Appalachian Apprehension

Heather’s feet were killing her. Sixteen miles yesterday, tracking to do twenty today. When she and her fiance decided to thru-hike the Appalachian trail, it was all so romantic. She envisioned them holding hands on an exciting and energetic ramble through the wild and untouched woodlands, refreshed by the aroma of azaleas and mayapple flowers and the pleasant bite of evergreen forests.

The reality: blisters, sweat that repelled vampires, constant muscle soreness, and granola-till-U-want-to-puke-it. She wasn’t sure if her thighs had worn away from friction or the significant caloric deficit. Randy rocked the trail in a kilt.

Because Heather had her eyes peeled for roots, she was able to sidestep the unnaturally gigantic pile of poo in the middle of the trail. Could’ve lost a shoe in there.

“Sheesh.” Randy fanned the air. “Smells like somebody just passed a decomposing chicken. Wasn’t you, was it, Heather? You never-“

She stopped him just before he stepped into it.

This was no dog.

Not a human.

Something with an enormous colon had relieved itself, and judging by the stench, recently.

Heather knew exactly what dangerous animals might share the woods with them: bears, coyotes, and poisonous snakes. None of them did doodie like that.

Up ahead, more piles of steaming defecation. The sounds of breaking branches no longer seemed innocent. With every bird screech or wood sound, Heather startled and scanned their surroundings. “What could do that?” she asked.

Randy’s response was a whistle of the Deliverance score.

Up ahead, branches cracked under the feet of something heavy. Giant steps pounded the ground like hammers. Each step took Heather and Randy closer to the thing, the thing that didn’t belong in these woods. More stomps and the snaps of breaking limbs. Sunlight splattered the trees and showed a clearing at the top of the hill. They were almost at the crest when they finally saw it. A cow. No, many cows. More cows than Heather had ever seen in one place.

Some in the woods and more in the clearing.

“Aw, just cows,” Heather said. “What’re cows doing up here?” Her tension drained away.

She’d just sagged, relieved to know the source of her anxiety was really nothing, when one of the piles of cow dung moved. She vigorously rubbed her eyes, but the vision didn’t change. The brown goo shifted and stretched, tented, thinned. A limb or projection pressed against it from beneath.

Something tore. Out of it came a person. A man, wearing a kilt the exact same as Randy’s. His build was the same. Same thick calves, same beard. Heather recognized the silver band Randy wore on his thumb. This other Randy wore a silver band, too. The only difference was the other Randy had wet hair and was slimed in brown goo. Everything else, down to his hiking shoes was an exact replica.

The Randy replica didn’t acknowledge them, just reached his hand down into the hole where the pile had been and lifted out a version of Heather.

#

After a filling meal, the new Heather and Randy washed in a nearby stream and made an energetic ramble through the wild and untamed woodlands.

Also true: Heather and Randy got married on the Appalachian Trail. And a particularly enormous pile of dung did set Heather to wondering what sort of creature shared the trail with them.

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