When Nature Calls

by Harper Crowley

  “Is everything all right?” Russ asks. “I only heard the last bit where you were telling the guy off, the rest was pretty muffled.”

  Jess glances up from her phone screen, suddenly interested.

  “I’ll tell you about it while we get something to eat,” I say. I need a few minutes to think about the interaction and what implications it could have for the case. If I learned anything from our last case in Georgia, it was never to underestimate the dangers around us.

  “Okay.” Russ’s voice trails off. I don’t blame him for being skeptical. Usually, I can’t wait to talk about the odd conversations we have during cases, but something doesn’t sit right about this one. It’s stranger than usual, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions before finding out more information. I’ll let them listen to the audio, if my recorder caught any, and then we can talk about it. That’s probably the smartest thing I can do, and for once, I’m trying to use my head over my gut.

  We park ourselves in a corner booth, as far away from the door and everyone else as we can. A waitress, an older woman with dark hair liberally streaked with gray and piercing blue eyes, hands us each a menu. The name sewn into her shirt says Edna. I wonder if the owner’s name tag says Honey, but I’m not going to ask. It’s a newbie, tourist question, and if we ask too many of those, the good people of Atopka will run us out of town.

  “Would you kids like anything to drink?” she asks, her voice a thick smoker’s rasp.

  “Sure, Coke for me,” I say. Jess orders a fresh coffee with extra cream because she can’t set her sights too high for her normal caffeinated fare at a place like this and Russ asks for a water.

  After the waitress leaves, I place the back of my hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling okay? Usually you’ve downed two to three Mountain Dews by now.”

  He scowls and removes my hand. “I’m trying to cut back. I read somewhere that too much caffeine isn’t good for you.”

  “Since when?” I ask, at the same time as Jess says, “You read something? Like, an actual article, or just the title?”

  Russ folds his arms across his chest. “Not funny. I’m gonna go out in the van with the dog. At least he won’t make fun of me in my weakened state.”

  I barely keep my eyes from rolling out of my head. Jess doesn’t even bother. “You know you won’t leave,” she says. “You’re just dying to see what happened in the bait-and-tackle shop.”

  “Whatever,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t deny it.

  After Edna returns with our drinks and takes our orders, I set the stage, describing Daddy Mullet in excruciating detail.

  Jess snorts. “Now I kinda wish I’d gone inside.”

  “Me, too,” Russ says.

  “Next time, don’t be such chickens.” I pull out the voice recorder and set it on the table between us. After one more glance assures me that we’re alone, I press Play.

  There’s static, mostly, and then a faint, muffled voice.

  “What the fuck were you thinking? You let your brother take some dumb bimbo out on our land, just ‘cause he wants to get drunk and get laid? Jesus Christ, Trapper. I knew your brother was an idiot, but you’re supposed to be the smart one. Why didn’t you stop him?”

  “I didn’t know, honest,” Buck’s youngest brother whines. “He just said there was a party out in the back forty. I didn’t know they was looking for the missing people or Bigfoot.”

  “Oh yeah? And what would you a done if you knew? Hide out in the woods with your traps and your fishing poles? Like I don’t know what you’re doing out there, boy.”

  “I-I-I’d a told you, Dad. I promise.”

  “And then you all just left them out there? What in the hell woulda happened if they’d a went missing? Huh? Did you ever think about that? The cops woulda been all over this place. You know how I feel about cops. They’re always fucking looking for a reason to put me away. Especially that dumbass sheriff. He’d love to come on our land and plant something so he can arrest me. He’s wanted that for years.”

  I turn off the recorder as our waitress approaches. She scans the table and arches one artfully painted black eyebrow at us. “What are you kids doing?”

  I stuff the recorder back in my pocket. “Nothing.”

  “Uh huh. That doesn’t look like nothing to me.”

  I sigh and figure it can’t hurt anyway so I might as well tell the truth. “My team and I”—I gesture at Russ and Jess—“are here to research the strange disappearances and Bigfoot sightings in the area. We’re getting a bite to eat while listening to some audio.” Okay, the last bit is a lie, but it doesn’t hurt anyone, so I refuse to let myself feel badly about it.

  “You’re here about the Bigfoot sightings?”

  I nod. “We normally investigate ghosts.” I pull out a business card and hand it to her. “But one of our subscribers sent us the information about the creature and the disappearances.”

  She stares at our card, her lips pursed in a thin line. “You were out investigating last night?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my shoulders relaxing. She hasn’t kicked us out yet or spat in our drinks, as far as I know, so that’s a plus. “We camped out on the Henrys’ property. They rented us some camping equipment.”

  Edna throws her head back and laughs. “Of course. Lemme guess, Buck? Pretty thing like you, of course he wanted you to camp on their land. The only mysterious disappearances those boys have seen are half the virginities of the girls in town.” She winks. Oh God. “If you know what I mean.”

  My face burns. Jess snorts and ducks her head, hiding her own flaming cheeks, and Russ chokes on his water.

  “I had no idea.”

  “Of course you didn’t, Sugar,” she says, patting my hand. “But if you’re serious about searching for Bigfoot, you’re in the wrong spot.”

  “Oh yeah?” I sit up straighter. That piques my interest. “Where should we look?”

  The front door opens, and a middle-aged couple enters. Edna glances over her shoulder at them.

  “Have a seat, Edith, Tom. I’ll be right there.”

  The man, apparently Tom, waves at her, and they take a seat on the other side of the diner.

  “Can you guys sit tight for a bit?” Edna asks.

  “Sure,” I say. Russ and Jess nod.

  “Good. I’ll stop on by after I get them taken care of and your food’s done. Got a map?”

  “Yeah,” Russ says. “In the van.”

  “If you go get it, I’ll show you a good spot.”

  Russ jumps out of his seat. “I’ll be right back.” By the time he returns, Edna’s brought our food, and we dig in.

  After they eat, the few customers in the diner leave, and Edna returns to our table. “You got that map?” she asks, pulling up a chair.

  Jess and I move the plates aside, and Russ spreads out the map. Edna pulls out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses and slips them on. “What are these X’s for?”

  “Those are the other disappearances.” Russ taps each spot and explains what they stand for. “We were thinking about going to the actual sites themselves as our next step.”

  Edna nods. “Good idea.” She touches one of the marks. “You can’t search here, though—Marty’ll shoot you if you do.”

  “Thanks. We’ll definitely avoid that spot.” Getting shot is not on our agenda any time soon.

  “Try this one.” She taps a spot a few miles out of town. “I remember this one. Nice girl. Her grandpa still lives around here. Heard she had some secret romance with a local boy, but no one knows who it was. When she disappeared, well, it devastated our town.” The lines on either side of her mouth deepen into a frown. She touches the map again. “That one’s on state land, so you can check it out easy.” She traces the highway to another spot and then to another one farther away. “But these two are on private property. Think the Henrys own it. Hunting land. Used to sell guided tours to out-of-town folks.”

  The front door opens again, and a family of three enters, the kid poutin
g and the parents arguing. With a sigh, Edna heaves herself to her feet. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help, kids. I don’t think you’ll find nothing, but you never know. Someone needs to figure out what’s going on out there. Good luck.”

  Edna turns away, but before she leaves, I call her back and ask her if the bank I’d seen when we came into town is still open, so I can cash Ceri’s check.

  “From eleven to four, five days a week,” she says, eying me curiously. I have to give her props, though, because she doesn’t ask me what I want to go to the bank for, and small-town people tend to be pretty nose.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  After Edna leaves, we pay and head out. Bear’s sleeping in the van, curled up on the front seat. He springs to his feet as we approach, his tongue lolling. I open the door and scoop him up before he starts barking.

  “Good boy.” He gives me a couple of wet doggy kisses while I scratch behind his ears.

  “I’ll try calling Ceri while we’re on our way to the bank,” Jess says, slipping in the back seat of the van.

  Russ hops into the passenger seat and spreads the map out on the dashboard. “And I’ll figure out the easiest way to get to the first spot.”

  I boost Bear into the back and start the van. “Sounds great, oh great navigator.”

  THE SPOT EDNA INDICATED on the map is a lonely stretch of highway by mile marker 147. Hills and trees dot the landscape on either side, but there aren’t any houses, cars, or humans. It’s desolation at its finest.

  “So this is it?” Jess asks. She kicks a dead leaf off of the side of the road. She holds out a GoPro and scans the ground. “How are we supposed to find anything?”

  She’s right. The land on either side of the road is barren and only sparsely dotted with brush until it hits the tree line. A little farther south, the land dips between two craggy hills, creating a gully that disappears out of sight—yet another place where no one could hear us scream. Man, Oklahoma is already making a great impression.

  Russ grabs another camera and starts taking pictures.

  “Want me to film an intro?” Jess asks, scratching her leg with one foot.

  “Yeah, we need to post something after last night.” I glance at Russ. “I can do it if you want.”

  “I’ll do it,” Jess says. “The viewers like me better, anyway.” This is probably true. She sticks her camera onto a selfie stick then puts some distance between us so the sounds of our voices don’t carry.

  “Where to now, boss?” Russ asks, scratching his short black hair with his free hand.

  Frustration wells up within me. I don’t know where to go, and I feel out of my element. I’m not a cop. I don’t even play one on TV. I don’t know what to look for or what to do. Give me a ghost any day, those I can handle. “I don’t know,” I say, gesturing around us. “Let’s just... spread out, I guess. Look for clues.”

  “Okay, Scooby Doo.” Jess rolls her eyes.

  “Brat,” I mutter, but she’s already off the side of the road, her eyes and camera on the ground.

  We spread out along the hot, dusty ground, within eye distance but with enough space between us that we’re not looking at the same patch of ground.

  I don’t see any other cars, so when we get a few yards away from the road, I take Bear off of his leash. With his tail wagging wildly, he zips off among the scrub brush, nose to the ground.

  “Think he’ll find anything?” Russ asks.

  I shrug. “It worked on the last case.”

  But ten minutes later, all my dog has found are bushes to pee on. “Some tracker you are,” I mutter. I call him away from a hole in the ground just before he starts digging. My luck, it’s a rattlesnake den, and I highly doubt Atopka has a vet clinic.

  “Hey,” Jess calls out, her voice faint. She waves her arms from the mouth of the gully, and Russ and I hurry over.

  “Did you find something?” Russ zooms his camera in on her.

  “Yeah, check this out.” She nudges something with her foot. It’s metal, dusty like everything else, and dented, and when I pick it up, and brush off the dried mud to find the words “Camper’s #1 Stove” printed on the side.

  “Do you know if any of the missing hikers disappeared around here?” she asks.

  Russ pulls his map out of his backpack. He traces a line from where we started to where we are now. “No. It looks like the nearest one is about a mile away.”

  “Huh,” she says. “Maybe it’s just trash.”

  Yeah, like it’s ever just trash, or a coincidence, or anything else that’s easily explainable. An icy chill races down my spine, almost counteracting the burning Oklahoma sun beating down on us. I hope she’s right, for once.

  “Let’s keep looking.” I gesture at the narrow canyon’s entrance, which looks as though it’s been carved from the ground with giant, clumsy knives. The walls are so close on either side that I could touch them if I spread my hands out. It’s not a great place to get trapped.

  Russ whistles, tracing the brown and red lines on the wall. “I wonder how this got here.”

  “Flash floods,” Jess says. “Think monsoon season rains. Over thousands of years, these dry riverbeds formed, and they only fill during the rainy season.” Jess shrugs. “I learned about it in one of my online classes last semester.”

  “Huh,” Russ says. “That’s cool.” Then he pans the camera around the canyon again and keeps going.

  Bear darts ahead of us and zips away into the brush. I hurry after him so he doesn’t get eaten and soon come to a sharp turn. On either side of me, the walls of the canyon rise at a steep, jagged angle. To my right, the canyon continues before it ends abruptly at a narrow incline. I freeze. So much for a coincidence.

  Debris litters the bottom of the canyon. A shredded sleeping bag hangs from a branch on the side, as if it were just tossed there. Water bottles and empty food containers lie crushed and ripped open, scattered by wild animals and God knows what else. A single men’s shoe hides partially under a bush. Bear trots over and lifts his leg on it before I can stop him.

  “No! Get over here.” Damn dog. I scoop him up and clip his leash on. He rewards me with a slobbery kiss. Thanks, bud.

  Russ holds up his map and traces the line until he finds the canyon. “Do you think this is related to the hikers? I mean, realistically, it could still be just some trash.”

  He’s right, but I don’t think so. “Before we jump to conclusions, let’s look around.”

  “What’d you guys find?” my sister asks. Her eyes widen as she surveys the camping gear destroyed and strewn around us. “Holy crap. So much for being just some trash.”

  Russ folds the map up and puts it in his pocket. “We don’t know anything yet. Who knows, it might be gear from those wonderful guys at the bait-and-tackle shop. Maybe they got on a drunken bender and left it here, too lazy to pick it up before some animal got to it. It doesn’t have to be anything worse than that.”

  I repeat Russ’s words to myself as we search the canyon. A brown jacket’s snagged on a dead branch, and I untangle it. Maybe there’s some ID in the pocket or something. It’s stiff with dried mud or grime. Yuck. I wonder if Oklahoma has monsoons like other parts of the southwest. That would explain all of the dried mud with no water in sight.

  I hold the garment up into the light, bits of dark brownish-red muck flaking off on my fingers. It has a faint iron smell, and I slip my fingers through a jagged tear in one side. I know this smell, but I can’t place it. The sun shines dully on the fabric. More of the brown stuff comes off on my fingers. Just for kicks, I hold my fingers up to my nose. Iron again. What else smells like iron? Crap. Blood. I drop the jacket. It’s blood, dried blood.

  Stumbling backward, I trip over a rock and fall to the ground, landing on more ruined camping gear. Good one, Mer, now you’re destroying evidence.

  “Russ? Jess?” I scramble to my feet, my hands searching for something to grab onto. They find it, in the form of a dark-blue baseball cap, a blood-encrusted baseb
all cap with little bits of hair and something else matted to the brim.

  Bile rising in my throat, I throw the hat away from me and scrub my hands on my thighs to get the smell and feel and grossness off of me. It doesn’t work. Bear sniffs the hat, and I scoop him up before he can pee on that, too.

  “What’s wrong?” Russ asks. He scans the ground and picks up the jacket. “Oh, shit.” He drops it and backs away.

  “Look at the hat, too.”

  “Fuck,” he says, mirroring my thoughts.

  “What’d you guys find?” Jess’s eyes meet mine.

  “Blood. We have to call the cops.”

  “Are you sure?” Jess asks. “Maybe it’s just mud.”

  Russ stuffs his camera in his pocket and helps me to my feet, and I nod. “Oh yeah,” I say, my voice wavering. God, I hope he wasn’t live streaming that. That’s all we need.

  Chapter 9

  Crime scene tape stretches across the mouth of the canyon. A fortysomething man wearing a tan uniform and a wide-brim hat scowls at a younger counterpart. A silver star glimmers from his chest. He’s Sheriff Jerry Sinclair, Ceri’s dad, although I’m not about to tell him his daughter’s the reason we’re here. He hadn’t been too impressed when I told him who we were, and I don’t think confessing our connection would help the matter.

  “I swear, Jenkins, your ass is going to be on traffic duty for the rest of your life.”

  His sandy-haired deputy shoves his hands in his pockets, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s embarrassed or if he’s trying to keep his baggy pants from falling down. “Honest to God, I searched that canyon, and there was nothing there. Scout’s honor.”

  They pause momentarily when a crime scene tech lugs over a heavy black case and ducks under the tape. Standing about ten feet away, Sheriff Sinclair seems more preoccupied with berating his deputy than talking to us. Fine by me. I’ve had enough of cops to last a lifetime.

  “I thought you said this would be an easy case?” Russ quips.

  I elbow him in the side. “I never said that. You picked it, remember?” I lower my voice to sound more like his. “We’re just hunting for Bigfoot. I doubt we’ll find anything, but at least we’re not almost getting murdered.”