Page 102 of The Quit List
The Viking men have stopped about forty feet in front of us, and they peer at us curiously. Like we are the ones who are out of place out here, without Viking merch.
“We come in peace!” the bigger man yells, raising his sword above his head like he’s an actual Viking surrendering a battle. Good grief, he’s wearing a chainmail vest. I feel like we’ve hiked straight off the Earth and into The Twilight Zone. “Please don’t set your dog on us.” he says as they both walk forward at a normal pace this time.
I’m beyond baffled, and also a little irked, because they just scared the absolute hell out of all of us and haven’t given an explanation as to why they’re in the middle of nowhere in full-fledged HBO-drama-level costume.
“Mind telling us what the hell’s going on?” I say, my voice low and commanding. My finger’s still on the trigger of the bear spray. I’m not yet convinced that these men aren’t insane and I’ll be damned if I let Holly get in even a second of danger.
“I’m Phil,” Viking One says, then jerks a thumb at his buddy. They’re still standing an awkward distance away from us. “This here’s John. We were roleplaying a battle in the forest—Vikings versus King Harold’s army—and we got horribly lost. Don’t suppose you’ve stumbled upon a couple of guys dressed like the Enemy English?”
I blink, totally taken aback. “You were WHAT?”
Behind me, I hear a snuffling noise. I whirl around, worried that Holly’s crying or frightened. But she’s…
Doubled over, snorting with laughter.
“You were about to spray a couple of rogue LARPers,” she cackles, hands on her knees. Rick, apparently no longer seeing these goons as a threat, cheerfully licks Holly’s hand.
“Why isn’t anybody speaking English right now?!”
“They’re, like, roleplayers,” Holly explains. “It’s a whole thing. People dress up as characters and they might reenact historical events, like battles or whatever. Sometimes, it’s fantasy based. One of my colleagues is super into it.”
Dumbfounded does not even begin to cover what I’m feeling right now.
I turn back to look at Phil and John—AKA Tweedledee and Tweedledum—as they approach us slowly. Only then do I get the pleasure of noticing that Johnny Boy is wearing what appears to be very tight spandex leggings beneath his too-short chainmail.
“You’re out here… playing a game?” I narrow my eyes at them.
“Yes.” Phil nods nervously, tapping on his sword. “See? Plastic.”
“What in the actual fu?—”
“Nice to meet you guys!” Holly pops her head out from behind me. “I’m Holly and this is Jax. Sorry you’re lost. You seem like you’re a long way from home.”
“A long way from sanity, more like,” I mutter as I collect Holly’s bear spray along with mine and tuck them into my backpack’s side pocket. The men are in full dress-up gear, aside from their New Balance shoes, and they don’t appear to have anything with them in the way of survival supplies. Or supplies of any kind.
After a very confusing few minutes of conversation with Phil and John the Vikings, we finally determine that they entered a trailhead miles from here this morning and lost their way. They apparently weren’t aware that they wouldn’t have cell service, and therefore, Google Maps (not very authentic Viking-like in my opinion, but what do I know). They’ve been wandering around for hours without food or water, looking for their buddies—the “Enemy English.”
“You guys are never going to make it back to the trailhead before nightfall,” I tell them, still incredulous about this Viking-themed turn of events. Dusk is already falling, and they have about five hours of walking to do, minimum, to get back.
“We really are gonna die,” John says glumly, hanging his head so the long, stringy wool hair attached to his Viking helmet falls in his face.
“Don’t say that,” Holly comforts the man, patting his back awkwardly. “There’s got to be something we can do, some way to get you out. Right, Jax?”
She turns to me expectantly and I consider our options. I have an emergency beacon, but a helicopter rescue for a couple of lost Vikings probably isn’t in the cards. And while part of me wants to give them both a granola bar and a flashlight and send them on their merry LARPing way, I know that isn’t the right thing to do.
“You’ll have to camp with us tonight,” I say, and I could swear that Holly’s gaze flickers towards me. It makes me wonder whether she’s enjoyed our time alone as much as I have. “We’re going to set up camp in a clearing about a half mile down the trail. We have some extra supplies because some people actually like to come to the backcountry prepared.”
“Thank you!” Phil exclaims, completely missing my sarcasm. Or he’s grateful enough not to care. “Thank you to both you and your wife for your generosity!”
My… wife.
I look at Holly, the word snagging in my brain.
My entire life, I’ve never met anyone I wanted to spend time with past a couple of casual dates. Until now. These past few days, it’s been fun not to be a lone wolf out here in the wilderness, but part of a pair. Gifted with a partner in crime for whom I’d fight to the death. I’d defend her with my life from any and all Viking threats. And that word doesn’t feel so uncomfortable, so foreign, anymore.
As I’m looking at Holly, she looks at me. Her eyes are sparkling, and her expression spurs me on as I put an arm around her, happy to pretend, happy to fall further into this wonderful groove we’ve made for ourselves over the last couple days.
Holly leans into my embrace. “My husband is a generous man.”