Smoke-Mouth is a dystopian supernatural novella, serialized in twelve projected parts*. This is Episode Ten.
Click HERE to start at the beginning. Click HERE to head back to the Navigation Page.
Previously, escape was attempted, and illusions were challenged.
In this episode, memories are unearthed, and the survivors find unusual hope.
*projection subject to change!
—
If you enjoy this tale, please help it gain a bit of traction by liking, commenting, sharing, and restacking. Every bit of engagement boosts posts in the algorithm and helps this story to find its audience!
If you’re interested in following along with this story through the summer and into September, SUBSCRIBE FOR FREE to receive every weekly installment in your inbox!
Jenny-Dog slept fitfully, and there were no dreams. Instead, the poison of Tintagel seemed to eke from her pores into the earth to be swallowed by whatever spirit haunted this valley. In her sleep, she wrestled as if with fever. And when the fever finally broke, it was dawn.
Feeling newborn, Jenny rose from her sleeping-place near the embers of the fire she had built for herself, Lula, Pellig, Ellen, and Joe, and she crept quietly away from the clearing where the survivors of Tintagel rested. She followed the sound of the river whose name she did not know. Its voice was different from Nisqually, but it no longer sounded the way it did when she and Lula first entered this valley under its curse. It ran clear and shallow with a low, singsong sweetness.
Jenny sat on the river’s bank and took off her boots, dipping her feet into the flow. The cold was a shock, but a welcome one, as if the water welcomed the opportunity to steal away all of the unholy ground she had tread upon in their journey south.
Be cleansed!
Jenny tipped her head up and watched as the smudge of eastern light spread, swelled, and swept the night over the threshold of the horizon.
“The Tilton is in fine voice this morning.”
She turned to the sound. Joe Tuesday emerged from the woods in the half-light, cradling his right arm, smiling gently. “I don’t mean to bother you. I’ll go, if you prefer.”
Jenny shook her head. “Sit a while. I don’t mind.”
He did, leaving a respectful distance between them. They sat like that for a silent moment, awkward as children. It had been eight long years. Joe still looked the same; deep brown hair, gray-green eyes. Just a little thinner now, a little sadder, with stubbled cheeks.
Jenny didn’t need to wonder if she still looked the same. She knew she didn’t.
Finally, she said, “The Tilton. Is that its name?”
Joe nodded. “Runs out of the Cowlitz. It’s a little sluggish now because summer’s been so dry, but come November or December it’ll roar after a good few weeks of rain.”
She smiled. “It’s a pretty spot. At least it is now.”
The meaning of this was not lost on Joe. He said, “True. It certainly didn’t look or sound this friendly when I first wandered into the valley. And I’m grateful to you. For getting me out of that barn. Getting all of those folks out, too. You could have easily left us behind and made your way on your own.”
Jenny shrugged. Uninvited, the memory of her solitary sleeping-place in the Garry oak of Yelm rose in her mind like the thin tendril of smoke from snuffing out a candle. The long days and nights keeping herself to herself. Surviving. Raiding pantries, stocking food, reading the paperback novel with the missing final chapter over and over and over again. Choosing loneliness over pain. Her heart squeezed.
“I’m learning,” she said.
It was clear from his expression that he didn’t understand what she meant by this, but he said nothing in reply, just turned his attention to the flow of the river.
“What happened to your hand, Joe?” Jenny asked.
He flinched and held his right arm closer to his chest, as if by concealing it now he could erase her knowledge of it. But then he replied, “The Wolf took it.”
He glanced at her with meaning. Wolf’s Head. She understood, goosebumps rising along her arms and spine.
“Was it horrible? After the quakes?” she asked.
“Not at first. Early on, the whole congregation came together to rebuild the community. They looked to me to lead them, and I tried, God knows. But the longer it all dragged on—the power outages, the road closures, the lack of any news or any sign that it was all going to be all right, the angel attacks—the more they began to panic. Whatever was in me forsook me, and they noticed. Took my hand as punishment and cast me out.”
He laughed then, a harsh sound. “Prophet of the Prairie, disgraced. I couldn’t even lead those poor folks out of that barn, away from that farm, and they being strangers to me.”
As his shame pulled his gaze down so that he was speaking more to the water than he was to her, Jenny pulled her feet out of the river. She shivered in the morning air.
“Is my mother alive?” she asked, quietly.
This question raised his head, interrupted his lonely shame. He seemed to take his time, consider how best to answer. But whatever softer replies he contemplated, he discarded them all and simply said, “No.”
“When?”
“Not long after the quakes. Not long after you left.”
Jenny nodded. “What happened to her?”
“Age and illness,” Joe replied. “Nothing more.”
But this was a lie, and Jenny knew it, and she knew that Joe knew it, too. In the chaos of the quakes, Jenny had thought only of escape. It had been on her mind so deeply that it became her only instinct. When the shaking started, her panic turned to purpose. She grabbed the hidden bag from under her marriage bed—the one she shared with Joe—and she ran, kick-heeled and white-eyed like Ellen, leaving behind her husband, her sickly mother, the aunt and uncle who had first cajoled them to come to that cursed place after her father’s death…she left all of Wolf’s Head behind, and she ran. She ran through the screaming, the confusion, the fires, the sparks of electrical poles falling, the cracking of pavement and the razing of buildings. Heart pounding in her chest she turned animal, fleeing into the night.
By running away she had pushed her mother into that pyre, just as sure as if she had done it with her own two hands.
Be cleansed!
“I’m sorry, Jenny,” Joe said.
His good hand moved in the grass of the riverbank between them, ever so slightly. It was a very quiet question.
She hesitated. Then she brought her hand down to rest on his.
*******
The sun had climbed to midmorning by the time the survivors of Tintagel were ready to move along again. All seemed to have purged the poison of the curse just as Jenny had and were bright-eyed and strong-limbed. They looked to Jenny and Lula for direction, and Jenny gave Lula the honor.
“There’s only one way out of this valley,” the girl said, standing in their midst wearing her wide-brimmed hat and patchwork coat, her dark hair in two thick plaits down her shoulders. “And it goes south. I am told by my friend Pellig that at the end of this valley lies a town called Morton, though he doesn’t know if this town is still thriving or what manner of people may live there, if any call it home. Whatever happens, I’ll be heading on to Smoke-Mouth, the mountain. But none of you are bound to my road. You may go on to wherever you please, and with the blessing of our friendship.”
“Should we choose it,” said an old man, holding the hand of his wife, “would you accept our company to your mountain?”
Lula smiled. “All are welcome. I don’t know what I’ll find there, but I’ve been dreaming about it, so…there must be something to it.”
She glanced at Jenny, and Jenny smiled back with something like pride.
Fool-girl’s still a fool, but I’ll take her fool over any witch’s wise.
They packed up their meager belongings and supplies and started down the ruined highway, a long string of people moving as one. It was a perfect summer day in a curseless land.
Jenny fell into step beside Lula and Ellen, and Joe was not far behind.
“Where is Pellig, anyway?” Jenny asked.
Lula grinned a secretive grin. “He tried his wings this morning and found them sound. Isn’t that a wonder? He flew on south to scout our path ahead. He had a memory of Morton, but it’s not current, and he didn’t want to steer us wrong.”
At this, Jenny felt another squeeze deep within. She hadn’t told Lula about Pellig’s hesitation at Tintagel, his averted betrayal and change of heart. With his wings working now, it was just as likely that the angel had decided to desert them, after all.
Well, she thought, if he never returns, then good riddance to him.
“Speaking of Pellig,” Lula said, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes, “he told me quite the tale before he left. He told me that the man with the missing hand is your husband.”
Jenny grunted.
Lula said, “But, I said to him, that can’t be true, because our Jenny poisoned her husband with rat poison—”
“Enough of that.” Jenny said it sharper than she meant to. “Enough.”
Lula’s teasing smile faded. “I meant no harm by it, Jenny.”
“I know. But you’re talking of a storm you didn’t live through, so take pause.”
Lula waited.
Jenny heaved a sigh, then said, “Your Jenny’s been married twice. The first time I was young and stupid and he was young and stupid, but while I could have grown out of my stupid just fine, his turned into cruelty. Pretty soon he made a habit of hurting me just because he could. Rules were different at Wolf’s Head and there was nothing anyone could say about it. So I put up with it until I couldn’t, and that’s when I killed him.”
His bloated face hovering over hers, the smell of cigarette smoke vining around her neck like a noose. She could still hear the screams.
Lula stared at her. “Did anyone catch you?”
“Course they did,” Jenny said. “Who else could have put rat poison in the man’s breakfast? I was caught and tried by what passed for a court in that congregation, but a woman can’t defend herself in Wolf’s Head. Only a male relative can do that, and my uncle was unwilling. My father was dead and my husband, too. So…Joe married me, to speak on my behalf. He was in line to be a prophet, so they listened to him, and I was given reprieve.”
She paused. “So, yes. Joe Tuesday was my husband for a time, but it was out of necessity, and I owe him a debt of gratitude that I have not repaid. It was a lonely marriage, but at the very least it was kind and quiet. I had plenty of time to dream of escape from that place. That’s all I wanted. And when the quakes came, I was given what I asked for.”
Lula looked at Jenny, and her expression was complicated. It was as if someone had handed her a missing piece. The final chapter of an old, ratty paperback book.
But Jenny didn’t let her speak. She was afraid to.
“I left something behind in Union, Lula,” Jenny said. “My father died and my mother dragged me from my home and I swear, something fell out of my pocket and landed there and grew, and I had no way of knowing it.”
Genevieve Lucille Douglas.
“But I think whatever grew there has been looking for me for a long, long time.”
Jenny to everyone else, but her daddy called her Lu.
“And for what it’s worth, whatever it may be, whatever part of me it represents…I’m glad she found me.”
Lula smiled under the dark halo of the wide-brimmed hat.
*******
Miles later, the high hills on either side of the highway fell away gradually and opened the land up to the blue summer sky. Here, abandoned houses pockmarked the landscape and the sign along the highway read WELCOME TO MORTON. Ahead lay a grid of streets, a small town, short rows of shops and businesses.
But Morton was quiet. Deserted.
In spite of herself, Jenny felt a pang of disappointment. She had been hoping for something more. If not for herself, then for the people who followed them out of the valley.
It was there, as the group filed through the empty blocks of Morton, that there was a fluttering of wings and a great litany of clumsy curses as Pellig landed in the street, still ungainly on his wings, stiffened from neglect.
“Ah, terror and tripe,” he said, fluffing himself with the indignity, then hopping over to Jenny and Lula so he could collect himself. “Well now. What a flight I’ve had.”
Jenny couldn’t help herself. “You came back,” she said, with no little relief in her voice.
He gave her a stern look with half of his many eyes. “Of course I came back,” he said. “Where else would I find such friendship and unmitigated trust?”
She laughed. He didn’t.
“What’s up ahead, Pellig?” Lula asked. “We were looking for a safe place here in Morton to camp.”
“I don’t recommend it,” Pellig replied. “Keep on. I promise, just a little further. Through town, and out out out.”
“You’re sure?” Jenny said, as they passed an abandoned motel on their right. “These people are tired and there’s places here—”
“Trust me,” he said, firmly. And then, to punctuate his point, he fluttered away again.
“I grow tired of his riddles,” Jenny said. But her heart was warmed by his loyalty.
They carried on through the derelict streets of Morton until they reached its southern limits, and that’s when Jenny heard a sound. It was a humming sound, pervasive and growing loud, and though strange to her ear, it also sounded very familiar.
It didn’t take long before the source revealed itself.
Ahead of the survivors, the road they were walking on came to a large “T.” Beyond a barricade keeping their ruined road clear, the highway that ran perpendicular to theirs was open and repaired.
The humming was the sound of traffic on an active highway.
The emerald green sign read US Route 12.
The group of survivors walked up to the barricade and gawked at the highway for a long time, watching the cars passing to and fro. It wasn’t nearly as many as Jenny remembered from before the quakes, but it was certainly more than she had seen in the eight years since. She wondered how far this highway ran. If it connected Washington to Idaho, or if it ran even further, past into places that surely had forgotten about this corner of the world by now. She wondered what this could mean.
If this road is repaired, then how many more?
As the group stood at the barricade, watching the cars speed along the smooth pavement, a silver police cruiser pulled over to the shoulder in front of them with its lights flashing. The car had been repainted, not too crudely, and its side emblazoned with the letters NRPD in bold, sharp black.
The gray-haired, uniformed man in the car leaned on the open window of his cruiser, removed his sunglasses, and looked at the group with wide, uncomprehending eyes. The name badge on his lapel read FREEMAN.
“Shit,” he said. “Where the hell did all you people come from?”
Jenny stepped forward. “From the valley up north. Near Elbe.”
“Elbe?” This seemed an impossibility to the officer. He muttered something under his breath, then to Jenny he asked, “Well, where are you headed?”
“Further south, for some of us,” she replied. “But these folks are hungry and tired and could use a safe place to rest. They’ve been through hell and back, and all on foot.”
The police officer nodded, thoughtful. “South. I’ll be a son-of-a-larry. Yeah, I’m sure we can arrange something. The city’s down the highway a bit, but it’s not safe to walk it. Y’all stay here and I’ll call in, see if we can’t get a bus out here or something for all of you.”
He surveyed the group again, clearly doing a quick headcount in his mind. He cursed under his breath, drawing out the word long: sheeeee-it.
“City?” Lula said, bewildered. “What city are you talking about?”
The police officer’s incredulity deepened as he picked up his radio and put his sunglasses back on. “Don’t you know where you are? Just down a mile is New Riffe, on the changeling banks of beautiful Riffe Lake.”
“Ain’t heard of it,” Lula replied.
“Maybe not, but soon everyone will know about it,” said the officer, shaking his head with something like pity. “After all, it’s the only city left in this whole state.”
Click HERE to read on! ⏩
Click HERE to head back to the Navigation Page. 🏔
✨Talebones runs on YOUR support! ✨
My Tip-Jar! - Enjoying this story? Show your appreciation with a one-time tip!
Work With Me! - Looking for an editor, beta reader, proofreader, or copywriter? Look no further! Check out my Work With Me page for rates and services.
Shop My Books! - Explore my self-published works, both ebook and paperback, available from various retailers!
Visit the Gift Shop! - Grab a piece of Talebones swag for your very own! Mugs, tees, hats, sweatshirts, and more, updated seasonally!
An interesting bit of a revelation...that Jenny lost something out of her pocket back a ways, and Lula was her name...yes I think that works nicely!
I hope they haven’t swapped one Tintagelmfor another….