The Sisters of Blue Mountain

by Karen Katchur

  The sun climbed the mountaintop, casting its rays far and wide. If ever she wished for a colder spring day, it was today. If it reached seventy degrees like the weatherman had forecasted, it wouldn’t take long for the birds to cook in the hot sun. And start to smell.

  She pulled her phone out again, checking the time. She needed to get back to the house. She had chores to tend to. And yet, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t tear herself away from the scene. She touched Pop’s arm.

  “We need to get a couple geese out of the water,” he said. “Before they start to decompose. They need to be double bagged and stuck in a freezer. We need to preserve them as best we can.”

  “We can do that,” she said, thinking he’d read her thoughts earlier about the temperature rising even though the water remained cold. They hadn’t had enough warm days this spring to heat up the dam. The icy water would slow the decaying process at least for a little while. The fresher the kill, the more conclusive the test results would be. “Do you want to make some calls to the lab first?” She was referring to his old colleagues at the university. Maybe they could send one of the younger professors to handle the bagging and freezing. She didn’t want her father back in the dam.

  Charlie, the chief of police and longtime family friend, broke free from a couple bystanders and joined them. He was a decade younger than her father, and word around town was that he’d planned to retire at the end of the year. She wondered who would fill Charlie’s position when he was gone. Mountain Springs was small, so small they had only the chief and four full-time cops. The others were part-time, a total of eight in all.

  “What do you make of this, Doc?” Charlie asked.

  “It’s hard to say.” Pop removed his spectacles and wiped his eyes. His hand was shaking. “We’ll have to run some tests of course. I’ll need to get back into the lab at the university.”

  “But what’s your best guess?” He nodded to the people gathering, gossiping, speculating about what could’ve caused so many birds to fall from the sky. A commotion at the public dock drew their attention. Hugh was preparing to talk live on camera. He had two people standing next to him waiting to be interviewed, the view of the dead geese floating in the water behind them.

  “I can’t say for certain what caused this,” Pop said. He put his spectacles back on, taking the time to wrap the ends of the curled handles around his ears. He spoke with a little more confidence and stood a little straighter than he had when she’d first seen him up to his knees in the water.

  “Do we need to call somebody in health services?” Charlie asked.

  “I can’t rule out disease, if that’s what you’re asking,” Pop said.

  “That’s exactly what I’m asking. I don’t want to have some kind of mass hysteria on my hands. You tell people a bunch of diseased birds dropped into our little watering hole, and you’re going to create panic. Not to mention scaring the tourists away for sure.”

  “There are other possible causes,” Pop said.

  “Arkansas.” Linnet chimed in. “Hundreds of blackbirds dropped dead after the town’s big fireworks display.”

  “That’s true,” Pop said.

  “Well, hell, that made national news.” Charlie ran his hand down his face.

  Linnet looked to the sky. Several snow geese flew overhead in perfect V formation, the loud honking interrupting their conversation. When the birds continued to pass them by, she looked at Pop. “They’re not stopping,” she said to him.

  He was also looking up, watching them fly away.

  She checked her phone again. “I’ve got to get back to the house. I’ve got guests coming this afternoon and two more checking in this evening.” She turned toward Pop. “Why don’t I walk you back?” She had wanted to take him inside over an hour ago to warm him up and dry him off. She’d never forgive herself if she’d allowed him to get sick because of this.

  He nodded without protesting, much to her relief. “I’ll make some calls to the university,” he said. “They’ll want to send someone here right away.”

  “Make those calls,” Charlie said. “And I’ll handle this.” He motioned to Hugh, who had since trekked around the dam along with several other bystanders. They were heading in their direction.

  Linnet took Pop by the elbow with the understanding Charlie didn’t want him talking to the press until they had a better idea of what had happened to the birds. She directed Pop toward the path that would lead them through the patch of woods to their yard.

  He stopped suddenly.

  “We’ll need some plastic bags to collect the birds,” he said, reminding her again.

  “I’ve got some at the house,” she said, noticing how tired he looked. His face was drawn, the skin around his eyes sagging and dark. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked.

  He waved her off.

  They continued toward the path. Her wet feet squished inside her sneakers with each step. Her khakis clung to her calves. Pop’s feet were bare.

  “Your shoes,” she said to him. She’d been so distracted by the dead birds and the crowd that she’d forgotten all about his socks and loafers. She turned to race back to the dock to retrieve them, nearly bumping into Susan from the market and several of the other onlookers. Before she knew what was happening, the mob had overtaken Charlie, and she and Pop were surrounded.

  Dale, a neighbor, fired off the first question. “What happened to the birds?” he asked.

  “What should we do?” Susan asked. “Are we in danger?”

  They were crowding them. Pop put his arms up to shield his face. Where was Charlie? She couldn’t see past the throng of people.

  “You’re the Bird Man! Tell us what you know!” another man shouted.

  “Give him space,” Linnet said, not making eye contact with anyone. She knew what people thought of him now, although she suspected most secretly still respected him. But she couldn’t deny he wasn’t the man he once was. His memory lapses had gotten worse, especially in the last few months. He’d become the very thing the kids in school had teased her and Myna about, the crazy old Bird Man. Kids in their class had been relentless, squawking and flapping their arms, making fun of how he’d dressed up every Halloween as a goose, honking, marching in the town’s parade. He’d meant for it to be fun, and when they were little it was, but as they got older, it was embarrassing. Kids were cruel.

  She tried to guide Pop through the crowd that was quickly increasing in numbers. Someone reached out and grabbed his bicep.

  “Is it the bird flu?”

  “Maybe it’s the water,” Terry said.

  “All right.” Charlie’s voice rose above the crowd. He pushed people aside as he made his way to them. “Everyone calm down,” he said, and handed Pop the socks and loafers he’d left on the dock. “The first thing I want to do is make sure nobody touches the birds.”

  “It is a disease!” a woman shrieked.

  “No.” Charlie shook his head. “I’m not saying that. In fact, I’m sure it’s not that at all.” He glanced at Pop. Pop’s face was pale, waxy.

  Charlie continued. “But we need to take precautions just to be safe.”

  “Is that an official order?” Hugh asked, breaking through the crowd and shoving the microphone toward Charlie.

  Charlie faltered for a second, and then he said, “Yes. Picking up the birds without permission is illegal. They are protected. Don’t touch them. It’s for your own safety as well as theirs.”

  “But they’re already dead,” someone said.

  The crowd collectively murmured their assent.

  “You heard it here first, directly from the chief’s mouth. Do not touch the birds.” Hugh talked into the camera. “I repeat, do not touch the birds.”

  Charlie grabbed the microphone before Hugh could continue. “Turn that thing off,” he said to the cameraman. Charlie turned to Pop and asked in a low voice, “How soon can you get someone here?”

  “A couple of hours, maybe,” Pop said.
r />   “What are you whispering about?” Susan asked, tugging the cuff of Pop’s cardigan.

  Hugh gave the signal to his cameraman to keep rolling.

  “There’s nothing more to see here,” Charlie said, and nodded at Linnet and Pop. “I’ll meet you both at the house.” He turned toward Susan and the others. “Show’s over. I want everyone to go back to your homes or your jobs or wherever else you’re supposed to be. Let’s go. Move along.” He corralled the mob.

  There were protests from some of the men and women. Linnet turned toward Pop and took his arm. “Come on.” She tried to lead him through the people that were reluctant to go. Hugh and his cameraman had managed to avoid Charlie. Hugh stuck his microphone in front of Pop’s face.

  “Dr. Henry Jenkins,” Hugh said, looking at the camera. “Also known as Mountain Springs’s very own Bird Man.”

  “No more questions,” Linnet said, scowling at the camera. She took hold of Pop again and started pulling him away, but he was clumsy and slow. Hugh and his microphone were back in his face.

  “I just have one question,” Hugh said, turning toward the camera and giving his viewers a sly smile. “You are a bird expert, so tell us, what caused hundreds of snow geese to drop from the sky and turn up dead in the dam?”

  “I, I don’t know,” Pop said.

  “Give us your best guess. Is it some kind of bird disease? Should the people of Mountain Springs be worried? What kind of precautions should we be taking?”

  “I, I don’t know,” Pop said again.

  “Come on, you must know something,” Hugh said. “Should people boil their water?”

  “I don’t know,” he said for a third time. “I don’t know anything yet.”

  “Leave him alone,” Linnet said. “He said he doesn’t know.” A part of her wanted him to explain everything away, to prove to these people he was intelligent, he was an expert in all things birds, his mind wasn’t failing him. If only they’d give him a chance. Let him do his job.

  “Who’s going to get all those dead birds out of the dam?” Hugh asked.

  “Yes,” Pop said, nodding. “They’ll have to get the birds out of the dam.”

  “So you’re saying the water is unsafe?”

  “Yes.” He shook his head. “No.” He looked around, becoming more disoriented by the second.

  “What can you tell us, Professor?” Hugh asked. “Can you give us anything at all?”

  “Claire,” Pop said, his face stricken suddenly. “Claire,” he called Linnet’s mother’s name again and raised his arms, knocking Hugh’s microphone out of his hand and sending it to the ground with a clunk.

  “It’s okay, Pop.” She stepped in front of the cameraman, blocking his shot, so all Pop could see was her face. “It’s Linnet. Remember? I’m right here.”

  Hugh picked up the microphone.

  She held on to Pop’s hand and pulled him away. When they were clear of the men, she looked over her shoulder and said to them, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  * * *

  Linnet and Pop scrubbed their hands in the kitchen sink. Even though they had both worn latex gloves when they’d handled the geese, it was recommended by the National Wildlife Health Center that you wash your hands thoroughly as an added precaution. You didn’t live with the Bird Man your entire life and not know these things.

  She helped him dry his hands on a tea towel, taking extra care to massage his knuckles where the arthritis had settled. “Why don’t you go and sit down?” she said. “I’ll bring you the phone.”

  He shuffled to his favorite chair, the one with the well-worn armrests and faded cushion. It looked like a professor’s chair, stately and old. He sat. She knelt in front of him with a clean pair of socks and a pair of old loafers.

  “I don’t have any answers for them,” he said in the soft way he’d always spoken.

  “I know you don’t, Pop.” She looked up at him from her position on the floor, his foot in her hand. His spectacles had slid down his nose despite the handles wrapped around his ears that were meant to keep them in place. “But you will.”

  “There were so many,” he said, his eyes glassy. He was talking about the birds.

  “Yes,” she said, and squeezed his hand.

  “I should make those calls.”

  “Yes,” she said, and wiped her own eyes with the back of her arm.

  He hesitated. “It’s not the first time a large number of birds in a flock turned up dead. All through history there are reports of this very occurrence. The reasons vary, but it’s not as uncommon as people think.”

  Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Thank you for telling me. It might be something you want to share with Charlie. I have a feeling things are going to get out of hand and fast. More than what we just saw now.”

  “I’ll have to run some tests. Do you think they’ll let me back in the lab?” He looked so hopeful.

  “I don’t see why not,” she said but, in truth, she had no idea. They’d all but forced his retirement after he’d failed to show for classes, forgetting the time on numerous occasions, making multiple mistakes in the lab back when they hadn’t known he’d suffered from the onset of dementia.

  He nodded and reached for the phone.

  While he made his calls, she slipped on another pair of latex gloves and picked up the garbage bag with the two dead geese that she’d laid inside the door earlier that morning. They were the freshest pair as far as she was concerned. She began the process of double bagging each one, making sure to slip a note between the carcasses explaining she’d seen them drop, where they’d fallen, time of death.

  By the time Pop had hung up the phone, she was emptying the ice trays into a large cooler she’d dragged from the shed.

  “We’re going to need more ice,” she said, dumping the last tray on top of the bagged birds.

  “They’re sending someone,” Pop said. “Professor Coyle.” He looked upset. “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Well, it’s been some time since you’ve retired. I’m sure there are lots of new professors at the university that you don’t know.”

  “Yes,” he said, his brow furrowed. “How long has it been?”

  “Six years,” she said.

  “It’s been that long?” he asked.

  “Mmm-hmm.” She touched his shoulder. “I’m going to run up to the house and grab more ice. I’ll be right back.”

  “Six years,” he said, looking at his hand where the veins bulged underneath wrinkled skin.

  * * *

  Linnet walked through the yard, scanning the grounds. A few dandelions sprouted between the newly green grass. It was nearly impossible to get all of the weeds without using what she thought of as toxic chemicals. Al emerged from the path through the woods. He was wearing the typical plaid flannel shirt, work pants, and boots.

  “I’m glad I bumped into you,” she said. “I’ve noticed some dandelions. Is there anything organic we can use to get rid of them? And I’m going to need you to trim some of the trees. Thin them out so the guests have a better view of the water.” Her words tapered off, finally registering the expression on Al’s face.

  “You were at the dam,” she said.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said. “When I stopped to fill up the truck and mower with gas, I heard a few people in town saying something about seeing a bunch of dead birds. I guess I didn’t really believe it.”

  “I know. It’s shocking.” She looked past him, glimpsing the water through the trees. “Can you do me a favor?” she asked. “Can you run to Jesse’s Market and pick up some bags of ice for me?”

  “Sure,” he said. “What’s the ice for?”

  “We have to freeze some of the birds so they can run tests and figure out why this happened.”

  Al looked down at his phone. “You know I took a couple of pictures,” he said. “I don’t know why I did. I’ve just never seen anything like it. Is that morbid? It is, isn’t it? Maybe I should delete them.�
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  Charlie walked through the yard to where they were standing. His hand rested on his sidearm, worry etched in the lines around his eyes. “What’s this about pictures?”

  “I took some pictures of the birds,” Al said.

  “Well, keep them to yourself. That’s all we need is for this thing to spread across the Internet.” He turned to Linnet. “How’s your dad?”

  “He’s hanging in there. One of the professors from the university is on his way.” She pointed toward the house. “I’m going to get more ice. Al?”

  “I’m on it,” he said, and dashed for his truck. She sprinted toward the house, leaving Charlie alone in the yard looking toward the sky.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jake Mann held his father’s old cell phone in his hand. It was black, nondescript, with limited features by today’s standards. It looked more like a small walkie-talkie and was one of the first mass-produced cellular phones of the early 1990s.

  He turned it over and ran his fingers over the rough scratches all along the back, the result of having skid across the pavement while in his father’s possession at the time of the car accident. It was the only distinguishable feature he could find that connected the phone to his dad. Phones back then had lacked the personality of their owners: no fancy cases or personalized screens or myriad of photos.

  Jake had found the phone two days ago while sorting through his mother’s belongings in the small single-family home where he’d grown up. It had taken him two months before he could set foot back inside her house, before he’d felt ready to confront the memories of his childhood—most of which were happy, one that was not.

  He’d been sitting on the floor in the basement, alone, going through the boxes one item at a time, wondering why the heck his mother had kept so many odd things—bent, twisted wreaths, one for each season, that had hung on the front door at intermittent times throughout his adolescence, glass jars filled with buttons from shirts long discarded, faded Christmas decorations that she hadn’t displayed since he was a toddler. His mother wasn’t a packrat by any standards. The rest of the house, her cupboards and closets, had been cleaned out. She’d been preparing for what was coming. Even in the end she’d thought of him, wanting to make things easier for him by not leaving a house full of items he’d have to sort, to save him from having to decide what to keep and what to dispose of after she had gone.