This forest is cool, dark in the way only secluded areas can be dark while the sun still shines through branches and pine needles. The area looks like any empty track of trees rocks and dirt, except the silent helicopter that stands still in the meadow beside the tall pines. Tall grass reaches to the bottom of the cockpit door, masking the skids beneath it. A gentle breeze pushes the blades, propeller and plant life wave slowly.
“Why can’t we just helicopter all the way?” Tiffany asks with whine in her tone.
“It wouldn’t work,” Loy says simply, “besides, we’d run out of gas before we got there, and we’d have to walk back out anyway. What difference is a few more steps?”
“A few more steps is like, the difference between walking up the block and walking down the street. Trekking through the wild, to and then from some lost ancient city is not a few more steps. It’s a lot of freakin’ walking that’s what it is.”
After Loy rescued them from museum rooftop and landed the helicopter in the middle of nowhere, at least as far as Edward was concerned, they discovered they were sufficiently more well equipped than they expected: backpacks, first aid kits, tent, sleeping bags, even a smattering of possibly edible but unappetizing dehydrated food packs. They sorted through it all like looters, packing vitals into two backpacks, Tiffany refusing to carry one. The Loy/Tiffany banter had begun with the silence of the propellers and continue since.
Edward walks quietly, he regrets not wearing his hiking boots to work earlier today. He studies the map as they move through the woods. Its markings are not specific, not latitude or longitude, not even a compass rose, just rivers, hills, mountains, and a city.
“Don’t worry, I know the way,” Loy says quietly as be slows to Edwards pace.
“How’s that?” Edward asks.
“I’ve been there before.”
“Why bother with the map then?” Tiffany asks overhearing, “why swoop in via helicopter and abduct us to mount doom? Why not just leave us at the museum instead of making us your hobbit posse?”
“Because,” Loy stops and turns to Tiffany, “they don’t know the way.” Loy points in the distant direction of the helicopter. “And I told you, I didn’t swoop it. It’s not my ‘copter.” He turns and continues walking.
“Sure drove it pretty well,” Tiffany mumbles.
“Flew,” Edward corrects, “he flew it pretty well. And we’re lucky he did or we’d be chalk outlines on the museum roof right now.”
“If you’ve been there before, why aren’t you rich?” Tiffany calls ahead.
Edward doesn’t respond.
“I mean, it’s a city of gold. Keep it for yourself. Fortune and fame… Now you’re gonna have to share that with me.”
Edward looks at Tiffany, left out but not surprised.
“There’s a lot more than gold in that city,” Edward doesn’t even sound out of breathe.
They walk in silence for a moment, Tiffany waits and Edward thinks.
“Yeah. Very cryptic,” Tiffany mocks.
More silence passes them as they walk.
“Is it…safe?” Edward asks, he begins to wonder if they should trust Loy.
Loy continues walking for a moment. He slows, doubt on his brow. Or maybe it’s concern. His otherwise stoic face is momentarily different. “Look, it’s not too late to turn back. You two can wait at the helicopter.”
“I wonder if it has WiFi?” Tiffany taps on the useless touchscreen of her phone.
“I know you rescued us, and whatever. And we weren’t exactly expecting to rush right out into the wilderness with a complete stranger, but” Edward breathes, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. Even Tiffany. She may complain. A lot. And be kinda annoying. But she wants to be here.”
“I can hear you, you know?” Tiffany says loudly.
Edward folds the map and slides it into his pocket.
They continue, a chorus of deep breaths and solid footsteps. The birds of the morning give way to the buzz of afternoon insects. The occasional chipmunk or squirrel darts across branches overhead, and the ground stays in a steady, manageable uphill tilt.
“Are we there yet?” Tiffany asks.
Edward expels a puff of laughter. “Yup. Look there, a golden house. Oh, and over there, a whole street made of gold.”
“How long is this going to take?”
“A couple days,” Loy offers.
“Wow. I’m going to be so in shape by the time we get there. We’ll be like the people from LOST. On some outdoor adventure, and looking good while we’re at it.”
Loy slows, and slides his pack off one shoulder, “why don’t you guys take 15.” He busies himself with the various pockets and straps.
Tiffany leans against a large rock, bends each keens in turn brings each foot toward her waist behind her, stretching and pulling.
Edward slides his pack off his back and pulls a canteen from it. They pass it between the three of them. “When do we need to start making camp?” Edward asks.
Loy looks off toward the mountainous horizon, “couple more miles. Before it gets dark is the main thing.” Loy looks back in the direction they’ve come from and then back toward the direction they’ve been walking.
Edward studies Loy’s face. Fear may not be the right word. But, concern? Something he’s not sharing with them. Edward take the map from his pocket and unfolds it. It is wrinkled, torn on several edges. Dirty, folded the wrong way several times. Its texture almost like cloth, like a very old antique apron or handkerchief. The dye is faded from its original hue. Edward looks back in the direction they’ve come. Back toward the helicopter, the museum roof, the upturned food court tables and the bullets.
“We’re being followed, aren’t we?”
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