by Nick Thacker
“I get it,” Ben said. “I didn’t mean —“
But before he could say anything more, the door jingled and opened. A blast of cold evening air curled inward and hit Ben in the back of the neck. He stopped talking and turned around, looking to see who the newcomer was.
The bartender was suddenly there, leaning over the bar and whispering into Ben’s ear.
“That’s him,” he said. “The military one. The one who’s heading out there tomorrow.”
20
Ben
Ben stayed inside for another thirty minutes, drinking beer and texting with Julie. He checked his TownHall page; an account Julie had set up for him because 'all the other kids were using it.' He carried a general hatred for social media, but he had to admit it was nice to see some of his old grade school friends and what they were up to.
But after his second beer, he got tired of the mental decay of it and decided to get to bed early. He tried again to close his tab and was once again waved off by the old barman.
The ‘military gentleman’ the barman had pointed out had come in and sat three stools down from Ben, right in the center of the long bar. He hadn’t looked at Ben, nor had he said anything at all to anyone.
Ben had sized him up. He was a massive, muscular thing, hairy and thick, but it did seem as though the man carried himself with a noticeable military swagger — a stiff, proud, assuredness that marked an ex-military or Marine from a mile away. Ben had seen it before in men and women. Mrs. E carried herself that way, even though Ben wasn’t entirely sure she had military experience.
The barman passed the newcomer a beer, the same one as Ben’s, and the man drank it in a single gulp. Another appeared in front of him, and this one he sipped slowly, calmly, savoring it. It was like he was trying to catch up to Ben.
As far as Ben could tell, the man hadn't returned the favor and sized Ben up. Perhaps it was part of his swagger, part of his demeanor. The man could have been like one of those 'ringdingers' back home who just enjoyed the feeling of superiority over their civilian 'normie' counterparts. Still, Ben thought it more likely the man was simply just an experienced soldier, used to being respected and not at all concerned about his well-being in a poorly attended local pub.
And there was no reason the man should have been worried about his well-being. Ben was the only person in the room younger than him, and the only one who seemed remotely capable of putting up a fight if the man were to get hostile. But there was also nothing about him that suggested hostility, just as the barman had mentioned. Extreme apathy, sure. But Ben got the sense that as long as everyone there left him alone, they’d all be fine.
So Ben stood and left, and waved at the barman. He wanted to get back and spend some time FaceTiming with Julie, and he wrapped up inside his coat and walked outside.
He hit the sidewalk and prepared to turn the corner when the jingling sound of the door reached his ears.
Weird, he thought. It hadn’t made that noise when he’d left the first time, so that meant —
He turned, noticing that the door was still open.
And the massive silhouette standing in it told him what he needed to know.
Great, Ben thought. He followed me out.
Ben had had the sneaking suspicion that the man, for some reason, had been simply waiting for Ben to leave. He hadn’t so much as turned his head in Ben’s direction, but still… Ben had sensed it.
He clenched his fists. Let’s hope he just wants to talk.
“I just want to talk,” the man said, his German-stilted words clipping out.
Ben stood, silent on the sidewalk.
“Walk with me?”
Ben shrugged, then took a step forward. He was now two feet in front of the man, and —
The blow caught him off-guard. Ben grunted in pain, doubling over. His lungs constricted, and he felt his insides gasping for air.
He stumbled, his hands clasping at his gut.
The man hit him again, this time right in his spleen. Ben saw stars. “What — what the hell —“
"I heard you intend to hunt tomorrow," the man said.
“What? What the f —“ Ben couldn’t even curse properly. He sucked in air, still hunched over on the sidewalk.
"I know what you are looking for. You will not find it because you will not be there."
Ben gasped, then stood up straight. He was finally able to find his words. “Listen, asshole. If you think you’re the first jackass who’s tried to intimidate me —“
One, two. The punches landed in such quick succession that Ben wasn’t sure they were even from the giant of a man. But his body reacted before his brain, and Ben fell to the hard concrete sidewalk. His vision spun. Oh, my God. He hits hard.
Ben had been in more than a few scrapes. He’d dodged bullets, caught some, and lived to tell about it. But this was something different. This man wasn’t here to kill him. Ben had been in fights that had lasted for no time at all — it was kill or be killed, and if either of those failed the perpetrators ran and hid.
But this was more like a street fight, something Ben wasn’t intimately familiar with. It was about intimidation, scare tactics.
And Ben was starting to feel scared.
“Wh — what do you want with me?”
“You?” the man snarled. “Nothing. I want you to stay here, where it is safe for people like you. I want you to do nothing. Tomorrow I will be leaving. Walking out there to hunt for it, just like you intend to do.”
“Wait, what are you —“
“But I am warning you now, and I have no more time to waste on warnings: if I see you out there, I will be forced to do more than just warn you.”
Ben was shocked, confused. And in a lot of pain. He was resilient enough to know the blows would wear off, nothing but bruises to his body and his pride to remain. But still… what the hell was this guy talking about.
He crawled around and finally stood up. “All right, bub. You made your point.”
The man stared at him. Orange cast from an overhead streetlight made his hairy, pockmarked face that much more rutted and weathered.
“You’re saying you’re hunting for something out there. Cool. But I’m not.”
For a flash, a brief moment, Ben thought he saw the man’s expression falter. He couldn’t be sure, as the light and his spinning vision were playing tricks on him.
21
Eliza
Eliza Earnhardt pulled the strap of her hiking pack up higher, cinching it down to her shoulder. She loved this pack — lightweight and water-resistant, it had doubled as an overnight camping bag for numerous camping trips. She had stuffed it with essentials, as far as she could assume what essentials she’d need. Below-zero sleeping bag, extra clothing and layers, and a thin backpacking blanket were the main items.
She knew Clive Vanderstadt would be packing food for the group of three, so she had only thrown in a few of her favorite protein and energy bars and a packet of dehydrated coffee. People around here usually doubled down on tea, so she wanted to be sure she was prepared for any chilly morning they might encounter during the expedition.
Plus, she knew Harvey Bennett was a coffee drinker, and she wanted to have coffee on hand as a sort of olive branch — she hadn’t told him she’d be coming along.
She saw Clive and Harvey through the break in the trees just off the road, where Clive had parked, and when her eyes met Harvey's, she knew immediately that Clive hadn't told him, either.
“What are you doing here?” Harvey asked her, his voice doing little to hide his incredulousness. She didn’t sense any hostility, but she also didn’t know the man well.
“I am coming along,” she said, matter-of-factly.
“I… wasn’t aware you were planning on that.”
There was a pause, a standoff, until Clive broke the tension. “Harvey — Ben — my apologies. I did not mention it yesterday because I was not sure how you felt about a woman coming along.”
Ben flashed his eyes over to Cli
ve. Now there appeared to be some hostility there. “You didn’t think I thought a woman could handle herself? Is that what you mean?”
Clive backed up a step. “No, I —“
“My wife has plenty of experience in the outdoors,” Ben said. “If I ever had the impression women weren’t capable of this sort of thing, I’ve gotten over it.”
Eliza put a hand over her mouth, holding back laughter. Clive had performed admirably. “Harvey — Ben —“ she said, “please don’t take it out on him. We are just messing around.”
Ben took a breath. “Yeah, sorry. I’m just… on edge.”
She noticed for the first time that Ben looked winded. Flustered. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he seemed to have bags under his eyes. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a little thing happen last night. It’s all good.”
“Right,” Clive said. “So we are good, then. Why don’t we talk about the plan?”
“Walk that direction,” Ben said, pointing. “And see how long it takes to get to EKG’s headquarters.”
Eliza squinted, but she was still smiling. “You seem like the kind of person who makes better plans than that.”
Ben started walking, but spoke over his shoulder. “No,” he said. “That’s also Julie. She’s the planner. I’m the doer.”
Clive gave Eliza a look, but she just shrugged. Whatever is bothering him really has him on edge. She set off after Ben, trying to keep up with his long, wide strides.
Eliza knew Clive and his uncle, Olaf Vanderstadt, from years before, when she and her late husband had visited the area for a backcountry ski trip. They’d met and become fast friends, and Clive had even ventured into the backcountry with them on more than one occasion. She knew he was a capable mountaineer, camper, and wilderness expert, and she knew he was confident behind a weapon, as well.
She had certainly noticed the three rifles Clive was packing — one of them was intended for her, of course. She hoped they wouldn’t have to use them, but she also had to admit that this week had already turned up some strange and interesting situations. First the disappearance of Alina, a girl from Grindelwald who had been away at university, and then the appearance of the three-man team of hunters — or at least, that’s what the town seemed to think they were. She didn’t know the men, and it seemed as though no one in town did, either.
That alone was strange. While Eliza wasn’t from Grindelwald, she knew these mountain towns well — typically everyone knew everyone else, including the visiting tourists and vacationers. The pub owners, innkeepers, grocers, and service industry professionals were the first line of defense, they knew who was coming, when they would arrive, and what to expect.
No one she’d spoken to had been aware that three strange men would appear in Grindelwald this week.
No one seemed to know what they wanted while they were here, other than that they were to disembark on a hunting trip at some point.
No one seemed to know how long they’d be here.
It all added up to something fishy, and Eliza didn’t like it.
Even if the men proved to be completely harmless, she didn’t like any unknown variables — she intended to search out and find the EKG company’s headquarters, and then take pictures of whatever she could find there. Having extra unknown people around made that job more difficult.
She tried to control her breathing; she knew her tendencies. Thinking about her husband and his death caused her to feel anxious. Anxiety led to panic attacks, and that would not be a helpful facet to this mission.
They’re just hunting, she told herself. They’re just here for the Ibex, and that’s it.
She looked up the hill toward Ben, who was hiking about twenty paces in front of her. He’s just riled up because he’s serious about the mission.
She then looked over her shoulder at Clive. He offered an innocent smile in return. She smiled back. And then there’s Clive.
It wasn’t that she thought he was a simpleton, but Clive had always just been a constant to her — nothing more, nothing less than what he presented to the world. He liked the outdoors, knew his way around a weapon and any camping gear she could throw at him, and didn’t like confrontation. He seemed to embody the mindset of many of the Grindelwald inhabitants, here for life and fun and freedom and enjoyment. Anything less than those things was unacceptable.
The hill began to rise to a steeper grade, and she saw that Ben had slowed a bit. She wanted to ask him what was bothering him but knew that he would probably deflect. The most predictable thing about men, she'd learned, was that they changed the subject quickly when there truly was something bothering them.
Whatever, she thought. As long as he’s here for the mission. As long as he’s as focused as I am on figuring out what EKG is up to.
22
Lars
The small machine beeped again. Three seconds later, another beep. Two other machines around the room beeped in a discordant rhythm, different pitches and different volumes, a song both random and yet somehow coherent.
Lars looked down at the bed. It was the same bed she’d always slept in, the one their aunt and uncle had bought her when she was five years old, after she had grown out of her twin bed. She was on that same bed now, surrounded by her favorite stuffed animals and toys, even though she didn’t play with any of them anymore.
The rest of the room was just as it had been back in France, save for the medical equipment and beeping machines surrounding her. The pictures were taken from her wall at home, the one with the hyenas from her favorite movie and the other with a picture she had painted four or five years ago. The walls were the exact same ocean-blue she had chosen when she moved into the room at their house, and the carpet — though not the exact carpet from that room — was the same. Lars had made sure it matched the feel and style, and the color was an exact match.
It had taken him months to source and find the carpet, rug, and other small features of the room. These tiny characteristics would be invisible to the untrained eye, but he needed the room to be perfect.
For her.
He wished there was no need for the medical equipment to be in here, but even more, he wished his sister didn’t have to be in this room at all. He wished this wasn’t a replica, that she could be back home enjoying her young life with the aunt and uncle who had raised her.
Lars’ and his sister’s parents had died when Lars was twelve; his sister had only been a newborn. The age gap between the two of them had made it difficult for them to bond at first, but by the time Lars was in high school she had begun looking up to him almost as a stand-in for their late father. Their aunt and uncle were busy with their own careers and had already raised their own children, so Lars ended up being somewhat of a caretaker for his sister.
As he became more and more successful, eventually working his way into a position at his grandfather’s company, Lars had taken control of their personal and family life altogether. His sister adored him, and he wanted nothing in the world more than to please her.
That was all up until the accident.
Lars had just begun working for EKG when he’d gotten the news. A spinal or brain injury — the doctors hadn’t been sure at the time — had rendered his sister completely comatose. Unable to talk, unable to use motor functions, unable to do anything but lie in bed, eyes closed, waiting for death.
The prognosis was dire. Doctors from around the world had examined her, and each had come back with a slightly different version of the same message: barring a miracle, she will most likely not recover. Too much damage had been done to the basal ganglia and substantia nigra; she was too long gone. Best get her to a comfortable place to live out her remaining days.
The other advice given to Lars had been to make the decision as soon as possible. No one needed to explain to him what that decision was: it would be his job to ‘pull the plug,’ and because she was barely a young woman when the accident had happened, his sister had never drawn up a wi
ll or even discussed this type of worst-case scenario.
But Lars knew he could never bring himself to pull the plug. He couldn’t bear the thought of being the reason his sister passed away.
As he stared down at his sleeping girl, he wondered what she was thinking right now.
It had been almost three full years since the accident, and while the months after the accident had been nightmarish for him, he also knew he could solve the problem.
He knew there was an answer that wouldn’t require him to take his sister’s life.
That answer had appeared to him shortly after earning his place as head of the new division, shortly after speaking with Dr. Canavero about his early trials on mice and small mammals. It was controversial technology and an even more controversial procedure, but the medical ramifications would be groundbreaking and nothing short of profound.
If they worked.
Lars’ entire existence had then transformed from one of a curious young man, working toward leveling up his career, to driven entrepreneur interested in pushing this new treatment to market as fast as possible. He wanted the recognition and fortune that would come with it, but his underlying goal was simple: save his sister’s life.
As he watched her sleep, he noticed her eyes flickering behind her closed eyelids. She was dreaming, or thinking about something. Was she trying to communicate? As an ex-Army doctor, he knew enough about coma patients to know that they sometimes tried to interact with the outside world via means of tapping a finger or winking an eye open and shut. So far, his sister had done no such thing, but every day brought Lars new hope that she might begin to return back to normal.
He reached down and put her hand in his. It was small, cold. Not dead, but not quite alive, either.
“Are you warm?” he asked. “Do you need more blankets?”
A 24/7 nursing staff attended to his sister’s every need, changing out sheets and dressing her in new clothing daily. She had a catheter to handle bodily functions, and a host of intravenous drips continuously regulating and monitoring her internal systems.
