Peek at Chapter 3
Cover Art by Chalice Mitchell
It happened in South England in the year 2000 CE.
The summer day had been full of rain, heavy bursts pelting the landscape then slowing to a misty shower only to repeat the drenching pattern. It wasn’t until seven-ish that a hazy sun appeared through the clouds promising time enough to pop Tasy in the hand-me-down Peugeot, and go for a jog. Tasy was her pet terrier and she was Dee, an archaeology student eager to get on with the daily jog around Stonehenge. Maybe it was her intimacy with the site that drew her there, or just the convenience. The house she roomed at was nearby in Laverstock and this was the longest stretch for jogging in the area. Reason enough.
Dee parked the car on the southwestern end of the earthen road. The usual small family campers were nowhere to be seen. All the tour buses and employees were gone. The visitor parking gate was locked and it was peaceful. Evening trekkers could still access the walking paths, but it appeared the rain had kept them away. The traffic along the A344 and the 303 was all but nonexistent. She looked forward to the solitude and exercise.
“Just a minute, Tas. Hold still.” As many times as she’d had her leash clipped to her collar, Tasy still exuberantly wagged her tail and the rest of her body, making it tough for Dee to attach the braided tether. “Got it you little rascal,” Dee said. She nuzzled Tasy’s neck affectionately then opened the car door.
Tasy leading the way, the two friends began their run along the earthen road that rimmed the west side of the world heritage site. The rain had filled holes in the uneven road creating a maze of puddles. Tasy splashed straight through while Dee jumped and maneuvered to avoid a muddy drenching.
They came to the end of the road and turned onto the footpath leading past the monument. Tasy jerked forward pulling with all her might. “Not so fast!” The leash came free from Dee’s grasp. She stumbled forward. When she regained her balance she saw the leash snaking through the air behind a vanishing blur of white. She’s heading for the security access gate. She must have seen a fox, maybe a rabbit.
Dee scanned the area. “Tasy, Tasy,” Then louder, “TASY!”
Dee was sure the little dog would come bounding back, tail between her legs, but there was no sign of her.
Then, “Arf. Arf. Arf. Arf.”
“She’s hunting or holding something at bay! Sounds like digging! She can’t be digging inside Stonehenge!
Tasy was not a thoroughbred anything. The people at the Pet Rescue Center told Dee that her features and behavior identified the fox terrier in her. True to that heritage, she dug. She had to be closely watched in the garden, especially with the landlady’s beautifully tended flowers. Sarah took exception to Tasy, but not when it came to her perennials.
Dee began to run. The footpath was muddy. She slipped and fell onto one knee.
“Tasy, get back here right now!” She brushed off a clump of mud from the knee of her jeans.
“Arf, arf. Arf, arf, arf,” Dee recognized the pattern of barks. That little canine had found something.
“I’m coming Tasy, whatever it is don’t kill it.”