Blood Fugue Read Online Free

explained where to find clean water, told them what to avoid.
    He pulled the light cord in the pantry, flooding it with a dim yellow glow. He reached for the maps but his hand was drawn to the carved walking staff rising above them in the umbrella stand. His fingertips fluttered over the dark wood and he drifted for a moment. His eyes wandered along the racks of tinned and dried goods, drawn downwards. Beneath the lowest shelf, nestled in the shadows was a wooden chest, layered with dust. He tried to remember what it contained and made a mental note to check once the Jimenez family were safely on their way.
    ‘Here we go,’ he said, walking back into the kitchen.
    He rolled the rubber band down the tube of encapsulated paper until it sprung off into his hand. Mr. Jimenez folded his leather wallet closed and made space. Kerrigan unfurled his map across the table and used four heavy grey stones to hold it flat. He’d always believed a rolled map would last a lifetime or longer.
    Solid paperweights were a necessity for every map inspection. Years before, Kerrigan had selected four smooth rocks from Singing River, the waterway that had created Hobson’s Valley over millions of years. The slate grey stones were the size of ostrich eggs, speckled with sparkling flecks of mica. A sun-ray catching them just right would release a glitter of cobalt sparks from their surfaces. The four he’d picked all had the same ‘feel’. He liked to think he’d found four stones that had once been part of a single boulder.
    He set a stone on each corner of the chart.
    ‘If you put your map down over here,’ he said, ‘I can use it to estimate the position of your trail.’
    With reverent care Mr. Jimenez placed his leather bound map once more upon the table and with a red marker Kerrigan inscribed his directions over the contour lines of the new map, creating a dotted path on the plastic coating.
    ‘This is where you are now. You can drive another two or three miles but the road finishes at a picnic area called The Clearing. You can leave your vehicle there for a few days, even a week or two if you want. From The Clearing you’ll take a trail known as the Eastern Path. It’s not popular because there isn’t much to see. You’ll be hemmed in by pines, so it’s kind of a gloomy walk.’
    He glanced up at their faces but they were intent on the map. All but Carla who held his gaze for a moment.
    ‘About five miles along, the path forks. The left fork is called Trapper’s Trail and it’s well signposted. It leads out of the tree line and up towards the summit over a lot of loose shale.
    ‘You’ll be taking the right fork, into dense pine forest. That’s the continuation of the Eastern Path and it’s not so well trodden these days. It could be overgrown and there may be fallen trees. Slow going, believe me. Eventually, it leads to a pass that goes into the next valley but you’re not going that far. You need to follow the trail for about another twelve miles. Then you’ll be at the start of the trail you’re looking for.’
    He looked up again. They were staring at the map, absorbing every word he said.
    ‘This is a long hike, folks. Are you sure you’ll be OK?’
    ‘Please don’t take us for stupid tourists, Mr. Kerrigan. We are not strangers to the outdoors.’
    Kerrigan frowned.
    ‘Okay. Well, that’s good. So, around the twelve mile mark, should be the start of the trail on your map. How you’re going to find it, I don’t know. Maybe there’ll be some kind of marker or sign but I doubt it. If this trail is as old as your map looks, I doubt you’ll even find it. I’m expecting you to come back tired and disappointed.
    ‘If you do find it — and if you can re-break it — it’s eight more miles before you reach this . . . whatever this place is. And when you’re done, you’ve got to come all the way back knowing exactly how the scenery will look. I think it will take two or three days to get there. I’ll