The daylight faded in the understory of golden currant and western snowberry. To the northwest, a creek trickled downhill, becoming blocked by a beaver dam and forming a narrow pond. The gangly, soaked sticks wound together, the water seeping through weak points with a soothing hush. Layers of grass draped over the bank, interspersed with white angelica. Pointed, gnawed aspen trunks thrust up in the surrounding woods. There was no sign of the beaver. But there were human remains, picked clean to the bone. Only the leather boots and work gloves remained, concealing hunks of intact, rotting flesh. Yutu sniffed the skeleton, then trotted to the pond for a drink.
“Awful,” Angela said, putting a hand over her mouth.
Bishop checked their perimeter.
“Eels,” Colbrick said, spitting. “Didn’t know what hit him.”
Colbrick walked past the skeleton and picked up a rectangular metal box near a glove. The lid squeaked as he opened it, and his eyes flashed. “Winner, winner chicken dinner,” he said. “Folks, we’ve just been given a hell of a gift.” He turned to Angela and Bishop and held the box open so they could see, his huge fingers dwarfing it.
Bishop couldn’t believe it.
“Are you kidding me?” Angela asked, her facial muscles straining as she peered into the box.
Inside the thin metal box lay eight sticks of dynamite.
“What we got here is a ranch hand coming to blow the beaver damn. Common practice out here, slicks. The wicks are long, probably waterproof too.”
“Why would anyone blow up a beaver dam?” Angela asked.
“Some folks believe they can flood pastureland, and in this case, the Big J meadow, although this little pond doesn’t pose much threat.” Colbrick sighed. “But sometimes out here, folks kill things just to kill things.”
“Do you know how to use them?” Angela asked.
“Sure as hell do. Light the wick and run!”
Bishop chuckled, trying to hide the nausea. What had they gotten into? Hanging with a maniac who carried a sawed-off and dynamite. They’d be lucky to make it up the mountain without killing themselves.
Angela bent down to Yutu, unhooked his harness, and he wagged his tail. “I’m not having him carry flammable liquid if we have dynamite.”
*
They wound through tiers of aspen, ponderosa pine, and spruce. Muscular boulders and delicate ferns appeared in the understory. As they climbed in elevation, the smaller trees turned ragged, their branches pointing east due to wind blasts from the peaks. The boulders increased in number and became swollen—a few eclipsing school busses in size. Enormous trunks of old growth hemlock and red pine crisscrossed the mossy forest floor. A palpable quiet leveled the surroundings, their footfalls absorbed by spongy, damp moss.
Soon, they came across the gurgling creek again, light reflecting off the water in-between boulders and fallen timber.
“This looks good for a break,” Bishop said, dropping his pack.
“Not good at all,” Colbrick said. “We shouldn’t rest on the trail. The damn monkeys are trail happy.”
“He’s right,” Angela said, hands on her hips as she tried to catch her breath.
Yutu sat and wagged his tail, happy to be amongst them.
“Let’s head up the creek a bit,” Bishop said, bending and swaying into his pack.
After several minutes, Bishop and Angela set their gear down and rested on a moss-covered ponderosa pine. Yutu nestled in-between them. Colbrick did not rest.
“Why don’t you pull up a seat?” Angela asked.
“I’ll rest when I’m dead,” Colbrick said.
“You’re limping pretty bad. Why don’t you cut yourself some slack?” Angela asked.
“I’ll take a vacation when we kill these bastards.” He turned from them and grumbled.
A creature called out upstream. They reached for their weapons.
Peee peee pijur pijur.
The flittering of small wings drew closer, and they dropped to the ground.
Peee peee pijur pijur.
It flashed in front of them, following the stream and dipping along its course, disappearing from view within a second.
“Wow,” Angela said. “It’s a water ouzel.”
Bishop thought of his father. There’s still something left.
“Bishop, did you see it?” Angela asked.
“I sure as hell did.”
“It’s a miracle,” Colbrick said. “Native wildlife, God bless it.”
After the ouzel disappeared, they huddled around the boulder-filled creek, splashing cool water on their faces. Bishop observed two young cutthroats finning in a pocket of water six inches deep. This was still cutthroat country.
“If we weren’t marching to our deaths, this would make a mighty fine camping spot,” Colbrick said, killing whatever sense of peace they managed to absorb from the tranquil nook.
Angela frowned and shouldered her pack. “Break’s over,” she said.
Yutu trotted behind her, putting his snout on her calves, sniffing the wounds and then running in front of her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Yutu rolled over, his paws in the air, tongue hanging out of his mouth.
Angela laughed, went to one knee and scratched his belly.
Jarring, ancient peaks revealed themselves between curves in the trail where the canopy failed to intertwine. Each breathtaking glimpse managed to infuse significance to their mission, but also seemed to mock them.
The trail leveled as it spilled into a ten-acre meadow. Tall, golden grasses swayed and thick aspen commanded the edges. Behind the aspen rolled the last of the pine-covered foothills below the craggy, defiant mountains. The day brought few clouds, and the tallest of the peaks shone with a biting definition unseen at lower elevations.
“That’s Onyx Peak,” Colbrick said, spitting up phlegm. “The highest in the northern range.”
“It’s taken quite a few climbers over the years,” Bishop said.
“Mostly by lightning,” Colbrick said.
Angela cringed at the word. She didn’t much care for lightning. Well, that was putting it lightly. It was a certified phobia of hers, and the thought of it induced a hard-to-shake panic. Bishop knew this, and she noticed him watching her after Colbrick’s comment.
“Colbrick, how long of a hike are we looking at here?” Bishop asked.
“Well, the good news is that the Hoodoos are at the northern edge of the southern range. The bad news is that we’re still in the northern range if that makes any sense to ya.” Colbrick ran a hand through his hair. “We’ve got the gear to do this.”
Bishop turned to Angela. “We’ve done overnights before, sweetheart.”
“Those were ten-mile hikes, round trip,” she said. “I think this is thirty…one way.”
“Like any big project, you have to break it up into chunks,” Bishop said. “Building a house seems impossible, but not when you do it brick by brick each day over a period of months. Look at this hike as three separate ten-mile hikes spread out over a period of days.”
Angela smiled at him and eased her shoulders.
Yutu bounded ahead on the trail, tongue wagging.
They paused in the tranquil meadow, wind bending the grasses and eliciting comforting rustling from the aspen leaves. The blue sky gleamed above them, the metamorphic rock of the peaks reflecting light and piercing their eyes. Water gurgled and splashed over boulders from an unseen forest glade.
Bishop gazed at the slopes below the crags. The last few stunted and wind-ravaged pines clung to the hostile rock like mountain climbers frozen in time. The wind gained momentum, whipping through the meadow grass and knocking them back on their feet.
“Jesus,” Angela said, holding her arms out for balance, her bandages rippling.
Bishop reached out and grabbed her forearm.
“These mountains have many surprises,” Colbrick said through the punishing wind, as if he was admiring the brutal nature of the place. “Best be on your
toes, slicks. Up in the Apex, you could be enjoyin’ a beauty of a day, and next thing you know, you’re blown off the rock. This range holds many secrets and hazards, folks. Do not be lulled by the beauty. Danger lurks at every turn in the trail and the not-so-trails.”
*
They pushed through the windy meadow, each step more difficult at the higher altitude. Yutu benefited from his streamlined figure. The wind to him was a vehicle for smells. Exciting, puzzling smells.
“Do you guys notice anything?” Angela asked.
“We’re hiking,” Colbrick said.
“Seriously. Look over there,” Angela said.
Yutu was way ahead of her, sniffing at a sun-bleached skeleton. It had four long limbs and two shorter limbs near the chest cavity. From the skull protruded what looked like deer antlers. A dead tag had fallen into the rib cage.
“Never seen one of these alive,” Colbrick said. “Guess that’s what the others ate before they found the deer…and us. Must’ve not made it off the mountain.”
“We must be on the right track,” Bishop said. “Let’s check the leaf.”
Colbrick took the jar out of his pack. He gave the leaf a cracker, while Bishop counted the tag pulses. After counting, he had a sudden urge to sprint up the mountain. What if they were taking too long?
Bishop examined the peaks that dominated their view, wind stinging his eyes. “If the cause of all this is up here, make no mistake we’re headed directly into a high concentration of creatures, including ones we’ve never seen.”
Yutu advanced far up trail, his soft fur rippling in the wind.
“Back in school, I had a friend who worked for the Forest Service during summers,” Angela said. “She told me something which may or may not be useful. Apparently, there are these beetles which invade healthy pine trees. They burrow into the trees—enough to kill them with their numerous larvae. The freaky thing is that these beetles release a pheromone all over that infected tree once they’ve taken it over that tells other flying beetles to move on to an unoccupied target.”
“Interesting,” Bishop said. “The new arrivals could be doing the same thing. They could be trying to create their own ecosystem, and when established, move on to other locations.”
“My friend also told me about these pouches scientists would make, full of a synthetic copy of that pheromone, and they would tack these to the trees to save them.”
“So the beetles would move from healthy tree to healthy tree, completely fooled,” Bishop said.
“Maybe we can come up with a device…a technology to keep these things away from us,” Angela said.
“Yeah, and maybe I’ll sprout wings and sing the national anthem in three-part harmony,” Colbrick said. “You know what the trigger scent is for them damn things to leave? No more humans and native wildlife to eat.”
Angela frowned.
“If they leave for greener pastures, then that gives us a better chance,” Bishop said.
Angela watched Yutu. “And these flashing tags…they’re beating faster. I hope we aren’t too late.”
Angela gripped her gun and glanced behind her. “Let’s say these tags were put there by a civilization that wants to track their wildlife like a biologist would collar and study a pack of wolves. They want to get to a point where they know that a large number of animals of all kinds have lived long enough to assume that they’ve become established. That’s why the tags go dead when the animal dies. We’re assuming the faster flashing means they’re getting closer to sending the OK signal. We’re hoping that the tags are sending their signals to some central device here that we could destroy. Otherwise, we’d have to pick off the tagged animals individually, right?”
“Right,” Bishop said.
“Makes sense,” Colbrick said. “Daddy’s pets hang out long enough, live long enough, then zap the word back to Papa that everything’s all peachy in the Apex Valley. Then bam, Papa shows up.”
“To a planet all ready to live on,” Angela said. “Why risk yourself and your own species until you know for certain the best planets to live?”
“Bingo,” Colbrick said.
Angela stopped and regarded the wilderness all around them.
“How in the hell are we going to find this place?” she asked, holding her arms out. “We have thirty miles of mountains to cover. And we have no idea what it looks like or how big it is.”
“Well, I guess I got more faith in Yutu than you do. Here, boy,” Colbrick called.
Yutu trotted towards him with eager eyes. Colbrick carefully removed the leaf from its jar. Covering as much of the creature as he could to show only the tag, he held it near Yutu’s nose. Yutu backed away at first, but then understood. The Man had shown him objects to sniff and then Yutu had followed the scent. The Man had praised Yutu with pettings and treats, but that wasn’t as necessary as the Man thought. Yutu enjoyed having a mission and being needed. He took several deep sniffs from the tag’s surface.
A blast of wind unfurled from the peaks and pushed them onto their heels, and they struggled to regain composure. But instead of blowing back, the stealthy Yutu streaked ahead into the wind, his streamlined body cutting through the force.
”Good boy,” Colbrick said.
Yutu zipped ahead on the trail. When the pooch reached the edge of the meadow, his head poked above the grass. He stopped, looked back at them, and barked twice.
Bishop and Angela turned to each other, stunned.
“That’s how we find it,” Bishop said, goosebumps springing up all over his skin.
“Yutu has found himself a scent.”
“God Bless that dog,” Colbrick said.
Yutu continued up trail, checking behind every so often to make sure they were following. The pooch exhibited a newfound confidence, although he still missed The Man.
The meadow segued into an area of jagged, loose rock. Squatting here and there amongst the sheared rock were slabs of house-sized stone. Masochistic pine trees clung where they could.
“This place ain’t no good,” Colbrick said, wincing at the terrain. “Something don’t feel right.”
Angela raised her .357.
“Feels like we’re being watched,” Colbrick said.
Bishop noticed a deep patch of shade between two big slabs. He peered into the shade and listened. In the gloom, two sinister eyes glowed, each containing three pupils. Before he could aim the gun, a pressurized burst emitted from the crevice and the eel charged from its hiding place at a speed they’d never witnessed in previous encounters.
The eel’s eyes narrowed and focused on the old timer.
“Colbrick!” Angela shouted.
Yutu yipped and ran towards Colbrick, leaping through the air and biting onto the eel’s tail. Then Yutu whimpered and flopped to the ground, stunned and unconscious. The eel glared back to make sure Yutu was incapacitated, then returned to its intended target.
But Colbrick was no fool. Yutu had bought him enough time, and the sawed-off was aimed right at the eel’s head. Before Colbrick could pull the trigger, another eel bit into his arm, forcing him to drop the sawed-off. He fell to the ground, cursing.
“Get down!” Bishop said, aiming his shotgun.
Angela dropped and Bishop fired, illuminating the rock slabs with muzzle flash, the silhouettes of the eels dancing around them. The blast roared off the stone, ringing their ears and violating the stillness of the alpine environment. The buckshot caught the first eel in its gaseous midsection, sending it into a tailspin. The second, ambushing eel aimed for Colbrick’s throat, intent on finishing the kill.
Angela raised her weapon a few inches off the ground and fired six rounds at the attacker’s head. One of the bullets found its mark, and the eel collapsed to the ground where it proceeded to convulse and hiss.
The first eel, now injured and observing the fate of its hunting partner, hesitated and veered towards Bishop. Bishop held the shotgun steady, and as the thing seesawed towards him, he squeezed the trigger, sending
a full spray of buckshot into the eel’s face. The snake’s eyes disengaged from its head, and the independently functioning pupils disintegrated. Then the eel nosedived to the ground, biting into the rock with its disfigured face, trying to burrow away from them. Sparks of blue electricity emanated from its whipping tail as static charges revved and receded.
“Finish it!” Angela said.
From out of nowhere came a thunderous blast, and the eel slumped to the ground.
“Gotcha,” Colbrick said from behind a curl of smoke.
“Oh my God, Yutu!” Angela screamed. She ran to the motionless pooch’s side.
“No, just no,” Bishop cried, kneeling beside him.
Angela ran her hand through his fur, crying. “I’m so sorry, Yutu.”
Colbrick limped over to Yutu and examined him. Some of the fur around his neck was singed and smoking, and the smell of burnt hair wafted into the air. Colbrick slipped off his pack and reached into the front pocket, pulling out an object that he obscured in his fist.
“Sleeping dogs ain’t always dead, slick,” he said as he held the fist in front of Yutu’s nose.
Angela and Bishop held each other and watched, expecting the worst.
Always expecting the worst.
The wind seemed to hold its breath, and the murmuring creeks hesitated, as if this moment held monumental importance and what was left of the valley waited for its conclusion.
Colbrick continued to hold his fist in front of Yutu’s nose.
The nose twitched.
And twitched again.
“Yutu?” Angela cried.
The soft, gentle eyes of the dog slowly opened, and the snout twitched even more so, and soon Yutu’s neck and head were off the ground and craning for the concealed object inside Colbrick’s fist. Yutu’s wet and curious nose sniffed Colbrick’s hand, and Colbrick opened it, revealing a dog treat. Yutu’s eyes grew wide, and the pooch grasped the treat in his flashy, white teeth and crunched down.
“Yutu!” Angela cried.
A tear stung the cuts on Bishop’s face.
“They say dogs can come back from the dead for a milk bone,” Colbrick said, grinning.
The Invasive Page 21
