Journey to Mattawa

3,153 km tackled, with only 1,000 km left to go. The last leg of the trek—from Thunder Bay to Mattawa—is proving to be the most challenging. That wide road quickly narrows to a thin line, and the colossal pines on either side start to close in on me and the goldendoodle in the back of my SUV. The closest highway rest stop is fifteen minutes away, and when I finally reach the parking lot, I can barely keep my eyes open. I guess those two iced lattes and Celsius didn’t do the trick.

A concrete bench is in the center of an open field. After letting the dog out into the expansive forest, I pull out a joint and sit. Sour Diesel, my favorite; this one tastes just like the first time, like the start of something new. When I got this job, I was homeless, living in my ex-boyfriend’s apartment. It’s been a year since I graduated from my master's program. A year of unemployment and six months of counting down to when I’d have to start paying off my student loans. 

My skin starts to tingle, my teeth vibrate. The acrid taste of smoke clings to my tongue, making the spit in my mouth thick. This far out in the middle of nowhere, the stars shine as brightly as streetlights, the night air as crisp as air conditioning. Calm, now less wound up from driving for over eight hours, I’m ready for a good nap. 

“Faith, come here,” I say, staring into the thicket. Those tall, bristly trees are so dense and bunched together, like a black void ready to swallow me whole.

Silence. 

“Come here,” I say once more.

I shine my iPhone’s flashlight across the dark expanse. Branches pulsate like blood pumping through veins. I’ve never seen anything like this before; it could be a trick of the eye, or mould devouring a host. I specialized in forest pathology at the University of British Columbia, and now I realize, for good reason, why the forest technician position in Mattawa so “perfectly coincides with my master's degree,” as the hiring manager said during my interview. 

Shit, I might also just be too high. 

Whistling is my last attempt at calling back the goldendoodle. 

She was my ex-boyfriend’s. A couple of days before I interviewed for the job, we got into this huge argument about how instead of taking her out for potty breaks, he’d make her wear diapers or piss on pee pads. It made the whole apartment stink, and he wouldn’t own up to being a lazy piece of shit; he never owned up to anything. It pissed me off to no end, more than usual that day, and I vowed that if I ever got this job, I’d take that poor, neglected dog away from him. 

I couldn’t leave Faith behind with him, and I can’t leave her now.

The forest is thick with vegetation, signaling an undisturbed environment. Odd, considering this route is popular with daily commuters, cross-country travelers and truckers. Bryophytes are common in boreal forests, yet liverworts and mosses cover almost everything, along with fungi as large as my head gathering around roots or growing on bark. These organisms often have symbiotic relationships, but never to this extent. 

Something whizzes past me, tickling my ear. I swing my flashlight in its direction; what looks like glitter sifts through the air, sinking into my skin. 

“Woof! Woof!”

Before I can even make sense of what just happened, I’m following the sound. Practically charging toward it. Shrubbery whips at my ankles while saplings slice at my cheek. “Faith,” I yell.

This road trip wasn’t supposed to go like this. We were supposed to land in that small, sleepy town, rent a cabin by the water, become friends with the locals, maybe even make an impact on Canadian conservation efforts. Now I might have to do all of that without her. What a great way to start a new life.  

The buzz from my joint is replaced by a burning sensation throughout my body; my heart pounds in my throat, the darkness intensifies my breathing. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, and it’s like I’ve just ran a hot iron across my face. 

I can’t see anything. How am I going to find her if I can’t see anything?

I stumble and land in a heap of what I suspect to be leaf litter and detritus. Waving that phone again, I catch sight of apricot-hued fur, then an amber eye. Reflexively, I push myself up. My hand dips into the soil, or at least I think so. A pungent, foul odor bursts from beneath me, accompanied by the same glitter from before. I finally get a proper look at what I’d fallen into, and realize my shoe is digging into a deer’s eye. The buck pants alongside me as hyphae sprout, grow, multiply from its torso, reaching for me. 

I want to scream, but my dog is barking again. “Faith, we’ve got to get out of here.”

She keeps looking into the distance. I grab her by the tail, my palm sliding up to her collar as leaves sway, as the ground rumbles. Oh God. Something is out there, and by the sound of those steps, it's coming for us.

I retrace my path to my car, stepping over plants, pushing past bushes. Whatever’s chasing us now screeches, its voice haunting, full of vengeance. This is bad; this is really bad. That thing is going to kill us. We’re done for. 

A glimpse of the open field is all I need to sprint at full speed, basically carrying the eighty-five-pound goldendoodle at this point. I don’t stop until we reach my car. 

In the rearview mirror, the trees keep shaking; a billowing cloud of glitter lifts into the air. I expect the worst; instead, everything goes quiet. All at once, the atmosphere feels less charged, as if I’m no longer a threat. I might just be assuming that the thing wanted me out of its forest. Either way, I tell myself this for my peace of mind since I’m too high to drive right now. I’ll worry about it if it decides to reappear. 

Faith paws at my sleeve while I check her for wounds, and that’s when I notice something moving inside my hand. Under the starlight, what looks like roots wiggle and push against my skin. When I look at my reflection in my car’s visor, pale yellow, elongated, thread-like filaments sprout along my temple and cheeks.