The Depth

Chapter 2

I set my bike, and the books on the carrier. Gripping forward on the handles, I start to pedal. The streets are clean and quiet. Only because there's no life to be seen other than myself. After I delivered the books to Carol at the Library, I decided to stop by the lake and try to set some snares and catch a couple of fish for lunch. My sweat starts to come out from the swift pedaling. I think if I save time, I can take my catch at home so Mom can transform it into a decent lunch. A pan-seared salmon or a stewed bass would be nice.

Amidst the great greenery where Trees and plantations devour most of the space, hides the lake. Because the path encompasses rocks and muddy trails, I left my bike beside a tree and propped my pack behind my back. Inside the pack, there are a few baits I excavated from the garden along with a set of new hooks, and slices of bread.

At the first pace, there's a running stream dashing downhill. The flow of water leads to the woods.

I travel alongside the current of the stream, through dirt and sand, and leap my way forward from one rock to another. Crashing the direction of fresh winds as I hike quietly. I pause on the banks and cup my hands to fetch some stream water to cure my thirst. Sitting on the rocks, watching birds take flight through trees up front. Then back again on my feet to continue. I show a bit of a grin when I see the array of enormous mahogany trees in a few feet. It means I'm near the woods. A few hikes through it is my destination.

I tuck my hands beneath my leather jacket's pocket. The winds in the deep part of the woods are as cold as winter. No sunlight entering. The darkness of the trees' shadows encloses all angles. After minutes of trekking, rays of sunlight appear from above through the spaces the leaves couldn't cover. Illuminating some parts of the place. I walk as I inhale and exhale cool breaths. My eyebrows compressed as my eyes became a rapid circle. It's loud enough to know that it is somewhere close to me. There it goes again! I wonder what causes such continuous quick sounds. If it were a bear or a pack of wolves then I'm in trouble. Scaling a tree wouldn't be an option either let alone Darting for escape. I'm too worn out for my muscles to even function. If my thoughts turn out to be true then I can't do anything but be dead meat. I pick up a sharp rock beside a mahogany root and spread my arms as wide as I can. Preparing for attack.

But the sound continues the same. I search by the ravine, twenty yards from my foot. The sound travels with a hint of echo. It must have originated from a hollowed space somewhere nearby. I stick my body against a cliff wall and hold onto a rock to keep my balance. When I lean my head over, I see the beautiful scenery of the ravine underneath the waves of cloud, and a guy's back, wearing a grey sleeve, long pants, and old ugly brown boots. Standing on top of a bed of pebbles, aiming a knife into a tree that seems to be where his target is located. Even from the back, I know within seconds that the guy I'm looking at is my best friend, Alan Felon.

"Hey!" I shout, jumping across a puddle.

Alan squeaks, and instantly turns around and positions a knife ready for attack, "What are you doing?"

"Just checking up on you, I say as I walk straight to the target.

Alan retreats his knife down to his sheath, "I could've killed you!"

"Yeah, but you didn't, I say.

I know Alan like my mother knows me. And I know that the odds of him killing me with his weapons are thinner than his sheath. I take the knife off the tree's crust. If his shots are not inside the target circle, then his eyesight must've been impaired. That's how good Alan is with his knife-throwing skills. Growing up, Alan Felon has always been my company through everything. Mostly when we're hunting. The wilderness is our meeting place. With his knives and my traps, we always left the woods with the freshest meats.

During school days, Alan hunts with me and Jody on the weekends for fish and birds. He even tried teaching us his craft, but somehow, he does it with so much precision that we think it's his gift. Jody and I can never do what he does. Setting up snares and catapulting hooks are the only skills we find convenient.

Quite often, I follow his blue eyes when he aims. His hair falls straight an inch above his sharp eyebrows. His skin is the color of the wood. Only lighter.

"Let's fish," I say, walking straight through him with my shoulders touching his chest. He didn't answer and I didn't look back. But I hear footsteps snapping on fallen branches behind me. That's him because I know he's coming with me. He always does. It's his habit.

"Where's Jody?" He sprints, with his boots loudly impacting the bushes underneath it.

I turn my head to the left, "She's not in the mood."