This novel, 3 Lives in Jury, is delivered, a chapter or two, every Thursday.
See the forest, see the trees. Table of contents
“Come on. There’s room for both of us in this hole.”
— Lucy Kloot
Chapter 12
Frank was dying. Lucy wasn’t much of a nurse, but she knew death, and Frank carried the eerie, sickly glow.
She silently worked at pulling weeds and grass from the edge of the trail for a makeshift bed. She pulled a collapsible saw from her pack, cut several branches from a nearby fir tree and laid the branches on top of the grass. She lifted Frank to a sitting position and pushed, flopping him over onto the branches.
“Rest here. It’ll get you off the ground.”
She removed her glasses and wiped them on her shirt. “He’s not going any further tonight.”
Whit nodded. “I can carry him.”
“No Whit, you can’t carry him all the way out.”
“It can’t be far now. We’ll hit that other trail soon and then we’ll follow that and head back out the way we came.”
“That’s the thing, Whit.” Lucy stared at the path ahead. “This isn’t the way.”
“What do you mean this isn’t the way?”
“Sorry, but when we rushed away from the camp, I was distracted by the fire, the commotion and we rushed out of the clearing in such a hurry, I didn’t notice we were going the wrong way.”
“The wrong way?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Lucy repeated. “I just realized. We’ve been heading along the valley bottom and this is not the way out. I screwed up.”
“Where are we?”
“I think we just have to backtrack, get back to the camp where we started and figure it out from there. All we have to do is retrace our steps.”
Whit slumped, slapped his forehead and exhaled.
Lucy folded her arms, angry at her mistake. “I know, not cool. But it’s the only way I can see.”
“Fuck, shit.”
“Yep. Fuck, shit,” Lucy said.
Frank laid near their feet, curled in the fetal position trying to stay warm. “Fuck, shit,” he mumbled. “He was a good dog.”
“What if I carry Frank as far as I can and then we’ll see what happens; play it by ear?” Whit said.
“It’s too dark and slippery. We can barely walk in this shit with our hands free. You’ll fall twice as hard, hurt yourself and hurt Frank.”
“Hmm, yeah. Well, what then?”
“Get your tarp.” Lucy ordered and she dug a silver survival blanket from her bag.
“Get him out of his wet clothes. Then we’ll wrap him in this blanket and cover him with the tarp. I’ll stuff a few hot pockets inside the blanket. That should be enough to keep him warm till we get back.”
“We can’t just leave him here, Lucy.”
“We have to Whit. What other choice is there?”
“You stay with him and I’ll go get help.”
“And you can find your way out?”
“OK, then you go and I’ll stay.”
“Whit, I sure as fuck don’t know the best move right now, but it seems to me we can’t do anything for Frank. He’s passed out and he’s going to be the same whether or not one of us stays. The best plan is to get him as warm as we can and then we make a run for it. It’s the fastest way to get help and bring it back.”
The rain and the coalescing dark blurred Whit’s face. She could make out only the outline of his chin, barely.
“The thing is, Whit, I need you to come with me. I’m not sure I know the way.”
She felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes, the sting of failure. She blew it.
Whit heard Lucy’s harsh breathing but the rain masked her face and she had quickly turned her head and moved off a short way. Was she crying?
“Fuck,” he said. “It’s OK, we can fix this. It’s not a big deal, other than Frank’s rough shape. But we’ll head back to the fucking hut and take it from there.” He reached for her shoulder, but she stepped away.
It’s fine, he thought. The dark heart growing inside him will have to wait. It was probably best he didn’t dig up those memories anyway. The briefest flash of images from when he was chained down in that shack, or being scrubbed in the leach-filled pond, made him want to cry in anguish and shame. His thoughts blackened until his mind was crowded with it. It made his heart tremble and he longed to lie down beside Frank and stay under the tree forever.
But he had no time for that shit.
He checked the bed Lucy had made for Frank. Not bad. He sat Frank up, spilled as much water and Gatorade into him as he’d take, and shoved salt pills between his teeth. Then he pulled off Frank’s shirt and pants and tried to dry him with a tiny face cloth. He pounded his chest and back like he’d seen his mother do to loosen the phlegm.
He and Lucy laid him down and wrapped him tight in the survival blanket and Lucy jammed four hot pockets inside the blanket. They covered him with the tarp. It took longer than they thought but finally, they were ready.
Lucy tossed large branches over the trail as a marker and they headed off the way they had come. They crashed along, thunderous and talking loud hoping to avoid running into bears in the dark.
“We head north out of the clearing, I get that much,” Whit caught his breath, leaned against a tree.
“Yep, then we got to turn east to get to the eastern slope,” Lucy said. “There’s an intersecting trail, remember?”
“I remember, but I still don’t know how we could have turned the wrong way.”
“It’s the only answer. I didn’t pay attention when we were running out.”
They were getting close to the camp and they saw the shack fire. It glowed orange still, despite the rain. They hadn’t travelled as far as Whit thought.
Suddenly, on the trail ahead, a darkness swelled up from the earth and blocked the path. A dark figure bent low, stared at them, assessing.
“Where is the other one?” it said. “There was one more.”
Whit recognized the mewling voice instantly. It could be only Horseface, John King and he wondered if they should answer or turn around. He tried to speak, to force out words between his lips, even as his mouth felt scabbed over and sealed. But as the blackness closed in and his mind began to shut down, he squeezed out a single word.
“Run,” he whispered to Lucy and he pushed her toward the bushes on one side of the trail and jumped after her.
He slipped and fell in a heap, pulling Lucy down on top of him, grasping for anything to break the fall.
Horseface was on them.
“EEEEIIIIII-hooooo,” Horseface screeched as he yanked Lucy to her feet by one arm. Then he reached out his free hand and caught Whit by the neck.
Lucy kicked, screamed, gouged and kicked at anything her hands and feet could reach. Whit tried to punch Horseface in the head but Horseface’s arms were longer and his grip tightened. Whit twisted, slammed Horseface’s elbow against a tree and broke away, crashing through the brush.
Horseface’s voice shrieked behind him. “I’ve got your friend.”
Whit threw himself onto his stomach, the muck caked into his nose and ears.
Horseface bellowed again. “Mother-fucking Whit, come back here.”
Whit stopped at hearing his name. It can’t be that Horseface recognized him. Disturbing images of depravity swam through his mind, thoughts he’d been trying to banish, but they came back now in a flood. No. Stop. Don’t think. Don’t explain it, just fucking stop. He focussed on the present.
Horseface couldn’t have recognized him, not in this dark. He must have said motherfucking shit. That’s it. He said shit, not Whit. I heard it wrong.
“You like burning things?” The whiny voice carried through the thick dark with the zing and growl of a chainsaw. “I’ll learn you about burning shit that ain’t yours.”
The bile rose into Whit’s throat, and he swallowed back the vomit. He crept forward, his face covered in slimy mud, water dripped from his hair and nose.
Horseface’s nasal voice pierced his ears. “Come back here and face the music like a man. If you want to save your little friend, you will. What kind of man leaves his girl behind. Come back and maybe I’ll let her go.”
From deep in the brush, shin-deep in the bog, Whit watched the dark shape lurch toward the camp, his arms wrapped around Lucy’s waist, weathering her futile barrage of kicks and punches.
He had to reach the camp first. He hurried forward, slogged through sucking bog, branches scratching his face, insects crawling on his neck. He could feel them creeping under his hair, on his scalp. He was certain Horseface heard him thrashing around, but there was nothing to be done about that.
He staggered into the eerie orange glow of the clearing, the hut now collapsed but still lit like a furnace. Horseface and Lucy stuck to the main trail. It would take them several more seconds to get here, but they’d emerge directly in front of where he took up his position. He steadied his nerves.
Horseface and Lucy turned from the main path, appearing in front of Whit. Horseface carried and pulled her through the last turn before the clearing. Whit measured up the figures and aimed himself at the big one for one reckless charge. He bolted, ramming it with both shoulders, and heard a satisfying “oomph” as they careened onto the wet grass and dead branches. Horseface howled in rage.
Whit jumped up, pulled Lucy to her feet and took off running, pulling her behind him. He risked a look back. Horseface climbed partway to his feet, but fell back onto his haunches.
Whit and Lucy scrambled across the clearing, falling and sliding. They reached the pond and leapt into the trees surrounding it.
Horseface squealed a high-pitched yip, like an injured dog. “You broke my fucking ribs, you little shit. Now I’m really going to fuck you up.”
Whit and Lucy groped through the trees, roots knocking their ankles, branches scratching their faces. Their feet splashed into the pond.
“Back, go back,” Whit hissed. There was too much water. The way was impassible.
They found firmer ground and started to run in a new direction, when Lucy caught her leg, cried out and fell. Whit tried to lift her, gripping beneath her arms and shoulders, but she was buried to the knee, trapped in the hole she’d poked open earlier that day.
They heard Horseface huffing, a steam train coming toward them.
Lucy furiously pounded the dirt around her foot to work it free, while Whit jumped on the edge of the hole trying to enlarge it. The earth fell in on itself, sucking Whit’s leg down to the thigh, revealing a much larger hole than they had imagined.
“Whit, Whit look,” Lucy whispered. She felt around and started to dig, making the hole wider, throwing dirt onto Whit.
She reached in, a full arm disappeared below ground. “I can’t feel the bottom.” She hesitated with her face near the opening for a second.
“No, no. Lucy, don’t,” Whit grabbed onto her leg.
She dove in. Her head and shoulders disappeared into the dank earth, then her torso, her ass and her kicking legs. Whit heard her scratching and fighting, working her way underground.
“Whit, it’s big in here, the roots have hollowed it out. Come on. There’s room for both of us in this hole.”
“Fuck, fuck.” She wanted him to go in there? He imagined the snakes and spiders that crawled around in a hole like that. And it was the same hole where he’d seen Lucy talking to ghosts earlier. He might be a skeptic when it comes to spirits and that afterlife bullshit, but self-preservation comes first. Nope, not going in there. Fuck that.
Run, he thought. Lead Horseface away from Lucy.
“Yiiiiiiiiiii, you little fuckers.” Horseface’s cry reached Whit. Fuck, too close. Whit saw the dark form bearing down on him. He threw a rock, Horseface deflected it to the ground. Whit clattered into the trees.