Into the Wild(14)

“No,” Julie whispered—my sneaker, she thought. She had thrown her sneaker at the Wild, and the Wild had swallowed it. They were throwing a helicopter . . . Oh, no. No, no. “Wait! Don’t!”

As soon as the rear of the helicopter crossed over the invisible line between ordinary street and the Wild, it happened: the Wild, like some kind of gigantic octopus, flung thick vines into the air—the crowd gasped—Julie couldn’t breathe. The vines wrapped around the helicopter—the blades stopped. Suddenly, there was silence, and then the vines pulled the helicopter down into the forest. “No,” she said.

She heard a horrible crunching noise—metal being crushed.

And the crowd started to scream.

Julie shoved through the mob. “Mom! MOM!” She was thrown back into the police tape. “Mommy! Zel! Rapunzel!”

Half the people tried to flee, and the other half surged forward. Julie clung to the yellow tape as people knocked into her. “Please keep calm . . .” a voice on a megaphone said. “Oh, we’re going to die!” someone wailed. “We’re all going to die!” Another shouted, “Call in the army! Blow it to bits!” “. . . an orderly evacuation,” the megaphone said. Evacuation? No, she couldn’t leave. Not before she found Mom!

“Idiots!” she heard, shrill over the crowd. “Numskulls! I told you not to enter it! It will trap you if you enter it! Fools!”

She recognized the voice: Goldilocks. It felt like a lifeline in a storm. Goldie, Mom’s friend. “Goldie!” Julie called. She waved her arms in the air. “Goldie, over here!” Julie tried to push toward her, but the tide of the crowd swept against her as police corralled the onlookers back. Elbows and arms jabbed into her. “No! Let me through!” Julie squirmed through the press of people. She burst out in front. The woods, huge and dark, rose up in front of her. She jumped back from the leading edge of moss, and the crowd again swallowed her.

She didn’t see Goldie. Where was she? Julie spun in a circle and saw a flash of pink Lycra. “Cindy!” she cried.

“Oh, Julie!” Cindy pushed toward her and crushed her in a hug.

Julie shoved back from her. “Cindy, where is she?” Tears clogged her eyes. She wiped them back. She had to see. She had to find Mom! “Where is she! Where’s my mom?”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Cindy said. “Let me take you to safety. We can get in my car and drive. All the way to California if we have to.”

She choked down panic. “But where’s—”

Cindy squeezed Julie’s shoulders. “Julie, honey, sweet-heart . . .” Leaning in so Julie could hear her, Cindy shouted in Julie’s ear, “Your mother was a hero! She got the motel guests away before any of them realized what was happening!”

Julie didn’t understand. Her mother wasn’t a hero; her mother was a hairdresser. What did Cindy mean, “she got the motel guests away”? What did she mean, “was a hero”? What did she mean “was”? Julie gulped in air. Her heart was thudding in her ears, louder than the shouting. “What . . .” Her voice squeaked. She licked her lips and tried again: “What do you mean?”

Shoving a rubbernecker aside, Goldie strode toward them. “You! It’s your mother’s fault! She made it worse! It doubled in size after she went in and joined its stories.” Cindy hissed at her, but Goldie shook her ringlets viciously and continued, “She had to be the hero. Always the hero! Never thinking about me!”

After she went in? Mom went in? In the Wild? In that thing that ate a police helicopter? Her mom was in that? The thick vines were strangling the gas station sign, and the station’s roof was now completely obscured by dense, dark leaves. “Get back from the yellow tape!” the megaphones blared. Julie started to shake. She had to have heard wrong. Film crews pushed past her. The shouting was a buzz in her ears. “But . . . what . . .” She turned to Cindy.

“She went in after Gothel,” Cindy said, pity in her eyes.

Julie gaped at her. Grandma was in there too? Mom and Grandma were in the Wild? No. It was too much. It couldn’t be happening. It had to be some horrible nightmare. Wake up, Julie. Please, wake up. She felt tears on her cheeks. She wiped her nose with her sleeve.

“Oh, honey,” Cindy said. “Let me take you away from here.” She put her arm around Julie and tried to guide her away.

Julie didn’t move. Mom and Grandma . . . Feeling sick, she looked up at the tangled green. A hundred feet above the street, the leaves clawed the sky—was it wind, or were they moving on their own? Oh, please, she thought, let this not be happening. Why was this happening? She thought again of her wish. “Last night, I wished . . . I wished . . .”