CH 11: Into the Unsupervised Woods
The zombies weren't the scariest thing in the forest. That title now belonged to a squirrel Carl swore had six abs and a grudge.
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Day 11.
It all started when Toby found the map.
Not a real map. Not one made by adults or cartographers or people who believed in the concept of scale. No—this was a crayon-scribbled "treasure plan" drawn on the back of a macaroni box, found under Nana's couch along with 17 hair ties and what looked like a melted action figure.
But across that greasy cardboard, in thick blue marker, were the words:
"MYSTERY FOREST STUFF – DO NOT TOUCH UNLESS BRAVE (OR BORED)"
Signed: Toby, Age 6.
Drawn: Before the World Got Weird.
Carl should've burned it. Nana said to use it as a coaster. But Ellie? Ellie stared at it like it was a sacred artifact.
"We're going," she said, stuffing snacks into her glittery unicorn fanny pack. "There's a thing here labeled 'Jelly Rock' and I must know why."
"'Jelly Rock' is probably just a mossy boulder," Carl said.
"Or it's a sentient jam stone," Ellie replied, completely serious.
Toby, peeking over Carl's shoulder, pointed to another part of the map labeled:
"THE STICK ZONE – (Area of Weapon Potential)
"That's where I trained," he said proudly. "Pre-outbreak me was dangerous."
Carl groaned. "This is a map drawn by a six-year-old. There's literally a corner labeled 'Here Be Worms.'"
"We leave at dawn," Ellie declared.
"We can't. We're out of granola bars."
"Then we leave at granola," she corrected.
---
They left with:
One crayon map
Two partially charged walkie-talkies (range: maybe one and a half backyards)
Three slices of questionable banana bread
A bag of emergency marshmallows
One extremely determined child wearing a "Team Squirrel" t-shirt
One adult who desperately wanted to be left out of side quests (Carl)
"Remember," Nana said as she waved them off from the porch, "if anything tries to eat you, play dead—unless it's Kevin the Rooster. Then you run."
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The woods behind Nana's neighborhood weren't very big. Technically, they were part of a failed nature trail project called "Wholesome Walks" that was abandoned in the early 2000s due to squirrel overpopulation and one unfortunate incident involving interpretive dance near poison ivy.
The air was thick with leaves, pollen, and the smell of things nature wanted kept secret.
Carl stepped carefully, eyes scanning for anything undead. But oddly… it was quiet.
Not zombie quiet. Peaceful quiet. Which made it more unnerving.
Ellie hummed to herself as she consulted the map. "We should be approaching the 'Booger Tree.'"
"...the what?"
She pointed. "It's the big one shaped like someone picking their nose."
And sure enough, there it was: a gnarled old oak that looked suspiciously like a wooden figure doing something unsanitary.
Carl sighed. "I hate that this map is working."
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The Stick Zone.
They arrived at a clearing littered with fallen branches and, strangely, an abandoned hula hoop.
Toby ran forward and flung himself into the dirt. "This is it. The Stick Zone. Every branch here? Top tier. Legendary stats."
He held up one like it was Excalibur. "Behold—Stickius Prime."
Ellie poked a curved twig with her foot. "This one's shaped like a question mark. It's for solving mysteries."
Carl stepped over a log and found a stick shaped like a lightning bolt. He stared at it, then whispered, "...Harry Twig-ger."
They all laughed.
And for a brief moment, under a canopy of rustling leaves and post-apocalyptic absurdity, things felt normal again.
---
"According to the map," Ellie said, flipping the macaroni box over, "Jelly Rock should be just beyond those bushes."
They pushed through the underbrush…
And found it.
It wasn't jelly. Or even jelly-colored.
It was a smooth, lumpy boulder someone had covered in empty condiment packets—ketchup, grape jelly, mustard, and something that might've once been relish. Some were taped on. Others had been crushed in abstract patterns across the surface.
"What in the expired Lunchables is this?" Carl asked.
Toby gasped. "I remember now! I tried to build a wizard rock. Like, you make a wish, and it gives you a sauce. But I ran out of glue."
Ellie was in awe. "It's beautiful."
Carl rubbed his face. "I walked half a mile for a sauce boulder."
Ellie touched the rock reverently. "I wish… for more banana bread."
Carl reached into his bag and handed her a slice. "Boom. It works. Let's go home."
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Almost Home.
They turned around, satisfied with their pointless but surprisingly joyful adventure. But as they passed back through the Stick Zone, something moved.
A squirrel.
But not just any squirrel.
This one was jacked.
Its chest puffed. Its tail was twice the size of a normal squirrel's. And it had a scar across one eye.
"Oh no," Toby whispered. "That's Lord Nuttington."
The squirrel stared them down. Then it ran up a tree, performed a midair spin, and chucked an acorn that hit Carl square in the forehead.
Carl dropped his banana bread. "That's it. We're going around."
"Let me talk to him," Ellie whispered.
"No. No more diplomacy. That rodent just dropkicked me with a nut."
They looped around, laughing and ducking a second volley of snack-based missiles.
---
Day 11, continued.
Still no zombies. But Carl was now in a bitter, deeply personal war with one squirrel.
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After being publicly humiliated by Lord Nuttington and his elite acorn barrage squad, Carl had exactly one thing on his mind:
Revenge.
Or, at the very least, defense. He sat cross-legged on the forest floor, furiously duct-taping acorn shells to the front of his hoodie.
"Is this how you pictured the apocalypse?" he muttered, not looking up.
Toby crouched beside him, carving a pointy stick with the dedication of a young gremlin warrior. "Honestly, yes."
Ellie stood nearby, sipping from a juice pouch and watching Carl assemble what could only be described as a poor man's chestplate made of trail mix debris.
"Nut armor isn't going to stop a squirrel, Carl," she said gently.
"That's where you're wrong. Squirrels respect armor," Carl replied, taping a pinecone to his shoulder like it was a medieval pauldron. "They respect power. They fear dominance."
At that exact moment, Lord Nuttington reappeared on a low-hanging branch, clutching a pretzel.
They locked eyes.
The pretzel dropped.
Carl dove sideways as it exploded in a burst of crumbs on impact. "I HATE THIS WOODLAND WARRIOR."
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The Cursed Statue
They pressed deeper into the woods after a mutual agreement that no one would speak of Carl's "Nut Armor Phase" again. Ellie led the way, map in hand, pointing at an ominous crayon scribble labeled:
> "Spooky Moss Dude (Might Blink)"
The forest opened into a strange clearing filled with silence. Not even birds chirped.
And there he was.
A statue. Human-sized. Humanoid, at least. Covered in moss and vines, half-buried in a tangle of roots. The stone face was weathered, crooked, and somehow managing to smirk without having lips.
Toby backed up immediately. "Nope. Nope nope. That's a forest ghost. That's how curses start. I'm not getting blinked."
Ellie stepped forward, fascinated. "He looks like a melted history teacher."
Carl was unconvinced. "This is just some art project some hippie left here. Maybe it's a lawn ornament gone rogue."
"Then why does it smell like sadness and raisins?" Toby asked.
Carl touched the statue. Nothing happened.
He touched it again. Still nothing.
"See? Not cursed."
Then the clouds shifted and the statue's eyes… glinted.
"NOPE," Carl said, turning around so fast he stepped into a squirrel hole and faceplanted into the dirt.
Ellie, unfazed, knelt by the statue. "I name you Steve. You're our forest friend now."
Carl, spitting moss, groaned. "Of course he gets a name."
"Steve's seen things," Ellie whispered, placing a snack cake at the statue's feet as tribute.
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A Flashback and a Misstep
As they made their way back to the Stick Zone, Carl noticed a faded wooden sign buried in ivy:
"Interpretive Path – Est. 2001"
Below it, half-carved graffiti read:
"DANCE IS ETERNAL (J.G.)"
"Oh no," he muttered. "Nana's initials."
And just like that, a memory came uninvited:
Nana in her younger years. Long hair. Tie-dye headband. Flowing skirt. Dancing alone in this very clearing while a boombox played Celtic pan flute covers of Britney Spears songs. A circle of horrified Girl Scouts sat frozen, clutching marshmallows like lifelines.
Carl shuddered as he remembered the look of disgust his childhood crush gave him.
"This place is cursed." he muttered with a tear.
---
Homeward Bound
They finally made it back through the Stick Zone, past the Booger Tree, and out of the woods just as the sun began to lower.
Back at Nana's, the porch light flickered on as if to say "About time."
Nana greeted them in an apron, holding a plate of what she claimed were "forest cookies" but looked suspiciously like chunks of granola, gravel, and possibly pine needles.
"Well?" she asked.
"We found Jelly Rock," Ellie beamed.
"Fought a ripped squirrel," Carl added bitterly, shaking a leaf out of his sock.
"And saw a haunted statue!" Toby declared.
Nana chuckled. "Oh, Steve's still out there? I thought he crumbled years ago."
"You know about Steve!?" Ellie gasped.
Nana sipped from her tea. "That's where I met your grandfather. He proposed right next to that spooky mossy idiot. Said it was either me or the tree."
"What did you say?" Carl asked.
Nana shrugged. "I said yes. But only because the tree didn't do interpretive dance."
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End of Chapter 11 – Into the Unsupervised Woods
> "There was no treasure. No zombies. No real danger.
Just moss, memories, and a squirrel Carl will never forgive."
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