Black Woods: Book 1 (Black Woods Series)

  "DEAL."

  As I get in the shower, my mind wanders and I think about Mother Nature's destructiveness. Oh, yeah, I've seen it with my own eyes. No one wants to piss off the forces at work in those woods. A few have, but most of them are no longer here to tell about it.

  I shake my head, trying to trade the thoughts in for something more pleasant. Think about the kids, I tell myself, they will be here this weekend. We haven’t seen them all together for over a year. The excitement distracts me enough to change my mind. Now all I can think of is this weekend.

  We will be celebrating our fortieth wedding anniversary. Everyone is coming to celebrate. In our family, we have four children, two boys and two girls, with fourteen grandchildren between them, and three great-grandchildren. The house will be filled with love. I don't think about the Black Woods again for the rest of the evening.

  After our delicious supper of fried mushrooms and hamburgers, we straighten up the kitchen. Dale and I make the plans for our party, writing a long list of supplies, including everything from plastic dishes to the main entree. We turn in early as the day has been long, and I am tired.

  Chapter 2

  The Boys

  The "boys," as they are often referred to, are ready to go hunting. Their friendship started in grade school and has continued into young adulthood. Two are in college and two have no real future right now. It's a Thursday, and they want to get out of this place, to be anywhere but here.

  Bob is the self appointed-leader and a third year college student; twenty-one and cocky, black hair, and average build. He is ready for anything as long as Mom and Dad are paying.

  Greg is the enforcer and controller of the group; twenty, a second year college student with soft brown hair and muscles that ripple with each step.

  Erick is a follower and the joker of the pack; twenty-one, blond-haired, and plain looking. He is unemployed with no desire to change.

  Skinner, whose given name is Biff (he's always hated his parents for that one) is twenty-two and walks around with a chip on his shoulder, ready to pick a fight. Since he is short of stature and overweight with greasy brown hair, he is an easy target for the pick'n.

  They are not really bad boys, as they have no trouble with the law. However, they are young, and they are still trying to prove to the world that they belong. Everything in life is no more serious than a joke, an attitude they all share.

  "Where are we going today?" Erick asks Bob.

  Everyone is at Bob's house. It's their main headquarters. They have spent many days sitting in this living room; joking, laughing, watching television. Just by glancing around the room, it's obvious a bunch of boys hang out there. There are gun racks on the wall, now empty of the guns that are loaded in the vehicle, and clothing slung on chairs and tables. Pop cans, some half-full, are scattered about this and that spot. There are chip bags, candy wrappers, and pizza boxes.

  "Not sure yet, I was hoping someone might have a new area for us," Bob says.

  He looks around the room to make sure Greg and Skinner have gotten all the bags while picking up this piece of trash or a pillow. Bob doesn't see any lying around and decides they've gotten them.

  "Stuff’s all packed and ready to go," Skinner announces as he and Greg enter the room. "Where are we headed?"

  "I'm hoping you or Greg might know of a new place. I'm tired of the same old hunting spots around here," Bob says as he puts out his cigarette.

  "Not really," Greg answers. He turns and looks at Skinner for a reply.

  "No, nothing here." Skinner shrugs his shoulders.

  "Damn it, boys! Do I always have to do the thinking?" Bob asks. He likes to exaggerate his importance in the group. He sits down on an overstuffed chair, and throws a dirty shirt at Skinner.

  "This thing smells like Greg's last girlfriend," Skinner says. He's holding the shirt Bob threw at him, and he tosses it in Greg's direction.

  Greg puts the shirt to his nose, sniffs, and lets out a deep breath.

  "The smell of love!" he giggles.

  "Oh, knock it off, boys! I want to get out of here. Now think!" Bob demands.

  The room full of boys suddenly quiets as each considers a forgotten hunting location. Bob lights up another cigarette. Skinner is looking for something to eat. Greg studies the shirt Skinner threw at him, and Erick seems to be the only one truly searching his brain for a location.

  "Oh wait! I do know a place!" Erick announces proudly as he rarely gets to speak up. "It’s only about two hours from here and the hunting is good, at least that’s what I heard."

  The other three boys look at him in disbelief, knowing that Erick is full of shit most of the time.

  "Probably another one of his jokes. You ask where and he'll say, 'at this bar in...,'" Skinner says.

  They start laughing, because they know him too well.

  "No, it's not a joke!"

  "Where?" Bob speaks up, breaking the laughter.

  "A little place with a great forest," he answers, now sounding important. He rarely gets any real attention from the group, and he's enjoying it.

  "My uncle and a friend of his went there, deer hunting winter before last. He said it was great, that he would be going back when he could." He holds his chest out. He has all the attention on him and he is living it up.

  "Sit back down, you cocky piece of crap, and call your uncle for directions." Greg says, before pointing at the phone by the couch.

  Greg doesn't care for the way Erick's acting, like he's something. Erick scribbles on a scrap piece of paper while speaking to someone on the phone.

  The boys are talking about girls as they wait for Erick to finish.

  "Did you see that chick last night loving up to Greg?" Skinner asks Bob. He has a big smile, the kind that lets you know something funny is going on.

  "That's right. She was loving on me. Not the other way around," Greg answers.

  "Oh, so you admit you like that ugly thing, huh?" Bob asks.

  "No, I didn’t!" Greg found the girl repulsive. She hung around him the whole time he was at that party last night. He thought she was about the ugliest thing he'd ever met. He didn't have the heart to run her off.

  "She looked more like something Skinner would date," Greg retorts.

  "Wait right there! I've got better taste than that!" Skinner objects.

  "Right," Greg and Bob say in unison.

  Erick finishes the phone call and hands the piece of paper to Bob. He still feels important.

  The boys head out the door, excited to go on their new hunting adventure. They slap free-handed high fives to each other as they get into Bob's SUV, another perk from his parents.

  Greg is still annoyed that the idea came from Erick, as he climbs into the front seat. Piece of crap, he thinks. Not that he dislikes Erick; he just didn't like him getting all cocky.

  "My uncle told me that he only hunted in one area, got his deer, and couldn’t hunt for more so he came home. It’s a pretty big place, according to him," Erick says. He is still loving "being the man," and wants to keep it that way, but he knows it won’t last long.

  "Well, we'll see," Bob states. He puts the vehicle in gear, and they head to their new adventure.

  Sure enough, Skinner starts listening to music on his mp3 player so loud no one can hear anything else.

  Shit, Erick thinks, the only reason Skinner and Greg are acting this way is because I came up with the idea. He will make sure they remember that too.

  Chapter 3

  Volunteers

  Buzz... Buzz... Buzz... The alarm goes off at 5:30 a.m.

  I reach and fumble for the clock button with a half-numb arm. It’s time to get up for another day of mushrooms. Only about two more weeks until the season is over. Morel hunting is pretty good in the area for most of April and about a week or so into May. We faithfully go every day that our agendas allow. By the end of a season, our freezer is packed full of mushrooms to enjoy later in the year. There's nothing like a big mushroom fry for the fourth
of July.

  Dale rolls over and puts his arm around me.

  "Don’t worry, not much longer and I’ll be home 24/7 for the next 10 months," I whisper softly as I arise from the bed.

  Getting out of bed takes a little longer as these old muscles must warm up a bit before I can easily walk. After I get dressed, I journey to the kitchen for a bite to eat. I decide on toast dipped in honey butter.

  With a hot cup of coffee in hand, I'm reading the morning news online, ready to head to the woods. The phone starts ringing, but I know who it is before I even answer.

  "Hello. Yes, I’m ready. I’ll watch for you out the window. Okay, bye." After hanging up, I pull on my boots and stroll to the window to wait for Julie.

  When we arrive in the woods it's around seven o’clock, and the morning air is fresh and clean from yesterday's rain.

  "Let’s check for tracks today. After all that rain, it'll be muddy. I think we should find some," I giggle.

  A few years ago, a mountain lion was spotted in the area and it was confirmed by the local conservation officers that the animal was making a comeback here. Ever since the confirmation, we've been determined to find some tracks. Last year, we really thought we had the real thing. We took some pictures with our camera and headed to our niece Melissa's house for her to make prints. She lives in the forest, and it was closer than going back to our homes. Next, we went to the forestry office with the printed proof. It turned out they were dog prints, not cat tracks. So much for our knowledge of mountain lions.

  "I bet they won’t believe us, even if we do find them now," Julie smiles.

  "Probably not, but we can still look," I reply.

  Today, we are carrying our big walking sticks to help keep our balance. We know from experience, including yesterday, that it will be slick after that much rain. Sometimes we run into a few people out hunting in these conditions with useless tennis shoes on. They will be sliding down every hill so badly they can't stand back up. Most of the time, they lose a shoe in the mud. We know we will slide today even with our hiking boots, but we'll mostly stay upright. We walk around, climbing up and down hills until we get to our special spot.

  Only ten minutes into the woods, and we find some mushrooms. They are up good today, and we know what that means; lots of picking to be done. I love finding the later variety of morels as they are the biggest and most prized. Three can fill a bag on a good day. Now we are finding all sizes of mushrooms and that's wonderful.

  A robin's egg shell is lying on the ground next to a mushroom, and I pick up both and study the shell. It looks as if it had hatched and not been broken from the storm last night. Good thing. It’s heartbreaking to find them the other way.

  "How are you doing?" I ask Julie.

  "My bag's almost full. Are you ready to quit and have lunch?"

  She is standing on a small hill we like to call Turkey Hill. One year we found a turkey's nest full of eggs on the hill, and after that, the name was born. We have names for almost every spot in these woods. It helps us keep track of where we are and what areas we've hunted. Our favorite place to hunt is named "Shit Ravine." Now, bear with me on this one, and I'll explain why we named it that. One day, while hunting, we came to this small section and noticed a big pile of crap in the middle of the ravine. A brown smudgy smear streaked the white sock lying on top. We laughed hard at the thought of someone desperate enough to use their sock as a wipe. So, the name stuck, just like that old sock.

  "Yes, I'm hungry." My stomach had been growling for maybe an hour, but I get so caught up in hunting, I don’t want to stop.

  We sit down on a log under a tree and dig in our packs. We have potted meat and a roll of crackers. Sounds yummy! Well, not so much true, but convenient when hiking.

  "Did you bring anything sweet?" I ask. I notice my pack is fresh out of goodies and I just have to have my sweets.

  "I got something special!" She digs in her backpack and pulls out a plastic container, the kind that is white with blue lids.

  "Journey Cakes," Julie expresses proudly.

  "Now that is yummy! I want two, please."

  Julie hands me the treats and we both smile.

  "Who made those this time?" I ask.

  "Addy," she replies.

  "Oh, they will be good then."

  Addy is Julie's oldest granddaughter. She is twenty-two years old and a college student.

  The term, Journey Cakes, came from a children's book that Julie's daughter, Jerika, loved when she was a little girl. Her grandchildren also loved the book. We have been eating those cakes, really just sugar cookies with icing, for almost forty-five years. I guess we will be eating them ‘til the day we die.

  Some little birds flew down to visit while we were eating our cookies, and we toss a few crumbs their way.

  The temperature is 70 degrees and lovely today. It's a good day for these woods, and by the time we finish, we have two full bags of mushrooms. We look like a couple of Santas on Christmas Eve hauling packages for the kiddies.

  When we get to the truck, we toss the bags in the back and put our supplies away.

  "Will you be able to hunt tomorrow?" Julie asks.

  "No, I got a lot to do before Saturday. I’m going to have to miss the next day or so."

  "Okay, I’ll rub it in tomorrow when Chris and I find twenty pounds," she says.

  Chris is Julie’s husband and a few years younger than she is. He still gets around good and hunts with us when he can. He's still working and has a few more years before his retirement.

  My husband also loved hunting mushrooms when he was slightly younger. Dale is now too weak to walk the forest, but sometimes he will fish while we are out.

  "You know the forest has been kind to most folks for a few years now. I hope it’s a few more before we're needed," she says as she starts the truck.

  "Agreed," I softly reply.

  As our children grew and no longer needed us, we found ourselves volunteering with the forest department's search and rescue team. After they heard we had traveled almost every inch of this forest, they were glad to have our help.

  Our first call for help was maybe three months after we had volunteered. It was for a missing child, a little girl aged four, with curly blonde hair, who was last seen on a swing set in the campgrounds. Her parents had searched the camping area and had not found her. The last sighting was an hour before our call.

  "We will be right there," I said before hanging up.

  "Get ready. We got a call for the forest!" I told Julie on the phone as I was going out the door.

  "What was the call?" she asked as she put on her seat belt.

  I filled her in on the conversation while driving a bit too fast for the old country lanes.

  We could see the officers' vehicles as we approached the area. Their lights were on, and they were blocking the roads. After we told them our story, one officer radioed the campground to verify it and they let us pass.

  "Hello, I'm Laura and this is Julie," I told an officer, "we are here to help."

  After receiving our instructions, we began to search. It wasn’t long before we got the news that one of the officers had found the child safe, playing on a creek bed.

  This was maybe ten years ago, and we have been helping ever since. Not all of our volunteer work has had a good ending, but with God willing, most have.

  As I sit here in her truck, traveling down these old roads, it reminds me of our work, and of how grateful we were to be needed. When you age, sometimes the only thing left is to be needed.

  Chapter 4

  The Trip

  "You still seein' that fat chick, Skinner?" Bob asks.

  The boys erupt in laughter. They’ve only been in the SUV a few minutes when Bob makes Skinner turn down his music so he can tease him some more.

  "Oh shut up! All of you!" Skinner's face flushes with anger.

  "If you must know, she dumped me a few days ago. Hell with that bitch! I’m a free man now." Skinner is trying to mak
e himself feel better, and not to mention, look tough for the boys.

  "I bet them two look like a couple of dough boys rolling in the sheets." Erick laughs at the mental picture he just painted.

  "I bet she likes his pig in a blanket!" Bob says.

  "Hey, Greg, maybe your ugly chick from last night might want Skinner? Seeing how he's all single and stuff," Erick offers.

  Laughter is now louder as they're all poking fun at Skinner. It fills the air like poisonous gas.

  Skinner pops open a beer and he downs it in a few seconds, and then he grabs a second one.

  "Does anyone want one?" Skinner hopes to change the subject.

  "Hell, no, and you better not drink another!" Bob says, and looks at Skinner through the rearview mirror. "I’m not stopping for you to piss either."

  Erick sees the opportunity to start boasting again about his idea for the trip.

  "I’m sure glad I remembered my uncle talking about this place."

  "I'm sure glad I remembered my uncle talking about this place..." Greg mocks Erick as if he's three years old.

  "Oh, I bet you do. It’s probably the only thing you’ve remembered in a while." Skinner teases. He sees his chance to poke fun at someone else, and he takes it.

  "You’re a shit with a fat chick who couldn’t even get her to suck your d…" Greg says.

  "Asshole!" Skinner interrupts Greg mid-sentence. "She left me ’cause she couldn’t stand hanging with the bunch of your asses," he says, trying to keep face with his friends.

  "No one asked her to!" Bob chimes in. "If she ain’t good enough for us, then why would you want her?" Bob knows it isn’t the reason, and he decides to say so. "Maybe if you would get a job and have some of your own money you might find a decent girl."

  "Don’t go there, man, look who’s living off mommy and daddy." Skinner squirms in his seat. While he's squirming he thinks, damn I shouldn’t had that second beer.

  "Shit! Stop! I gotta pee real bad!" Skinner shouts.

  "Bob told you not to have that beer, and he wasn’t stopping," Erick says. He grins at his friend's discomfort as he enjoys watching him squirm.