I’m releasing Chapters 9 and 10 this week. You should have received Chapter 9 a few minutes ago in a separate e-mail. Chapter 10 is included below.
This novel, 3 Lives in Jury, is delivered, a chapter or two, every Thursday. There will be mistakes because self-editing is a fool’s game. I apologize in advance but experimentation has a price.
I’d love to hear what you think. I can be reached at terryfries.edit@gmail.com or leave a comment.
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Legends say we construct the land ourselves as we move through it.
Chapter 10
Onward they travelled, through the meadow until the path rose out from the shallow basin and they entered thick woods, where their footsteps clomped hollow as though the earth itself had been emptied.
Lucy kept a brisk pace. Her glasses fogged and she scrubbed her face in irritation to wipe away the hair and sweat. She pushed her glasses down low on her nose to see over them.
Frank, at the back, chattered endlessly.
“I’ve only seen one other forest with trees this big. I was out on the Island with my mom and there were trees as big around as our car,” he said. “These are so amazing. I didn’t know we had trees like these around Jury. That’s Western Red Cedar and Western Hemlock. I thought all we had around here were spruce and pine trees.”
Whit didn’t know trees and he didn’t know whether Frank was right. Lucy pretended she didn’t hear Frank at all.
The trail swung low again. As the three approached another short slope, a cacophony of clacks pa-pat-pattered out. A heavy mist clung to the shallow dip and shrouded the origin of the sound. Lucy shrugged, stepped down into the cauldron and disappeared into the haze.
The slope was only a few metres, but the path was slick and greasy. Whit and Frank clung to one another as they slid downward, colliding into Lucy, who was waiting at the bottom.
Shapes emerged from the fog, tiny eyes with blurred faces and stocky limbs jostled and snapped, dust billowed around them even in the damp environment and Lucy believed she must be dreaming. Crows croaked and hopped madly alongside the grim procession, snatching bits of hair and flesh that sloughed off from the spectres. The figures were stout, hairy, brutish clods of men and hen-like slatterns wearing tattered, yellowed cloth that fluttered in the wind behind them like threads of a 100-year-old sail. Dirty, fish-eyed children followed and kicked at the crows. The entire assembly numbered 10, 15, 20; Lucy counted as they turned in front of her and started up the path in the direction she and her friends were heading. She tramped in line behind them.
She heard shouts and claps from behind her, but she paid no mind.
She blinked and the world shifted.
A pecked and torn bloody pulp for a carcass breathed for the last time at her feet. A fawn, freshly attacked by crows, bleated and died. Lucy pushed it off the path and in another blink, she was standing on a ridge overlooking Mud Valley, shoulder to shoulder with a tall, thick man.
“You don’t want to go down there,” the man said, startling Lucy. She wondered how she got here and if she was where she was supposed to be.
She squinted at the sun. It was almost directly above her. She turned away and gazed over the ridge, where the Mud River snaked from side to side through the valley, until it disappeared in the mist. The floodplain at the bottom was criss-crossed with myriad other smaller rivers and tiny streams, which fed the main flow.
The man repeated himself, sounding impatient. “I said you don’t want to go down there.”
Whit hiked up beside Lucy, huffing to catch his breath and looked behind him and around him. He peered back in the direction they had just come. Frank trailed a few metres behind, but otherwise, the path was empty.
“How did you get in front of us?” he asked Lucy.
“What do you mean?”
“You left us and went off the path chasing something. We waited and waited, and we’ve been looking for you and now, suddenly, here you are in front of us.”
Lucy shook her head, confused. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“It’s this place,” the man next to Lucy said. “This countryside is a trap, within a trap inside a gigantic maze that confounds the best trackers. A person can get lost in it if you’re not careful. The legends say we construct the land ourselves as we move through it.” He pointed to his head. “The stories left to us by the Wagon People say it’s all in here.”
“Huh,” said Whit. “And what’s your personal opinion on that?”
“I think the Wagon People knew a lot of things.”
“I imagine. It’s beautiful though, isn’t it?” Whit said, nodding to the scene of the valley below, while wondering how they would navigate through the harsh maze of wetlands and dark forest.
“But you,” he said to Lucy. “Give us a shout if you go running off ahead. I assume you found a new trail, but for Christ’s sake tell us. You can’t just leave us standing there.”
“Sorry,” Lucy said. Whit sees the guy standing with them, she thought. Good, that means he’s real. Relief washed through her. She set down her pack, dug out her phone and unnecessarily held it aloft to check for a cell signal. There it is. One o’clock.
How did I even get here? She recalled nothing after falling in line with the gruesome caravan, till she arrived at this ridge, at this time. She was missing 20 or 30 minutes.
Her head spun, and her stomach felt empty and rotten, but strength was returning. In local lore, in the scribbled logs of the Wagon People, it was called arriving. The fantastic stories described otherworldly elders who would travel with them, jumping time and space, scouting for food, water and enemies. It was all BS, of course. If anything was happening, it was just people getting lost and losing track of time. But a few believed dark forces were at work in the land above the Rift, a humongous underground void, an interconnected series of gigantic caverns, that stretched for hundreds of kilometres out from Lake Charity.
Frank emerged from behind them, loud and true as dirt, interrupting Lucy’s efforts to piece together an explanation for what had happened to her. He dropped his pack next to Whit, fished out a Gatorade and sucked almost half of it back at once.
“Thanks for waiting,” he sniffed at them sarcastically. He looked over at Lucy. “You could have called us and let us in on the shortcut, but hey, it was badass the way you kicked that dead deer off the path without even a flinch.”
“Huh? Oh, yes,” Lucy said. She focused ahead, hiding her confusion.
“You were saying?” Whit addressed the man again. “What’s the big deal with going down there?”
“It’s been raining for a week straight and the whole valley bottom is nothing but sucking mud and bog.” He cast his finger over Mud Valley. “All those places that look green from up here? Well, that green is really only a thin covering of grass and weeds, hiding a muddy swamp.”
The man stood taller than Whit, with cannons for arms and a boiler for a chest. He had deep-set eyes and a giant nose, purple with veins.
“I’m camped out up the top here waiting for things to dry out,” the man continued. “I’d be down there fishing otherwise.”
He wore the rough denim of a man accustomed to hard work, a long-sleeved yellow shirt and a brown cowboy hat of straw, frayed at the edges.
“Looks OK from up here,” said Lucy.
“You’ll find out the truth of it if you go down. I’ve been coming here a long time,” Cowboy said, “and I’ve never seen it like this.”
“It’s a big valley,” Lucy said. “There’s bound to be dry places. It can’t all be under water.”
Cowboy smiled. “Be my guest. Maybe you’ll go down there and find out different. You’re welcome to try. I’m just offering friendly advice.”
He sized up the three, guessed them to be about 16 and noticed they were light on equipment or supplies for an overnighter. They seemed out of their element, but stranger things have happened. He’s sure younger kids have been out alone farther than this.
The little one looks like shit though, he thought. The little fucker’s whole body is shivering and his teeth are clacking.
“You guys out here with anybody? Somebody older, maybe?”
“We’re old enough,” Frank elbowed past Whit, and hopped into a gap he’d spotted between bushes. He found a firepit glowing weakly in front of a blue and grey tent, just a few steps off the trail.
“Why do you ask?” he called back, standing on a large boulder in front of the firepit, which allowed him to peer over a bush to the others on the trail.
“Just asking,” Cowboy replied. “People can get in over their heads out in the wilds if they don’t know what they’re doing.”
“We’re doing fine,” Frank said.
“Yeah, sure.” Cowboy waved his arms, inviting the others to enter the camp. “Why don’t you all come and sit down for a spell. It’s time for lunch and I got some sandwiches and I can tell you what I know about what it’s like down in the Valley.”
Lucy and Whit nodded. They could use the rest. They followed the side trail into the tiny clearing, found a log, rolled it next to the fire and sat. The flame had died a while ago, but the coals warmed them.
Cowboy dragged a small folding stool from beside the tent, snapped it open.
Frank plucked a boiled egg from a pot sitting on a small rock over the coals.
“Do you mind? I starving.”
Cowboy shook his head. “It’s all yours.”
Frank cracked the egg on the side of the pot and peeled the shell. Tap, tap, tap. Pick, pick, pick, flicking bits of shell into the pit.
Cowboy dropped a white plastic bag with the top opened so Frank could put his garbage into it, instead of the pit.
“We have our own lunch,” Whit showed him a wrap he had fished from his pack. Lucy broke off bits of a granola bar.
Cowboy nodded. “Sure.” He threw down a cloth, then laid out cheese, a sealed container of chicken, a loaf of sliced bread and a plastic tube containing a homemade mix of strawberry jam and peanut butter.
He sat on the folding chair and signalled that they should help themselves.
They ate in silence. Lucy gobbled the granola bar and a bit of chicken and cheese before looking up. The others were still eating, as equally invested in lunch as she.
Frank spoke first.
“How is the fishing out here?”
“Best fishing holes in the whole region are right down there. I usually come here this time of year. This early in the year, the fish are always hungry.” Cowboy grabbed an egg.
Frank poked around in the coals with a stick. “So you’re familiar with what’s down there in the Valley?”
“I guess.”
“And you said you come here a lot so you must know your way around pretty good.”
Cowboy nodded.
“Do you know of a small camp, supposed to have an old fishing shack set up near a pond?”
“Maybe,” Cowboy shrugged. “There are a few places for folks to camp down there, when it’s dry.”
He looked in Lucy’s direction. “And it ain’t dry right now, I can tell you that much. I’ve been down there.”
“We’re not looking for a place to camp,” Lucy said. “But maybe you know a place I’m trying to find. It’s nothing more than a small clearing with a pond and small shack? I used to go there with my dad when I was a kid, about four or five years ago. A lot has probably changed, but maybe you know of a little hut, built with a basic floor. It’s got thin poles lashed together for an A-frame roof?” She made a peak with her fingers. “It’s not far back off the main trail. It should be right next to it, actually.”
Cowboy paused, then Lucy noticed a look of realization break across this face.
“You know it.” Lucy jumped to her feet. “I can see you know what I’m talking about by your face. How far is it?”
“If it’s what I’m thinking, it’s probably an hour’s hike from here, but that’s when it’s dry. Right now, I doubt the trail is even passable. The valley floor is a swamp. Besides, there are dozens of campsites down there.”
Lucy ignored the impassable part of Cowboy’s advice. “An hour?” She looked to Whit. “What do you think, Whit.”
“Just wait a mo. I said if it’s dry,” said Cowboy. “The way things are now down there, you’d be crazy to try. Come back in a couple of weeks, let it dry and the camp will still be there.”
Frank rubbed the back of his neck. A faint drizzle started to fall. “Heh-heh, heh-heh. Nah, we’re here now. We can’t turn around after coming all this way.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” said Cowboy. “Or, here’s another: There’s nothing down there worth getting lost and dying for. Wait and the trip will be a walk in the park when it’s dry.”
“We appreciate your help but I think we might as well see for ourselves,” Frank said and he stuck out his hand.
“It occurs to me we skipped formal introductions. I’m Frank Kappens. Pleasure to meet you.”
Cowboy shot Frank a squinty side-eye. Fucking little weirdo, he thought. He took Frank’s hand. “Bull Wasa.”
“Bull?”
“Nickname. Real name is Bill, but Bull stuck, I guess because I run a cattle auction yard over toward Esker.”
Whit cleaned his hands on his jeans and began fussing with his pack preparing to leave. His earlier reluctance to come here had been overpowered by a desire to finish the mission. “Let’s say we want to get into the Valley today. How would you do it?”
“Hmmm, if you’re determined, and I guess you are, you’d do best to stick to high ground for as long as you can because the main trail at the bottom is under water.” He paused. “Which way you heading?”
“South,” Lucy said, “to find that shack.”
“Right, the shack. Maybe there is another route. If you stay up on the hillside for as long as you can, you might keep dry for most of the way.”
He grabbed a stick and scratched in the dirt. “If you start out from here in the direction you’re heading now, but before you get to the bottom, take a small trail off to your left. That ought to keep you high enough to avoid the flood. If I remember it right, that path meets up with another trail and if you turn west on that, it should take you down to the bottom of the valley, close to where that little hut is located.” He looked up. “Do you see?”
The three nodded. It seemed simple enough in the dirt sketch.
Bull took off his hat, pondering if he should help them. They seemed like decent kids, except for the pushy little fucker. He decided he could take them part of the way.
“I wouldn’t mind having a look around down there myself. Why don’t I go with you for a ways.”
“Hold on.” Frank was packed and primed for travel. “We’ll be just fine.” He patted Bull’s shoulder. “Thanks for the offer though.”
Bull grinned, showing a stack of white teeth.
“Frank, shut up,” Whit interrupted. “Thanks, Bull. Can we call you Bull?” And when Bull nodded, he said. “We’d love it if you could make sure we got off on the right foot. No offence, Lucy.”
“None taken,” Lucy said. “I might even be a little grateful.”
They found the south-bound track about halfway down the Valley with Bull leading the way and followed it along the side of the slope until it crossed a path heading east and west, which Bull surveyed for a long time. He told the others to wait and headed down toward the Valley bottom on the intersecting path and returned a short time later. Then he walked a distance ahead on the current path and returned. He stood in the intersection, peering off in both directions. Then waved the party onward, sticking to their current route.
“Not this crossing,” he said. “I think the path you want is the next one.”
They reached another crossing and Bull repeated the procedure and again they carried on along their present route.
When they reached a third intersecting trail, Bull stamped and waved his hat in the air.
“This is the one.”
He walked a few steps downhill and sniffed at the air before he motioned for the others to follow. The path dipped into the trees. They could feel the cold, damp air blowing off it. Frank shivered.
“This is it,” Bull said. Then, noticing Frank shaking, he added, “Are you sure about this? It would be easy to wait for a better day.”
Whit and Lucy noticed Frank’s energy had been sliding, too. He looked beaten.
“Frank, you don’t need to come,” Lucy said.
“Yeah, why don’t you come back to my camp with me, and these two will meet up with us there in an hour or two,” Bull offered.
The light mist that had been harrying them picked up into a steady drip. Bull was lucky to be wearing a wide-brimmed hat. The rest of them pulled up their hoods and dug around for their rain gear. Whit was wearing his rain jacket under his jean jacket. Not the brightest move, but he had been cold earlier. He dug into his pack for a fleece and planned to remove the sodden jean jacket and wear the fleece beneath the rain coat.
Lucy was outfitted with the latest rain tech, but even with the hood, she became frustrated at keeping her glasses clean and stuffed them in her pocket, only to whip them out again in short order. Frank was the least prepared, wearing only a thin squall wind breaker with a serviceable hood.
Whit tossed him the fleece.
“Nah, I don’t need it,” Frank said.
“Take it,” said Whit.
“Take it,” said Lucy.
“Take it,” nodded Bull.
Frank stepped off the trail to find shelter from the rain and took off his outer jacket, pulled the fleece on over his head, and put his windbreaker back on.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” Whit said. “But I think you should go with Bull.”
“No way. I haven’t come all this way to quit now. It’s like sitting through an entire ball game and leaving before the overtime.”
“Look at yourself. You’re barely hanging on right now,” Whit said.
“I’m fine. I’ll eat a chocolate bar and be A-fucking right.”
Whit sighed in Lucy’s direction. “You want to try?” he asked.
“Frank, seriously, you look like death. Go back with Bull and hang at his camp and we’ll be back before long.”
Frank dropped his pack, fished around and came out with a bag of trail mix. He sat on his pack and started eating.
Bull shook his head and looked uphill. “Well, I guess that settles it. I’m heading back, if you guys are sure you’re going do this?”
“Fuck yeah, we’re sure,” said Frank.
“Yes, thanks,” said Whit, extending his hand. “Besides, what could happen?” he joked.
They shook hands. “Yes, what,” Bull said.
Lucy shook Bull’s hand too, while Frank gave him a thumbs up from his seat on his pack. Bull left and they were three once more.
“Are you ready to go?” Whit asked. Frank’s maddening snail’s pace made him impatient. The thought of spending the night down there was demoralizing.
If they didn’t make it home by dark, Whit expected his parents would call the police. Lucy would pay a heavier price. He wouldn’t be surprised if they blamed her for the whole thing. Frank, though, he thought, Frank with his CF would cause a panic.
The path was muddy, but passable. Bull had taken them far south of the river bend, where the river diverged from the main trail and so the flooding was less extensive. Still, it had rained a lot and they were forced to pick their way around deep puddles, and splash their way through the shallower ones. But at least they kept their ankles dry.
They linked up to the main path; Lucy flung out her arm to indicate a left turn and the others followed.