by Ami Snow
What I didn’t like was what his hedge fund was doing. They had always lined the pockets of those in power and therefore, had never been threatened by anyone. No one had ever stood up to them. I would be the first. I had laid out a plan that would draw attention to their corrupt actions and set out to write a piece that would rally people against them. I would light a fire under the valiant new head of Morse Fields and watch his streak of success begin to crumble. Of course the first thing I had to do was show people what they would be losing.
“I hope you exercise caution.” Ranger Thompson said to me.
The day I decided to set my plan into motion, the first thing I did was grab my digital camera and hiking gear. The boots I wore were always uncomfortable, but they were effective for maintaining a footing on the trail. It would be a dangerous time of year to visit, but I was convinced that if I could just capture a few scenic photos of the Gorge Trail that could accompany an article about the corrupt investors’ plan, it would make all the difference. Plus, the dangerous aspect of the trail never mattered to me.
When I arrived on the outskirts of the park, I double checked my equipment, made certain I had all my previsions and plenty of water and food. It was still a hike before I even got to the trail. That was where I saw Ranger Thompson. He was always kind to me as he had always been the last face I saw before venturing out into the secluded parts of the woods and the first face to welcome me back when I returned to civilization. He would wish me luck on my trek up the mountain side and tip his hat to me when he saw me coming back down. This had been our routine with one another for years. It never ceased to amaze me how consistent the man’s mannerisms were.
“I’d hate to have to one day be sent up there to search for your body, darling.” He said with a wink.
This was a comment that was uncharacteristic of the man and was alarmingly spoken in a manner that seemed like a bad omen, but I only smiled and shook my head with a laugh as I passed by his station up the trail.
“You know me.” I said. “I like to take risks.”
“You, my dear, are one of a kind.” He said before turning his back to me.
Well said, Mr. Ranger.
The Gorge Trail was particularly beautiful during this time of year. It was common for rains to make the mountainside more treacherous in the spring, but it was surprisingly easy for me to find footing and make my way up all the while I was hiking and attempting to keep up a fast pace. I enjoyed timing myself in hopes it would make for an easy enough opportunity for me to burn off some extra weight. Looking up it was easy to maintain a focus for what I was after; that serenity, that rapture that comes from the spirit of ferocity. It was so close, I could feel it. That was when I heard the sound. It was a gigantic bellowing roar, unlike anything I had ever heard before.
It took me several minutes to reach the point where I was close enough to see the trail even out. I was not entirely concerned about the noise. Wild animals were plentiful this deep in the woods and I was well aware of the appropriate reactions to coming face to face with any animal, or so I thought at the time. My greatest concern when venturing out on my own was coming in contact with illegal poachers or hunters. Hunting was completely illegal here as the majority of the animals commonly sought by hunters were dwindling in numbers and humans were the biggest culprit for this sad reality. Though I was brazen as always and even had a small handgun tucked away in my bag, just in case, I was completely unprepared for a potential encounter with an armed human.
When, I was finally approaching the thicket after I had reached the point where the terrain became easier to trek through, I heard the sound once more. It must have been a bear, but there was an instant sense that this was not a common call from a bear. I had seen many in my time and had even watched some from a safe distance. My first thought was that it must have been a mating call, but I was unable to figure out what direction the sound had come from and could see nothing in any direction. I stopped to listen and to remove my camera from my bag, adjusting the lens and shutter while my head cautiously shifted from one side to the other. The creature seemed to be gone.
It did not take me long to begin to forget about the sound once I had the camera in my hand and was back in the familiar serenity of nature. There was so much to see. It was easy for me to spot rare raptors flying above me and I was even able to cautiously approach a deer feeding in the thicket long enough to snap several pictures of the creature before it became alerted to my presence. Within no time at all, I had photographed dozens of creatures and was satisfied with my accomplishments.
The trek back for me was easier and uneventful. I had the notions of what I would write swimming in my head. I thought of what those dreadful financial men would think of having their positions threatened. I’d be a vicious force, ripping through their army of lobbyists, tossing them down from their decadent positions into the mud, exposing them as the cowards they are. This is what I lived for.
Dwelling on this had caused me to completely lose my focus. That was when I first heard the rumbling of something in front of me. There was something moving towards me. I froze and dropped to a position ready to bolt as I reached for the space in my bag where the gun was hidden. That was when I first saw it, tearing through the trees with a surreal speed. It was a bear, yet it was massive, larger than any I had ever seen. It must have been over a thousand pounds. I was still frozen in my same position, transfixed on the thing as I watched it move across the line of trees in front of me. Then, it ceased to move and rose to its full height and released a roar. The same noise I had heard before, a daunting sound as if it was calling out to the entire world. Its legs were large and muscular and its claws were large. This creature was clearly capable of tearing through the flesh of any other living thing.
It is difficult to express the stimulation that one feels when in the presence of such a thing. There was an affinity I held even in that moment for the magnitude of the bear’s physicality and the savagery that was admonished in its roar. It took me some time to regain a sense of myself, to separate myself from the experience. Once I returned to my senses, I made certain that the creature was not expressing any concern or interest in my presence and then pulled my bag slowly in front of me to find my camera once more. I was careful to not make any sudden movements as I began to snap pictures of the creature who was still emphatically calling out to the rest of the wild.
Then, just as I was beginning to become satisfied with the pictures I was able to take, the creature seemed to turn its head towards me. My eyes widened as I watched it. The manner in which it moved and the sound it made as its roar turned into a reserved growl seemed incredibly strange. I began to realize that I could be in danger so I promptly bundled up my things and began to back away. It would be easy for me to cut across the trees to go around the bear until I was at the other end of the trail. I had only hoped that the creature would not take it upon itself to pursue me.
After about half an hour had passed and I had not heard any more noise in the distance, I was convinced I was far from any. Then, I approached the ranger’s station, the sight of which was a happy and welcoming sight. As I took the final step off the last stone on the mountainside, I saw the ranger appear with the same kind-smirk on his face. He tipped his hat just as always, only this time, instead of simply waving or nodding back I called out to him.
“You have a minute?” I asked as I approached him.
He stepped forward with his hands on his hips. “For you,” He said. “I might have a few.”
I smiled as I reached once more for the camera in my bag. “I was taking pictures up there.” I said. “I wanted to show you them if you don’t mind.”
“Let me guess.” He began to say. “You see something strange? Jersey Devil? Leprechaun?”
“No, don’t be silly.” I said as I turned the display on the back of the camera on.
The camera beeped as the screen lit up. I pushed the button which showed the most recent photo. After a few pushes of
the button, the image of the bear suddenly appeared. “Look at this.” I said.
The ranger narrowed his eyes. I glanced at him and noticed his expression change as he rubbed his forehead. He seemed confused. “You say you took this photo while you were up there just now?”
I nodded. “Yes, I just saw the thing a few minutes ago.”
He chuckled. “I gotta tell ya,” He said. “That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“Why’s that?” I asked.
He took a deep breath, glancing away for a moment before returning his gaze back to the screen. “Well, you see,” He pointed to the screen, gesturing to the appearance of the bear’s torso. “I’d say this bear is anywhere from eight hundred to twelve hundred pounds, probably over eleven feet tall. Bears that are native to this area rarely get larger than seven hundred, but it’s the wrong time of the year for them to be packing on weight like that anyway. A bear that size, I would reckon be found further northwest.”
“Could it have migrated?” I asked in confusion.
The ranger folded his arms against his chest. “I’ve been doing this job for fifteen years. I’ve never once heard of a bear migrating that far. A bear that size isn’t native to this side of the country.”
That was the first time I began to become alarmed. This revelation was enough to make me curious that maybe what I had seen was more than a simple chance encounter. There was only one other question I could think to ask. “What sort of bear could it be?”
“Has to be a grizzly.” He said with a shrug. “They are the biggest, but even that thing is gargantuan for one of them. That’s probably near close to as big as they come.”
There was once an old book that my mother read to me when I was a little girl, about a man who was returning from a long journey in the snow to his family. He is followed by a giant creature covered in brown fur that walks on its hind legs. He flees for his life. After hiding out until it had moved on out of sight he follows slowly and is totally confused when the footprints in the snow change to that of a human being. Remembering the yearning pull that the creature had on my emotions when I saw it I just knew we had not seen the last of each other. I had never been in a relationship that was satisfactory sexually. The anger and rage that always burned just beneath the surface seemed to manifest itself during sexual intercourse and I always scared off my partners with my animal savagery. I had been with oil wild caters, Canadian lumberjacks and even a world champion boxer, once and once only, they all made themselves scarce after sleeping with me that one time. I had even left a tape recorder running under my bed one time years ago, and the sounds and noises I heard myself make when I played it back even shocked me. I never really recalled the point of orgasm because I have no vestiges of self-control what so ever at that point, it is almost as if I black out mentally and just the primeval part of me that governs my responses takes over automatically. More than three years previously I had ceased to attempt to get a man into my bed, and bought a dildo and take care of myself regularly. No recriminations afterwards and no difficult explanations to make. Not the most satisfying way I admit, but I am a healthy and active woman and I have needs, at times diabolically urgent needs, at those times I am bruised and battered for days afterwards. On some fundamental level I know there is a flaw in my physicality sexually, but I just don’t dwell on, and I am the only one involved now and I can live with it. But that bear today, oh my that huge creature, thinking about it even now I can feel the savage attraction, the brutal yearning. “ENOUGH!!” I halt my idiotic and somewhat shameful thoughts and concentrate on getting back to my vehicle so I can get back to my word processor and get started on my expose of Morse Fields and their whizz kid Eckard Allstair. Their false claim that the valleys and ridges the George Trail traversed were barren wastelands with no flora and fauna of substance was about to be blown so far out of the water they would need a space shuttle to ever see it again. I laughed aloud at my own analogy. Because this time Eckard Allstair and his billion dollar plus hedge fund had his evil eye on my home ground I was in mortal danger of letting passions and feelings govern my work, when what I needed was cold, clear and concise clarity and good fact and data based journalism. The incredible 120 odd pictures I had taken today were certainly going to be the main thrust of my story. It was almost as if every creature along the trail knew of the danger and had posed for me. I knew exactly what Morse Fields was up to when a buddy of mine the Mines Department tipped me off about their filing a mineral claim across the entire area. I had known of the alluvial gold in the river when I was a teenager, one of our teachers was an amateur gold prospector and he had shown us how to use a pan for testing river shingles for color. I had borrowed the pan and tried the river and was surprised at the amount of specs of gold and even tiny nuggets I found. As I have said, it is possibly one of the most inaccessible regions left in these mountains, and I guess that is why no one has carried prospecting equipment over the huge boulders and trekked through the waist deep icy waters to try for gold since. Until now! I also knew of a bauxite deposit on one of the ridges and had seen nickel nodes in a limestone ridge further in. But to access these deposits in a lucrative way Morse Fields would have to strip mine the entire area, and even their submission in the petition to mine, that they would run a re-forestation program, could never repair the devastation and carnage they would wreak. Not to mention that the roads they would force through with bulldozers would allow access to the public, which would force the migration of a huge percentage of the fauna that exists there. As I mentioned earlier, it is the remoteness and inaccessibility to humans that means most of the solitary creatures, many endangered already, can live there in comparative safety. I also had another edge to my sword, my Great; Great Grandmother was a full blood Mohican and I could play the Native Land Rights bill here with impunity. If I could not prevent them surveying with an immediate court order for danger to habitat, I could certainly tie them up in an ownership battle that would take years for the civil courts to unravel. As I approached my vehicle I was so engrossed in how to formulate and run my story I failed to notice the other four wheel drive parked nearby. “Miss Stewart, this is a remote and desolate area to meet a beautiful woman.” The sound of a man’s voice startled me from my reverie and my head shot up to look directly into the devouring orbs of Mr. Eckard Allstair’s penetrating eyes. Doing my second double take in as many seconds I almost stuttered, “Mr. Allstair, what brings you out here to nature’s paradise.” I countered. Noticing the faint frown as I used the word paradise I felt a satisfactory jolt in my stomach, first blood to me. “Unusual choice of words for this area, but however, what brings you onto my lease?” He asked. I immediately fired back, “It certainly is neither yours nor Morse Fields, it is still under a native land title and is crown land.” Again the frown, bull’s-eye, two out of two. Reaching into the glove compartment of his expensive Toyota Land Cruiser the man produced a document and holding it out for me to read argued, “You are quite mistaken Miss Stewart, The Department of Mines granted me a geo-survey permit this very morning. Here, be my guest and read it yourself.” Damn this ego maniacal billionaire, that’s three times in the last five minutes he has caught me on the back foot. Noticing my expensive Nikon camera he enquired, “I did not now you were an amateur photographer, what on earth could you possibly find in this barren landscape to warrant lugging such an expensive item up there?” He indicated the steep and rugged beginning to the George Trail. “I am no amateur I assure you,” I retorted.” Furthermore, just like you I have a variety of reasons for coming here, most of which are none of your business. And those that might be of interest you are so symmetrically opposed to you and everything you stand for I shan’t bother to elucidate you.” As I moved away toward my Jeep Cherokee the urbane and sophisticated head of the Board for Morse Fields lost his own cool and growled, “Tread warily Miss Stewart, if you interfere with the wheels of progress you might inadvertently be run over!” Spinning around to face the tall man again I b
it back, “Are you threatening me Allstair?” Turing away from my wrathful and hostile manner he spat over his shoulder, “Warning you that’s all. No two bit punk journalist can stand in my way.” Before I could respond to his dismissive and insulting remark he entered his vehicle and closed the door. Fuming I climbed into the Jeep and followed him down the mountain. The normally pleasant and scenic drive made no impression on me this trip at all, in fact I did not even notice, I was just too damned mad with the rat fink money bags ahead of me. I wanted to floor the Jeep and knock him and his quarter million dollar cruiser into the ravine below. Perhaps he sensed the latent fury in me because when we reached the highway he increased his speed immediately and disappeared into the distance. Arriving at my apartment I booted up the lap top and uploaded all the images, I decided to email them to my work website for photo shop and selection for the article the next day, then bathed and went to diner. Whenever I spend a day on the trail I always return ravenous and crave vast helpings of Mama Maria’s pasta and meat Italian concoctions. “Welcome Amanda welcome,” boomed my hospitable host. “Sit sit sit. I have a wonderful new dish tonight, your favorite spaghetti with a garlic and ginger and tomato sauce full of rich Texas beef. I just a know you a gonna like it so much,” Maria boomed again enthusiastically in her dialectic English. “How could I possibly turn down such a wonderful sounding meal, bring it on Mama. Please ask Giuseppe to bring me a cup of his thicker than mud coffee to start and some fresh crusty breads. I am famished.” Beaming, the big Italian cook and owner almost trotted into the kitchen to give my requests to her jovial husband. Giuseppe came out of the kitchen carrying a plate of bread and a steaming cup of thick, strong and black coffee. “Amanda you sweet a sweet girl, where you been a hiding yourself? We missed you smiling face.” The happily smiling man set the plate and cup in front of me and sat a few minutes as we caught up on each other’s lives over the past busy weeks. These two were as close to parents as I had and it was always wonderful to be around them. They were both extremely hard workers and had built the restaurant from scratch with a combination of good stable meals, generous helpings, and lashings of hard long hours in their kitchen. But never have I seen either one of them without a huge welcoming smile. In their mid-60s now, I had been coming to their restaurant for 10 years at least a couple of times a week. They seemed to never change, never age. They looked exactly the same now as when we had first met when I was a fledgling reporter for the tabloids and always broke. They adopted me metaphorically speaking; they fed me on numerous occasions without accepting payment, and always cheered me up with some funny anecdote or just with their jovial smiling ways. When Mama Maria had stuffed me so full with three generous helpings of her newest recipe I sat with her at the big kitchen table and just whiled away an hour listening to the two of them banter and joke their way through the myriad tasks that needed to be completed before they could call it a night and go upstairs to their apartment above the restaurant. As we all hugged each other they both gave me the European kiss on each cheek, and with blessings and happy goodbyes I drove the three miles back to my apartment. My entire block was lit up like a Christmas tree, flashing lights of all three emergency services were in abundance. Fire engines, ambulances and police cars blocked off each end of the road. Pulling up I asked the office who had stopped me, “I live down their officer, what is happening.” Coming over to my open window he asked for my license and reading my name and verifying my address answered. “I am sorry to inform you miss Stewart but there is a serious fire in your building and witnesses are alleging it began with an explosion from your own apartment. Did you by any chance leave the gas on or something of that nature?” Assuring the officer that I had only been home briefly, long enough for a quick bath and a change of clothes before going for my dinner I asked if I could go to my home. “Miss Stewart you will need to make alternative arrangements tonight, the building is evacuated until the fire inspectors and arson squads have finished their investigations. I must also inform you that because of the severity of the fire in your apartment there is nothing left which has not been almost completely destroyed by the fire and the fire departments high pressure hoses. I am very sorry Miss Stewart; I just cannot give anyone permission to go near the building until it has been accessed and declared safe by the relevant authorities.” Thanking the man I sat stupefied for some minutes then returned to the restaurant where my pseudo parents mothered me into their spare room and tucked me up with a brandy and a sleeping pill. It was hell of a pill, I slept 12 hours straight, luckily today is Sunday and I am under no obligation to be on deck because it was almost 1 AM before I staggered downstairs to be met with a great mug of coffee by Giuseppe and a massive platter of poached eggs and toast by Maria. We all sat around discussing the fire and what might have caused it. My building is not old as these areas go, around fifteen years. It should not have been corroded gas pipes or ancient electrical wiring. I went up and luxuriated in their deep claws foot antique tub for an hour, then dressed and drove back to my apartment, or what remained of it. The officer had not exaggerated; the heat had been so intense that even the brick walls were cracked in a number of areas. Nothing inside had survived at all. There were a number of people at the doorway inside the police tape and I approached and asked if any of them had any idea of how the fire had originated. When I explained who I was a senior detective asked if he could have a word with me privately. We went over to an unmarked Chevvy and sat in the front. “Miss Stewart, I must ask you some serious questions.” He asked about my work, if I had difficulties with colleagues or if I had enemies anywhere outside the office. After some minutes of light interrogation I asked my own question. “Detective, there is something you are not telling me and I think now would be a good time to do so.” Looking at me thoughtfully for a moment, he answered. “Yes Miss Stewart you are quite correct. Our arson squad has discovered the remnants of some kind of incendiary device in the ruins of your apartment. In short the fire started with a bomb.” Watching my features closely as he revealed this he seemed relieved at the state of absolute shock in which I received this horrendous information. As my intelligent mind tried to assimilate this terrorist act and apply it to myself, the Detective remained quietly watching. I was no stranger to heated debate and sometimes even aggravated shouting matches with recalcitrant law breakers; in journalism this is quite common. But this level of violence was way outside anything I had ever encountered. “Miss Stewart, when I asked about your work you mentioned something about a piece you were working on to prevent some mining in a national park. Would the company you are opposing consider you such a threat that they might want to endanger your life and those of the other families in your building?” Eckard Allstair, why on earth hadn’t I made this connection? The pictures, he wants to destroy the evidence and I bet he has a no trespassing sign up already to prevent me obtaining another set.” Detective it well may have now that you bring it to mind, but anything I could say here would be hearsay and allegations without foundation. Mere supposition, but I will tell you that I had a heated argument with a senior member of the company yesterday morning and he seemed particularly interested in my camera and what I may have photographed. He also made some veiled threats concerning my safety and was very rude and insulting. However, it is a giant leap to take accusing him of attempted murder and arson because of some threats spoken in the heat of the moment.” The detective looked thoughtful again then said, “Now that the evidence is destroyed I cannot even look at it and assess myself what relevance it might have on this case. Very well then Miss Stewart, thank you for your time, if you could give the constable your current address we will inform you of any developments which may concern you.” He politely walked around the vehicle and opened my door and we said goodbye. I returned to the restaurant. Lying back on the bed with my arms behind my head, I went over and over the argument the previous morning. Is the man really that evil and sinister that he would blatantly commit such a crime, or am I being too dramatic and biased? W
ell, either or, I have a story to write, an expose on corruption and lies so I might as well begin now even without a pictorial addition to add credence to the existence of so many creatures In the Park. I booted up the lap top and mentally prepared my opening salvos.” Ping, you have mail,” Absently clicking on my email provider and then the inbox I saw the email I had sent before having a bath. “The pictures, I still have all the pictures!!!” With a grin a mile wide I start the article, then paused and called my editor to advise him to have a legal team ready first thing on the morrow to get a court injunction to stop the Morse survey team from even entering the trail. And reading my Introduction and opening remarks I knew that with the pictures we would have no trouble at all getting one.
