Free Rich Shapero by Too Far Page A

and shrieking, they dashed to the high point
and along it at full speed, weaving through the drifting muzz. They seemed sure
to go plunging down one side or the other—then the mist would shift and they'd
spy the way. There—the gate. The gate!
    They passed between the stumps, spluttering
with relief, clutching each other, hugging and stumbling, rolling down the
incline, cheek to cheek. Crying? Laughing? Oh, plenty of each.
    As they came to rest, a fierce wind struck
the slope. A thick sheaf of litter rumpled before them, built to a wave, then
reared straight up. Shivers' sodden features emerged from the pasted leaves.
    Fristeen screamed. Robbie staggered back.
Shivers hung there, ravening them, eye orbits sucking, his prehensile chin
snapping at the ground like a whip.
    "A great romance in the offing,"
Shivers croaked. " ' Can I see yours?'" His humor was
gone.
    "You're in our way," Robbie
bellowed.
    "More than you know," Shivers
said venomously. "I'm your goose bumps, and—" to Fristeen "—your
peachfuzz pricking up." Then to both: "I'm the shivers between you.
Every sigh, every giggle passes through me."
    "You nasty old man—" Fristeen
shook with rage.
    "Your sage chaperone," Shivers
corrected her.
    Robbie grabbed Fristeen's hand and
struggled forward. They had to cross the stream. Shivers' maw opened and a
torrent of mulch whirled out. Through the flying leaves, Robbie caught sight of
the log. As they scrambled toward it, Shivers' great visage flew apart. Robbie
reached the log, straddled it and started across. Fristeen was right behind
him.
    The wind let them get halfway, and then it
came blasting between the banks and the log started bucking. They jockeyed and
clung, but the thrashing mounted. Robbie was thrown off and Fristeen let go,
and they fell together into the murky stream. The current wasn't strong.
Fristeen lifted herself and gave Robbie a hand, and they clambered up the steep
bank.
    As they reached the top, the rain ceased
abruptly and a fog curled round them. Shivers was in it, squeezing their soaked
bodies with icy claws, chilling them to the bone. Robbie heard Fristeen's teeth
chattering.
    "Cold, little saplings?" Shivers
hissed.
    "Make him stop," Fristeen begged.
    "You're like all the other babes in
these woods." Shivers grew mordant. "For a summer, your leaves flutter
with another's. You imagine you're kin to the stars. But the same sap that
inflames you, freezes and splits you. And the older you grow, the deader at
heart."
    The mist was impenetrable. Robbie's hands
were numb. He knew he was stumbling forward—he could see his thighs moving. But
his legs had lost their feeling. They seemed no longer to belong to him. Is this
what it's like? he wondered. When you're about to die? One hand stretched back to someone who cares for you, the other reaching for a
place you can't see. In your ears, the rustle of limbs against leaves, audible
shadows in the land of the blind.
    "Call it love if you like,"
Shivers said softly, "but it's just decomposing. You sprouted alone, and
you'll wither alone. The only peace in this world is inside me."
    "He Knows?" Robbie shouted.
    "Close, close, close . . ."
    "Are we near the edge?"
    "Wet, wet, wet, wet. . ."
    Before Robbie could figure out what He
Knows meant, his heel slid on the soaked mulch. He landed at the bottom of a
pit on his hip, groaning with pain.
    "Robbie!"
    Shivers was coiled in the pit with him.
Robbie could feel his slimy head probing and stretching, crawling over him like
a bloated worm. The stench made him gag. He lurched upright, struggling to
stand, clawing his way up the side of the pit. When Fristeen saw him, she
grabbed his arm.
    "There—" She pointed, leading the
way through the brush, putting the stream bed behind them. His hip hurt badly,
but he did his best to keep up.
    When they reached the Fallen Down Trees,
they spotted the marker through the mist and scrambled beneath, and when they
rose on the far side, it was barely drizzling and the