Chapter Text
Trees remember us
Stalling the engine of his home on wheels, Jack took a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel unusually hard so that the knuckles on his fingers turned slightly white. Clenching his lips, he had to close his eyes for a moment to piece together the puzzle of his thoughts. Memories of this place had kept him awake for several nights after the confirmation of his transfer back to Ironbark…
A place that left him with nightmares and a reputation as a psycho.
The only reason he was even here was because his father’s death and funeral had drained him emotionally and financially, which is what pushed him to return to Ironbark.
He wasn’t complaining about the salary at Silverbeaver, but Ironbark paid a bit more, and Jack wanted at least somehow to distract himself from the loss of his father and the argument with his sister, who was angry at him for never being there when it mattered, and for choosing a life in “some kind of vehicle” instead of staying in their family home and building a normal family and finding a normal job.
About 10 minutes passed in silence before Jack, with a jingle of his keychain, pulled the keys out of the ignition and finally stepped out of the RV, breathing in the forest air deeply.
The scent of tree resin and fir hung in the air.
Towering above Jack, the trees swayed slowly in the mountain wind, waving their tops at him.
As if welcoming him back after a long 6 years.
The ground crunched softly under the weight of his steps, blending into the forest’s sounds. Jack could hear every noise coming from the depths of the woods around him.
The creaking of old tree trunks, the rustling of bushes and the flapping of birds’ wings as they flew overhead. Somewhere in the distance a branch snapped and above his head, in a hollow near the top of a tree, squirrels scratched around.
Finally reaching the ranger station, Jack first knocked, then carefully opened the door and stepped into a small room lit by slightly yellowed fluorescent lights.
At the computer, he saw Billy. He didn’t recognize him right away, since the man had gone a bit gray and was wearing a new uniform, apparently management had made some changes.
“Oh, good evening, may I have your permi—” Billy immediately turned toward him, holding a mug of coffee. For some reason Jack wasn’t surprised that Billy was drinking coffee at 6 PM.
“I’m the new fire lookout…” The words came out a bit rougher than Jack intended, he was tired after 7 hours of driving and just wanted to get the keys to the tower and crash into bed.
“Ahhh, the new guy, right?” Billy smirked, turning back to the computer to check the updated database.
“Yeah.”
“Mmm… yeah, I see it. Jack Nelson.” The man confirmed, rummaging through desk drawers looking for the right key to the tower.
“Feels like I’ve heard that name before…”
“I worked here 6 years ago… Tower 11…” Jack reminded him, shifting awkwardly in place like an 8 year old kid instead of a 30 year old man.
“Ah… well, welcome back then.” The man said calmly, handing him the keys.
“You’ve been assigned to the same tower. I assume you already know where that is.”
Jack felt a bit uneasy that the man didn’t even ask about that incident, most likely just didn’t want to bring it up.
“Don’t forget to file your first weather report in the system upon arrival, so we know you made it—”
“…Have a good evening.” Jack said gloomily, cutting Billy off and taking the keys.
Locking up his home on wheels, Jack started walking slowly along the path worn down by thousands of tourists who came here to relax and from time to time to make his job harder.
Occasionally he stepped on a stone or a branch, slightly breaking the silence and the sound of his breathing, the tower was about an hour away on foot, though back then he had run that distance in maybe 20 minutes without slowing down once.
Stepping over a small stream that flowed out of a large river, the man involuntarily remembered the tourist he failed to guide out of the forest to safety before the cultists got to him. For a long time after returning to Ironhorse, he wondered if it was that guy’s body the cultists had burned that night. But over time, he gradually stopped asking and just accepted that he would never know what happened to that guy, or whether he was even alive.
Most likely not.
Jack walked in silence for another 20 minutes before he finally saw the ladder to his tower. Stopping, he tilted his head back and looked up at it. It loomed several meters above him, making him feel small.
Knowing what to do, he left his bag by the ladder and first started the generator. The machine gave a low hum as it started, then settled into a quieter, steady buzz.
Entering the shed, the man grabbed some logs to light the stove and finally headed up into the tower itself, climbing the ladder with heavy steps, bag in one hand and logs in the other.
When he stepped onto the small terrace at the top of the tower, slightly above the treetops, Jack saw his “sister” Tower 12, where, as he remembered, Connor worked.
A dim light from a lamp glowed inside, but Jack couldn’t clearly make out the silhouette of the person inside.
He didn’t remember being particularly close with Connor, just exchanging a few words now and then or complaining about annoying tourists who ignored park rules.
He imagined Connor probably thought he was crazy… or didn’t even remember him at all.
Approaching the door, he inserted the slightly rusted key into the lock, turning it until he heard a quiet click.
Jack stumbled into the wooden box with windows. Crossing the threshold, he immediately shut the door behind him and locked it, leaving the key in the lock. Pausing for a second, he carefully scanned the room.
This place was going to be his home for the next 6 months.
He didn’t turn on the lights right away, partly because it was still light enough, but also because he wanted to pay Connor back for scaring the shit out of him on his first day by talking through the radio the moment he turned on the lights.
Sighing, he tossed the logs into the stove, planning to light it later once he was done with the system and unpacking.
After standing by the stove for a few minutes, Jack threw his bag onto the bed and finally sat at the computer, wiping dust off the screen that had built up over a long time of disuse. Turning it on, he had to wait a couple of minutes for the dinosaur era machine to finally boot up.
Considering the computer hadn’t been replaced since the 90s, it took about 10 minutes to get everything running, since everything lagged or clicked in the wrong places.
The harsh bright light irritated his eyes a bit, and Jack had to blink often as he filled out the weather report Billy had asked for. Even though he hadn’t fully listened, he wasn’t going to downplay the importance of someone knowing he had made it to the tower.
Exhaling in relief after dealing with the ancient machine, Jack leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. Cobwebs were woven into every corner, probably sitting there for over 100 years, since nobody really cared enough to remove them.
Hesitating one last time, he picked up the small microphone attached to the radio and pressed the button.
“Hello, this is Tower 11, how do you read me?” A minute of silence followed, then a familiar voice came through the radio. For a moment, Jack felt a sense of relief that Connor was still there and hadn’t changed jobs in the last 6 years.
“Holy fucking shit! Don’t scare me like that, new guy!!” Connor’s first words were cut off, he had clearly started talking before pressing the button.
“Just returning the favor.” Jack chuckled, playing with the microphone wire between his fingers.
A minute of silence followed. Connor was trying to figure out what he meant, since he felt like he was hearing this voice for the first time.
“…What are you… talking about, new guy?” Connor asked uncertainly, hoping Jack would explain.
Jack should have expected that Connor wouldn’t remember something so insignificant, and even less Jack himself.
“Hello?” Connor repeated impatiently.
“You probably don’t remember, but I worked here a few years ago. Jack Nelson, from Ironhorse.” Jack replied, plugging in a flash drive full of movies and all seasons of “The Office” into the computer with one hand. He could only hope the system wouldn’t crash from the amount of files.
After his words, silence hung in the air. A faint static came from the radio, meaning Connor hadn’t released the microphone, he was just silent, choosing his words.
“Jack… Jack who ran off his post screaming that cultists were chasing him?”
“Yeah… that’s me, in the flesh.” The man said with a hint of self irony.
“Ah… well… welcome back…”
“Thanks.”
And silence followed.
Jack was about to sign off but Connor continued
“So… why did you come back…?”
Because his life had just started falling apart. His sister cut him off, his father died, he was nearly broke, and on the verge of a breakdown or falling into a drinking binge.
“It’s quieter here.”
“That’s true…”
Jack didn’t reply, he didn’t want to continue. For today he had had enough awkward encounters.
The chair legs scratched lightly against the wooden floor of the tower, adding yet more scratches to a surface already covered in them, so it barely made a difference.
Jack lazily walked over to the stove and, grabbing a gas can, carefully poured a bit onto the logs so they would catch well. Taking some matches, he struck the side of the box a couple of times before one flared to life.
He tossed it into the stove, watching the logs ignite and blacken.
Then he unpacked a small stash of groceries he had bought on the way into a mini fridge that smelled like God knows what, since countless other fire lookouts had stored food in it before him.
He bought the simplest stuff that didn’t require much effort.
Some canned beef and tuna, pasta, frozen pizza, ketchup and ranch, a bag of mixed vegetables and a pack of 6 beers.
According to regulations, alcohol wasn’t allowed in the towers, but who the hell was going to hike out into the middle of nowhere to check?
Finally, he reached a lonely pack of the cheapest, most basic cigarettes at the bottom of the bag.
Originally he didn’t smoke and hadn’t planned to, but he started about 4 months after escaping the park, it helped clear his head and gave his mind a break of silence.
Only now did he realize one pack probably wouldn’t be enough…
“Well, fuck…” Jack snorted, straightening up and slamming the fridge shut a bit harder than necessary.
No matter how hard he tried, the tower smelled the same, wood and wax, and he was still surrounded by the same dense forest stretching for hundreds, maybe thousands of miles…
Along with all that, he began to remember the events of that evening more clearly.
How he hid under the bed on the dusty floor while a cultist searched the room.
Just the memory made him shiver.
He was never big, only 5’7 and fairly slim, he hardly could have fought off that guy, who at the time seemed like he was all 6’9… Maybe it was just his imagination… Like his father used to say, fear has big eyes…
“So… what they said about you…” Connor’s voice came through the radio just in time, pulling Jack out of another downward spiral.
“Management said you went crazy. That you kept going on about cultists and some kind of ritual… and that they supposedly killed a tourist… Is that true?” The radio distorted his voice slightly with static, but it was still clear what he asked.
Silence followed, and staring at the radio, Jack knew he didn’t want to explain anything.
He knew that even if he told everything, Connor wouldn’t believe him. They didn’t know each other, hadn’t talked in 6 years, Connor wasn’t just going to listen and believe everything he went through that night. Glancing once more at the pack of cigarettes on the fridge, Jack left Connor without an answer.
Cigarettes were what he could pour his soul into… even if not in words.
And now, when he had to start almost from scratch, he wasn’t about to open up to someone who didn’t believe a single word he said and seemed too indifferent to care about the possible existence of cultists in this park.
After all, if cultists really were killing people and performing rituals deep in these woods, that was a job for the police, not fire lookouts…
***
Jack started to feel sleepy.
He fought his exhaustion for a long time, afraid to relax even for a second. He didn’t say it out loud, but he was afraid to fall asleep, afraid to wake up to someone’s footsteps at his door or a horrifying shadow at the window.
Turning off the light, Jack looked at Connor’s tower, which had been dark for the past 2 hours, Connor was probably already deep in sleep.
Before lying down, Jack checked the door several times, making sure it was locked.
In bed, lying on the hard mattress and resting his head on a pillow that was too soft, Jack stared at the ceiling lit by moonlight for a long time. Then, realizing he would never fall asleep like this, he turned onto his side, facing the door, drilling it with his gaze.
Hours seemed to pass before his eyes finally began to close on their own and his vision blurred from exhaustion.