The Siberian Incident

by Andrew Gille

  “Well…yeah.”

  “Yeah, ok, I do get that when you’re able to shoot something you like hunting, but this part, the stalking, the waiting, being in the environment, is this what you would choose to do without me? Have you ever really enjoyed hunting?”

  “Yeah, I mean I enjoyed it.”

  “What do you enjoy about hunting?”

  “Well…”

  “I think I have an idea, the guns, shooting, getting meat, eating it, you like all of that.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about being out in the wilderness, camping, the relaxation of taking in nature while you wait for game? Disconnected time to yourself?”

  Colin looked askance at me and said nothing for long enough that I just continued.

  “You know what, all of that is part of the hunting experience. In fact, it is the biggest part. What you like about hunting is the payoff, it's like if all you enjoyed about coding was using the software you created. You have to bluesky your idea, document it, debug it, then you can use the software you created. When you wrote software, did you enjoy all of those other processes?”

  “Yeah, actually I did,” he replied.

  “Yeah, even debugging, I’ll bet you got satisfaction from identifying and fixing the problems that came up, right?”

  “Yeah definitely.”

  “Well, that’s what hunting is like for me. Yeah, I enjoy the shooting and the excitement of hearing the game come in or first glassing your target with your scope, but being out here, experiencing the hunt and the time I spend patiently waiting for an animal, I love all of that. This is more for me than shooting guns and meat, this is the best way to spend my life, the thing I most prefer to do. You don’t need to do this with me, we could have gone to a shooting range in Michigan or Minnesota, and I’d have enjoyed it with you.”

  “You know what Mason,” he said, now sounding different and indignant, “I really tried to do something special for you here, a once in a lifetime hunt, you could maybe just appreciate that I tried to do that. Maybe I should have told you first, maybe I shouldn’t have tried to make it a surprise. I’m sorry this got so jacked up, that’s what I am trying to tell you here, I don’t need a lecture right now,” Colin's temper was well known for flaring up like this, I decided that I needed to calm the situation. Whatever I was trying to say to him about not needing an extravagant vacation to connect with him wasn’t getting through, and it was best to drop it.

  “And I do appreciate it, Colin, all I am saying is that we could hang out in Kalamazoo or Minneapolis. I really thank you for this hunt, it was amazing, and it still will be when we get out of this situation. We’re going to talk about this for a long time,”

  “Yeah,” was his only response. He seemed angry and now in a foul mood. It was typical of him to take whatever you were trying to say in the worst possible manner. Obviously, he’d decided that “You don’t need to fly me to a foreign country to hang out with me,” as, “Why did you drag me on this trip, I’d rather be in Kalamazoo.” It was best to move on and find another thing to talk about.

  After a long silence, we came upon more of the large bipedal tracks. The footprints looked almost human but were elongated, and some kind of claws cut into the snow in front of the toes. No modern human could have run in the snow this long barefoot either.

  “What are these things?” He asked exasperatedly.

  “I was thinking about that, you said that you dismissed your security detail here. You said it was too remote to try to kill you. Do you know anyone that has the means and is motivated enough to kill you to actually come out here?”

  “I don’t…I don’t think so, I mean there are some people who hate me enough, but they couldn’t get here, they don’t have the ability.”

  “What about a government, you’re a billionaire, do you think any of your dealings might have upset the North Koreans, Venezuelans, someone with the backing of a government who could make it here and mess with you until the perfect moment to take you out? This smacks of a psyops mission. Things you wouldn’t believe. I was involved in that kind of thing in the army. I was too young for Vietnam, but the older guys talked about how they made the Vietcong believe in, get this, “forest demons.” Do you think anything like that could be going on here? Are any of your business dealings enough to piss off a government who could do these things?”

  “I don’t think so. North Korea, Hugo Chavez, the Cubans, none of them have the balls or power to invade Russia for a psyops mission on some guy,”

  “Have you pissed of The United States at all?”

  “What? No, you think they’d kill one of their own citizens?”

  “Yeah, actually,” I said.

  “Barack Obama wouldn’t kill me, I donated to his campaign.”

  “I thought you were a Republican?”

  “No, I’m a billionaire, you have to pay everyone to stay this rich. I’ve met Obama, he’s not a bad guy, we talked about Conan the Barbarian, we’re both big fans. I donated to Romney too and to be honest, that was a lot more nauseating. I didn’t particularly care for him, giving him money was unpleasant, but you gotta do it, you know?”

  That was an unsurprising revelation. Colin would compromise his values to get what he wanted from anyone. Although, I didn’t think that donating to Barack Obama’s campaign completely nullified the prospect of The United States sending someone to kill Colin depending on precisely what he was doing here in Russia.

  “Who might want to kill you then Colin? I can hardly believe that we are being pursued by bigfoot here. This has to be some psyops mission. It’s too outlandish not to be. Either you’re still in character trying to fool me, which, I’m telling you, come clean now, because this has gone way beyond the point at which you should show me the cameras hidden in the trees. Or, someone is doing this to mess with you for some reason. Who would do that? What are you doing here? You have some pretty important Russian friends. I haven’t known anyone to love you for your pleasant personality, what are you doing for them?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, really Colin, what friends have you had in your life that you haven’t had some business dealing with? You became a billionaire, and you’re real friends disappeared.”

  “My real friends left when I wouldn’t subsidize their lifestyles and pay off their credit card debt. No one saw me for anything except an ATM once I got rich.”

  “I don’t think that’s totally true. Yeah, there were some people who saw you as someone to exploit for selfish reasons, but you had some good friends, and you pushed them away with your ego and your selfishness.”

  “Wow, no good deed goes unpunished with you does it Mason? I bring you out here, I try to give you the trip of a lifetime, and you call me an asshole? Wow.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s true. Look at Laura Kinnert, she was a nice girl, wasn’t good enough for you though, you broke up with her to date that girl from Hole right?”

  “Laura Kinnert was boring Mason and what does my dating life have to do with this? I’m talking about Joey Mazarian and Phil Treadstetter. Joey asked me for a car, and Phil stopped talking to me when I wouldn’t pay up his student loans. He went to law school, got straight C’s and couldn’t find a job, you think we really need another lawyer in this country? Useless.”

  “Okay, well what about Steve Sawyer?”

  “Steve went to NDSU, I was running my company, we just kind of grew apart, he could have called me too. I don’t know he still could, we talk once in a while. He works for Microsoft. I just don’t get time to go up to Fargo.”

  “Curt Treacher? What about him?”

  “He got married, moved to Wisconsin, again, he could call me.”

  “I think you’re busy with all of these Hollywood people and other billionaires that you don’t have time for real friends. You’re hanging out talking Conan with Barak Obama, and that’s more important to you than real relationships. You might want to pretend that you have no frie
nds because everyone sees you for your money, but actually, you don’t want to have a relationship with anyone who doesn’t benefit you, who can’t do anything for you.”

  “Well what the hell do you do for me Mason, why am I doing anything for you then?” Colin said shouting.

  I said nothing to him, not because I didn’t have an answer, but because right at that moment I saw the most horrible thing I’d seen in my life, well up to that point. Colin saw my expression, realized that it didn’t coincide with our conversation and looked ahead at what I was seeing.

  We had reached the area where we’d left the snowmobiles, but we wouldn’t be leaving on them. They had been smashed to bits by something. It looked like a truck had hit them. Bits of plastic and twisted metal lay strewn around the clearing where we’d parked them, one of them had the tread ripped right off, and it sat in a very long rubber heap to the side of what was once our means of escape from this place. Checking more closely, none of them were salvageable. We couldn’t even have made one snowmobile out of the remnants of the three they were so thoroughly destroyed.

  We couldn’t understand what had broken these machines to bits, this far out in the wilderness. The power and strength necessary to rip these polymer and metal machines apart like this was unfathomable. One of the snowmobiles appeared to have been thrown like a toy against a tree.

  Then to our great dismay, we saw what was responsible for the destruction. Massive footprints led into the clearing and ringed the area of the machines. Whatever it was that they were, the yetis, or menk or forest people, they had done this.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Anatoly's Fate

  “UNBELIEVABLE,” I SAID staring at the destruction of our snowmobiles.

  It was apparent that whatever we’d encountered in the woods had destroyed our only means of escape. They were cutting us off. Toying with us, they were going to make us suffer before they killed us. It just lent more credence to my theory that we were being targeted by a psyops mission. I wondered what Colin was doing with these Russians that could upset them so greatly? I was sure that if we weren’t going to be killed, this was a message to Colin to stay out of Russia.

  Colin sat in the snow with his head in his hands. He appeared to have given up, I wasn’t far behind him. I’d anticipated finding these machines. I’d staked all of my hopes on it. I’d envisioned finding them and riding them back to the cabin and getting home. Now all of that was gone, we were no longer going to ride back to the cabins and get home. The cabins were 60 miles away, trudging through deep snow. Probably a week’s journey by foot. How would we ever manage that?

  “What are we going to do?” Colin asked, still covering his face with his hands. I wasn’t sure if the question was rhetorical or addressed to me, so I said nothing.

  “What is going on?” I asked, like Colin, to no one in particular, bewildered by the situation. Eight-foot snow monsters seemed to have picked up our sleds and smashed them against trees like they knew we were looking for them and they were doing the most damaging thing possible to us. Who would do something like that? I looked at the cracked cowling of one of the sleds. The decal that read “Tajga 500” had torn off the piece of the cowling that was missing and a tuft of white fur hung from the sharp edge of the plastic. It was unreal, taking off my gloves, I felt the hair, it was real, not some kind of acrylic or polyester fake fur that you might find in a suit or costume. Whoever was trying to convince us that yetis had done this was doing a fantastic job.

  Similarly, I looked closely at the footprints. They weren’t uniform, there were distinctly different prints. If these were people wearing suits, they were wearing custom costumes and each had different sized feet. Additionally, the feet had been custom crafted to allow for different gaits and walking styles, more pronation in one foot, more on the balls of the foot for another while still a third struck first with his heels.

  At some point, one of the beings that were being presented to us as snow monsters, lost his balance, perhaps after throwing one of the 550-pound sleds. He fell into the snow leaving a large handprint behind. The hand was twice as large as mine, and the snow where he dropped left a large imprint of his body.

  It was all just too perfect, there were no flaws that betrayed the fact that they were wearing man-made suits. It was becoming apparent that we were, in fact, being pursued by some kind of yeti.

  After gathering ourselves and realizing that our only option was to walk back to the cabin, we began down the trail again. This time following the now slightly buried divot made by our skis and track in the snow. The walking was slow, and I kept thinking about how gracefully and quickly my sled had glided over this terrain while my feet slowly plodded through the wilderness. We sank down into the snow, some of which was still knee deep. It was slow and arduous, but I had a lot more time to admire the beauty of the valley and the forest. This was hardly a consolation for the fact that between the harsh environment and the unknown beings pursuing us, I was probably going to die.

  As the sun set, we didn’t say much to each other, and all I could hear was the crunching of snow beneath our feet. Then, Colin broke the silence without looking at me.

  “What benefit do I get out of our relationship Mason? Other than trying to have a normal nephew/uncle relationship with you. You said that I only want to have relationships with people who benefit me so, why would I be doing this if that was the case?”

  “Colin, I’m sorry, I was angry, and our conversation got off the rails. I really appreciate what you were trying to do here and I just was trying to work through my mind what is going on.”

  “What’s going on is that yetis are trying to kill us okay? It isn’t some psyops mission to kill me, it is yetis trying to kill me. They killed Anatoly, they destroyed our sleds, and we’re next. What do you not understand?”

  “Yeah, that’s what’s happening. You have to understand my perspective. I am looking to make some sort of sense out of this.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense Mason.”

  “Just…can you tell me one thing?”

  “What?”

  “What is your business here? What are you doing? You have some very powerful friends, is it software or weapons? You march right into this country with a gun that isn’t even legal in the United States, you tell me you can get a rocket launcher, and I’m starting to think that wasn’t a joke. We stay in the Russian president’s lodge. What are you doing for them?”

  “Look, alright, yeah, I am trying to do some business here. I’d really appreciate it if you kept it to yourself though.”

  “Yes, Colin, assuming I ever get back to civilization, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Don’t worry with the way things are going, I’ll never make it out of here to tell anyone anyway.”

  “Weren’t you the one that said we were supposed to have a positive attitude?”

  “Yes, please, before I die of old age, tell me what is going on here? I am pretty sure you are writing this whole trip off to some business you own so what is it?”

  “Geez, can you stop the condescension? No, I am not writing this trip off, I am paying for the whole thing out of my personal checkbook, you’d think you’d be a little more appreciative even considering the circumstances.”

  “Ok, Colin, please, what are your dealings in Russia?”

  “Ok, you know how I own a large piece of The Doctor Pepper/Snapple Group?”

  “Yes?” I said now confused.

  “Well, am trying to gain some market share for RC Cola here.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah, Coke and Pepsi have a 30-year advantage on us here, and I’d like RC to be the official cola of Russia. We’re starting in Vladivostok and moving it East, they have a smaller footprint there, and we’re trying to capture the Western markets first.”