The Next Available Agent

Hallucinations, while rare, can be a symptom of extreme stress, exhaustion, or dehydration. A Scout in peril who believes they or a fellow Scout is experiencing hallucinations should do what they can to ground themselves – ensure your troop is not in immediate danger, then practice the following breathing techniques…

The words resurfaced in Noah’s mind with almost startling clarity. His father had made him memorize every page of the 10th Belfast Scouts Guidebook in the hopes it would impart in him a sense of duty and responsibility, presumably to fill the gap left over from a half-absent, entirely-drunk dad. And while the exercise did little to mature him, the words evidently remained lodged deep in the recesses of Noah’s mind, ready to be plucked when forced into extreme enough situations.

Noah figured this situation fit the description, as these were the words that immediately came to mind when he and Sloanne encountered the telephone.

The first time the pair encountered a landmark they had already passed, Noah, whether consciously or subconsciously, started to take an inventory of his mental and physical state. They were lost, there was no doubt about that – Sloanne had spoken with enough confidence about an alternative path through the Wicklow Mountains that Noah didn’t even think to question it. But as the shadows on the trees grew deeper, and the muggy air began to chill with the setting sun, the truth of the situation became harder to ignore. And when it became clear the two of them had been walking in circles, Noah became all the more aware of his own exhaustion. Their snacks were prepared for a planned full-day trip, maybe two if they were stingy. They were now approaching the afternoon of their fifth day, four days since their cellphones lost their signal, and three days since their food supplies ran dry.

Physically, Noah’s situation was dire. But mentally, it was even worse.

He wasn’t sure if it was Sloanne’s confidence in his navigation skills or his refusal to admit his error that angered him more. No matter how hard the situation felt, or how much of a struggle Noah experienced even keeping himself standing as they trudged, Sloanne’s confidence remained steadfast. Their connecting trail was just over the next outcropping of trees. When that turned out to be false, simply heading north long enough would connect them to an alternative route. There was no way that Sloanne wasn’t as hungry or exhausted as Noah, he figured, but it was impossible that he was as angry.

It was the ringing that initially caught Noah’s attention. At first, he took it for the beginnings of a migraine – a shrill echo starting from the center of the skull and pulsing towards his ears. But the noise only grew louder as he and Sloanne marched on, and Noah became acutely aware that the bell-like ringing was not coming from inside his mind at all. He stopped in his tracks. Sloanne carried off a few additional meters before realizing his companion was not following.

“You hear that, right?”

Sloanne paused and stared blankly, tilting his head to the air.

“What?”

“Listen.”

Sloanne angled his head further, as if trying to catch whatever noise Noah was referencing. After a moment, his eyes widened.

“Bells? Like, chimes or something, right?!”

“Or something, ya.” Noah said, trying to mask his excitement. The anger he felt still bubbled barely beneath the surface, and he was not about to let the possibility of rescue shake the fact that his friend had gotten them lost for five days deep in the wilds.

“Where is it coming from?” Sloanne rasped, pacing in a circle. “Could be a wind chime, like on a cabin? That at least means shelter. Maybe even someone with a car!”

Noah closed his eyes, trying to ignore his partner’s footsteps crunching through dead leaves. He centered as well as he could on the sound, its high-pitched chime carrying through the air, seemingly all around him. After a second, the sound became more precise, and Noah opened his eyes.

“There.” he extended an arm toward the source of the ringing, coming from just past a dense thicket of bramble. Sloanne rushed past Noah’s arm toward the bush, stumbling on exposed roots but keeping his speed. He began shoving the thick branches to the side, now with the frantic energy of a man who had not eaten in nearly three days. Noah followed behind him, the two stepping through the brush simultaneously.

The dense forest they had struggled to navigate over the past week gave way to a clearing roughly a quarter of an acre in width. Within the clearing, mushrooms spotted the forest floor, a dark purple hue painted atop. Noah reflexively started to go over the list of known fungi in the woods, but couldn’t place this particular colour. Besides, there were more pressing issues at hand.

Had Noah not been struggling with exhaustion or the anger that seemed to build right behind his eyes, he may have noticed the peculiar shape the mushrooms created on the ground – an almost perfect circle, situated on an entirely flat piece of land.

And seated in the dead center of this ring, a dark blue telephone sat undisturbed, apart from the ringing emanating from its center. On its face, the location where a number pad would typically be found was blank, simply a smooth surface with no defining characteristics.

The two men stood on the edge of the clearing, not a sound coming from either. After what could have been minutes, Sloanne stepped forward. Noah reached out and grabbed his arm, but wasn’t entirely sure why. Sloanne slipped through his grasp and headed toward the ring of mushrooms.

“What do you think it is?” Sloanne asked as he continued forward, eyes locked on the ringing device.

Noah urged his body to move, eventually commanding his legs to follow Sloan into the clearing. The two now stood at the ring of mushrooms, looking down at the unsuspecting phone in the center. Its ringing was shrill, but not uncomfortably loud, like a bird twittering just out of view. Noah was amazed they were able to hear it from their original position.

“Maybe it’s set up by a park ranger?” Noah said without much confidence, looking around the clearing for any other signs of civilization. The grass they stood on was neatly manicured, a far image from the uneven terrain they had spent their week navigating.

“There’s no dialer or anything. How are you supposed to make a call?” Sloanne took a step into the circle of mushrooms, causing Noah to reflexively hold his breath. When nothing happened, he exhaled, a tinge of embarrassment washing over him.

But Sloanne was right. Without a dialer, the phone would be useless to them if they wanted to attempt calling for rescue. If the ringing were to stop this second, they would be no better off than if there were no phone at all. Just the two of them alone, with no food or water. Just each other’s company…

Noah stepped past his friend and, before he could give the action a second thought, picked the receiver off the cradle.

The ring came to an immediate stop, and Noah lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” he said, his voice more frantic than he had expected.

A pleasant tune emitted loudly from the speaker, and Noah pulled his ear away. Sloanne leaned closely, the jingle loud enough for the pair to listen. It was a simple chime, devoid of any recognizable instruments – the kind of music that would play harmlessly through a shopping center, its sole purpose to be ignored.

“Is this…waiting music? Are we on fucking hold?” Sloanne rasped, trying to grab the phone from Noah. Noah turned his body to shield the receiver from Sloanne, the coiled cord dragging along the ground as he did. He opened his mouth to curse out his friend when the music came to an abrupt halt.

“Welcome! Thank you for contacting the Coille Search and Retrieval Department. If this is an emergency, please say one. To hear a list of services, please say two.”

It was a woman’s voice that spoke. While her tone was lighthearted and welcoming, each word sounded disconnected from the last, as if they had been recorded individually and were only now being strung together. A spoken ransom letter, echoing between Noah and Sloanne.

“They can’t be serious,” Sloanne huffed as he paced. “Is this what passes for park services these days?”

“One,” Noah blurted into the headset, trying to shield the mouthpiece so Sloanne’s complaints did not come through.

A pause followed, and Noah held his breath.

“Thank you. We are sorry to hear about your situation. Let us see if we can diagnose the problem.” The voice cooed, no change in its upbeat demeanor, “If you have eaten a potentially dangerous fungi, please say one.”

“This can’t be happening,” Sloanne groaned.

“Shh!” Noah swatted behind him at his friend.

“If you have encountered a dangerous animal in its habitat, please say two. If you have lost your way, please say three. Otherwise, please stay on the line, and the next available agent will be with you in due time.”

“Just wait it out,” Sloanne said in what sounded like a command to Noah. “Let’s get a real person on the line. I’m not dealing with some auto-call bullsh...

“Three.”

Noah hadn’t even realized he spoke until a second after the word left his mouth, but was glad he had. He heard a grumble from Sloanne but ignored it. His anger was simmering, now wrapped in exhaustion and anxiety. Waiting was not in the picture.

“Thank you. We are sorry you have lost your way.” the voice sang. “For our records, and to improve customer experience in the future, we will try and diagnose the cause of your dilemma. If foul weather caused you to lose your path, say one. If the trail was not properly marked, say two. If you purposely wandered from the trail, say three. Otherwise, please stay on the line, and the next available-“

“Three,” Noah interrupted.

“We didn’t ‘wander from the trail’,” Sloanne retorted. “I’ve taken these paths before. It wasn’t like I was just making shit up as I went. Piss off.”

“Thank you. We are sorry that you wandered off the path. If this was your decision, please say yes. If not, please say no.”

Sloanne stopped pacing and stared down at Noah and the phone.

“What does that have to do with anything? Are they coming to rescue us or not?”

“If this was your decision, please say yes. If not, please say no.” The message repeated.

“No,” Noah stated flatly.

“Give me the fucking phone.” Sloanne grasped at the headset while Noah shielded the device with his free arm, bringing the speaker closer to his face. Sloanne flailed half-heartedly in an attempt to grasp the phone, the coiled cord now wrapping between his legs and across Noah’s shoulder.

“Thank you. We are sorry a decision other than your own led you to your situation. We understand this must be frustrating, Noah.”

Noah inhaled, the phone pressed tightly against his ear. He was amazed that he did not feel more shocked, more numb than anything else. Sloanne’s arms continued to grasp at the headset, the speaker's noise now muffled against Noah’s face.

“What is it saying? Are we wasting our time here? We should just go if they’re not sending anything.”

“The Coille Search and Retrieval Department appreciates your patience,” the cheerful voice continued. “If you would like to request a Retrieval for One service, please say yes.’”

Noah waited for the voice to continue, but was met with only silence. The shuffling of Sloanne’s feet and his own, exhausted breath the only noises in the clearing.

“If you would like to request a retrieval for one service, please say yes."

“Yes.” Noah finally responded.

“Yes, what?” Sloanne growled, attempting to take a step back. As he did, he looked down to notice that the cord had become tangled around his legs during his struggle to retrieve the phone, and he stood still.

“We are sorry.” The voice responded in its usual upbeat, choppy tone. “Your current group appears to be over-capacity. If you would still like to request the retrieval service, please hang up and try again.”

Noah kept his gaze locked forward. Sloanne continued to struggle to untangle himself from the cord.

“And if I don’t?” Noah asked.

“Then rot.” The friendly voice chirped.

A dial tone followed, echoing through the clearing.

Noah slowly lowered the receiver back to its cradle as Sloanne fought with the cord tangled across his body.

“Man, fuck all this,” Sloanne said as Noah rose to his feet, the cord continuing to hang across his body in ever increasingly complicated knots. “We don’t need Coille or whatever their name is. As I keep saying, if we keep heading north, eventually we’ll connect with the I90 trail, which we can use to double bac-“

-----

Noah sat on the forest floor, unsure how much time had passed, his friend lying next to him, unmoving. The phone was gone, as were the mushrooms surrounding it, leaving only the two hikers.

Surely, the phone was once there, he told himself. He remembered the surprising ease with which the cord wrapped around Sloanne’s neck, his hands still sore and chaffed from his grip on the line as he yanked either end. But the bruising on his partner’s neck showed no coiled marks, only the distinct shape of handprints along his windpipe.

A small ding snapped Noah out of his trance, and he reached down for his cellphone. A single bar of connection was displayed, and text messages started to flow in from worried friends and family. As the notifications scrolled, one stood out from the rest – a new contact request.

Absentmindedly, Noah clicked the notification. A recent contact had been added to his phone, the option to call or text the number greyed out below the contact’s name.

My Friends From the Woods

Noah lowered his phone to his side and lay on the ground, the clear sky above him unobstructed by even a single cloud.

He could call for someone for help, now reconnected with the rest of the world, but that fact was far from his mind at the moment. His anger had gotten the better of him, and whoever the new contact was in his phone knew this. Wanted this, in fact.

He had no proof to go on, but he knew deep down he would eventually get a call from this number. An agreement had been made, whether he was aware of the ramifications or not.

Coille Search and Retrieval. Rescue was never even an option.

Noah knew he would be found. But never truly saved.