the fly, gulped it whole, then belched cheerfully. Noah was still grinning when Olivia jogged back out with a plastic water bottle and belt loop. “You always take your own water,” Olivia began and to Noah’s surprise began to nimbly hook the bottle to his belt.
    “Thanks.”
    “I had them charge it to your room.”
    “No, I meant for the personal service. Mom.”
    She nearly smiled. He caught the start of one in her eyes, then she shrugged and snapped her fingers for the dog, who went instantly to heel. “Let’s go.”
    She intended to start him off on the basic nature trail, the mile loop recommended for inexperienced hikers and parents with small children. To lull him into complacency, she thought with an inner smirk.
    Fog smoked along the ground, slid through the trees, tangled in the fronds of ferns. Rain pattered through it, a monotonous drum and plunk. The gloom thickened as they entered the forest, pressing down as if it had weight and turning the fog into a ghost river.
    “God what a place.” He felt suddenly small, eerily defenseless. “Can’t you just see a clawed hand coming up out of the fog, grabbing your ankle and dragging you down? You’d have time for one short scream, then the only sound would be ... slurping.”
    “Oh, so you’ve heard about the Forest Feeder.”
    “Come on.”
    “We lose an average of fifteen hikers a year.” She lifted a shoulder in dismissal. “We try to keep it quiet. Don’t want to discourage tourists.”
    “That’s good,” Noah murmured, but gave the fog a cautious glance. “That’s very good.”
    “That was easy,” she corrected. “Very easy.” She took out a flashlight, shined it straight up. It had the effect of slicing a beam through the gloom and casting the rest into crawling shadows.
    “The overstory here is comprised of Sitka spruce, western hemlock, Douglas fir and western red cedar. Each is distinctive in the length of its needles, the shape of its cones and, of course, the pattern of its bark.”
    “Of course.”
    She ignored him. “The trees, and the profusion of epiphytes, screen out the sunlight and cause the distinctive green twilight.”
    “What’s an epiphyte?”
    “Like a parasite. Ferns, mosses, lichen. In this case they cause no real harmful effect to their hosts. You can see how they drape, form a kind of canopy in the overstory. And here, below, they carpet the ground, cover the trunks. Life and death are constantly at work here. Even without the Forest Feeder.”
    She switched off her light, pocketed it.
    She continued the lecture as they walked. He listened with half an ear to her description of the trees. Her voice was attractive, just a shade husky. He had no doubt she kept her spiel in simple terms for the layman, but she didn’t make him feel brainless.
    It was enough, Noah realized, just to look. Enough just to be there with all those shapes and shadows and the oddly appealing scent of rot. To draw in air as thick as water. He’d thought he’d be bored or at the most