MACBETH: ACT I, SCENE I

An open place. Thunder and lightning.

Enter three Witches.

First Witch: When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

Second Witch: When the hurly-burly’s done,

When the battle’s lost and won.

Third Witch: That will be ere the set of sun.

First Witch: Where the place?

Second Witch: Upon the heath.

Third Witch: There to meet with Macbeth.

First Witch: I come, Graymalkin!

All: Paddock calls—anon!

Fair is foul, and foul is fair:

Hover through the fog and filthy air.

[Witches vanish.]

The old Fairy’s turn coming next, with a head shaking more with spite than age, she said, that the Princess should have her hand pierced with a spindle, and die of the wound. This terrible gift made the whole company tremble, and everybody fell a-crying.

At this very instant the young Fairy came out from behind the hangings, and spake these words aloud:

“Be reassured, O King and Queen; your daughter shall not die of this disaster: it is true, I have no power to undo entirely what my elder has done. The Princess shall indeed pierce her hand with a spindle; but instead of dying, she shall only fall into a profound sleep, which shall last a hundred years….”

The missing girl [character, description, backstory, suspense, the reader is worried already]—there had been unceasing news reports, always flashing to that achingly ordinary school portrait of the vanished teen, you know the one, with the rainbow-swirl background, the girl’s hair too straight, her smile too self-conscious, then a quick cut to the worried parents on the front lawn, microphones surrounding them, Mom silently tearful, Dad reading a statement with quivering lip [backstory, character, setting, description, inner monologue, suspense, conflict, the reader’s lip is quivering, too]—that girl, that missing girl, had just walked past Edna Skylar [action, character, conflict, suspense, the reader is relieved and intrigued at the same time].

Spare These Stones [title in keeping with the genre]

By Paula Munier

“Good friend for Jesus' sake forbeare

To dig the dust enclosed here.

Blessed be the man that spares these stones,

And cursed be he that moves my bones."

—William Shakespeare (epitaph) [builds on title and speaks to theme]

The woods were blessedly cool, even in July [setting, character, reader wonders why “blessedly,” why does the narrator hate heat?]. The northern hardwoods of the Southern Green Mountains were in full summer leafing, towering birches and beeches and maples draping the forest in shade [time, place, setting]. After several years in the desolate white heat of the Afghanistan desert, Elvis and I loved the gelid greens and blues and silvers of the trees [character, backstory, the reader sympathizes with the characters and is intrigued by Elvis]. We welcomed the soft sweep of moss and lichens and pine needles beneath our feet, the warble of wrens and the skittering of squirrels, the crisp scent of mountain air breathed in and out, in and out, in and out [setting, character, description, the reader worries that this calm may be shattered].

This was our happy place [setting, suspense, the reader is getting a terrible feeling it won’t be a happy place for long]. The place where we could leave the hot, whirling sands of war behind us [setting, character, backstory, suspense, conflict]. After that last deployment, the one where I got shot and Elvis got depressed, we’d both been sent home [backstory, character, conflict, the reader’s sympathy and anxiety grows]. It took me a year to track down the Belgian shepherd—think German shepherd, only sleeker and smarter—and another three months to talk the private contractor into letting me adopt him [character, backstory, inner monologue, add admiration to the reader’s feelings about the character]. But in the end, Elvis and I prevailed—and entered retirement together [character, backstory]. Two former military police—one thirty-three-year-old two-legged female Vermonter with an exit wound scar blighting her once perfect ass and one handsome six-year-old four-legged male Malinois with canine PTSD—reclaiming our minds and bodies and souls in the backwoods, one hike at a time [character, description, voice, setting, the reader is pulling for both of these wounded warriors now]. U.S. Army Sergeant Mercy Carr and Military Working Dog Elvis reporting for permanent R&R [character, backstory, suspense, now the reader is frightened for Mercy and Elvis because the reader knows that something is going to happen to ruin their R&R].

Today was the Fourth of July [time, setting, irony the reader won’t miss]. The holiday I once loved most [character, backstory, inner monologue]. But now Elvis and I spent every Independence Day independent of the trappings of civilization [character, setting, the reader sympathizes]. We didn’t like fireworks much anymore [character, backstory, the reader understands why]. Sounded too much like Afghanistan on a bad day [the reader can only imagine and does]. Elvis and I worked explosives there; he’d sniff them out, and I’d call in the EOD team [character, backstory]. On good days, it was just that simple [character, setting, backstory, the reader worries about the bad days]. On bad days, it was all noise and blood and death [character, backstory, conflict, description, setting, the reader’s worst fears realized].

Here in the Lye Brook Wilderness, all the sounds we heard were made by nature, not by man [setting, description, foreshadowing], save for the crunch of my old boots on the overgrown path and the whoosh! of Elvis as he bounded ahead of me, blazing the trail with no thought of IEDs [action, character, description, foreshadowing]. At least I hoped Elvis had no thought of IEDs here [character, inner monologue, the reader hopes so, too].

Deep in the timberland there was no past, no future. Only now [setting, theme]. The terrain grew rougher, steeper, tougher [setting]. I adjusted my pack, which at only 20 pounds barely registered on my body, once burdened by nearly 100 pounds of gear, including body armor, flak, weaponry, and an IV for Elvis if he got dehydrated in the desert [action, backstory, description].

All I carried now was a leash, lunch, and drinking water for me and Elvis, compass, hiking GPS, flashlight, lighter, power pack, sunscreen, bug spray, first-aid kit, duct tape, and extra batteries [character, description]. My keys, wallet, and smartphone were distributed among the many pockets in my cargo pants, along with my Swiss Army knife, dog treats, and Elvis’s “rabbit,” the indispensable squeaky Kong toy critical to his training and his joie de vivre [character, description]. One squeak and I had his full attention every time [character]. He lived for these squeaks, which signaled successful completion of the task at hand—from sit, down, and stay to alerting to explosive devices [character, description, backstory].

Not that Elvis was working now [description]. He was just playing, diving into the scrub, scampering over downed trees, racing up the rocky trail only to circle back to check my progress [action, setting]. A downpour the night before had left muddy puddles in its wake, and my boots were streaked with dirt [description, setting]. As was Elvis, his fawn fur stippled with dark splotches of sludge [description, character].

I kept my eyes on the slick, stone-ridden path, and my mind off my future, which loomed ahead of me with no clear goal in sight [action, inner monologue]. Unlike this trail we hiked, which led along the bed of a former logging railroad, rising before me along a steady 20 percent incline for some two-and-a-half miles up to Lye Brook Falls [description, setting]. The falls were among the tallest in Vermont, cascading down 160 feet [description, setting].

We’d hiked about two-thirds of the way so far [action]. I’d brought Elvis up here before; we both liked the trail, as much for its solitude as its scenery, provided you set off early enough [character, description, setting]. We began at dawn and so often had the trail to ourselves, even on glorious summer mornings like this [action, setting, foreshadowing]. Of course, this being the Fourth, most New Englanders were not hiking the wilderness; they were celebrating with family and friends at town parades and neighborhood barbecues and bonfires on the beach, a national fracas of hot dogs and beer and fireworks Elvis and I were content to miss [setting, description, voice].

Elvis plunged through a swollen stream and disappeared into a thicket of small spruce [action]. I saw no reason to follow him; I preferred my feet dry [voice]. I tramped on, dodging the worst of the mud and careful not to slip on the wet stones [setting, description, action].

After about half a mile, Elvis had still not returned [conflict, suspense, the reader is worried]. This was more than unusual; it was unprecedented [suspense, inner monologue, backstory, the reader is very worried]. Elvis’s job had always been to walk in front of me, scouting ahead and alerting to danger [character, backstory]. The only dangers here were the ubiquitous clouds of biting black flies—and the occasional bear [suspense, conflict, bears!?!].

I whistled and waited [action, conflict, suspense, the reader is waiting, too]. Elvis darted out of the scrub onto the path [action, the reader is relieved]. He skidded to a stop right in front of me and jangled his head [action]. In his mouth he held what looked like one of his rabbits [action]. But it wasn’t a doggie squeaky toy [action, suspense, reader’s curiosity mounts].

“Drop it.” I held out my hand [dialogue, action].

Elvis obliged, releasing the canary-yellow object into my open palm, his bright eyes on me and his new plaything [action, good dog!]. I held it up and examined it in the light filtering through the trees [action].

“I think it’s a baby teether,” I told Elvis [dialogue]. About 5 inches long, the teether was shaped like a plastic daisy with a thick stem, the better for a baby’s grip, and a flower-shaped lion’s head blooming at the top [description]. Apart from Elvis’s drool, the little lion toy was clean, so it wasn’t something that had been abandoned in the woods for long [inner monologue]. I bent over towards Elvis, holding the teether out to him. “Where did you get this?” [dialogue, action, foreshadowing]

Elvis pushed at my hand with a cold nose and whined [action, conflict]. With another quick yelp, he leapt back into the underbrush [action, conflict, suspense]. I tucked the baby toy into one of my cargo pockets and followed the dog, as he obviously meant me to do [action, conflict]. I cursed under my breath as I sank into a marshy patch, mud seeping into the tops of my boots as I stomped through the mire after Elvis [action, conflict]. Sometimes Elvis behaved erratically as a result of his PTSD [character, conflict, suspense]. Most of the time, I could anticipate his triggers: slamming doors, thunderstorms, fireworks [character, conflict]. But at other times, his triggers eluded me and were known only to Elvis: scents, sounds, and situations that went unnoticed by my human senses and were only ascertained by his superior canine senses [character, suspense, description]. But baby toys had never been among them [suspense].

Elvis led the way to a stream that paralleled the trail, a rushing of water over a bed of rocks [action, setting]. He jumped, clearing the 6-foot wide current easily [action, setting]. I splashed after him, not willing to risk breaking a leg or twisting an ankle in a poorly landed leap [action, conflict]. The cold water came up to my knees, and I was grateful it was July, or the water would have been even colder [action, conflict]. Elvis waited for me, his ears perked and his dark eyes on me [action, suspense, the reader worries about where the dog is taking Mercy].

I clambered out of the brook and stumbled over the stones into a thick copse of young birch trees [action, setting]. There Elvis sat down on his haunches in the middle of a large blowdown area littered with tree limbs [action, setting].

“What you got there, buddy?” I squatted down next to him [dialogue, action]. Elvis looked at me, dark eyes lively, ready for his reward—his own toy or a treat or both [character, action, suspense].

But he could not earn his reward until I could figure out what he’d found [inner monologue, conflict, suspense, the reader wonders what the dog has found]. Like all military working dogs, Elvis was trained as a patrol dog, to guard checkpoints and gates, detect intruders, secure bases, apprehend suspects, and attack on command [character, description]. But beyond that, MWDs were specialists; they were trained to sniff out drugs or cadavers or explosives [description, suspense, the reader is worried about possible bodies or bombs]. Elvis was an explosive-detection dog, trained to find weapons and to detect a number of explosive odors [description, character, suspense, the reader is very worried about explosives now]. When he was alerted to a scent, that scent was typically gunmetal, detonating cord, smokeless powder, dynamite, nitroglycerin, TNT, or RDX, a chemical compound often found in plastic explosives [action, character, description, suspense].

Elvis looked at me as if to say, “Okay, my job here is done. Where’s my rabbit?” [dialogue, action, character]

I looked at the ground in front of his paws [action]. The forest floor was thick with detritus—dead leaves and twigs and pine needles—as well as mushrooms and moss and ferns and what looked like poison oak [description, setting]. No evidence of trespass here [action, description]. No evidence of explosives [action, description]. And no evidence of a baby to go with the baby toy, either [action, description, suspense, where’s that baby?].

On the other hand, Elvis had an excellent track record—and the best nose of any dog I’d met, either in training or in Afghanistan [description, character]. He’d never been wrong before [character, backstory]. What were the odds he was wrong now [inner monologue, suspense]?

“Good boy,” I said, scratching that favorite spot between his pointed ears [dialogue, action]. I slipped a treat out of my pocket and held it in my open palm, and Elvis licked it up [action, the reader is happy for Elvis].

“Stay,” I said [dialogue].

Why Elvis would alert to a scent here in the Vermont woods was unclear to me [inner monologue, suspense, conflict]. If we were on a mission, we’d call in the Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) team, responsible for bomb disposal [description, inner monologue]. We never touched anything; the EOD guys took it from there [description, backstory]. But here in the Lye Brook Wilderness, half a world away from the Middle East, I wasn’t sure what to do [inner monologue, suspense, conflict, setting]. There was no EOD team trailing us; we weren’t wearing flak or body armor [inner monologue]. I wasn’t even sure Elvis had alerted to explosives [inner monologue, suspense, conflict]. Who would plant explosives in a national forest [inner monologue, suspense, conflict, foreshadowing, the reader is scared for Mercy and Elvis]?

Or maybe they were just fireworks [inner monologue, the reader is relieved]. It was the Fourth of July, after all [time]. Apart from sparklers, fireworks were illegal in Vermont [description]. Even supervised public fireworks displays required a permit [description]. But who would bother to bury fireworks in the woods—and even if someone had done so, you’d think they would have dug up them up by now for the holiday [inner monologue, suspense, description].

I slipped my pack off my shoulders and retrieved the duct tape [action, the reader wonders what she’s doing with the duct tape]. I used the duct tape to rope off a crescent around Elvis and the target area, using birch saplings as posts [action, suspense, the reader applauds Mercy’s actions and hopes she doesn’t set off any explosives].

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and turned it on [action, the reader wonders who she’s calling]. No bars [action, suspense, conflict]. No dial tone [action, suspense, conflict]. Coverage was spotty here [suspense, conflict, the reader wishes Mercy could make her call]. One bar [action, suspense, conflict]. Dial tone [action, suspense, relief on the part of the reader]. Quickly I dialed 911 and hoped that I’d get through [action, suspense, conflict]. But the connection died just as quickly [action, suspense, conflict, the reader is dismayed].

Elvis and I would have to head for higher ground and a stronger signal [action].

“Come on, Elvis.” I headed over to the edge of the clearing, Elvis bounding ahead of me, disappearing into the brush [dialogue, action]. That’s when I heard it [action, suspense, conflict, the reader is beginning to panic]. A thin cry. Followed by another. And another, growing in volume with each wail [action, suspense, conflict, the reader’s panic increases]. Sounded like my mother’s cat Alice back in Quincy, meowing for breakfast [description, suspense].

But I knew that was no cat [voice, inner monologue, reader knows it’s no cat as well].

Elvis bellowed, accompanied by a burst of bawling [action, suspense, conflict]. I broke through the leatherleaf and bog laurel and came into a small glade [action, conflict, setting]. There in the middle sat a squalling baby in a blue backpack-style infant carrier [action, conflict, setting, relief on the part of the reader that the baby is found].

A baby girl, if her pink cap and long-sleeved onesie were any indication [description]. A red-faced, cherub-cheeked baby girl, her chubby arms and legs flailing against an assault of black flies [description, action, suspense, conflict].

I hurried over and fell to my knees in front of the pack, swatting away at the swarm [action, conflict, suspense]. The baby appeared to be about six months old, but that was hardly an educated guess [description]. Everything I knew about babies was based on my sister’s toddler, Tommy, whose infancy I’d mostly missed [description, backstory, inner monologue].

This baby seemed okay, but her little neck and face and fingers were dotted with angry red marks left by the mean bites of black flies [description, conflict, the reader worries about the baby’s health and hopes Mercy will do something about those flies]. I reached for my pack and the bug spray but then thought better of it. Nothing with DEET in it could be any good for babies [action, conflict, suspense, description].

She kept on screaming, and Elvis kept barking [action, conflict, suspense].

“Quiet,” I ordered, but only the dog obeyed [dialogue, action, voice, the reader is anxious for the baby]. I looked around, but there was no mom in sight [action, conflict, suspense, the reader is worried about the baby’s mother, too]. So I unbuckled the straps on the carrier and pulled the child out of it [action]. She lifted her small head up at me, and I stared into round sky-blue eyes rimmed in tears [action, description]. I took her in my arms and stood up [action]. I held her against my chest, then backed up to a tree to steady myself as I pulled the ends of my hoodie together and zipped it up around her as protection against the flies [action, conflict]. I bounced her up and down until her sobs subsided [action]. Within minutes she was asleep [action, description, relief on the part of the reader].

“Now, what?” I looked at Elvis, but he just stood there looking back at me, head cocked, ears up, waiting for our next move [dialogue, action, suspense, conflict]. Whatever that might be [inner monologue, voice].

One of the rules of the universe should be: Wherever there’s a baby, there’s a mother close by [voice, inner monologue, the reader agrees]. But I’d seen plenty of babies without mothers over in Afghanistan [inner monologue, backstory]. I just didn’t expect to come across one here at home, in the Lye Brook Wilderness [suspense, conflict, setting].

“Where’s your mother?” I asked the sleeping child [dialogue, action, suspense, conflict].

Maybe she’d gone off behind some bushes to pee [inner monologue, the reader hopes this is the case].

“Hello,” I called. “Hello” [dialogue, action].

No answer. I kept on calling and bouncing [action, conflict, suspense]. The baby gurgled into my shoulder [action]. Maybe her mother had fallen or hurt herself somehow [inner monologue, suspense, conflict]. I walked around the clearing, eyes on the ground [action]. The leaves and detritus on the forest floor were disturbed around the backpack, but then both Elvis and I had been there [description].

I could see the trail we’d left behind as we’d barreled into the clearing from the south [action, setting]. But leading out in the opposite direction, I saw broken branches and rustled leaves and faint boot prints tamped in the mud [action, suspense, description, the reader is excited]. Elvis and I followed the trail out of the glade into a denser area of forest thick with maples and beeches in full leaf [action, setting, suspense]. We hiked for several minutes through the wood [action]. The traces ended abruptly at a rollicking stream some 10 yards wide [setting, description, disappointment on the part of the reader]. Too far to see across, too far to jump, and too far to ford across holding a baby [inner monologue, description].

I yelled again [action]. Elvis barked [action]. We both listened for the sounds of humans, but all I heard were the sounds of the water and the trees and the creatures that truly belonged here [action, suspense, setting]. The baby stirred against my chest [action]. She’d be hungry soon and tired and cold and wet and all those things that made babies uncomfortable [description, foreshadowing]. Not to mention those mean black-fly bites [poor baby]. I was torn: I wanted to find her mother or whoever brought her out here [inner monologue, conflict]. But I knew the baby needed more care than I could provide deep in the woods [inner monologue, conflict, suspense].

“We’re going back,” I told Elvis, and together we retraced our steps to the baby carrier [dialogue, action]. I carefully unzipped my hoodie and strapped the dozing child into the carrier [action]. Then I slipped off my small pack—thank God I was traveling light—and hooked it to the baby backpack [action]. I squatted down on my haunches and pulled the infant carrier onto my shoulders and pulled myself up to my feet [action]. The fit was good [description]. Not as heavy as my pack in Afghanistan but not exactly light, either [description, backstory]. And my pack in Afghanistan didn’t squirm [action, conflict, voice].

“She’s waking up,” I told Elvis. “Let’s go home” [dialogue, the reader is glad that Mercy and Elvis are leaving the woods].

We walked back to the Lye Brook Falls Trail, where I hoped my cell phone would work [action]. I wasn’t exactly comfortable taking the baby, not knowing where her mother was [inner monologue, suspense, conflict]. But I couldn’t leave her there, as someone else had obviously done [inner monologue, suspense, conflict]. How anyone could do such a thing was beyond me [inner monologue, suspense, conflict]. But I’d seen firsthand that people were capable of all manner of cruelty [inner monologue, backstory]. I just tried not to think about it these days [inner monologue, character, backstory, conflict].

Elvis set the pace, leading the way home [action]. You never had to tell him twice to go where his bowl and bed were [character, description]. I stepped carefully to avoid jostling my precious cargo, who apparently was napping again [action].

If my cell didn’t work, we’d hike down the trailhead [inner monologue, setting]. The sun was climbing in the sky now, so there should have been more people out on the trail [setting, description]. We passed the area I’d roped off with duct tape, and I thought about taking it down [setting, action, inner monologue]. But Elvis had alerted for explosives there, or maybe that’s where he found the baby teether [description, setting, inner monologue]. I didn’t know why he’d designated that spot [inner monologue, suspense, the reader is wondering about this, too]. Maybe he was just confused, his PTSD kicking in [inner monologue, conflict, backstory]. But PTSD or no PTSD, I would never bet against Elvis and his nose [character, inner monologue]. I left the tape alone and kept on walking [action]. Elvis vaulted ahead, leading our way out of the forest [action].

When we reached the trail, I marked the spot where we’d gone into the woods with tape [action, setting]. I figured the authorities would want to know where we found the baby [inner monologue, suspense]. They could follow our path easily since we’d left a stream of muddy tracks and broken twigs and brush in our wake [description, setting, suspense, the reader is wondering what law enforcement might find].

I pulled my phone from my pocket [action]. Two bars [action, suspense]. Worth a shot [inner monologue, voice]. I dialed 911 and held my breath [action, suspense, the reader is holding her breath, too]. The call rang through on the third try [action]. I spoke to the dispatcher and had just enough time to say that I’d found a baby alone in the Lye Brook Wilderness when we got cut off [action, suspense, conflict, the reader is frustrated]. She called me back and told me she’d informed the authorities and that I should stay put until the game warden arrived [action].

“Roger that,” I said, and promptly lost service again [dialogue, action, suspense, conflict]. I sighed, pocketed my phone, and sat down next to Elvis [action]. I shrugged off the baby carrier and tented my hoodie over it to keep away the bugs [action, description]. The baby slept on [action].

A cloud of black flies settled on me and Elvis [description, action, conflict]. Swatting them away with one hand, I pulled the bug spray out of my pack with the other [action]. Time to reapply, for both of us [inner monologue].

We could have a long wait ahead of us, and the black flies seemed to know it [inner monologue, voice, conflict, the reader hopes that the game warden shows up soon].