Claw

by Katie Berry

  Behind his head, he heard the sound of the creature moving down the sloping ledge toward him. His mind suddenly cleared, and he felt a renewed surge of adrenaline defogging his brain. He pulled upward with all his strength, trying to climb back up onto the ledge. But because of his angle, with his feet hanging the way they were, he was unable to leverage himself back to safety, and his thick rubberised soles only weakly scraped at the moisture-slicked rock face.

  The beast, however, had no problem negotiating the sheer ice of the ledge. With its scimitar-like claws acting as crampons, it gained easy purchase on the thick layer of frozen water that coated the rock. Manny craned his neck around and saw the beast slowly plodding down the slope toward him, saliva flooding from its jaws.

  “Jesus, Mother Mary,” he whispered, still unable to catch his breath. He was stuck between a rock and a hot place. Any which way he ran it in his head, he was screwed. If he let go, he’d plummet three metres into a deep stream of boiling water that must easily clock-in at one-hundred degrees Celsius. And if he didn’t let go, he was a meal for this motherfucking monster. With a silent prayer, he made his choice and let go of the rock.

  A huge taloned paw speared through his chest and shoulders, impaling him and dragging him upward. He screamed with pain he’d never known as he was pulled up toward the beast’s dripping gorge.

  Manny Oritz had been many things to many people, but a nice guy had not been one of them. As a result, he knew that someday, somewhere, he’d be taken out by someone, somehow. But he’d never seen himself going out like a sushi dinner for some abomination from Hell. “You piece of sh…” he shrieked in rage and pain, as the creature’s jaws closed around his skull.

  Natural sutures between his brain plates separated, folding in on themselves and pancaking his brain as the animal clamped its jaws shut. Its eyes closed as it began to chew as if savouring the first taste of this elusive new prey.

  Searing pain consumed Manny Oritz’s last thoughts as the beast devoured his brain. After a short while, its meal finished, the carnivore lumbered into the foggy night, looking for more fresh meat to staunch its insatiable hunger.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Austin rose early, being careful not to wake Alex. Usually, he wouldn’t be up this early, unless it was a hockey practice morning. But today they needed all the light they could get at the campsite to see if they could figure out what had happened on the ridge. His goal was to be mobile and on the road as soon as daylight broke. Stopping by Tim Hortons was a given on his way to meet with Trip and Christine, so he’d grab a bagel and coffee then.

  Alex had turned fifteen last month, and Austin was more than okay with leaving the boy home alone to look after himself on the days he had to leave for work early. His son could be relied upon to get himself up, dressed, fed and out the door to school in the morning without any problems. Though the expression was as hackneyed as the day is long, Austin knew in his heart that Alex really was ‘a good kid’.

  Smiling as he thought of his son, Austin pressed a button on the remote control attached to the sun-visor over his head. The chain-drive clacked and whirred as the wooden framed door rolled up on well-oiled hinges. Austin started the Honda Pilot's engine, and its brake lights flared alive, gleaming in the darkened garage like a set of hungry, predatory eyes. Pausing for a moment before he backed out, he grimaced when he glanced into the Honda’s rearview mirror to see what weather the new day had brought. He’d hoped to be able to see the end of his laneway this morning, but it didn’t look like that was in the cards today. Squinting harder into the grey ghostland, he commented to himself, “Yep, if anything, this crap looks even thicker today. How is that even possible?”

  But he knew it could be worse. The fog could have been the freezing variety that sometimes hit at this time of year when the temperature inversion fog cleared temporarily. Though the damp, grey nothingness behind his Honda limited his visibility to an extreme degree, it didn’t pose the same navigational hazards as the freezing mist. He knew all too well that when the treacherous freezing fog finally did creep down into the valley bottom, all hell usually broke loose on the local roads just like it was the first day of winter instead of halfway through. Inevitably, like death and taxes, at the beginning of each winter season when slippery roads were now going to be the norm, it seemed that people spontaneously forgot how they managed to navigate those same roads the previous year.

  So many drivers of four-wheel drives were usually the first ones in the ditch after a fresh snowfall -- as if their overblown confidence in the words ‘four-wheel’ and ‘drive’ on the sides of their vehicles blinded them to the hazards of the winter roads ahead.

  Austin scowled once more at the sombre, grey, featureless morning. Today was a prime example of the reason the ski hill in Lawless was now closed -- the incessant winter valley fog. Thanks to milder temperatures that came with global warming, regular low cloud and thick mists that limited visibility had been the final nail in the coffin, ending downhill skiing in the area. Back in 1982, when he was still in high school, the fog hadn’t started settling in for weeks on end as it did now, and the resort was a thriving concern providing access to world-class skiing with breath-taking vistas. Year after year, the resort had experienced a tremendously busy ski season thanks to record snowfalls.

  But the fog hadn't been the sole reason for the ski resort's demise, although it had been a major contributor. The other compounding factor was when the Sinclair Development Corporation, owner of the resort at the time, had been judged liable in a lawsuit concerning another of its properties up the coast from Vancouver. The resultant settlement cost the corporation over one-hundred million dollars in 1982, closer to a quarter of a billion dollars today. The money had been awarded to the relatives of the victims of the incident to provide some closure. Each one received nearly one million dollars in cold, hard cash. It was a tidy sum to be sure, but hardly worth the life of a loved one as many of the bereaved had lamented at the time. When all was said and done, it came to be known as ‘The Sinclair Incident’ and made international news. Many observers compared it to other events such as the Mary Celeste and the Roanoke Colony.

  At the stroke of midnight, New Year’s Eve, 1981, ninety-eight beautiful people from the Lower Mainland’s burgeoning movie industry vanished from the resort’s ballroom without a trace in the space of fifteen seconds, never to be seen again. It had been the sensational sort of story that generated headlines worldwide for months afterward and fed the ever-hungry National Enquirer and Weekly World News for years to come. And it was also a story that Austin had always wanted to know more about someday.

  Working as a local realtor at the time, Ray Chance, and his business partner, then city councillor Bob Nichols had been fortunate enough to be in the right place at a most opportune time. They picked up the Lawless ski resort for a rock-bottom, fire-sale price. Both men were made wealthy many times over during the ensuing decades that they operated the hill.

  But by the turn of the century, it had become exceedingly rare to see snow at the resort and even rarer down in Lawless itself. The town usually got a good dump or two each year at the valley bottom, but most of the time it stayed high up in the hills, well beyond the ski lodge and all but the highest of its runs. For those adventurous enough, though, like snowmobilers, and cross-country skiers, there was still plenty of deep snow to keep them happy at the higher elevations on the ridges that ringed the horseshoe-shaped valley.

  After suffering a decade of significant revenue losses from the lack of snow and encroaching fog, Chance and Nichols decided to revamp things. The ailing ski hill was closed down, and the partners applied for a casino licence. They were given the go-ahead from the province the very next year, and the face-lift began almost immediately.

  Ray Chance was the brains behind the resort during the renovations. But he was a man lacking in the idea department, and he decided that flattery was indeed the most sincere form of compliment. Chance decided that a miniature v
ersion of Las Vegas was what customers needed to see when they approached the resort from the road. And that is precisely what he did, commissioning the construction of duplicates of some of Las Vegas’s most iconic doppelgangers from around the world but on a much smaller scale. They included the Sphinx, the Great Pyramid of Giza, and for those with more European tastes, a one-tenth scale Eiffel Tower. Now, before starting the drive up the twisting road to the main village, guests were greeted by these highly detailed recreations. Impressive in their own right, they had become a bit of a tourist attraction, drawing people from all over the interior of the province to see them and then hopefully dine and gamble at the buffet and casino. It truly was one of the last things you’d expect to see at a resort nestled in the rugged Cascade Mountains of British Columbia.

  Giving his head a shake, Austin unravelled himself from his web of memories and backed the large SUV from the garage, turning it around in a short pullout in his driveway. He and Alex lived on a small acreage halfway between the casino and the town of Lawless itself. When Austin's wife, Patricia had been alive, she’d always enjoyed having nothing but nature surrounding her, as had he. It was not that ‘big city’ life in Lawless was too hectic for them, far from it, but they both loved the solitude and serenity that the countryside provided.

  Austin slowly navigated his way down the lane. The fog seemed impenetrable this morning. Suddenly, the ditch across the road from his driveway was rapidly filling his mist-covered windshield. He hadn’t realised was as far down the lane as he had been and said, “Whoa! Eyes wide open, today, man!” Cranking the wheel away from the ditch, he pointed the Honda toward Lawless. First stop: the local Timmies. At the drive-thru, Austin ordered two large double-doubles for himself and Christine, and an extra-large triple-triple for Trip, including a box of doughnuts (heavy on the honey crullers, please). And finally, for himself, he ordered a four-cheese bagel, heavy on the cream cheese (please and thank you).

  Driving the remaining three blocks to the Works yard while chewing on his bagel, Austin glanced at the Pilot’s digital dashboard clock and saw that it was almost six -- he was right on time. The Lawless City Works truck sat idling as he pulled into the yard, already loaded with the equipment for the day. The snowmobiles on the truck's heavy-duty sled deck were most likely primed and ready to go, knowing Trip's attention to detail.

  Speaking of Trip, the man was sitting in the passenger seat of the Work’s truck, waiting patiently. Austin knew his friend and co-worker wouldn’t want to drive this early in the morning in order to give his full attention to the boxful of honey-glazed lovelies, and he was okay with that. Pulling to a stop next to the Works truck, he saw Trip with an expectant look on his face. His expression reminded Austin of a Basset Hound he'd once had as a child -- which had always looked a little bit sad and always very hungry. Austin didn't have a problem driving them around the valley today as he preferred not to have Trip eating and trying to pay attention behind the wheel. And more to the point, Austin didn’t want to drive the truck after Trip's morning snack, only to find his hands sticking to the wheel every time he turned a corner.

  Climbing into the driver’s seat, Austin handed off the cardboard tray of coffee cups to Trip, who grabbed them willingly. But Trip’s eyes were on the box of fresh doughnuts still held in Austin's other hand. Taking pity, he gave the box to Trip, saying, “Morning, my friend! You can hold the travelling rations here. As usual, feel free to dig in!”

  “Thanks, boss! You are awe and some!” Trip said. He put the coffee on the console between the seats and eagerly peeled back the lid of the cardboard box to survey the treasures inside. Looking as delighted as a kid on Christmas morning, his eyes lit up, and he said, “Oh--my--God.”

  Concerned, Austin asked. “What is it, buddy?”

  Trip stammered excitedly, “T-the staff at the doughnut shop put seven crullers into the box today, instead of the usual six! We have a bonus cruller!”

  Glancing over, Austin smiled slightly, thinking he detected small tears of joy in the corner of the other man’s eyes as he gazed upon the glazed goodies. Austin fastened his seatbelt and drove them down the block and around the corner to the Conservation Office. Pulling into the rear lot, he found Christine’s truck waiting, its engine running to keep her warm inside. He rolled down his window as he came to a stop next to her, saying, “Good Morning, Chris!”

  Lowering her window, Christine poked her head out and said, “Good morning, Austin! Good morning, Trip! Looks like another lovely day here in the valley!”

  Trip waved at Christine from the passenger seat through Austin's open window, unable to talk as he was already wrapping his lips around his second cruller of the morning.

  “I thought we could all go in one vehicle this morning, Chris, just to simplify things. If that’s okay?” Austin called through the swirling mist.

  “That sounds great. Let me grab my stuff first.” Christine reached into the rear seat of her cab, grabbing her backpack. She lithely jumped down from her vehicle, holding the pack in one hand. The alarm chirped and the doors locked as she pressed a button on her keyfob, then placed it in her backpack. Rounding the Works truck, she saw Trip already on the job, standing at attention and holding the door to the rear seat open for her. He brushed at several dozen cruller crumbs that had fallen from his beard onto his tan coveralls. The tops of his cheeks glowed an even brighter shade of red when he looked up and caught her taking in his performance. He smiled through his beard at her. “Thank you, Trip,” she said, smiling lightly in return as she entered.

  Trip mumbled, “Welcome,” cheeks now so red they looked ready to catch fire.

  Christine threw her pack on the empty seat next to her. Once she'd situated herself, Austin reached over and offered her a coffee, saying, “Thought you could use one.”

  She gratefully accepted, saying, “Thanks! I didn’t bother making one for myself, yet. I've just had a tea so far today.”

  Reaching over from the front seat, an encouraging look on his face, Trip offered Christine a doughnut, making sure to give her the end of the box without the crullers. “Thank you, Trip, but I’m okay.” She pulled a high-protein, organic snack bar from an inner parka pocket and flashed it at him.

  Trip’s face fell slightly, perhaps disappointed that Christine didn’t share the same passion for doughnuts that he did, and said, “Your loss.” He appeared to recover quickly, however; his grin returning as he gazed back at box once more, seemingly mesmerised by the doughy delights it contained.

  Christine smiled at Trip’s enthusiasm for the pastries, then stifled a small giggle when she glanced toward Austin in the driver's seat and saw him rolling his eyes good-naturedly at her in the rearview mirror. With a contented sigh, Trip went to work on yet another of his new pastry pals.

  Winding the Chevy Silverado up the mountain road toward Gold Ridge, Austin noted with a sigh how much longer the trip was taking than it normally would; the thickness of the fog making it dangerous for him to drive anything faster than as slow as hell.

  “This is unbelievable!” Christine said, shaking her head as she looked out at the swirling grey. “You say it’s like this quite a lot in the winter now?”

  “Seems like almost every day now, to one degree or another,” Trip said.

  Austin nodded his head in agreement. “Sometimes, for weeks on end.”

  “I can see how this would have affected the local ski hill’s business.” Christine shook her head.

  “Yeah, it definitely didn’t help — that and the lack of snow.” Trip agreed, brushing a fresh batch of cruller crumbs from his beard.

  Austin squinted through the windshield, his mouth a grim line as he peered into the blankness ahead. He said, "It's sad what passes for daylight in winter around here these days."

  Christine added, with a slight chuckle, "Maybe you should start calling it ‘greylight’ instead of daylight."

  Austin snorted in amusement, then squinted harder through the windshield. After a few mo
ments, he decided it wasn’t his mind playing tricks on him -- the fog actually was beginning to thin, hinting at the possibility of blue skies making an appearance. Ten kilometres from the ridge, they found the white Dodge Ram 3500 with its rented snowmobile trailer parked in the same spot from the day before. Austin turned the Works truck around in the unplowed cul-de-sac, facing the nose back toward town, saying, “End of the line kiddies, we’ll be sledding from here.”

  Christine stepped down from the truck, blinking slightly in the brightening greyness. “Well, this is a lovely sight. I almost need my sunglasses up here."

  “Yeah, when you get high enough from the valley bottom, sometimes the sun begins to poke through,” Austin said. He looked up, smiling toward the hazy orb of light in the sky, hoping the sun would soon burn away more of the valley cloud.

  Christine looked about and said, “That’s kind of strange, though. I thought you mentioned yesterday that the local police were going to be up here to meet us as well? I don’t see any sign of them and that truck over there sure doesn’t look like it just pulled in.”