by K. F. Baugh
“I don’t understand.” The man stepped up to the truck bed and traced his fingers over the top. “It’s just a topographical map of the Black Mills and Oriel Valleys. The rivers and roads are marked. But there’s no blood.”
Sage followed him and looked at the float. The red had disappeared, leaving normal blue rivers and brown trails in its place. Embarrassment gnawed at her stomach. She should have known the blood wasn’t real. Who made a float with blood on it?
Gus chose this moment to make an appearance and raced, tail wagging, to her side. The dog nosed her hand, helping to still the panic that thrashed at the corners of her mind. Sage stroked his silky soft ears and closed her eyes. It was time to figure out a Plan B for escape, somewhere within hiking distance. But that wouldn’t work either. All the trails around town would be saturated with visiting mountain bikers and hikers.
“You’re blocking my driveway,” she blurted out. “I need you to move, now.”
“Sorry. The parade organizers told us to wait here.” The man looked around the back alley crammed with other floats and shrugged. “It’s so packed now, I don’t think I can move.”
Sage noticed a few creases at the edge of his eyes, ones that adorned any adult who’d lived at this high altitude longer than a few years. They contrasted sharply with his broad shoulders and jet-black hair. The steady blue of his irises bored into her, and she looked away.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Sage said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Before this stupid parade jams up the whole town.” Maybe she’d just take off on foot.
The man cleared his throat and crossed his arms. “Not a fan of the parade then?”
“Not really.” Sage turned away. “Wish all these tourists would stay down in the flatlands where they belong.”
“Guess you must be the town patriot.” The man chuckled and held out his hand to Gus, who, after a moment’s hesitation, raised his paw to shake it. “And is this your sidekick?”
Sage replaced her sunglasses. “Don’t take it personally. Gus loves everybody.”
“Like his owner, huh?” He smiled, but Sage only shrugged. “Listen, I really am sorry. If I could move out of your way, I would.” He turned and nodded to the other trucks and floats, all parked within inches of each other.
“Whatever.” Gus quickly returned to Sage’s side, nudging her hand once more. She buried it in the reassuring warmth of his thick fur.
“Mr. Tim,” a young tween ran up and tugged on the man’s shirt. “The parade guy said they’re about ready to begin.”
“Get the rest of the kids to gather around the float. Make sure everyone has their bags of candy, but tell them to toss it sparingly. That’s all we’ve got.”
Kids suddenly swarmed around the float, and the waiting vehicles’ engines roared to life. Sage let out a ragged sigh. In just a few minutes she’d be free.
“Come on, Gus,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Hey wait.” The man took a step toward her. “I was so distracted by your … greeting that I forgot to introduce myself. I’m--”
“Mr. Tim. Yeah, I heard.” Sage said, walking backwards toward the Jeep. “Are you a school teacher?” It had been nearly two years since she graduated from the small, mountain town high school, but she thought she would have remembered him. Maybe he was new.
“Something like that,” Tim said, his voice nearly drowned out by the din of the vehicles. “And you are?”
Several horns blared and motors raced. The drivers in the long line of trucks and floats were feverish to begin. They were all trapped, including Sage, until this guy moved his float out of the way.
“Look Mr. Tim, could you just move your damn float?”
“I don’t see why not,” Tim said, leaning against the truck. “But I still didn’t catch that name.” He ran his hand over the hood’s chipped paint, seemingly oblivious to the horns that now blared through the alley.
She knew he wouldn’t move until she answered. “It’s Sage.”
The man waved to Gus. “Nice to meet you.” Then he glanced at Sage and winked. “You too, I guess.”
Sage watched from her rearview mirror as his truck and the others slowly pulled out of the alley. The minutes dragged by, but finally, only dust motes danced along the dirt road.
She glared at Gus and jerked the car into reverse. “Well, that was cute.”
Gus turned away from her and hung his head out the passenger window.
Sage poked him in the back. “Next time some stranger bothers me, I expect you to show a little more teeth and a lot less tongue.”
Acknowledging her with a brief, panting smile, Gus returned to his station at the open window. Sage shook her head, but gave the dog a rough back scratch before she turned her attention to the road and escaping Black Mills.
Chapter Two
Hours later, surrounded by the empty miles of a vast wilderness preserve, Sage lay in her sleeping bag and studied the night sky. The panic she’d felt in town had abated after half a day of hard hiking, and her exhausted body felt as if it had become one with the meadow beneath her.
The cloudless night allowed her a perfect view of the glistening panorama above her, something which never ceased to quiet her thoughts, no matter how chaotic. Stars pulsed and glowed, shadowed by the dim outline of mountain peaks and an occasional wisp of cloud as it raced across the moon.
“The Great Bear’s tail is moving east,” Sage murmured to herself. “She’s traveling back to her fall home.”
The impression of another sky, one filled with only with confusion and loss, wrapped around her, and she burrowed deeper into her sleeping bag. Gus whined next to her, able to sense the tortuous thoughts that danced at the edge of Sage’s consciousness.
“It’s all right, boy,” she whispered, surprised by the hazy remembrance. Like a sealed vault, her mind had locked away all the details of that night. Occasionally, vague impressions and momentary pictures flashed before her, but they slipped away before Sage could grasp any lasting detail. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t untangle the event from mental oblivion, and from the few hints the social services people had let slide during her youth, maybe she was better off not knowing.
A twig snapped in the thicket next to her. Sage closed her eyes, and the image of a fox appeared in her mind. The young mother carried a limp black squirrel in her mouth, her mind focused on the four kits back at the den whose bellies would be filled with this prize. When the fox paused several feet away from the small camp, alarmed by the human and canine scents, Sage entered the fox’s thoughts. Ignore us, she mentally urged. Go back to your home. Feed your young.
Sage watched the fox blink several times in the moonlight before returning to her homeward path. Once the fox passed beyond the boundaries of Sage’s mind, she opened her eyes to study the stars once more. This ability to sense other creatures and communicate with them was another irrevocable change brought on by that night so long ago. The skill came in especially handy when campsite visitors were of the less benign variety, like bears, mountain lions, or coyotes.
The quiet of the evening disappeared as the Wind whipped through the pine trees, sounding like the rush of a spring-swollen waterfall. It whirled through the neighboring aspen leaves and changed to the clapping of a million leafy hands. Last, it settled on the heavy lupine blossoms next to her and sent their gentle fragrance toward her like a kiss.
“Hello, Broken One,” it whispered.
Sage sighed, feeling exhausted. “Hello, Wind. Tonight? I don’t feel like talking.”
“You are always weary of talking. Except with your dog. You would be content to talk to him the rest of your lifetimes.”
“That’s because he never talks back.” Sage brushed the hair from her eyes. “A highly underrated quality.”
“There is never silence for those who listen. You must realize that by now.”
“Blame it on my upbringing. I was taught only humans could talk.”
&nb
sp; “The downfall of all your kind,” the voice breathed into her ear.
“Fine. Let’s hurry up and get to the point.” Sage sat up in the darkness, head pounding with the dull ache that had nagged her since she left town.
The Wind remained silent.
“Please, just tell me.”
“There’s been two more,” it sighed in her ear, the words coming out as a soft wail. “And their blood cries out.”
“Blood?” Sage asked, the bloody rivers of the float flashed into her mind.
“Yes, blood. It cries out from places that can no longer be hidden.”
“Do I need to find something?”
“Many things. The time is coming for you to protect all who live within this valley.”
Sage thought back to the tasks the Wind had given her in the past. “I don’t understand. All the animals?”
“As yet you’ve only protected the four-legged ones. A change is at hand.”
Sage pondered its words. Over the years, she’d learned to listen for cries the Wind brought her. Disturbances in the air or even water. Human interference was usually at fault when a creature suffered, but many times it wasn’t through malicious intent, only carelessness. A bear who’d grown too aggressive from food left by local campers, despite the plethora of signs that warned against doing so. An animal maimed by a speeding car on the highway. A deer with Chronic Wasting Disease that threatened to infect the entire herd. Some of the creatures she relocated, others she freed and nursed back to health. A few she put out of their misery as gently as possible, according to the directions of the Wind.
But a change? She liked the way things worked now. The Wind whispered need, then the desire to restore balance consumed Sage, like an itch that needed to be scratched. Once she’d done so, a euphoric sense of peace filled her, at least for a few hours. It was the only time she felt something like happiness.
“What does this change mean?” Sage asked. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” the Wind whispered and caressed her cheek one last time. “Be careful, Broken One.” Its voice faded. “Truth has been hidden by your dark dreams these many years. Your heart has slept, but now it is time to awaken.”
Sage shrugged and shifted in her sleeping bag. Her heart. Its job was to pump blood, nothing else. And aside from its interruption about twenty years ago, it usually did the job just fine.
After several days of hiking, rock climbing, and the life-giving solitude of the mountains, Sage packed up her gear and drove away from the wilderness area and back toward Black Mills and civilization. When she was only an hour away, her car temperature suddenly spiked, and the dashboard’s emergency light came on. Sage pulled over to the side of the road and opened the hood. It took several minutes, but once the steam cleared away, she quickly spotted the problem. A coolant hose had detached from the engine, and the last of the antifreeze was dribbling out.
Gus pressed against her leg, and she looked down at him. “Guess that last rough patch was too much for this old thing. Do we have any water left?”
Walking back to the car, she collected her last two canteens and poured the remaining contents into the engine, but it wasn’t enough. Sage drummed her blackened fingers against the wheel well and looked over the landscape around her. No streams, no ponds. Her gaze caught a wooden shack down in the valley below her. Oriel.
Gus let out a low growl. “I know, buddy. I hate it too, but I just need enough water to tide us over until we get home.”
Sage gathered up all her water containers and trudged down the hill. Once a uranium mine, the now renamed Oriel Biological Research Station, or OBRS, only allowed full-time scientists and support staff to live in the tiny community that clothed itself in artificially aged wooden slats and false fronts. Despite the mining shack-like appearance of the buildings, most of them were only 20-30 years old and housed state-of-the-art scientific bling and pretentious grad students. She had visited it on a few school field trips and hated every minute of it.
A bell jingled as Sage, followed by Gus, entered the tiny convenience store. A woman dressed from head to toe in Oriel Biological Research Station tourist gear organized a tower of coffee mugs emblazoned with an I ♥ OBRS logo.
She turned to Sage with a bright smile, one which quickly mutated into a grimace. “That dog should be on a leash. Dogs are only allowed on the designated pathways between the restrooms, store, and medical cabin. We all love our pets, but here they are considered an invasive species and detrimental to the overall health of the--”
“Yeah, fine.” Sage held up her containers. “I just need some water, and then I promise my dog and I will be gone.”
Slamming a coffee mug on the counter, the woman turned and strode toward them. Gus stepped in front of Sage and single rumbling growl halted the woman’s approach.
“He doesn’t like the word leash,” Sage said and watched as a string of disturbing emotions, all of which seemed disproportionate to the situation, played across the woman’s face.
The woman moved within inches of Sage. “If you don’t get off this property in the next five seconds--”
“Serena!” A voice barked from the shadows of a nearby closet. Both the woman and Sage turned.
“That’s enough,” the voice continued. “You’re being rude to our guest.”
Serena’s hands fluttered to her chest. “I’m sorry, sir. I just know how dogs--”
A tall, broad chested man glided from the closet and shushed Serena’s protest with a quick glance. “Please go back to whatever you were doing.”
Serena nodded and beat a hasty retreat to the mugs she’d been stacking when Sage first entered the store.
The man, clothed in an I ♥ OBRS T-shirt, glided in front of Sage and stopped. “You’ll have to excuse Serena.” He smiled slightly. “She takes her job very seriously.” He whispered and winked at Sage.
Sage took a step back, and Gus settled at her feet. “I know you. You’re Terrance Storm.”
The man held up his hands and shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”
“The director of this whole place, right?”
“Have we met?” He took another step toward Sage and studied her more closely.
“Here and there on the trails.” Sage answered, vaguely. In fact, they’d met multiple times when Storm was in the backcountry with his grad students. As a lowly local, she’d barely merited his attention. “I live in Black Mills.”
“Ahh,” Storm responded, his tone now disinterested. “And what, exactly, are you doing here?”
Sage held up her canteens. “Like I told Serena, I just need a refill on my water and then I’ll get out of here.”
Storm glanced between her and Gus; a grin carved itself across his features again. “There’s a water pump out by the dumpsters. You are welcome to use it. But please remember that your dog should be on a leash. Dogs are only allowed on the designated pathways between the restrooms, store, and medical cabin. We all love our pets, but here they are considered an invasive species and detrimental to the overall health of the delicate mountain ecosystem.”
“No problem,” Sage muttered. Gus wound around her legs, and she nearly tripped on her way out the door. “What a bunch of weirdos.”
It didn’t take her long to find the bright orange water spigot behind the building. She lifted the handle and waited several moments before a stream poured into her gallon jug.
“Excuse me, miss.”
Sage turned and saw a lanky college-aged kid in cut-off jeans, a threadbare T-shirt, and hiking boots.
“Dogs are only allowed on the designated pathways between the restrooms, store, and medical cabin. We all love our pets, but--”
“I know!” Sage snapped. “I have to fill up my water, but then we’ll get the hell out of here. I promise.”
“Sorry.” His face broke into an embarrassed smile. “They’re really strict about stuff here. I just moved in a month ago, and I’m still trying to figure out all the rules. There’s so man
y.”
An actual, normal person! Sage thought, but then again, he’d only been here a few months. It wouldn’t last. She set down the first jug and began to fill the second.
“So, new guy, what is it you scientists actually do here?” It was a question Sage always asked the few times she’d been forced to stop in Oriel, and she’d never gotten a straight answer.
“We research the life cycle and changing habits of marmots.”
“Marmots, huh?” Sage picked up the last water container. “So this whole town, all your equipment, all these scientists, they’re all for … marmots?”
“They’re a fascinating and informative species, one that’s incredibly sensitive and able to alert us of upcoming challenges facing our planet. Because of their acute receptiveness to climate change—”
“Nope. Heard all this before.” Sage gathered her now full containers. “Thought I might get a straight answer from a newbie, but I guess not.”
“If you’d like more information, I can take you--”
“No thanks.” Sage took a step backward. “Good luck.” She said, feeling almost sorry for him.
“Thanks.” His shoulders slumped, and he turned away. “Please remember that dog should be on a leash. Dogs are only allowed …” His voice trailed off as he moved away.
Sage whistled for Gus to follow and, despite the weight of the water, she ran nearly the whole way to her car. Wasting no time, she emptied the jugs into her engine. Gus whined. She looked down at where he sat, near her feet.
“I’m almost done.” She emptied the last of the water.
Gus shot into the car after her when Sage opened the door, and they both let out a sigh of relief when the engine finally roared to life after several false starts. The Jeep’s wheels shot fountains of gravel as Sage made her rapid retreat out of the Oriel Valley and back to Black Mills.
Chapter Three
Once at home, Sage opened the screen door, calling Liddy’s name while Gus darted past her legs and raced up the stairs in the direction of Sage’s bedroom. Dropping her bags, she wandered into the kitchen. The dirty dishes had been cleaned. Now cans of paint, brushes, and other supplies crowded the counter space.
