by E C Hunter
Archie gathered up his kit, including the rifle which Lee had left and set out on the long trek back to camp. His Garmin E-Trek gave him an unfailing route back but it was a good two hours before Archie had the camp in sight. Even from a few hundred meters away he could tell something was not right, that there was something very wrong with their campsite.
Chapter 6
The camp was a shambles. All three hammocks and their tarps had been torn down, the equipment which had been hauled high into the trees to prevent bear access had been pulled down and spread around the camp, even the fireplace had been decimated and the griddle bent out of all recognition. Lee’s huge skillet now had a folding handle. Archie picked it up sorrowfully and the handle snapped clean off. To cap it all there was a huge glistening turd sitting vengefully in the bottom of the Dutch Oven.
Archie flopped down to the ground and stared at the offending piece of faeces with something approaching awe. It was huge, truly immense. One of his father’s maxims came to mind…never assume. Almost subconsciously he began to study the huge curved sausage. Yes it looked superficially like one of his own – apart from the size, but there were a number of differences. Archie brought the Nikon out of his pack and shot half a dozen close-ups of the turd plus a few scene-setters of the camp area.
A short search of the area turned up a pack of zip lock sample bags. Archie pulled one out and using a stick manoeuvred the stinking article into the bag. Yes, this thing smelled far worse than anything Archie had ever encountered, even anything ever produced by ‘Stencher’ Sterling in the boarding house bathrooms! That was the first significant observation. The second being the glisten, the turd seemed to be coated with a thin, translucent layer of mucus, giving it a very slight silvery sheen. The texture too seemed different. Within the capsule Archie could see that whatever the originator ate was very coarse indeed. There were tufts of deer hair, bits of twig and other nameless items.
Archie sealed the bag and tucked it away in one of the Peli-cases where it would be safe. There could be no doubt that this lump of bodily waste was probably the most important thing he had ever seen. Evidence, hard evidence. Well, slightly squishy evidence.
Once this evidence had been stored and recorded, Archie was once again plunged back into his predicament. Missing father, Lee vanished, shattered camp. The wild held no terrors for him but the realisation that his camp had been decimated by an unknown large animal was more than slightly worrying. Positive action was the only way forward. Archie kicked around the ruins of the fireplace and came up with a couple of charred ends of log, still show a coating of light grey charring. A few strikes of his Firesteel gave him a couple of smouldering orange spots on these firedogs, he placed them together and with a handful of dry grass as tinder, kindling from the strewn fuel heap and a steady blow he soon had a cheery blaze crackling. It was then the work of a few minutes to find the kettle (slightly dented), fill it and get it singing over the blaze.
Archie perched on a log and a wave of tiredness swept over him. Followed rapidly by an incredible hunger. Knowing that hunger and thirst are the enemies of rational thought, he rummaged around and managed to find a packet of instant noodles, a cereal bar and a few teabags amongst the decimated supplies. He was certain that the morning light would turn up some more of the now precious supplies but now was not the time for searching, although a brief flicker of concern crossed Archie’s mind…bears, all this split food might act like a bear magnet. Oh well, he’d have to take the chance.
By the time he had finished his makeshift meal, the sun was starting to sink towards the horizon, making the shadows of the trees lengthen and the spaces between the trunks darkly forbidding. A shiver ran up Archie’s spine, and he glanced round involuntarily. Was that movement in the darkling woods? A faint hint of a shape, rounded against the vertical planes of the trees. A twig snapped, leaves rustled softly and a whitetail doe stepped daintily into the open. The deer seemed content to browse. Either unaware of him or else unconcerned.
Archie realised that he had been holding his breath and softly exhaled. He hadn’t recognised how tense he had become either as the night had begun to fall. Making an effort to relax, he tried to take stock of his situation, but could come up with only one thing…he was on his own. Whatever he had to do, he had to do it alone.
Before it got any darker, Archie managed to find his hammock and sleeping bag and set them up again. Wriggled down in the luxury of his bag, the rifle to hand, Archie was able to think more rationally. What would his father do? Never mind the hardship, there was one task he always did. It was a religion, his journal. He recalled the words his father had spoken so often to him ‘Archie, records are the life blood of science’. Archie reached over the side of his hammock and pulled his Moleskine note book and head torch from his pack and faithfully noted all the day’s events in as much detail as he could recall.
The night was silent and when sleep finally came it was deep but troubled with dreams of something menacing that was always just beyond his vision.
*
The morning happened slowly. Archie spent it restoring the camp, packing away the broken items and hoping that his father would stride into the camp and start issuing orders. It wasn’t until he paused at lunch time that the weirdness started. Archie was just stirring the ashes of the fire, trying to find some embers when a flicker of movement caught his eye. It was barely noticeable; in fact, most people would not have seen it. Archie did. It was little more than a darker patch in the ever present dark of the trees. As soon as he made a move towards his binoculars it melted away.
Archie settled back to his task, almost as soon as he looked away the shape was back. Archie tried to slowly look across at the dark patch. Whoever or whatever it was clearly watching him for as soon as he looked at it, it vanished. Was it the guys who had taken his father away surrounding him? Maybe, but why not just come blustering into the camp, guns drawn? Why hadn’t they taken him with them, that’s what cops would do, wasn’t it?
Archie struck some sparks into the fire dogs with his firesteel and blew them into life, added a few handfuls of kindlers and watched his blaze grow. Through the screen of smoke Archie realised that he could watch the shadowy figure virtually unobserved. There was something about this that suggested the shape was perhaps a little naive. Whatever it was certainly wasn’t behaving like an armed adult.
He made some tea and boiled up a packet of instant noodles. The chicken ones, better than nothing. Using the log bench as a back rest he settled down, feet towards the fire to eat his lunch. Had it not been for the cry of a blue jay he would not have looked up when he did. Travelling towards him in a graceful arc was a football sized rock. It flew straight and true and landed in his fire sending a cloud of ash and cinders into the air, over his extended legs and peppering his face with hot sparks. In his haste to get up Archie upset his mess tin and tea. This made him cross.
“Hey!” he shouted “come on out, just come and talk to me.” Nothing happened. He hadn’t really supposed it would. Another rock flew from the trees, he neatly side-stepped it as it crashed to the ground and rolled towards him. “Right, that’s it.” Archie grabbed a stick and threw it boomerang style towards his unseen assailant. It barely made half the distance to the trees. Then he knew. Knew that it was no human throwing the rocks. A chill of dread ran through him. A human could be talked to, reasoned with, usually anyway. This, well, who knew?
An ear-splitting scream howled through the clearing; rebounding from the trees and rocks, filling Archie’s senses and turning his guts to jelly. He ran to his basha and took the rifle from his pack, slipped two of the chubby brass cartridges from loops on the neoprene stock cover, slammed opened the bolt, pressed them down into the magazine and slid the bolt closed. A round chambered and Archie immediately felt safer and more in control. Another rock sailed into the camp, followed closely by a large branch and more of the hideous screaming. It seemed clear now, the camp hadn’t been wrecked by people, but by th
is, whatever it was. Should he fire a warning shot? No, he quickly decided, it could bring more to the camp than it scared away. The rifle would be and remain a last resort only. But what else could he do? He could walk towards it. See what it did. After all, it had remained hidden, it was obviously shy. Jeez, where had that thought come from. Walk towards it, what kind of an idiot would do that?
This kind, he decided and without giving himself the chance to think further started to walk slowly towards the last place he had seen the shadowy figure. His legs seemed to grow heavier with every step towards the tree-line until he was barely moving. His mouth was dry and there was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He stopped and tried calling out again. Nothing. He held the rifle across his chest, stock down, muzzle high, ready for instant use and took another step. Something flew through the air and bounced off a rock. Archie looked round at it. One of his dads’ trail cams would not be taking any more pictures.
The screaming started again. It sounded so close that Archie nearly lost control of his bladder. The trees caused the sound to echo and distort making it impossible to pinpoint the exact source. He scanned the tree-line, head snapping back and forth at each creak and snap. Nothing. The forest seemed to heave a sigh of relief and Archie suddenly knew with certainty that whatever it was had gone. For the time being at least.
Archie spent the afternoon and evening, apart from worrying about his father, pottering around the camp, tidying, collecting firewood and reading. One of his father’s great recommendations was to always take a good thick book into the bush with you. If things got too miserable you could at least lose yourself in its pages, he reasoned. As the shadows began to lengthen Archie settled himself down with the latest adventures of the Camp Halfblood residents. As predicted by his father, he gradually became enrobed in the book to the exclusion of all else and he did not notice the next development in strangeness.
Just before all the light had gone he got up to have a final check around and bank the fire up. Something caught his eye at the edge of the clearing. Archie turned on his head torch. On a bed of fresh grass was laid a lump of meat. He recognised it as part of the back leg, the haunch. It had been crudely ripped, not cut. What? Thought Archie and immediately something popped into his head. It was a peace offering. What else could it be? The thing in the trees was apologising. Perhaps it had seen him left alone and having initially tried to scare him away and failed was now trying to befriend him. Perhaps the thing in the trees was in the same boat. Perhaps that’s what all the screaming last night had been about – a family argument, a rift, someone going off in a huff. It seemed a bit fanciful but Archie was at a loss to find another explanation.
When he finally settled down in his hammock the thing in the trees seemed to be one less thing to worry about. He turned his attention to finding out where his father had been taken.
Chapter 7
The first rays of the morning sun cast themselves through the green nylon of the basha, bathing Archie in a greeny-gold glow. Burrowing through his eyelids, the sun slowly roused him from the almost deathlike sleep. Slowly his eyes crept open, searching for the familiar.
After a few seconds, reality struck and Archies’ eyes flew wide open. Something wasn’t right with the scene that greeted him. In fact, something was very wrong. Over towards the camp fire there was a shape, a hairy shape, it seemed to be busy with something. It took him a few moments to realise what it was doing. The creature was licking up spilt soup powder from the ground. Judging by the gust with which it was licking it seemed to have developed a taste chicken and vegetable. The creature sniffed and inhaled a cloud of soup powder. It sneezed, farted, sneezed, farted and sneezed again. The after a moments’ pause let loose a huge blast and went back to licking.
Archie snorted involuntarily, trying suppressing the giggle that rose in him. The view before him was so absurd, so completely alien to everyday life that the only possible reaction was to laugh. Slowly, very slowly he reached down from the hammock to his pack on the ground. With one hand he gently fumbled the fastenings open and delved for the camera. With exaggerated stealth he managed to extract it and flick the on switch as he brought it up to his eye. Damn, lens cover. Archie pinched together the centre grip of the lens cap and slowly withdrew the cap from the lens hood. As he rotated his wrist to drop the cap into the hammock the spring loaded cap shot from his sweating finger tips, described a perfect arc in the air and landed with a ringing clatter in a mess tin. The effect on the visitor was electrifying. Without looking or even hesitating the creature shot off into the trees. Archie threw the camera up to his eye and managed to scramble off a shot as he tumbled from his hammock.
Archie slowly untangled himself as the creature beat a noisy exit through the trees. As soon as he could stand upright he pressed the view button to check his hurriedly snapped shot. It was better than he could have possibly hoped for. A hairy back, two slightly gangly legs, arms swinging wide. The was little of the head visible as it was thrown forward but all things considered, this was possibly the best photograph of a Sasquatch that Archie had ever seen…perhaps better even than the stills from the famous Patterson film. Proof, at long last, at least to Archie’s mind, of the existence of a large North American hominid. One of the great cryptid mysteries was a step closer to being solved.
Archie’s next thought was that he must tell his father and his excitement was instantly replaced by a gut churning panic. Yesterday’s events flooded back. Just where was his father? Where was Lee? Who were those two odd looking policemen – were they even real policemen?
Without conscious thought Archie re-kindled his fire and put on the kettle. After a hot mug of tea and a pack of instant porridge he could put it off no-longer. He knew he had to decide what to do.
He pulled the map out of his pack and spread it on the ground, orienting it to his compass. If he headed back to the road, the two guys or their associates could easily pick him up – the more he thought about it the more convinced he was that the two policemen who ‘arrested’ his father were bogus Mounties. It was clear his only route must be across country to a town far enough away from his current location to be safe. He really didn’t want to bump into those goons again.
His current position was on the eastern edge of Cape Breton Highland National Park, he must go west and away from the potential source of danger. The first major settlement he could see on the map in that direction was a town called Cheticamp. It looked large enough have a police station. Between his current position and Cheticamp however was a huge tract of wilderness, cut across by tens, perhaps hundreds of forest tracks and at least one huge body of water. It seemed that none of the tracks ran directly in the direction he needed. He would have to zig-zag for miles The tracks he would have to use with caution in case the bogus Mounties were looking for him. The water he would have to skirt, adding distance to his trek. To the north, following a line on the map was the National Park. Trackless, vast and covered in trees. Getting lost in there would be a walk in the park. Quite literally.
There was nothing for it. He had to go. Archie set to packing up the camp. His dad’s and Lee’s sleeping gear he packed away and stashed in the fork of a big maple. All the usable supplies he could manage he packed into his rucksack, it looked a pitifully small selection. Along with this went his sleeping bag, hammock, camera, binoculars, first aid kit, hydration pack, extra water bottle, mess tin, map, compass, the rifle and a pair of clean socks. On his belt he had his trusty Fallkniven F1 knife, a Leatherman multitool and his firesteel.
An hour later Archie had squared away his camp, shouldered his pack and had taken the first step of his journey.
Chapter 8
There were bears. Archie knew there were bears but he also knew that they were black bears. Altogether less worrying than brown bears, the infamous Kodiak and Grizzly of Alaska. But black bears could be dangerous nevertheless, especially if you surprised them, got in the way of their food or worst of all, between them and their cubs
. And that’s just what Archie did. He didn’t mean to, it just happened.
The day was pressing towards lunch time and Archie was just considering which of the cereal bars in his pack to have for his lunch when a movement in the scrub to his left caught his eye. There was no time to react, no time for anything other than instinct. The female bear came charging from the undergrowth, a snarling ball of fury in a fur coat. He turned away as she was on him and fell to the floor. His pack bore the initial savagery of the attack but it was mere seconds before he felt a creeping wetness on his back. It had to be blood, his blood. It seemed to coat his neck and back, soaking his shirt. He became convinced that he would bleed out quickly and loose consciousness. But he didn’t, the shaking continued as the bear pounded his rucksack with her paws, it was terrifying, numbingly so. She was ripping at the rucksack with her wickedly curved, dagger-sharp claws and mouthing at the side pockets. Tough though the fabric was it began to shred under the savagery of the assault. Her hot, rancid breath filled Archie’s nose and mouth, slimy saliva flew from her lips and coated the rucksack and the back of Archie’s neck. The bear filled his world, preventing him from thinking, from doing anything to protect himself. He lay, curled in a ball, scared witless and perhaps dying.
Then it was over, almost as quickly as it started. There was an odd donging thud and a grunt and the bear wasn’t there. Archie lay there, eyes closed, for a few seconds more, then slowly levered himself into a sitting position and then after a few minutes more back to his feet. He was shaking and sweating and had a wicked thirst, must be the blood loss he assumed. Archie reached up for his hydration tube, it wasn’t there. He followed its course back to the pack with his fingers. Nothing but a patch of dampness. Well, at least that and the bear’s saliva accounts for the wet back he thought with a flood of relief. He wasn’t bleeding after all.
