Introducing
– THE CRIMSON WILDERNESS
I have decided to
take upon the arduous task of writing a single, first draft novel for National Novel Writing Month, as
many others are doing the same (click the link to find out more about this
particular event). And when I decided this, the idea for the novel sprang
within me, thus The Crimson Wilderness was
conceived. Let me explain: the novel is set in 1877, sometime after the
American Civil War, and follows several characters either in or going to a town
with No Name. The story begins when several Native American tribes (called
Indians in the book and the actual synopsis) are running toward the town, away
from a massacre of their tribe. A platoon of soldiers are suspected of
committing this heinous act, but nothing is as it seems when a lady in a
strange red dress arrives.
Now for a bit of
context: The Crimson Wilderness is
part of a novel series connected to my Gaze
series, dubbed Gaze Chronicles, and
instead of volumes, these novels will be described as Epics. The Crimson Wilderness is the first Epic
of the chronicles. For those unaware, Gaze
is a series e-books that have three short stories per Volume, each story
revolving around a city called Red Ridinghood, involving supernatural related
crimes. I have released two volumes so far (Magic Blood
and Faeries Are My
Business, and I hope to release the third one eventually. The world of Gaze is parallel to our world and is
very similar, though the supernatural is more a blatant reality than a subtle
ambiguous influence. Some humans have abilities they either hone, take for
granted, try to escape, or abuse. There are creatures that come from a
different realm, called the Spiritual Realm, many good and evil: faeries,
pixies, goblins, trolls, demons, and even some that are a mystery even to the
residents of this realm. The two realms often overlap and influence one
another, causing curses and changing certain humans into tricksters (who can be
so morally gray that they can be considered more dangerous than demons). I’m
creating the Gaze Chronicles to
provide the history why Red Ridinghood is an epicenter for the supernatural,
while providing the same action-packed stories I provide for the Gaze Volumes. The Crimson Wilderness is the first Epic that begins the history,
and I saw it fitting to use the post-Civil War / Western genre to start it all
off.
I could bore you
with more details, but I’d rather just give you the excerpt to the first
chapter of The Crimson Wilderness.
Enjoy!
###
Chapter One
Dawn broke in a hot flare as the sun peeked behind the tree laden
mountain range, casting it under a red tinted shadow. The bright rays beamed
westward onto a small town still sleeping. Cherry’s Saloon was the first to
receive sunlight while lying in her bed, and since she never used a curtain to
cover her dust-stained window, Cherry woke up as the first rays flashed upon her
porcelain face, smooth yet firm with obvious lines of experience. Scrunching
her eyes shut, wrinkling her nose, and grimacing, she rolled away from the sun,
which was now on her glimmering brown hair. As much as she wanted to fall back
into her dreams, Cherry was fully awake and ready to take on the day. Unlike
most people, she never yawned during the waking hours, and that kind of annoyed
her.
Exhaling
a short sigh, she slipped her naked body out from under the covers and into her
undergarment. Then she fitted into her faded blue dress, tied on her stained
apron, and then put on her worn-out snake skin boots. Turning her head toward a
table where a few empty bottles of whiskey and wine stood, along with her hair
brush. With a sullen smile, she grabbed the brush, sat back down on her bed,
and started straightening out her locks, pulling out the few knots made from
the sleeping hours. She took her time, making one patient stroke after another
as she stared blankly at the door leading out of her loft.
Finished,
she set the brush back on the table then stood up and walked toward the window
to grab her empty pale. Before she could grab its handle, something outside
caught her attention. She couldn’t make it out at first, so she opened the
window and squinted her eyes: noticing several dots running frantically toward
her. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what she saw. Then her eyes went wide.
Without
skipping a beat, Cherry ran out of her loft and saloon, toward the red sunrise.
“Get the Sheriff!” she yelled. “Get the Sheriff!”
The
townsfolk woke to her calls, but no one would catch up to her as she neared the
group of Indians, who were running from their dear lives. Each of them was
blood stained and muddied, and their eyes were filled with a petrifying horror.
***
One Day Later…
Jonathan Darrin walked near the train, heading West and away from
the East Coast. He was a tall black man who wore sleek black clothes, black
boots, a black hat with a red decorative bow wrapped around it, and he held a
long black that could hold a good-sized trombone. A corn cob pipe stuck out of
his mouth as he gave a smile toward New York City, before tipping his hat for a
final so-long.
Walking
on board, he felt a few eyes a sneers going his way, which was more a minor
inconvenience to his survival instincts than it was annoyingly awkward. He was
more worried about running into a familiar face…
“Howdy,
Ichabod,” chuffed the big black man behind him, making the other passengers
cringe with fright.
“Let
me guess,” Jonathan started, not looking behind him, “you must be Larry,
right?”
“Name’s
Thorn.”
“Of
course it is,” Jonathan sighed, setting his case on the ground before meeting
his friend face to face with a big, insincere grin. “My name is Jonathan,
though, not Ichabod. Nice to meet you Thorpe.”
“I
know who ya is,” spat Thorn.
“Charming.”
“We’ve
some unfinished business.”
“No.
I believe it’s finished.”
“What
seems to be the problem, lads?!” asked a booming Irish voice. Thorn turned his
head and John looked around Thorn to see the officer with a curvy red mustache.
Jonathan knew him as Officer Dewey McClure, nicknamed “The Iron Fist” in his
boxing days back in the old country.
Thorn
sneered then huffed, “None at all, Clover.” Looking back to John, he said, “It
don’t matter how far ya run, Ichabod. When I find ya, I’ll gut ya.”
After
Thorn stomped out of the train, Jonathan picked up his case and started to walk
away. “Hold it, Darrin!”
“Indeed…
How may I assist you, Officer?”
McClure
stood inches from Jonathan so they were face to face, one looking worn-out
while the other looked as if it was catching on fire. “Wherever you’re going,
make sure my eyes never see your kisser ever again.” Then he exited the train.
Jonathan
stood there for a moment, dumbfounded. “Miss you, too.”
The
train horn squealed into his ear as the conductor boomed, “All aboard!”
Straightening up, he found himself an empty seat, found a good hiding space for
his suit case, and then sat down before lighting the tobacco in his pipe as the
locomotive chugged along, from slow to fast, towards his new beginning.
***
Late Afternoon…
Sheriff Anthony Birch scratched his dirty-blond beard impatiently as
he kept his eyes pointed to the hills. Everything about him was unkempt: from
his mess of hair to his calloused fingers to his disordered clothes to his
boots that were ready call it quits. To his left was the Town Hall, where Mayor
Timothy Smith usually did his business, sending telegrams to Sacramento and San
Francisco, but right now, he stood in the entrance to the small building,
looking like a penguin the Sheriff saw once, drawn in a newspaper.
“You
could stand there all day, Birch,” said the Mayor, “that won’t undo the fact he
was the only person available to handle the matter.”
“I
know,” Anthony assured as he took out tin case from his pants pocket, opened
it, and pulled out the only pre-clipped cigar left inside. “There’s just
something about that Marshal that rubbed me the wrong way,” he added then put
the cigar in his mouth as he put the case away and pulled out a box of matches.
While
he lit the cigar, Smith shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t presume to
know one way or another when it comes to U.S. Marshals. He seemed to be older
than the others that have passed by here.”
“Hmm,”
puffed the Sheriff. “Maybe I’ll see how Cherry and those Injuns are doing.
Should have a better view of the range from there.”
“One
of these days, Tony… Just try to go easy on yourself. It’s going to be a long
week, after all.” Then the Mayor walked awkwardly back into the building.
“Yeah,
right.”
He
took out his cigar to spit then put it back between his teeth as he began
walking toward Cherry’s Saloon. Nearing the saloon, he saw Cherry walking out
looking frantic and busy minded, yet there was something about her that caught
him off guard.
“Cherry!”
he called out to her.
She
directed her attention immediately to him then smiled. “Good to see you, again,
Sheriff,” she greeted. “I was on my way to see Mr. Brown.”
“I
told you to call me Tony,” he said, standing a foot away from her. “How’s the
guests?”
“They
won’t say anything, but they’re not hurt too bad. Seems like they barely made
it out of whatever hit their tribe. The doctor says it’s a bit odd they’d all
be in a daze. Usually, there’s at least one person who’s a little together in
the head after a traumatic experience.”
“During
the war, I knew a man who lived through an amputation and didn’t speak any for
a whole two years.”
“Hmm…
Would a gentleman, like yourself, mind walking me to Brown’s place?”
“Wouldn’t
mind at–.” He stopped himself when he saw the Marshal coming in on horse back,
pulling five soldiers – each on their respective horses – rope-tied behind him
by the wrists.
Cherry
saw the scene, too and gasped. “You seeing what I’m seeing?”
“Sure
am,” Tony confirmed, letting his cigar fall to the ground, squishing it with
the toe of his right boot. “This’ll be a long night.”
***
Pittsburg,
Pennsylvania…
The sun began to set over the horizon, casting a dark glow over the
city landscape. In the distance, a train horn squeals, forewarning its arrival.
Gareth Vanderbilt looked through the window, inside his gun shop, and saw the
locomotive exhaling black clouds from its smoke stack. He didn’t look as old as
he was, still had a nicely combed head of brown hair along with his mustache,
but his teal eyes usually gave that part about him away to anyone willing to
look for it. “Not sure why you’re going all the way out West,” he said as he
pulled a box of .22 caliber revolver bullets from his shelf, unable to divert
his attention away from the train chugging toward the station. “Then again, I
haven’t been sure of anything since you returned out of nowhere, asking me for
weapons and ammo. After that, I began hoping you wouldn’t come back, every time
you left my shop.”
A
woman in a red dress, with a red sash covering her head and face, waited and
listened patiently behind the counter, while the train came closer. Like the
many times before, she kept herself quiet, even though there were many things
she wanted and needed to say. But since that day… she just couldn’t bare to
explain all that happened.
“Since
you’ll actually be gone for good, however,” Gareth continued, finally looking
away from the window, the train almost in full view now, “I feel obligated to
ask the important things, even though we barely know each other, even back
then… Did you meet up with your folks? I hope you did, but something tells me
you didn’t. If I was you, I’d think it’d be better off them thinking I was dead,
but I’d regret it for the rest of my life, ya know?”
“It’s
not just that,” she spoke, voice barely above a whisper. Out of the window, the
train nearly flew on by as it’s breaks let loose whiled, metallic shrieks.
“Probably
not.” Then he set two boxes of ammunition onto the counter and said, “Two
dollars… You better hurry. It’s un-ladylike to miss a train, after all.”
She
smiled, took the boxes, put them in her basket, and then she slung her rifle’s
strap over her shoulder. “Thank you, Gareth.” Then she gave him a bag of coins.
“Take
good care of your weapons and make sure that knife I gave you stays sharp. Oh!
And come back when you get a chance, Rosie Rhodes.”
Rosie
didn’t say anything in response, just kept her smile when leaving the shop. She
headed for the train station to go West, where something important was going to
happen, though she was unsure as to what. She was compelled to find out, drawn
out to an area that was, to her, undiscovered country, and wherever she ended
up, she knew she would be needed.
###
