Chasing Thunderbird

by J. Leigh Bailey

  “I wonder what their game is. Do they want money, do you think? Did they offer to sell it to you?”

  “This Smith fellow kept hinting that he’d like a chance to meet with one of my representatives to validate the discovery. He really pushed for that.”

  “One of your representatives?”

  “All I can think is that he wanted to talk to you. Who else would my representative be? Your father?” He scoffed at that.

  “But why not approach me, then? Why go through you?”

  “I don’t know.” Another one of those heartbreaking coughs sounded over the line. “But that’s why I decided to call you. Give you a heads-up, as it were.” His voice had thinned to barely there.

  “Let me worry about this. You focus on staying strong. In the meantime I’ll do some digging. Do me a favor, though. If this Smith guy calls back, tell him you’ll set something up. Then get me his contact info.”

  “Shoot. Loretta’s here. The nosy woman’s going to confiscate my phone.”

  I smiled. Grandpa grumbled about Loretta and the other aides at the assisted-living center, but they took good care of him. “Good. Take care of yourself. Love you.”

  I set my phone on my kitchen table next to my closed laptop. Why would someone contact my grandfather about the old newspaper story? Why now?

  The debacle in Arizona was the catalyst to a decades-long search for the strange bird. Generations of Colemans had dedicated their lives to proving the existence of thunderbirds and, in doing so, exonerate Lee Coleman.

  Unfortunately, the case of the missing newspapers might have been the first, but it wasn’t the last time evidence had disappeared, leaving one Coleman or another a laughingstock. I opened my laptop and pulled up an encrypted file with more family notes. In the 1940s my great-grandfather, inspired by the tale of the Arizona sighting, began two decades of searching for signs of the mysterious bird that everyone—everyone who believed, anyway—thought was a thunderbird. He tracked several reports to central Illinois. Two of the reports had photographic proof to corroborate the story. Just like in Arizona, though, before the evidence could be presented in any official way, the photographs, the sensational newspaper reports, and even my great-grandfather’s journals disappeared. A few recreated drawings and descriptions were all we had left.

  Then, in the seventies, the same thing happened to my grandfather. He’d risked everything—his career in academia, his reputation as a researcher, and even his family—to pursue thunderbirds. He’d chased every lead—every rumor—of anyone who’d claimed to have seen a huge black bird. Some of the reports were probably the result of hallucinogenic drugs. They included auras of energy and swirling lights. Some were manifestations of the variety of Native American thunderbird myths—claiming the rare bird was accompanied by thunder, lightning, and storms. But amid the crackpot anecdotes were more than a few that seemed legitimate, with sober accounts made by reputable people. When Grandpa went to present his findings in order to secure a grant to continue his research, his presentation folders had been altered. All the crazy tales were there but none of the reliable information.

  Not only did he not get research funding, his connection with his university had been severed. And, among the ridicule and shame, his wife—my grandmother—had walked out. I thought that might have caused some of my father’s resentment toward my grandfather.

  Needless to say, I refused to let the same thing happen to my own notes. A number of people claimed that the long history of “disappearing evidence”—air quotes absolutely included—was too coincidental to be believed. Scientists and reputable journalists accused my family of trying to gain attention and notoriety because they’d failed at their “real”—again, air quotes absolutely included—scientific endeavors.

  So I backed up everything. Even my backups had backups. Which meant the only notes and data I’d actually lost today were from tonight’s chase. Also, and maybe more importantly, no one would be able to find any notes on thunderbirds in my journal. Family experience and paranoia dictated that any physical notes were written in a nearly indecipherable shorthand that no one except me would be able to figure out.

  I couldn’t afford to have my information get stolen. Not that I was desperate to be the first to publish the definitive paper on the rare thunderbird species. I’d been interested in validating my family’s efforts, but it had definitely been a someday type of thing. But my grandfather was dying, and he’d carried the stain of his humiliation for decades. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—let him die without giving him closure. So someday had become immediately.

  IT didn’t surprise me in the least that the rest of my night passed without sleep. Every whoosh of the wind or rattling tree branch convinced me that guys with snake tattoos and military-grade accoutrements were sneaking into my bedroom. Then, when I finally did fall into a fitful sleep, I ended up oversleeping and barely had enough time to shower before I rushed out of the duplex. All this meant that I arrived on campus at 8:30 the next morning to find Ford lounging against my office door with two cups of to-go coffee with the Buddy’s logo. I nearly wept.

  “Please tell me one of those is for me.” I shifted my shoulder bag so I could reach for my office keys. “What do you want? My firstborn? My liver? Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

  He nodded. “Figured you’d need the extra jolt today after your adventures last night.”

  I jammed the key into the lock and struggled to turn the bloody thing. Like the rest of my office, and indeed the entire third floor, the door lock was in less-than-stellar condition. I pulled the key out and tried reinserting it, wiggling it until it didn’t seem like it was putting too much pressure in any one place. I twisted my wrist, but nada.

  “Let me.” Ford’s big hand covered mine as he stepped close behind me. He smelled like Dial soap and coffee, and the absolutely ordinary scents somehow combined into something extraordinary. I wanted to lean back into him and soak him up. I didn’t, though. Instead, I stepped back and took the paper coffee cups he’d balanced in one hand.

  He plugged the key into the lock, smacked his palm hard against the door right above the knob, then turned the key like it was a brand-new, well-greased mechanism instead of the antiquated hunk of metal I knew it to be.

  Hustling past Ford into the office, I hitched my shoulder to jostle my bag loose so it fell onto my office chair as I examined the coffees. One was marked with two creams, one marked black. It surprised me a little that Ford remembered how I liked my coffee. I was less surprised to see that he preferred his black. I set his on the opposite side of my desk and wasted no more time before popping the lid off my cup. I groaned, practically feeling the caffeine hit my bloodstream. Two sips later I was nearly human again.

  I looked up to find Ford watching me through heavy-lidded eyes. Heat rushed to my face when I realized I’d practically been molesting the drink. I set the cup down and cleared my throat.

  “Have a seat.” I gestured to the chair across from me. Now was as good a time as any to clear the air—or at the very least, try to make it less awkward.

  Ford sat.

  I didn’t get him. Not at all. He followed directions without comment or, hell, without facial expressions, but he never came off as submissive or obedient. While most students deferred to professors, or were at least a little bit intimidated by them, I’d never gotten that vibe off Ford. Not even around Tierney, who I still had trouble facing eye to eye. Not that he’d been disrespectful or insubordinate. He followed instructions but made it clear no one could get him to do something he didn’t want to do.

  Which only made this more awkward. Damn, I so didn’t want this to be awkward.

  “Before we’re officially on the clock,” I said, settling into my own seat. And why did I say that? Because of my tardiness, we’d essentially been “on the clock” for the last five minutes. I charged forward, hoping he hadn’t made the same unfortunate realization. “I wanted to thank you for what you did last night. And I wante
d to apologize. You shouldn’t have had to see me like that.”

  He dipped his chin in acknowledgment but didn’t say anything. So, of course, I kept going. “I also want to reassure you that I don’t normally fall apart like that. In fact, that’s the first time in my memory that I’ve done so.”

  He shrugged. Honestly, the man couldn’t even be bothered to speak.

  “Anyway,” I continued, “I’d like us to put the whole thing behind us. Forget it happened.” I reached for a neat stack of papers and straightened their already straight edges. “Now, about your office hours—”

  “Did you talk to the cops?”

  Jerking my head up, I scowled at him.

  He arched a brow at me.

  I would not be intimidated by an eyebrow, damn it.

  My resolve lasted less than half a second. “Yes. I filed the report, and now the police think I’m delusional.”

  He nodded. “Good.”

  I closed my eyes to count to ten.

  It helped, mostly because I didn’t want to spend any more time on last night’s bizarre, and slightly humiliating, activities.

  “So, about your office duties—”

  My office door burst open.

  “Ford!”

  I gaped as a girl—the girl from the bird-watchers’ club who’d thought the group might be chasing eagles on their next excursion—stumbled in. Ford leaped from his seat just in time to grab her by the arms before she fell into a heap at his feet.

  I jumped from my own chair and ran around my desk. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”

  She didn’t look at me; her gaze stayed fixed on Ford. She started to shake.

  Ford eased her to the floor. “Easy, Bethany. Breathe. You can do this. You’re in control.”

  If her panicked eye rolls were any indication, she was far from in control. Her fingers dug into Ford’s arm. “I can’t.” Her voice quavered and broke. “I can’t stop it.”

  “Is she epileptic?” I touched Ford’s shoulder. I didn’t want to take his focus away from Bethany, but I needed to know what kind of situation we were facing. “Should I call 911? Or the medical center?”

  Grim-faced, Ford shook his head, the only sign he’d heard my question.

  Bethany’s whole body locked, muscles and tendons straining.

  I didn’t know what was going on, but I couldn’t just stand there while this poor girl had some kind of seizure. I dug into my shoulder bag and pulled out my phone.

  “No!” Ford shouted, flinging his arm in my direction.

  Before I could utter a protest, Bethany wailed, then went poof. One second a teenage girl stood there; the next she was gone. No, not gone. She was….

  The smartphone fell from my suddenly lax grip as, with a flutter and rustle of feathers, a sleek bald eagle alit from my office floor and flew out the door.

  Bethany—blonde-haired female freshman—had turned into a bald eagle.

  A bald fucking eagle.

  My vision grayed; my knees turned to limp dishrags. I fell to the floor, landing hard next to my dropped phone.

  Even as my vision darkened further, I could still see Ford’s grim expression.

  Oh yeah, he had some serious explaining to do. But after. After I woke. The shock set in, and my brain finally shut down.

  I OPENED my eyes to the tantalizing aroma of coffee, Dial soap, and something herbal. And the sight that met me almost made it worth the embarrassment of fainting—fucking fainting!—in front of Ford.

  Almost.

  Ford’s face hung suspended above me, surrounded by a curtain of his dark hair. It was the hair that provided the delicious green-tea smell that intermingled with the Dial and the coffee. I promised myself I would scour every store until I found whichever brand of shampoo the man used. Then I would buy every bottle so I could immerse myself in that scent for years.

  Memory flooded back, and I recalled why I had passed out and why it wasn’t the right time to fixate on someone’s shampoo.

  I jerked into a sitting position, nearly bashing into Ford in the process. “What the hell just happened?”

  There’s no way I saw what I thought I saw. A girl did not actually turn into an eagle. It was a weird coincidence of timing. She ran out at the same time the eagle flew in.

  I glanced at the grime-covered window that probably hadn’t been opened in twenty years.

  Or maybe I had some kind of momentary fugue brought on by too little sleep and too much caffeine.

  Even as I desperately tried to come up with a logical explanation for what I’d seen, I knew I was wasting my mental energy.

  Ford leaned back, squatting on his haunches, arm extended as though he expected me to face-plant into the floor again. “Careful.”

  I tried to stand, but my arm muscles were too jellylike to push myself up and my legs were still doing their impression of a wet rag. When trying to force the issue just made my head whirl some more, I stayed down. I’d rather not have this conversation sitting on the worn carpeting, but I’d make do.

  I took a deep breath, hoping the increase in oxygen would clear my whirlpool of a brain. “First, just to make sure I’m not leaping to conclusions here, did you put a hallucinogen of any kind in my coffee?”

  Ford’s indignant look would have been humorous if I hadn’t just watched a coed turn into an eagle.

  I examined the room, looking for some kind of audiovisual equipment. Maybe a 3-D projector of some kind. This could be some kind of elaborate prank.

  I didn’t find any fancy AV stuff, but I did see a pile of clothes. It looked like a pair of jeans and a sweater. I even caught a glimpse of some silky fabric that might have been panties or a bra resting on top of a pair of Uggs.

  “So, yeah. Not a hallucination.” I nodded to the pile. “Is this why I keep finding random bunches of clothes all over campus?”

  Ford stood, which had him towering high enough above me that a wave of vertigo hit when I craned my neck to meet his gaze. He offered his hand and I took it. Mostly because I didn’t want to spend any more time on the floor than I had to. He didn’t let go until it was obvious I wasn’t going to fall flat on my face again. While I appreciated his concern, I couldn’t afford for him to think he had to protect me. I’d checked his student records, and I knew he was older than me by about a year, but I didn’t want or need him to look out for me.

  I hitched onto my desk and waved to the chair Ford had taken earlier. “So. Bethany.”

  His face was as neutral and expressionless as usual, but he couldn’t hide the frantic wheel-turning going on behind his eyes. He was scrambling. “Don’t bother with excuses. There’s nothing you can say to convince me that I did not just see a girl turn into an eagle.” I couldn’t believe those words just came out of my mouth. Even the thought of it had my own brain scrambling for alternative explanations. But I’d seen what I’d seen. No amount of practical joking could explain it away.

  Ford hunched in his chair. “I can’t tell you anything about it.”

  Interesting. That meant there actually was an explanation for what just happened. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “A little of both.”

  Anticipation welled inside me. I gripped the edge of the desk to keep from rubbing my hands together like a mad scientist on the brink of discovery. “I’m not going to let this go,” I warned him. “I can’t unsee that.” I pointed to the spot where Bethany had sprouted feathers.

  He scrubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Look, there may be some things going on around here, but I can’t talk about them. There are rules, and they’re not my secrets to share.”

  “Should I talk to Dr. Tierney?”

  “No!” Ford dropped his hands and jerked forward in his chair.

  “He doesn’t know?”

  “It’s not that.” He fisted his hair, looking more frustrated by the second. “Bethany will get into trouble.”

  I wanted to comfort him, to let him off the hook. But, well. Girl. Eagle. A campus
full of oddities. And while I didn’t want Bethany or Ford to get into any kind of trouble, I wasn’t going to let it go. “Let’s see if I can make this easier for you.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and I was glad to see suspicion replace some of that frustration.

  “I’ve made a few observations over the last week, including the aforementioned random piles of discarded clothing around campus. Unless there’s a nudist colony, or streaking is a Greek hazing thing?”

  Ford didn’t say anything, but I caught the tension straightening his shoulders.

  “Then there are the strangely docile wild animals roaming through campus without causing a ruckus, and the frat boys who talk to them.” I thought of the fox on a rock.

  Ford opened his mouth, but I stopped his excuses with a wave. “Sure, some wild animals become fairly commonplace in urban areas, so don’t get the same reaction. We’re not talking about a coyote in the suburbs, though, are we?”

  He pressed his lips together.

  “Your birder club isn’t really a bird-watching club, is it?” I didn’t wait for him to answer before continuing. “Am I going to have to stock up on silver bullets on the full moon?”

  That took the sullen look off his face. “What the hell? We’re not werewolves!”

  “Holy crap!” I almost fell off the desk. Sure, my questions had been leading toward this answer, but I was still stunned. This was… nothing short of amazing.

  “Shape-shifters.” I hopped off my desk, unable to stay still at the revelation I was facing. “Shape-shifters exist.” I grabbed my bag, dumping all its contents onto my desk. I needed my journal; I had so many questions.

  “Look—” Ford stood, stepping in front of me, halting my search. He planted both hands on my shoulders and ducked his head to make solid eye contact. “You can’t—”

  I ignored his warning. “That’s right!” I remembered the night before. Those guys last night had stolen my journal. I had to have some paper somewhere. “What kind?”

  “What kind?”