Ghosts of Manitowish Waters

by G. M. Moore

  T-Rex quickly rolled over, closing his eyes tight and burying his face in the rocky ground. His eyes and nose burned and his stomach clenched as the odor overtook him. His anger boiled into rage, and when the assault stopped, T-Rex sprang up. With one swift movement, his rifle was aimed, and he fired.

  ****

  The shot echoed down to the riverbank. Tess and Cain stood at attention in a growing sea of fog, staring hauntingly up at the wooded ridge.

  “The fawn,” Tess said in a hushed, fearful voice.

  Fog rolled around them, lapping in from the river as if it were water.

  “Stay here,” Cain ordered, moving across the wispy white ground toward the ridge.

  She walked after him. “No, wait.”

  Without looking back, he raised his palm to her. The ridge, now smoky with fog, held his gaze. The fawn and whoever fired that shot were up there. He needed to get Tess out of here and somewhere safe—or at least somewhere safer. Then the woods to his right began to rumble. Twigs snapped, branches crackled. He turned, stepping in front of Tess, and bracing for whatever was coming. Suddenly a white blur streaked out of the woods. Cain caught his breath and stepped backward, bumping into Tess. A grin quickly spread across his face, and he chuckled with embarrassment. It was only the albino fawn. The animal had spooked him again. Cain watched as it flew like an apparition across the cloudy shoreline to them, jumping over felled trees and large boulders with a grace and ease that left him awestruck.

  “Did you see the air he got on that one? Just amazing.”

  “He came back,” Tess gushed. “I can’t believe he came back to us.”

  The fawn practically leaped into her arms. She scooped him up, beaming happily. Tess carefully poked and prodded the animal. “He seems OK. He’s not hurt.” She looked to Cain, but he had turned away, the ridge drawing his gaze again. Whoever fired that shot was still up there.

  “Grab as much gear as you can,” he hurriedly directed. “Take the fawn upstream. Don’t stop until you lose light or the fog.”

  “What? But…but…” she stammered, looking appre-hensively at the misty ground.

  “I’ll find you,” he assured.

  “No. Why? We’ve got the fawn. And he’s…he’s got a gun.”

  “I need to see him. I need to know who we are dealing with. I’m just going to check it all out. Know your enemy, right? Maybe I can throw him off our trail like Mooney did.”

  “I’m coming with you then.”

  Cain shook his head. “You are of the Deer Clan, remember? You are a peacekeeper. Take the fawn. I’m of the Bear Clan, a protector. This is my calling. This is what I’m here to do.”

  “But,” Tess pleaded.

  “I will find you. Go. And try to stay out of the fog.”

  She hesitated, and he could see rebellion in her face.

  “Don’t be that girl, Tess.”

  “What girl?”

  “The one in all the movies. The one who is told to stay in the car but never does.”

  She bristled. “Seriously? Whatever.”

  “That girl only makes things worse. Go. OK? Just go.”

  Her green eyes lit up defiantly, and he was afraid she wouldn’t obey him, but then those fiery eyes cooled—just a little.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  Cain pressed his palms together as if in prayer and nodded to her. “Thank you. I will find you, I promise.”

  “You better,” she fired back before gathering up the gear and hoisting it over her shoulders. When she stood tall again, she held two flashlights, handing one to Cain before turning toward the river. Her nose lifted and crinkled. “Do you smell skunk?”

  Cain caught a whiff of the pungent odor and his nose crinkled too. “Great. Like we don’t have enough to worry about.”

  Tess laughed uneasily as mist swirled around them, across the shoreline, and up the ridge. “Mother Nature works in mysterious ways, right? Be careful, OK.”

  Cain nodded and the two teens parted ways, one disappearing into the darkening woods and one into clouds of smoky mist.

  ****

  T-Rex’s lip curled up, and he cursed loudly as the skunks scattered into the woods unharmed. He had missed. At point blank range, he had missed. T-Rex slammed his fist into his forehead, silently berating himself. He waved his rifle across the now fuzzy ground, then pointed it into trees that were nothing but blurs of brown and green.

  “Arrrrrrgh!” he bellowed, dropping the rifle and rubbing knotted fists into his burning, blurry eyes.

  He needed to be sharp. He needed laser vision, not this soft focus bullshit.

  “Arrrrrrgh!” he bellowed again, shaking his head violently back and forth.

  He had lost the fawn. No way he was ever going to find him now, not with blurry vision in woods already creeping with shadows. That fawn was long gone, the mission a failure.

  “Arrrrrrgh!” he bellowed, bending over and pounding hands into his temples over and over.

  Then he stopped and slowly stood up.

  Wait just a minute. You haven’t lost those kids, now have you? No, he answered. They were likely somewhere at the river’s edge—and they were much larger targets. T-Rex grinned at that. Yes, they were much larger targets.

  If he couldn’t get that fawn, he’d get those kids.

  Oh yeah, T-Rex grinned giddily, picking up the rifle. He slung it over his shoulder and began shuffling his way down to the Chippewa River.

  ****

  Cain crept up the ridge, using fog and dimming foliage as cover. He had discovered a narrow deer path not far from where the fawn had burst out of the woods and used it now as his guide. He stayed near the path, but well enough off it to stay hidden, knowing it would lead him back to the river and back to Tess when the time came.

  The sun had started its descent, casting shadowy figures through the wisps of mist surrounding him. He hadn’t seen anyone or anything yet and decided that, if all was quiet after he reached the top of the ridge, he’d let the poacher go for now and turn back. The teen stopped for a moment crouching low, listening and looking. Satisfied by the stillness, he rose and moved forward, only to be abruptly stopped by the sound of scampering. Cain looked down but could see only mist licking across the forest floor. He felt something scurry across his foot and jumped back. One of his feet landed on something that squirmed. He heard a screech of pain and jumped again. The mist, in its swirling ebb and flow, pulled back and there at Cain’s feet sat three small skunks, tails raised and ready to spray.

  Cain drew in a quick breath, leaping up and onto a felled tree. Its thick trunk leaned dramatically to the left, held precariously in place by a cluster of trees and a mass of deadfall. He wasted no time scrambling up it, gagging as the odor overpowered him. He cupped his hands over his nose and finally exhaled. Relieved that the noxious spray had missed him, he relaxed, reaching out for the support of a branch but with one loud crack it gave way. The teen swayed, regaining his balance just as the trunk dropped lower. He grabbed for whatever branch or limb or leaf he could find. The deadfall surrounding him groaned and began to snap and pop. There goes my sneak attack, he thought as the once silent woods erupted. His protector days were definitely numbered. Some hero I’m turning out to be, he scoffed, then threw himself off the tree trunk as it crashed downward.

  Cain landed hard on his feet, the force catapulting him forward and sending him spread eagle onto the forest floor. He lay still for a moment, allowing his brain to take in its new position and scan for injuries. When the scan came back clear and he was confident everything felt OK, he rose to his knees, spitting out dirty leaves and pine needles before looking up and into the barrel of a rifle.

  “Well, well look who’s here,” the man with the gun chortled. “And here I thought I might have lost you. Seen that ghost of a fawn around?”

  His tone was more taunti
ng than questioning, so Cain stayed quiet, fighting hard not to gag on the strong skunk odor radiating off the man. Cain very slightly shook his head no.

  “You sure?” the man questioned sharply and shoved the rifle in Cain’s face. He recoiled, toppling backward and landing on his rear end. The man squinted at him suspiciously. “Somehow I don’t believe you.” He jerked his head side to side. “Where’s the girl?” he demanded, poking the rifle barrel at Cain’s chest. “Huh? Where is she?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” the man bawled like a drill sergeant. “You don’t know. You expect me to believe you don’t know where your sweet little girlfriend is?”

  Cain started to rise and to speak, but the man pushed him down with the rifle and held it at his throat. “You don’t mov—”

  A deafening pop silenced him midsentence and both of them looked uncertainly upward. Another pop rang out, then another and another until the air filled with what sounded to Cain like an explosion of firecrackers. His eyes darted across the forest canopy above, now a dark silhouette against a pale pink sky, unsure of what to expect. A loud whoosh echoed down to them, and he recoiled as a massive tree branch fell and landed with a booming thump a few feet away.

  The forest went still for a moment, and Cain turned his gaze back to the man, who he found standing motionless before him. His face was strangely vacant, but then it twisted and contorted into a series of expressions that sent a chill down the teen’s spine. He watched as fear morphed into confusion, which morphed into pain, which, morphed into—was it ecstasy or elation? He wasn’t sure and didn’t want to find out. Cain carefully raised his hand and gently pushed the rifle aside. The man twitched, his head and gun jerked downward. Cain flinched back, expecting to take the rifle in the chest again, but instead it dropped lazily to the ground.

  “Do you smell napalm?” the man asked.

  The teen hesitated for a moment. Skunk was all he smelled. “No,” he answered. Cain didn’t know what napalm smelled like and wasn’t 100 percent sure what it was. Something used in war, he thought. “I don’t th—.”

  “On your feet soldier,” the man bellowed. “You can’t lay chilly here.” He glared down at Cain, his demeanor now confident and alert. “I said on your feet.”

  Sharp pangs of fear pummeled the teen’s stomach as he very slowly stood up. An already bad situation had taken a sudden and strange turn into something he feared was far worse. Something was very wrong with this man. Crazy wrong, he thought. Dread filled the teen and a sickening feeling swept over him. He wasn’t sure what world the guy was in right now—in what world a person “lays chilly”—but he knew it wasn’t this one. Cain’s mouth turned dry and cottony, and he swallowed hard preparing to face the man. Then without warning, two hands slammed into his chest, throwing him backward. Those same hands reached out and grabbed his hoodie. Cain felt the sweatshirt tighten around his shoulders as he was pulled forcefully forward and into the man’s smelly face.

  “FNG. You lost your squad, didn’t you? We are hot here. Hot.” He shook Cain, anger and frustration in his gravelly voice. “Do you understand? This area has been evac’d. You lay chilly here and you’ll soon be one crispy critter.” He released the knot of black fabric from his fist and cocked his head toward the ridge. “Follow me, boy, and hump it.” He raised the rifle to his waist and held it there. “Didi mau,” he ordered and charged up the ridge.

  Cain took a few staggering steps after the man, then stopped. What are you doing? Don’t follow him, his mind chastised. Are you seriously going to follow that lunatic up the ridge? Cain stared into the swirling fog, confused and unsure of what to do and of what was happening. Finally he shook his head sharply left to right. No, he answered himself. No, I’m not. I’m out of here. The teen turned and ran down the ridge toward the Chippewa River.

  Cain slid and stumbled through the woods, losing balance and nearly falling too many times to count. The sun had slipped lower in the sky, darkening the forest further, but that wasn’t his trouble. It was the fog. The closer he got to the river, the denser and more consuming the fog became. The path and ground beneath him had disappeared under a bluish gray haze, and now the trees and foliage surrounding him were vanishing as well. He slowed his pace, afraid he might knock himself out on an unseen tree or limb. When he finally broke out of the woods, he staggered to a stop at the edge of the riverbed, swearing in bewilderment at the ghostly wall of mist blocking his way.

  “What is with the fog?” he whispered, feeling a chill and something menacing in the air before him. He knew the rest of their gear was somewhere in that fog. He had to find it, or at least try. And he knew Tess was somewhere upriver, hopefully out of the fog, but maybe not. He had to find her, and he needed the river to do it. Tess and the gear. The thought lingered, puzzling him. There was something he was forgetting about Tess and the gear. He racked his brain. The flashlight! He had completely forgotten about the small flashlight Tess had handed him when they had parted ways earlier. Cain reached in the pouch pocket of his hoodie and, thankfully, it was still there. He turned the flashlight on, shining it out into the grayness. The light did little but create a glare. It’s something though, he conceded, peering warily into the mist. One thing was for sure: Mr. Lay Chilly wouldn’t be finding him out there. That’s something, too, he admitted.

  Cain shot a quick look over his shoulder and into the forest. His encounter with the crazed poacher had shaken him. Got to let it go, he told himself. It’s time to man up. Or maybe hero up? A pleased smile surfaced on his face. He liked the thought of being Tess’s hero. He had liked riding to her rescue in the cemetery and pulling her safely out of the fog. Cain huffed. Then don’t wimp out now. Exhaling deeply, he stared into the fog. “Hero up,” he murmured before stepping out into the whiteness.

  It immediately swallowed him, leaving no sign of the ridge or woods behind. His encounter with the skunks had left his nostrils burning and his sense of smell shot. The fog made seeing impossible. Out here his ears were all he could rely on. He walked cautiously forward, following the steady glow of the flashlight. He had gone only a few feet when the smoky sky rumbled loudly somewhere behind him. He froze, listening tensely to the cracking and popping of trees branches. Birds began to caw frantically, and he could hear their wild flight nearby. Then a thundering whoosh boomed toward him, and a strange whir filled the air overhead. He ducked low, fearful eyes searching the foggy sky. He heard a loud splash and winced as water sprayed him and a clanging thud shook the ground.

  Then all went quiet.

  Cain stayed low to the ground frozen in anticipation of what he didn’t know. He listened for the sound of movement but heard none. When he felt satisfied that nothing else would fall from the sky, he crept slowly forward, sweeping the flashlight ahead of him left to right to no avail. After several steps, lapping water sloshed over his hiking boots and he stopped, pausing for a moment at the river’s edge. He swung the light up and down the bank and then out into the river. Its beam cast a hazy yellow glow on the water and on what looked like a tire just a few feet ahead. A sinking feeling descended on Cain. Whatever’s out there, it can’t be good, he thought. The teen exhaled deeply before wading out into the water.

  He came up on the rear of an ATV stuck in an eternal front wheelie, the back tires bucking up and out of the water. Cain cautiously moved around the vehicle’s side, searching for the rider. The sinking feeling eased a bit when he didn’t see one. As he rounded the front, light lit up the sandy river bottom. The headlights are still on, he thought, cocking his head around the handlebars and looking tentatively into the water.

  His knees buckled, and he fumbled the flashlight as his eyes fell on the vacant stare of Mr. Lay Chilly. Cain quickly averted his gaze, muttering incoherently and pausing to collect himself. He swore under his breath and then rushed to the man who was trapped under water by the ATV’s front tire. Cain bent to free him, think
ing of the horrible irony drowning in less than two feet of water would be, when he stopped. The man’s crumpled position suddenly seemed strange. His wide-eyed face stared up out of the water at Cain, but he was lying on his stomach. The teen suddenly heaved, and his fist flew to his mouth.

  The man’s neck was grotesquely twisted.

  Mr. Lay Chilly was very dead.

  Chapter Twelve

  The sweet smell of perfume drifted into Sergeant Otto Brault’s office at the Spooner Police Department, and he smiled slightly while studying the paperwork before him. A soft tap on the door he had left ajar soon followed.

  “What can I do for you, Crystal?” he asked pleasantly before looking up from the desk to the pretty woman hovering in his doorway.

  “Excuse me, sergeant,” she said. He waved her into the room, and she moved swiftly to his desk. “These just came in and I thought you might want to see them.” The young administrative assistant handed him the first of two pieces of paper she held.

  He snorted with surprise. “Could be that O’Brien girl, huh?”

  Crystal nodded.

  “The picture’s not great—”

  “But there’s no mistaking that blond hair,” she interjected. “You don’t see hair like that every day.”

  This time the sergeant nodded, and his eyebrows rose. “Where?”

  “Call came to New Post. Fisherman on Blaisdell Lake saw her.” Crystal paused before handing him the second sheet of paper. “With him.”

  The sergeant’s eyebrows arched higher. The photo print out showed the sharp, clear image of a young male obviously of Ojibwe descent. He shook the paper. “Who took this?”