Reverse Metamorphosis book one of the Irrevocable Change trilogy

by R. E. Schobernd

  At Montana visitors centers he had picked up state road maps and area and activity specific maps for the miles of roads and trails around Glacier Park. The terrain looked formidable, but he would attempt to find a route through the mountain passes into Canada. In Wisconsin he had learned frozen streams and rivers became roadways for snow mobiles. The machines could fly over the smooth snow covered surfaces of lakes and rivers, if the driver watched out for warm unfrozen areas.

  At four the next morning he woke and ate a cold breakfast high in calories and protein. Candy bars, beef jerky and water had been kept next to him while he slept so it wouldn’t be frozen in the morning. Before donning his outer parka additional food, along with water, was put in pockets inside the coat for lunch and supper. Storing the sleeping bag, rifle and a three gallon gas can on the machine completed his last minute preparations before he gunned the throttle and headed north. The anticipated fog was light and caused little problem. His main concern became the herds of elk and grazing deer he came upon in the early morning hours. He had planned two days to drive what looked to be about sixty miles on the maps, but which could actually be up to eighty or ninety miles in real distance traveled. The true mileage could even be over one hundred miles if he hit blind trails he couldn’t traverse; box canyons or impassable mountains could block his way and cause delays. Several of the area maps indicated walking trails ascending the mountain. He felt the chance of crossing over would be pretty good if he could find them. If a hiker could cross the terrain he thought his machine surely could. Charles De Grand was expected to arrive at his lodge in three days and remain there for five. If there were problems he had extra time in his window of opportunity. Ultimately however, everything depended equally on his equipment, the weather, his personal stamina, and his ability to traverse the mountainous terrain.

  Well before noon Clay was past the north end of Lake Kintla, still under an overcast sky. The ice covered lake made an excellent roadway, but he held the speed down on the new machine for two reasons: the engine needed to be broken in, and if the equipment were damaged the job was jeopardized. When he left the lake he located a summer walking trail and followed it through the rough and uneven natural forest terrain, forcing him to watch ahead for obstructions before getting to them. Pine trees and leafless aspen groves slowed his progress when he wasn’t able to run on a frozen stream. When he approached an impassable jumble of huge boulders between two sheer cliffs he had to return to a point where he could pick up a trail running up the mountain. Several times during the afternoon he ran into dead ends, causing him to backtrack and search out another route. Three hours before dusk he was continuing north, heading further into the mountain range, gaining elevation as he went. An hour before dark he pitched the tent, covered the snow mobile and brushed the snow and ice from his outer garments. Inside the tent Clay settled in for the evening as darkness enveloped the area. He surmised he had traveled about fifty miles and was near to or past the Canadian border. His tent was pitched a hundred feet west of a drop off of several hundred feet down to the floor of a narrow and treacherous valley below him. Had he been on vacation it would have been a perfect place to take photographs of the distant mountain vistas. Settling in for the night he quickly fell asleep, tired from the pounding he had received from running and maneuvering the snow machine across the rough terrain.

  In the morning he broke camp at five thirty and continued to run slowly across the snow covered mountain in the dark. He surmised the snow was between three and ten feet deep in most places and much deeper in other areas. Twice he had to back track when the directions he chose lead him into dead ends. Once he ran up against an impassable stone face and another time the trail simply ended at an abrupt precipice. Finally he felt like he was traveling mostly downward; descending into Canada.

  Early the following afternoon he crested a ridge and looked out over the small town of Crowsnest Pass, nestled in a valley among spruce trees. It was fair sized for the remote area, with a population near seven thousand people. Skiers arriving to run the slopes swelled the population during the winter season, and fishermen took up temporary residence in the warm months to fish the many nearby lakes.

  De Grand would be flying into the airport at Lethbridge the following Saturday afternoon and after being driven the ninety miles to the lodge should be arriving as the evening sun was dipping below the mountain range.

  Backtracking, he returned a mile into the mountains to a valley he had passed through earlier where he picked a campsite in a depression between two small ridges away from the natural trail through the valley. Clay set up his tent and placed all of his gear inside. His spare gas can was empty and would require filling in town. While there he planned to eat a hot meal in a sit down restaurant and refill his water container.

  On the far west end of town he filled up with gas and two cycle engine oil and entered a small, plain restaurant beside the gas station. A sign at the entrance vestibule advertised an all day salad bar for ten dollars Canadian per person. He didn’t much care what the food was, as long as it was hot. Before entering the dining area he slipped on a pair of black thick framed glasses and pulled the black wool watch cap low on his forehead. To his surprise the food table had fried chicken and fish and roast beef. In thirty minutes he was stuffed and ready to tackle the cold again. When he was ready to leave he put on the thin brown jersey gloves before taking money from his billfold.

  Outside the sky was still overcast as he drove the snow covered Highway 3 east out of town six miles to where a road turned to the south. A sign beside it proclaimed the road to belong to Lodge De Grand. Beneath the name the sign read Private Road – No Trespassing. The report he had read indicated De Grand had inherited the lodge and over a thousand acres from his grandfather. A mile and a half down the private road he passed a stone columned entrance on his right. A lane wound through spruce and aspen trees to the lodge. And it did appear to be grand. The building was a two story central log structure with single story log wings on either side setting behind a porch the entire length of the lodge. Mossy wood shingles covered the roof, and the entire weathered structure looked like the forest setting had been designed around it. The main building sat approximately two hundred feet off the road and appeared spacious enough to house at least sixteen people overnight. Tire tracks indicated vehicles had been out and back in since the last snowfall. A quarter of a mile further south and east the road ended without warning at a rocky abutment, veering straight up at least thirty feet.

  Clay turned the snow mobile to the west and left the unplowed road to explore the area behind the lodge. Shortly after entering the woods a lake was visible ahead. The frozen body of water extended to the north, past the De Grand lodge. The back of the lodge sat within fifty feet of the quarter mile wide lake and had a view of a low rocky ridge across the lake. Most of the trees between the lodge and the lake had been selectively removed to enhance the view from the back of the building out to and across the lake. Clay moved ahead and turned south, staying close to the bank of the small lake. The south end of the lake stopped at the base of the mountains several hundred yards away where a vertical stone face rose at least a hundred feet. Cutting across the frozen surface and turning north, he proceeded to ride slowly along the far bank. He was positive he would go unnoticed against the snow covered landscape if he didn’t kick up a white cloud. The lakes surface was scarred by the tracks of other snow mobiles from one end to the other. Tracks led off the lake to a shed beside the lodge; De Grand had the machines too. The back of the lodge had a covered screened porch, confined to the central two story section of the building.

  Past the lodge the ridge to his left dropped down until it was just a high hill at the end of the lake, a half mile north of the lodge. Leaving the lake he snaked his way through the conifer trees and gained the top of the ridge. Full power was needed to climb to the top which was steeper than he had originally thought. On the back side he traveled south until he judged he was again across from
the Grand Lodge. Embedded boulders and fallen trees made the upper portion of the steep ridge too precipitous for the snow mobile so he shut it down and climbed to the top on foot. He had missed his target by at least two hundred feet and walked along the ridge until he was straight across from the building. The top of the ridge was too high to see into the lodge’s main room at ground level, so he carefully made his way down the steep boulder strewn incline. About two thirds of the way down he looked through a set of binoculars and intruded upon the common area of the lodge. The first thing he noticed was the flickering of a fire in the huge natural stone fireplace. Furniture was of a rustic northern woodlands type with thick cushions on the seats and backs. A large chandelier made of moose and elk horn hung from the peaked beams in the middle of the room. In a kitchen in the north wing he saw a woman and man sitting at a table eating supper; the live in servants. Seeing no sign of anyone else inside the lodge he high tailed it back up the ridge and crossed over to the snow mobile.

  To save time he headed north out to the main road back to Crowsnest Pass and found the trail he had made coming into town. Tomorrow he would explore the area more thoroughly and find an escape route from the lodge.

  All through the evening he dealt with nagging problems, exposed when he finally saw the actual location. If he shot De Grand from across the lake the guards would give chase immediately and the servants would notify the local authorities. A lone snow mobile trail going south through practically virgin snow could be followed by an incompetent blind man; not good. Both guards would have to be killed or eliminated from the chase. It was improbable for him to shoot all five of the people from across the lake. He would need to get closer to the victims. Also, if possible, he needed to separate De Grand and his bodyguards from other people. No need to make this a massacre if he could avoid it.

  After eating a cold breakfast the following morning Clay again drove north to town. Yesterday when he was within a half mile of it he had come across several other snow mobile tracks. He would use them to hide his own trail while escaping. A quarter mile from town he found the spot he was looking for. Several snow mobiles had run in an east west direction. A strip fifty to seventy five feet wide had been churned by the drive belts of multiple machines. Turning east he used the packed trail to take him within two miles of De Grand’s lodge before it turned north toward Highway 3. Following it to the highway he learned the machines had crossed the highway and continued on north. Three other snow mobile riders had passed him going west and he had seen a group of five people going cross country on skies.

  Clay suddenly stopped the machine, removed both of his right gloves and dug inside his coat. A weather forecast was coming on in one minute over the miniature pocket sized radio in his shirt pocket. The small speaker in his ear was about to give him an important update. He soon learned a major snow storm was building over the coast and was expected to hit the Alberta and British Columbia border area the next afternoon. The storm would bring temperatures of minus thirty two degrees Celsius and could last up to two days. He quickly calculated the temperature to be about minus twenty five degrees F. As a parting shot the announcer added the Rocky Mountain area could expect at least two feet of fresh snow. Good news for the skiers; bad news for him.

  Turning east he followed the highway to De Grand’s lane and entered it slowly. A snow plow had been there since the previous evening and a single lane had been cleared. Four areas two lanes wide had been cleared for a second car to wait in if multiple cars were using the lane. Clay knew from his report the De Grand team used a Chevrolet Suburban which was left at the airport between trips. The road twisted several times and rose and fell over ridges and gullies on the way to the lodge. Riding slow Clay looked for a possible ambush spot and found one about half way to the turnoff. De Grand would be hit on his private roadway by an uninvited guest.

  Chapter 27

  At seven the next morning Clay was in position. He expected De Grand to leave the lodge between eight thirty and nine to go to one of the nearby ski slopes. His usual routine was indicated to vary somewhat from trip to trip. Sometimes Charles would ski on Sunday morning, other times he would defer to Monday morning. But with a storm bearing down on the area chances were excellent he would want to hit the slopes ahead of the inclement weather. At least it made sense to Clay.

  The accumulated snow depth gave some support, but still he was trudging through a foot and a half of loose snow and would also need to lie on it. He unfolded the snow mobile cover and spread it over a thick layer of spruce branches to make a shooting platform. The site was at the top of a six foot high bank through which the roadway had been cut. De Grand’s party would be entering a sharp ‘S’ curve in front of him at a distance of seventy yards. He had the scope turned down for the distance, but would need to make the shots quickly in order to not have to refocus. The approaching vehicle would be visible to him a quarter of a mile away as it topped another rise in the road. Plenty of time to remove his warm mittens, flop down on the cover and be prepared to fire. The sky was overcast, with clouds completely blocking the sun.

  At ten minutes to nine he saw what he was waiting for; a black suburban on the far rise. Lying on the cover, his body was out of sight because of the downward slope from the cut bank. Only his head, covered by the white hood, and the white coat on his shoulders would be visible. The rifle pointed at the targets would come into their view only seconds before being fired.

  Clay positioned the rifle and watched alongside the scope for the vehicle to emerge around the curve. Suddenly it was there. The truck was at a slight angle to him with the passenger side prominent in his view. Switching to the scope he saw two men in the front seat and two figures in the back seat. Finding the drivers chest he squeezed off two shots and quickly moved the crosshairs to the front passenger for two more rounds. Movement in the back seat revealed the locations of two passengers and he fired three shots at each of them. As he was pulling the trigger on the last victim he noted the long black hair and facial feature of a woman. The passenger in the front seat blocked his view of the person behind him, but Clay was sure he had hit the back seat passenger at least once.

  Leaving the rifle on the cover, he made his way down to the roadway and to the black vehicle. The truck had idled to the left side of the lane and was stopped in the plowed snow ridge with the engine still running. Ten small holes in the windshield with spider web cracks around them were the only indication of what had just transpired. The driver moved his head and Clay aimed and shot through the windshield. Revolver in hand, he opened the rear passenger door of the Suburban, stepped inside, and pulled it shut behind him. Blood had splattered onto the back seat occupants and had left dark red speckles over most of the truck’s interior. His last shot at the driver had left a fist sized hole in the back of the man’s head and showered blood all across the rear passenger’s door. A bullet was fired into the back of the other guard’s head and then two were fired into De Grand’s forehead. The sound of the magnum was deafening inside the enclosed vehicle, and as De Grand was shot Clay detected a twitching movement of the woman’s left gloved hand. She was in her early forties, slender, very attractive and still breathing. But she wouldn’t be alive long, if the visible blood was any indication. Apparently most of the shots to the passenger side had hit the guard in the front seat; she was only hit once, in the left side of her chest and apparently in a lung. Clay watched as a thin red ribbon ran from the corner of her mouth down to her chin, dripping onto the bright yellow ski jacket. She coughed and spit out blood and mucus as she drowned on her own fluids. Her eyes suddenly opened and focused on his, causing him to turn away to escape her pointed gaze. The expression implied a loathing for this intruder who had so forcefully injected himself into her life. She appeared to fully understand what had happen. He thought the make up on her thin facial features and high cheek bones fit the high maintenance look of her expensive ski clothing.

  Clay pulled the gloves from De Grand’s pale white hands an
d removed a gold ring with five large diamonds in the setting. Under the woman’s gloves she was wearing a wedding band and an occasional ring on her tanned fingers, plus a diamond bracelet on her right wrist. Clay removed the jewelry from the delicate, fragile looking hands and then had an insightful thought.

  On sudden impulse he gently grasped her chin with his left hand and leaned her head back against the seat, telling her to relax because he would soon leave. Watching him through a helpless fog, her eyes expressed a pitiful acceptance of her plight before she closed them, repulsed by the death laden scene around her. Groping in his coat pocket he found and removed the .32 automatic, and in one swift motion swung the pistol toward her face with the barrel angling upward. At the same time he started his trigger squeeze her eye lids opened and she stared in horror as he fired a bullet through her left eye into her brain. Her injured body barely flinched and her head jerked only twice before relaxing as her final life’s breath escaped. Flipping his wrist, he shot another round into the right eye of the corpse and then emptied the rest of the clip below her stomach. The authorities might spend precious time investigating her as their primary victim if she appeared to be the main target. They might be led to conclude the motive for the deaths to be a very personal and hateful revenge killing of the woman. Before exiting the truck he surveyed the carnage while trying to ignore the twin crimson rivulets of blood flowing down the once beautiful lady’s cheeks.

  Outside the vehicle Clay gave in to the overwhelming urge to throw up, and made it to the edge of the road before the uncontrollable heaving started. Grabbing snow in both gloved hands he washed his face in the cold flakes and then took a big mouthful to wet his dry throat and try to calm his stomach. While kicking snow on his vomit he made his mind blot out the dead woman and concentrate on his escape. Focusing on the surroundings he carefully looked around while reloading both pistols; no one in sight. Back at his original shooting blind he used snow to dull specs of blood on his right coat sleeve, then gathered and loaded the equipment. Mounting the snow mobile he drove onto the private lane and out to the highway. Running along the edge of the roadway he made his way back to town to fill up with gas and oil. He had no idea how long he would have before the death site was discovered, but hoped to be well away from the town before an organized search could be started. Before paying a sleepy eyed teenager who was hopping up and down to a rock and roll tune, he donned the dark framed glasses. He had picked up six prepared ham and cheese sandwiches from a cooler and a cup of hot black coffee at the counter, and then stood at the back of the grocery area eating two of the sandwiches. Once on the trail he wouldn’t stop until dark; unless the inbound weather forced him to change his plan.