by E C Hunter
He decided there and then to paddle back to the man’s camp under cover of darkness, check it out and then continue back to the other side of the lake and on towards Cheticamp. After as good a feed as he could manage without a fire (it might have attracted unwelcome attention) he packed his gear up and set off for the camp.
It was a very wary Archie who beached the canoe a couple of hundred meters away from the camp and stalked in on foot with just the rifle for company. Silently working the bolt Archie pushed one of the fat brass shells into the breech. It was breaking one of the golden rules of safe firearms handling – walking around with a loaded gun, especially in the dark. But the seconds spent chambering a round could make all the difference.
There was a sliver of moon which gave Archie enough light to pick his way along the shore to the campsite. With all the stealth he had learnt on the hill at home Archie slid into the camp area on his belly, rifle cradled across the crook of his arms.
Nothing happened. Nothing happened because there was nothing there. Archie put his hand down to push himself up and instead of solid ground found something viscous and sticky. Giving his hand a quick sniff to make sure it wasn’t bear droppings or something similarly revolting; Archie discovered that it was decidedly worse. It was blood, gooey congealed blood.
Archie decided to risk a peek with his torch. A patch of blood from which a few wispy blond hairs sprouted cover a surprising large area. Casting the torch around Archie could see a number of marks on the sandy ground one of which looked suspiciously like a body had been dragged away. He could see where the camp fire had been and was now inexpertly covered over, the position of the tent was obvious, log on which the previous occupant had been sat, it was all there, but like the negative of an old photo.
Overlying all this activity were the footprints, the long, wide, five toed footprints of the Sasquatch. It took Archie a moment or two in the dark to realise what they were. He touched the outline of one with a shaking finger. ‘What have you done my friend?’ he whispered.
A branch broke, shattering the silence. Archie stood and swung the torch around. Was that the flash of an eye? Archie kept the torch fixed on the spot and started to walk backwards towards the water. He really didn’t want to stay here.
Chapter 12
Keeping his eyes fixed forwards Archie bent down to rinse his hand in the lake. Daylight would give a new perspective. Archie decided to wait in the canoe until morning and take a fresh look. It was an uncomfortable but thankfully short night. Archie had managed to find a small group of rocks a hundred metres or so off shore to tie the canoe to. He did not relish the prospect of another ride on the debris catcher. As the sky slowly brightened Archie dug into his cold supplies again. Things were starting to look a bit scanty on the cold stuff. Most of his food needed cooking – and you can’t make a fire in a canoe.
With hunger kept at bay a little while longer Archie reluctantly paddled towards the shore. The scene was just as he had left it but the benefit of daylight gave view to a lot more detail. This was really so far beyond anything Archie had ever imagined.
It was obvious that the camp had been roughly cleared away but heavens only knew where the equipment was, let alone its owner. Archie supposed he could follow the drag marks quite easily but did he really want to? His conscience said he must, his head said a big no. If the man was dead there was nothing Archie could do to help him. If he was alive, he could still be a threat; after all, he had shot at Archie. Right or wrong and with a rising feeling of panic Archie, decided to leave. Some instinct (and perhaps not a little TV crime show viewing) told to him to make sure he left no evidence. Using a snapped off branch Archie carefully swept away his footprints until he was able to step into the canoe. With one foot in the canoe a familiar and disturbing sight made a dark shape in some nearby undergrowth.
The Dutch Oven was back. And this time it wasn’t bear fur caught in the handle, it was human hair. Instantly all of Archie’s fears were confirmed. It had to be the Sasquatch, he had killed the man, hidden his body and possessions and had left the murder weapon there.
Archie swore softy, a cold chill running up his spine in spite of the increasing heat of the morning. He just wanted to see his Dad, right now. With disgust Archie washed off the hair and blood and put the Dutch oven in the canoe.
Archie laid to the paddle and set a course for the far shore of the lake. He would travel far, as fast as he could. But first there was a job to do. In the centre of the lake he looked around, feeling guilty and furtive and lowered the Dutch oven into the water. It sank quickly into the deep dark waters. Some time later Archie beached the canoe on the far shore, stashed it quickly in a clump of willows which overhung the lake and set off up the bank. Within a few meters he encountered a dusty and obviously well-used track. It was clearly the service road to the dam.
Chapter 13
Magnus Hunter lay on his side in the dark, not moving. Black sticky blood had congealed around his left eye, temporarily, he hoped, closing it. He had fought, of course, when he had the chance but it had been hopeless, there had been four of them. All of them skilled in the dark arts of the fist and the club, the chain and the boot. They had taken him on a long, disorienting journey by a round-about route. Then blindfolded, in a locked shipping container, had left him to stew.
After 24 hours they had brought him food and sat him in a chair, watching while he ate the meagre fare. Then with his hands tied behind his back they had expertly exerted pressure to his joints. Twist, tap. Twist harder, tap harder. They had made it plain. He should give up, go home. This was their picnic and he wasn’t invited. Magnus had said nothing. Anything he said might be used against him – or his son.
Now, with the pain starting to recede and his captors not present Magnus had begun to think. He was thinking about his son, out in the bush, alone and came to the conclusion that he was much better off out there. He was certain Archie could cope with anything in the natural environment but this inhuman treatment, no, there was no way he could allow his son to be put through this.
Magnus had to get out, find Archie and get away. There could be no thoughts of retribution, nothing that could lead to him and Archie being separated or heaven forbid worse. His wrists were bound behind his back with a heavy duty cable tie. Magnus had tried to push his wrists out as they tightened the tie and had succeeded in getting a couple of clicks worth of free movement, just a millimetre or two but worth having. Especially as it prevented his hand from getting too numb. He gave his hands a few exploratory wiggles. Nothing much moved but the pain in his shoulders and elbows was intense. The only option was to find a sharp or jagged edge on which to cut the tie.
Not a single chink of light entered the container. It was utterly and devastatingly black. Magnus stood shakily and began to edge to his left. Gently, very gently he moved across the container. He didn’t want to risk bumping into the steel side and making a noise that might bring his captors. After an eon he reached the wall. There was no way of knowing if this was the long or short edge, back or front. Magnus put his back to the wall. All he could feel was the cold steel of the container. Hard and unforgiving. Again gently he began to move, feeling his hands along the wall, searching for a sharp edge.
The first corner, he had either been on a short side or started near the end. Nothing, just smooth painted steel. Another side, another age. Nothing. Second corner, something different, a different feel to the steel. The doors. With extreme care Magnus felt every inch that was available to him. Fifteen frustrating minutes later Magnus felt the smallest of draughts. It could only be the gap where the two doors met. Two thoughts crashed is mind. If there was a draught, chances are that light would get through too…therefore it must be night. And if there was going to be any kind of sharp edge, it would be where the doors met. Another few moments fumbling and he found it. Not too sharp, just the square cut edge of the steel, but it might just work.
Magnus reached as high as his hands would go. The edge remained
the same. He tried down by bending his knees. The edge was still there. Magnus located the cable tie onto the steel edge and began to use his whole body as a saw, pushing up with his knees, letting himself slide down and then pushing up again. Slide, push, slide push. After a minute he could detect a new flexibility to the cable tie, after two there was only a couple of millimetres of plastic holding his wrists together. It would have been easy to try and rush it, to try and snap the tie now but Magnus knew just how strong they were. He sawed on for another minute, cramp starting to bind his calves and as desperation mounted the tie finally parted.
The shock caused Magnus to stagger backwards, his head creating a resounding clang on the steel door of the container. With a soft exclamation of anger Magnus, as quickly as his stiff limbs would allow, scuttled back to the position they had left him in. He lay for 10 minutes waiting for a response to the noise he had made, nothing happened. Breathing an inward sigh of relief Magnus eased himself into a sitting position and began to massage some life back into his painful limbs. Nothing appeared to be broken but he could feel his tendons aching liker he’d been racked in some medieval torture chamber. After half an hour he could stand straight, after another half his arms worked again. Unfortunately, so did his bladder. Nothing for it but to sully the corner of the container, the thought crossed Magnus’s mind that they never seemed to cover this aspect of enforced incarceration in the movies.
Magnus moved back towards the door, again feeling his way carefully and silently. He felt over every square centimetre, nothing, no gaps, no handles, no rust holes. The floor might be a better option. Magnus spent another frustrating hour shuffling over every inch of the timber floor. Solid, not even a splinter. He came to rest in the centre of the floor and stood, angry and tired. It was then he noticed it. The faintest suspicion of a breeze on the top of his head. Instinctively he looked up and felt the air play over his damp forehead. He could see nothing. No, wait, there was something. A flicker, a star turning on, off, on off. It took Magnus a few moments to work out what he was looking at. He was seeing a star through the blades of a lazily rotating fan. There had not been the noise of a fan motor than he could remember. Was it unpowered or just turned off? More importantly, how big was the aperture?
Unbidden, formerly useless facts popped into his head, a forty foot shipping container had an interior volume of 2385 square feet, a length of 39 feet 6 inches and a width of 7 feet 8 inches. But how high? Convert to metric, much easier to work out. The mental calculations, not made easier by his physical condition eventually came out at a height of about 2.3m. Jumping from a standing start it should be fairly easy to touch the roof but to do anything useful required two arms that hadn’t been tied up for heavens knew how long. He gave them an experimental swing. The pain in his shoulders made him feel faint. Nothing ventured, nothing gained he started swinging them, slow and low at first until after a few minutes he had almost all the movement back in them. Still painful, but at least flexible.
His first jump was exploratory, as was his second, third and fourth. By his fifth jump he had built up a mental picture of a hole cut into the steel roof of the container, about 30cm square. It seemed to have been cut out with an angle grinder. Razor sharp shards of steel hung from the cut edges. Placed over the hole was a sheet of what felt like thin plywood, into this was cut the hole for the fan. He jumped and gave the ply an exploratory bump. It was heavy but moved satisfactorily. It didn’t seem like it should be heavy, there must be something on it. Of course, it was an air conditioning unit. They had relied on the weight of the unit to keep it in place. ‘Fools’, thought Magnus.
Another bump and it moved, then again. He jumped deliberately to the side and felt a gap, small but enough to get his fingers through. With the next jump he locked the fingers of his left hand over the cut rim of the hole. The shards bit into his palm but he blanked the pain. He swung like an orang utan and managed to hook his right hand under the ply and slide it aside. He dropped back to the floor to rest before his final push.
Even with the help of the now visible starry sky Magnus misjudged his first jump and banged the knuckles of one hand against the roof. The second time he put his hands together over his head and launched himself upwards. His arms went through the hole to the elbows, he smashed them down painfully on the outside of the container and arrested his fall. With a struggle he got his head through, wiggled slightly round to the left to get his shoulders across the corners and wrenched them through.
It was then that Magnus felt a huge weight on his legs, dragging him inexorably back through the hole. The shards of cut steel buried themselves into his arms, his left ear was smeared against the hole and he fell to the floor with a thump. Immediately the huge guard reined blows onto his head and body, kicks into his legs, groin and back. Magnus lapsed into the deep dark recesses of oblivion.
Chapter 14
Archie took a quick bearing with his compass and set off along the straight but undulating track. Quickly dust coated his boots and the bottom of his trousers. The heat of the day began to build and Archie soon tired of his rucksack. The straps were galling at his shoulders and the heat from the back system was almost unbearable, causing the sweat to make his shirt stick and chafe. He had only been walking for half an hour but already he had to rest. Archie climbed the bank to the side of the track to collapse in the shade.
Had it not been for his weariness Archie would never have climbed off the track and seen the plume of dust in the distance. It was two undulations of the track away, at least 2 kilometres, but coming fast. Archie pulled out his binoculars and looked at the cloud. There emerging from it was the unmistakable form of a quad bike, a four wheeler as they call them in Canada. As it drew closer Archie’s eye was drawn to a splash of colour. Yellow. There was a definite stripe of yellow down the rider’s trousers. Archie’s powerful Leica’s sucked in the detail. As the quad drew closer there could be no doubt…it was the skinnier of the two goons. What other reason could he have but to be looking for Archie? He needed a plan, and quickly. He could hide but at some point he had to move and when he moved he would be vulnerable.
He had to stop the quad rider, perhaps even find out more about his father. From the side pocket of his pack Archie took the coil of thin, super-strong Purlon rope and slid back down the bank. He picked a stout maple, tied on the green rope at chest height and crossed the track with the other end. He did a quick wagon hitch which allowed him to haul the rope tight. Then Archie tied off the rope and scuttled back up the bank with the buzzing of the quad engine getting louder in his ears.
Archie settled down in the undergrowth to watch. The quad crested the rise and came on towards the rope at an alarming speed. It was only as Archie saw the quad close–up that he realised his mistake. Chest height on him was neck height to the quad rider. There was no time to correct his mistake, not even time to warn the rider.
The quad rider hit the rope at full tilt; he had no idea of its presence until it bit, Its green colour blending with the foliage alongside the track. A spherical object flew into the air, the quad reared on to it’s back wheels and the rider hit the hard track back first. The quad skittered on until it hit the bank and died. The rider lay very, very still.
Archie lay stunned in his cocoon of bushes, too shocked by the destruction he had caused to react. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the round object lying in the road but knew he must go down there. With a sickening feeling Archie picked is way down and came face to face with a helmet, an empty helmet. A wave of relief flooded over him, until he looked over at the body. It was laid out flat on the track with one leg sticking out at a very odd angle.
Kneeling down by the body Archie could see the man’s chest rising and falling. Heaving a sigh of relief Archie shook the man’s shoulder and called out to him – his first aid training from school automatically kicking in. The man groaned and tried to move. The pain from his leg was clearly unbearable.
“Keep still, let me have a look” Archie s
lit the man’s trousers with his knife. The razor edge parted the bloody cloth easily. The man groaned – and so did Archie when he saw the leg. A raggedy end of bone was poking through the skin; it was a mess of dust, bone fragments and congealing blood. Archie’s stomach lurched. Terrible feelings of guilt, pity, sorrow and frustration welled in him. Archie fought them back.
“Look, you’re going to have to wait here while I get you some help”
“No, no help” The man gasped.
Archie looked at him in amazement. “You’ve got a compound fracture, you need to get it treated”. The man grasped Archie’s wrist in a vice-like grip, his skin was like sandpaper. Archie pulled against the grip but his pain had given the man seemingly unnatural strength.
“You’re staying here with me boy, you fix the leg and then we go back on the bike” The man shook Archie’s arm hard. “Get off me, where’s my father?” Archie was starting to panic at this unexpected turn of events. “You won’t be seeing daddy for a while little man”.
Even through his distress Archie bridled at the insult and with all his strength kicked the man in the short ribs. He still wouldn’t let go. Archie let fly a torrent of George’s most choice expressions and wrenched, kicked and pulled but to no avail, the grip remained tight as ever. Archie looked down at the man and saw his face change and felt his hand drop away. The look of terror on the man’s face made Archie freeze to the spot. The mouth started to move but no sound came out. Suddenly a huge hairy arm came into Archie’s vision and the man was twitched up by his good leg and tossed into the trees. Silence followed. At least until Archie became aware of the sound of breathing and a very bad smell.
