by Andrew Mayne
“That would probably be a good idea.”
“I got a lounge with Wi-Fi if you want to wait. Of course, there’s not much else to do.” He nods to the forest. “Even if they caught the thing, I don’t think I’d go walking around up there.”
“Probably right.”
He points to the field of grass next to the metal building. “It was like a Hollywood movie. They landed the search helicopter right there.”
“Here?” I turn back to the forest. “Wait, is this where Juniper was found?”
“Three miles up the road. Between here and the Mountain Cloud Inn.”
The Mountain Cloud Inn was Juniper’s motel.
I hand Bryson my keys. “I might go for that walk after all.”
I take my day pack out of the back seat and strap it around my waist. I don’t plan on going into the woods. I just want to follow the road a bit.
At least that’s what I think. To be honest, I don’t have much of a plan.
The highway cuts through the forest like a skinny canyon. I stay on the gravel easement in case a distracted driver comes hurtling down the road.
It’s a strange change from the grazing land to the evergreens. In between there are patches of tall wild grass—an ecotone. The trees and the prairie are in a battle for turf. The wild grass straddles the middle, where the rocky flatland gives way to the softer forest ground.
On the edge of the highway, where the asphalt is cracked, daisies and weeds pop through like tiny little islands. Miniature ecotones. If I were looking for a bacterium that could eat oil, I’d be collecting samples of dirt from the middle of busy freeways. I don’t know if I’d find one, but I’m sure I’d discover something interesting.
I lift my gaze from the road to the surrounding forest and try to look for what Juniper was searching for out here.
The smart thing would be to pull up her latest research applications or, at the very least, read her blog. But I am still taken aback by events and can’t bring myself even to spend much time on her Facebook page. Her face keeps appearing, haunting me.
The first mile I walk is a gradual incline as the road begins its wayward journey into the mountains. The second begins to get a little steeper.
I keep my eyes on the trees for any sign of where Juniper was found. Undoubtedly, the sheriff’s department used some kind of marker.
I see a few faded-orange forestry markers but nothing else. To my knowledge, they haven’t released anything other than a general area description to the public.
The connection between this forest and the map I spotted in Glenn’s office isn’t obvious to me—and I spend all day looking at maps of real and artificial landscapes.
A tractor-trailer truck blows past me and heaves a great gust of wind over my body.
I should have asked when Juniper brought her car into the garage. Did she have to do a lot of walking?
I make up my mind to give it another ten minutes and then turn back. I have no idea what I’m looking for, much less what Juniper would have been doing out here, other than walking from her motel to the car shop or back.
The hills on either side of the highway are too steep to form a pond or any body of water bigger than a tree trunk. The only fish would be the ones that fell out of a bird’s mouth.
When I’m contemplating turning back, I spot a blue ribbon tied to a tree. It looks brand-new. A dozen yards into the trees, before it gets too thick to see past, there’s a thicker yellow ribbon—the kind of tape you see at a crime scene in a movie.
This is the spot. Or rather, the spot on the road that takes you to the trail that leads you to where it happened.
I really should go back to the garage now. I have no business out here.
Yet . . . I walk into the forest to find the place where she was killed.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
YELLOW LINE
The ancient Greeks believed that the world began with chaos, a void without form. From this shapeless heap the Titans and the gods emerged, bringing forth man. In his most evolved form—which the philosophers saw as themselves—he tried to put order to this chaos, seeking symmetries and rules to the universe.
It was this rule seeking that created the idea of philosophy and, much later, science.
A scientist is someone trying to see order in chaos. Sometimes it simply can’t be done, as science tells us via quantum mechanics and chaos theory. A thing can be one way or the other without any means to predict why it is so.
I’m hiking up the hill because I want to make sense of chaos. We have an event: Juniper’s death. We have a cause: the bear. I don’t have a why, and the police haven’t divulged what led to this encounter.
The first yellow ribbon was just a marker, as I suspected. Ten yards beyond it is another.
I find five yellow ribbons that lead to a small area of level ground.
This is where I see the first red ribbon.
It’s tied around a tree trunk. Below it is a dark blotch on the bark.
Blood.
To be precise, a partial, bloody palm print.
Juniper touched this tree as she was dying.
I spot four more red ribbons in this small clearing and three red flags on the ground.
Some of the ribbons mark where parts of the tree were carefully removed to take back to the medical examiner. Some of the spots on the ground are simply holes where the dirt and blood was shoveled free.
The holes are small. Not quite what you’d expect to find where an adult bled to death.
I kneel down to inspect one of the stains. The ground feels waxy, like clay. Beads of moisture collect on the surface as the minerals behave hydrophobically.
Some dirt repels moisture. Other kinds, like parched desert soil, soak it up greedily.
You’d have to dig down to know how much blood was shed. From an initial examination, it doesn’t look like much. She may have already bled out by the time she came to rest here.
I wipe my hands on my shorts and see the second row of yellow ribbons. They lead higher up the hill.
The pattern is becoming clearer. I’m still surrounded by chaos, but it’s pointing in a direction.
I climb the hill and find my footing a little unsteady as small rocks slide free underneath me. I can only imagine what it was like for Juniper to stumble her way through the brush.
Two red flags mark where drops of her blood splattered plants.
The yellow trail ends at another tree where Juniper rested her hand. Oddly, it’s on the side of the tree facing the road and not the one oriented deeper into the woods, where I assume she first encountered the bear.
There’s a much longer path of yellow ribbons leading even higher. I climb the trail, careful not to step on any red flags hiding behind logs or shrubs.
As I place my right foot down, I freeze. It’s not a sound that makes me stop—at least not one I’m conscious of.
It’s the older part of the brain that’s connected to atrophied or extinct sense organs.
I’ve had this before.
The first time was when I was fourteen and my stepfather took me on a hike in West Texas. I stopped from time to time, unsure of something. Davis remained quiet.
When we got back to camp, he asked me if the hike felt odd. I told him it did but couldn’t explain why.
He gave me a knowing nod, then retrieved his rifle from the truck. “Follow me.”
We backtracked a mile and came to a stop at the very point I first got that strange feeling. I watched as he squinted and surveyed the surrounding area. His attention fell on a large boulder.
I followed him around to the other side. Davis squatted down and motioned for me to do the same. He pointed to a small patch of mud.
A paw, larger than my fist, had rested there. I recognized it from a hunting guidebook. It belonged to a mountain lion.
That’s what we both had felt.
“How did we know?” I asked.
“Maybe we smelled another carnivore. Maybe we heard i
t. Just keep in mind, it was aware of us long before we were aware of it.”
That was a sobering reminder that would be illustrated to me over and over again.
Right now I get the feeling there’s something out here with me. Running would only establish that I’m frightened prey. Acting too brazen might present me as a territorial challenger.
The best course of action is caution. I slip my hand into my day pack and grab my can of pepper spray.
There’s one more trail of yellow ribbons to follow. Following it could mean bringing me to where Juniper was first attacked by the bear.
While I saw a dead bear, that doesn’t mean it was the bear that killed her. Bears and lightning do as they please and can strike in the same spot as much as they choose, despite what experts tell us.
I should carefully walk my way back to the road.
But I still have chaos.
I want order.
Mace in hand, I keep climbing the hill.
Every noise, every prolonged stillness makes me stop and take measure of my surroundings.
I don’t see any predators lurking behind trees. But that doesn’t mean they’re not there.
I reach the last yellow flag and see one red one planted in the ground.
Although the forest floor is covered in pine needles, I can tell the soil is different here.
It’s full of blood.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RESTING PLACE
A morbid image comes to my mind as I look at the dark stain on the ground. In the Rorschach way our brains leap to connections, I think of a snow angel.
Juniper struggled here on the ground. Her arms windmilled as her blood spread out around her.
Was she fighting the bear? Trying to climb out from underneath it?
The fact that she had the strength to find her way to her feet and make it down the hill astounds me.
How would I have reacted? Would I have panicked and gone into shock?
Juniper was a fighter. She was a brave girl who didn’t give up until her body physically couldn’t go any farther.
As a paramedic I’d hear about people dying of the simplest wounds. Others would survive accidents that would be fatal to others. Vital organs and arteries matter, but so does the will to live.
Something stirs in the trees. I stand up and make a slow turn as I gaze into the forest.
The part of my vision primed for patterns doesn’t spot any.
There could be a dozen animals, from bear size to mouse, within twenty yards of me and I wouldn’t see them.
Mindful, yet transfixed by the circle of blood, I kneel back down and try to make sense of things.
What brought Juniper and the bear to this spot?
Was it stalking her?
Did she surprise it?
Was she foolishly stalking the bear? Stupid as it sounds, more than one idiot has been killed doing this.
I stand back up and look down the hill. I’ve seen plenty of yellow and red flags, but no other colors.
What about her backpack or shoes? Do the police have some special ribbon for where they find a person’s belongings?
I can’t imagine Juniper came this far into the forest without even a water bottle—even if she was just hiking between the garage and the motel.
And I still can’t understand what would bring her all the way up here. There aren’t any ponds or lakes. The largest pool of liquid is her bloodstain.
There aren’t even any rotting logs where a bear would find something worth eating.
Juniper’s and the bear’s presence here are just so random.
Bears can have very wide territories. I guess it’s possible it was on a long hike of its own.
To be honest, I don’t really know much about them. I’m standing in the woods speculating about the behavior of two creatures that are quite alien to me.
My ear twitches at the sound of a twig snapping. I wheel around to empty forest.
I hold my breath and freeze, waiting for it to move again.
I know I’m facing in the right direction. I just can’t see what made the noise.
All my attention is focused on a small area where two trees stand a few feet apart.
Something is there.
I decide the best course of action is a careful retreat. Pepper spray ready at my waist, I take a step backward, never looking away. I take another.
Something stabs into my ankle. I jerk reflexively and fall.
My back slams into the ground, and the wind is knocked from my lungs. My head slaps into a rock, and the corner of my vision begins to fade like an old television.
I fight passing out.
Twigs break as something rushes through the forest.
Rushing toward me . . .
I try to raise the pepper spray, but my hand comes up empty.
The exertion uses too much blood, and the dark fingers of unconsciousness grab me.
One of my last sensations is the smell of blood.
There’s the warm trickle from the back of my head, but the blood I’m feeling isn’t my own.
I’ve fallen into Juniper’s snow angel.
A shadow falls over me as I pass out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SNIPER
When I come to, I’m leaning against a tree trunk. The back of my shorts and hoodie are soaked in blood. At first I think it’s my own; then I realize I fell into the pool of Juniper’s.
The last image of the shadow falling over me comes back. I jerk in fright and try to get to my feet, but my knees are too weak.
Something rushes through the brush. I bring my hands up like a scared child.
“Take it easy,” says a man’s voice to my left.
Detective Glenn steps up and leans over me. He’s got one hand on his phone. The other is holding a bloody cloth. He touches it to the back of my head. I try not to twitch.
“The good news is most of this isn’t your blood. The bad news is that you’ve desecrated a murder scene.”
“I’m sorry.” I look at the stains on my fingers. Juniper’s blood is all over me.
“It rained last night and made the pool bigger.” He holds up a finger in front of my eyes. “Blurry?”
“No.”
“Well, there’s more good news. We’re not going to have to chopper you out of here.”
“I’m okay. Give me second.”
The back of my head stings. But that should go away. There’s no funny smell, and I don’t feel dizzy, which means I probably don’t have a concussion. Probably.
“You hit the rock over there perfectly. Right on the sweet spot.”
“I was . . . startled.”
“No kidding.” Glenn checks for a dry spot, then sits down. “What the hell are you doing up here?”
“I thought it would be a great place to fall on my ass.” I glance over at the pool of Juniper’s blood, then shake my head. “Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah. Not a graceful moment. You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you up here?”
“Mrs. Parsons, Juniper’s mom, she asked me to take care of her car.”
Glenn cocks his head. “Up here? I don’t think there’s much parking. You sure you’re okay?”
“Back at the garage. What’s his name? Bryson. He’s changing my tires. I thought I’d go for a walk.”
“And ended up here?” Glenn asks skeptically.
“I saw the ribbons. I was curious. What are you doing here?”
“I don’t have to have a reason. But if you have to know, tying up loose ends.”
I think back to the sense I had of not being alone. “You were watching me.”
“Yep. Ever since you got here.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
Glenn looks to the side as he tries to remember something. “What do they call it? The observer paradox?” He shrugs. “I figured it would be more interesting if I saw what you did if you thought you were alone.”
“But I knew I wasn’t alone.”
“Maybe. But I bet you thought it was a bear or cougar stalking you.”
He’s right. “It might as well have been. You were quiet. Military, right? What did you do in the service?”
“Spotter.”
A spotter is a soldier who accompanies a sniper and helps them identify targets. “Of course. I guess if you’d been a sniper, I’d be dead already.”
“I think you did a pretty good job of taking yourself off the battlefield.”
I reach back and feel the tree trunk. Slowly, I stand up, using it to brace me.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. I think so.” I wipe away the leaves stuck to my clothes. “How did Juniper end up all the way down the hill after losing so much blood up here?”
Glenn stands up and raises an eyebrow. “What makes you think we found her down there?”
“It’s closer to the road. I’d assume she met the bear deep in the woods and tried running toward the road.”
He shakes his head. “No. She died right here. Exactly where you fell.”
“She ran up here?”
“Ever been attacked by a bear?”
“Five minutes ago I thought the answer was yes.”
“Well, I haven’t. But I would imagine my only instinct would be to run any way I could.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I guess it’s easy to overanalyze things when you’re not about to die. Still. It seems counterintuitive.”
Glenn folds his arms and looks around. “All right. As a scientist, can you tell me what she may have been looking for up here?”
“Not a clue. Her mother mentioned something about fish. Obviously there aren’t any around here.”
“Nearest lake is through Brookman’s Pass. That got filled in with a mudslide a month back. The only way there from here is a two-day hike. Half of that through pasture.” He points toward the road. “On the other side of there are a few ponds. But you can’t get there from here, as they say.”
“Interesting. I’ll do a little more digging to find out about her research.”
“Let me know. It’s also possible she was looking for a shortcut.”
“I think she was brighter than that.”
Glenn acts as if he’s trying to hold something in. He shakes his head. “If her teacher is any example . . .”
