Apparition Lake

by Daniel D. Lamoreux

  “What did he have to say?”

  “We'll know in three days.”

  “What do you mean `three days'?” Glenn asked. “You mean he won't help us for three days?”

  “No. I mean in three days he'll have decided whether or not he's going to help us.”

  “What does that mean? Whether or not he's going to help? This isn't a game. People are dying up there! We need to know what this is now.” Glenn took a step toward the house.

  The outfitter stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Where are you going?”

  “I'm going to tell him we don't have time for this.”

  “No,” Two Ravens said with a deadly serious look in his eyes. “You're not going to do that. I didn't bring you here to treat a Shoshone medicine man like a white drunkard who's broken your fishing regulations.”

  “If there's anything he can tell us…”

  “It's not a question of what he can tell us,” Two Ravens said with controlled menace. “It's a question of what he chooses to tell us. He's not your partner and he doesn't work for the white man's government. If he chooses to tell you anything it will be because he trusts you and believes you have the best interest of the land and the people in mind. And he couldn't care less about your schedule.”

  “What am I supposed to do,” Glenn said. “Sit on my hands until he's had his nap and decides to help whitey?”

  “Who do you people think you are?” The look on Two Ravens face was no longer one of anger. He was genuinely hurt. “Always the white men say, `Do it in my time.' There is a time for all things and that is not your time. It is the earth's time.”

  With no idea what his friend meant, Glenn looked the question.

  “Why did you offer Snow on the Mountains the tobacco?” Two Ravens asked. “What were you trying to buy?”

  “To buy? What are you saying?” Glenn asked. “Are you saying I tried to bribe him? I gave him the tobacco because you told me to.”

  “Then the gift was of no value,” Two Ravens said simply. “You did not respect Snow on the Mountains or the sacrifice made by the tobacco for you. You did not respect the reason I asked you to give the gift.”

  “I can't follow all of your Indian mysticism.”

  “My words have nothing to do with your feelings, for my people or our land.”

  “Look, Johnny, I don't know what you're angry about. I don't know what you're talking about.”

  Two Ravens took a deep breath and exhaled at Snow on the Mountains' pace. “The tobacco is a living thing with a spirit. It is given out of respect and should be given with understanding. A holy man has three days to decide if he will heal; a person or a park. Yellowstone needs healing.”

  Glenn raised his hands in surrender. “I'm sorry,” he said. “We'll wait three days.”

  “One more thing,” Two Ravens said. “You must take back your offer of payment. You cannot buy Indian medicine. It is not for sale.”

  Chapter 18

  Glenn sat miserably in front of the television sucking on a beer and channel surfing with the remote. He absentmindedly switched the set off, having gone through the channels twice without seeing what was on any of them. He selected a CD, placed the disc in the player, then changed his mind and turned the power off. He went to the refrigerator for another beer. Nervous energy coursed through him like electricity through a power plant. He had no outlet and felt he was going crazy.

  He'd been on the road all day to no avail. He'd sat in his office for hours more, going through the rangers' reports, studying crime scene photos, seemingly for nothing new. A chopper was in the air around the clock. And the reporters would not let up; one reporter in particular. In total, the day had been one more dung heap on top of the mountain he'd already shoveled that week.

  When the doorbell rang, all Glenn could muster was an exasperated, “What now?”

  “Hi there, ranger,” J.D. said as he pulled the door open. Three plastic bags hung heavily from her arms.

  “Hi,” Glenn said. “What's up?”

  “Well, my hands are ready to fall off… otherwise…”

  “Sorry. Come on in.” He stepped back from the door allowing the biologist room to pass.

  “That store was a mess.” J.D. made a beeline for the kitchen. “Everyone and his brother must be out. I swear I stood in line for an hour. The traffic is really heavy too.” Without slowing, she began unloading the grocery bags. “Is it always like this during fall around here?”

  Glenn didn't answer and J.D. didn't seem to notice.

  “I hope you're hungry. I'm starving, so I probably bought way too much food.”

  Glenn stood watching, arms crossed, with a quizzical look on his face.

  “Where do you keep your fry pan?” she asked going through the cupboards. “Oh, I didn't stop to think. Do you eat fried food? Oh, well, you will tonight. You look healthy enough.” For the first time since entering the apartment J.D. paused to look at Glenn. “What's the matter?”

  “Nothing,” he said, his arms still crossed. “I'm just a little surprised.”

  “By what?”

  “All this,” Glenn said nodding into the kitchen.

  “Well, don't get excited. I can cook, I just don't do it often.”

  “So… why are you doing it?”

  J.D. stopped, fry pan in hand, and stared at Glenn. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I guess I stepped on a toe, huh?”

  “I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I just…”

  “No,” J.D. said. “You're right. I presumed an awful lot.”

  “It's okay,” Glenn said. “I've just had a hard day. I'm not sure I'm ready for all this right now.”

  “All what?”

  “This,” Glenn said, sweeping his arms out to take in the makings of a feast. “I think you're jumping the gun a bit on this relationship.”

  “Relationship?” J.D. made a face and laid the pan on the counter top. “You must have had a hard day, Mr. Ranger. I think you're having delusions of grandeur.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Look, Glenn,” J.D. said growing angry. “I enjoyed our hanging out. I enjoyed Inspiration Point and our walk in the woods. I was looking forward to doing it again. But that doesn't mean there's any big relationship budding here. I like your company and tonight I wanted to cook for you.” J.D. paused for an instant. That was all the time it took for her to come to a boil. “I thought you were different,” she said shaking her head. “But you're just like all the other creeps.” She pushed past Glenn.

  “J.D., wait.”

  She turned quickly. “What?” Her hands went to her hips and she glared.

  Glenn suddenly pictured her stomping from her truck toward Bear #113 on the first day they met. He grinned at the memory. That was a mistake.

  “What is so amusing?” she snapped.

  Glenn dropped the smile. “Nothing. I was thinking of something. I'm sorry. Look, I don't want you leaving like this.”

  “Oh, I see. Don't go away mad, just go away.”

  “That's not what I meant,” Glenn said. “I've never seen this merciless side of you.”

  “Merciless! You're the cold one in this room.”

  “I'm not cold. All I said was I wasn't ready for all this.”

  “All this… is a meal,” J.D. said. “What are you afraid of?”

  “Who said I'm afraid of anything?”

  “You don't have to say it. You radiate fear like a… a radiator. And don't laugh at me.”

  “Why would I laugh? You're making me mad.”

  “Yes. That's because the truth hurts,” she said. “Face it, Glenn, if it's not in Chief Merrill's big book of standard operating procedures, you can't deal with it.”

  “What is…”

  “Oh shut up!” J.D. screamed. “I'm not through yet. Why does everything with you have to be so structured? Johnny suggests something supernatural is happening in the park and you say, `No, it can't be.' We have a nice quiet evening together and you're th
inking, `What does she want?' We're not in your rulebook, Glenn.” He stared with no clue what to say. She wasn't surprised. “You won't take a chance on anything unknown. You're afraid of not being in control.” She grabbed her coat and headed for the door. “Well, guess what, Chief Merrill. You have no control over me whatsoever. And whatever is killing people in your park isn't sweating you either.”

  *

  Yellowstone slept.

  The lights had long been extinguished in the tourist shops; the doors locked and barred, their keepers off to recuperate in anticipation of the long day to come. The boardwalks surrounding all the favorite attractions stood empty. The fumaroles continued to steam and Old Faithful kept its clockwork timing but no one was there to admire their splendors.

  Long, barren strips of asphalt cut their way across rolling sagebrush and mountain meadow grasses then into deep, black lodgepole and fir forests. Nothing rode them save a yellow stripe that glowed in the light of the full moon. The chill night air carried a deafening silence broken only by the stirring of gentle winds in the pines and the creaking of widow makers; standing dead boles in their midst.

  The sun had disappeared and Yellowstone no longer welcomed intrusion. There was no glow from city street lamps or noise from passing trucks on distant highways. The park stood, a primordial world, where only the predators and their prey roamed its inner depths. Fred Black, a human predator, came there only at times like these.

  People feared the unknown. Nothing was more unknown than the wilderness of the high mountains at night. Yellowstone at night was a fearful place. Fred feared neither the unknown nor the dark; both gave him power over others. When he suggested a party at Apparition Lake, Fred expected frightened complaints and got them, answering each with a smile and an accusation of “no spine.” He was the boss and he used fear like a cattle prod. It kept him in charge; bent his followers' individual wills so that now, regardless of the terrors he cooked up, their worst fear was being without him. That was the way of the human predator and its prey. And why, when Fred led his group to the park that night, they followed.

  Several cases of cheap beer later, they sat around the light of a glowing fire set back in the trees near the shoreline of Apparition Lake. No one was afraid of the park now. They had Fearless Fred, they had a warm fire with its comforting light, and they were too drunk to know the difference. It was a party!

  Seated in a circle close to the fire, the group sucked on aluminum cans and spewed nonsense. They rattled on to each other, over each other, about who was doing what, and who was doing who, and where they were going to get their next rush of adrenaline, or their next handful of cold cash.

  “Man, you sure gave them what for at that Tribal Council,” William Jones said with a laugh. “We should have stayed for more.”

  “Why?” Fred asked. “Those scared rabbits were just going to cry at each other about nothing. With Two Ravens on his high horse it was probably going to turn into a prayer meeting. I swear he goes on more about Great Spirits and healing the world than any idiot I've ever known.”

  “Yeah,” Bull Tarken said jumping into the conversation. “Who needs prayer meetings? No Great Spirit ever did nothin' for me.”

  “That's because you never make offerings,” Fred said with a grin. He stood, grabbed his crotch, and headed for the lake. “I'm going to make one now.” The others laughed as they watched their leader disappear into the dark.

  Away from the warmth and light of the fire the night air was chill. The weather had been strange lately with the heavy rain and now, as Fred stepped to the edge of the lake, a fog was settling in. He staggered, misjudged the bank in the swirling mist, and nearly fell into the water. Wouldn't that have been slick? He reeled slightly from the effects of the alcohol, spread his feet to get his balance, and unzipped his ratty jeans. Across the dark body, between the shifting lines of gray mist, moon glow reflected off the ripples created by the breeze.

  Another, fiercer, chill ran up Fred's back. He needed more antifreeze, he thought. He laughed. “Here's an offering for the Great Spirit,” he shouted as he sent a golden arc of urine cascading into the mist-covered lake. He whistled a tune, rotating his hips to write Great Spirit on the water with the stream. He thrust forward, dotting the `i's and crossed the final `t' with a gruff laugh.

  The surface of Apparition Lake exploded.

  A huge, brown and gray grizzly erupted up and out of the lake from the midst of Fred's desecration. Its powerful forearms shot forward with claws extended towards the drunk Indian. Yellow-white fangs shone in the moonlight as the bear delivered a roar that shook the timbers of the lodgepole forest around them.

  Fred had no time to react and less time to scream. The bruin slammed into his gut, propelling Fred backwards and down to the rock-strewn shore with the force of a jackhammer. The bear leapt atop the Indian, snarling, dripping icy lake water. Fred felt the hot acrid breath of the monster as he struggled for air beneath its crushing weight. He saw the hatred in its hard steel-gray eyes and felt excruciating pain as the animal sank its fangs into his throat. Fred was gone in an instant. With one tremendous snap of its supernatural jaws, the grizzly decapitated the desecrator. It flipped its bloody snout sending the offending head sailing toward the orange glow of the fire. The party was over.

  A great roar echoed through the trees, into their small circle, and deep into the conscious minds of the remaining six young Indians. An instant later the bloody head of Fearless Fred bounced into the light and rolled to rest just outside their circle. Stunned disbelief numbed their minds and then, one by one, panic set in and took over.

  The Crow brothers, like reflections in a mirror, simultaneously dropped the bottles they'd been holding. They stood, mesmerized and quaking, while the liquor gurgled out onto the ground at their feet. Ed White released the pillowy softness of Angel Adam's left breast and wordlessly withdrew his hand from the warmth inside her shirt. The movement was accompanied by the music of the girl's ear-shattering scream. Bull, the former all-star linebacker for Wyoming's brown and yellow fighting Cowboys, fell off the log they'd been using as a bench and landed face-down in the mud, while William Jones vomited down the front of the silk shirt he'd donned with such pride earlier in the evening.

  The grizzly didn't lose a beat. Its roar of death still echoed through the trees when the beast turned on the group in the firelight. It unleashed another growl and bounded in their direction. “No, no,” the Crow brothers said in unison, as if mouthing a well-rehearsed duet. “Please, no.” William Jones tripped over Bull and fell too smearing the puke on his chin. The odors of vomit and alcohol splashed across his chest, combined with the looped image of Fred's severed head arcing through the air, made him heave again. Stumbling, retching, he made it to his feet and ran into the dark.

  “Get down,” Larry Crow hoarsely croaked to his brother. “Play dead!”

  Larry fell to his knees, grabbing his younger brother's arm as he went. He pulled Lawrence to the cold ground, whispering, “Don't move.” Behind them, Larry heard Ed yelling backed by Angel's incessant high-pitched screams.

  The swiftness of the action was incredible. The enraged animal closed the distance from Fred's mutilated corpse to the area of their campfire in seconds. The monster pulled up, loomed over the prone bodies of the Crow brothers, and sniffed briefly at the air around them. Unimpressed by their pretense of death the bruin grabbed Larry Crow by the back of his neck. The Indian screamed and was silenced as his spine cracked. Lawrence Crow couldn't remain still. He tried to rise and was instantly smashed to the ground by the bear's right paw. Its left slashed and blood spurted from the gaping wounds opened on Lawrence's throat. The bear flipped Lawrence onto his back, reared up on his haunches, and plunged back down on him. The younger Crow felt Fred's pain and joined his brother on the far side of eternity.

  The grizzly, its muzzle drenched in the brothers' blood, rose and turned on the remaining prey. It roared again, angrier even than a moment before. Ed White pulled a th
ick limb from the fire and brandished it before him. Flames fluttered at the end of the club as he swung it back and forth. The enraged bear glared at the Indian holding the burning log and the young girl behind him.

  Then it turned on the linebacker. Bull hadn't moved a muscle. Wearing a mask of mud, he was frozen in place on the ground near the fire. “I'm sorry,” Bull said. He didn't know the meaning of his own words but repeated them anyway. “I'm sorry.” The bear roared and nailed Bull with a pounding strike that paled every hit he'd ever taken on a football field. The linebacker tried to scream but had no voice. The grizzly snapped Bull's face and crushed his head like a ripe melon. Then the animal swung around to Ed White.

  “Come on!” the Indian yelled. “I am Eagle Feather. My ancestors killed a thousand of you. Come on!” The animal stalked forward, hatred beaming from its fiery eyes. Ed slashed out with the stick, striking the bear's coat and throwing up a shower of sparks. Each swing of the burning club received a growl in reply. Firelight threw dancing shadows on the silver-tipped fur of the beast. It peeled back its lips displaying gore-covered teeth in a death's head grin. Ed swung the stick with all of his might, lost his balance, and fell to the ground. As he scrambled to rise, the bear struck his head a fearsome blow. Ed heard a snap. He toppled to the grass like an empty burlap sack unable to feel anything below his shoulders. Ed screamed; a gut-wrenching cry of terror and despair that started in the pit of his soul and raced up, threatening to shatter the very fiber of his sanity. He screamed and screamed and screamed. Yet not a sound made it to the outside world because Ed's broken body could not push the air to make his horror audible.

  Angel Adams had stopped screaming when she heard Ed's neck snap like splintering firewood. She stood now, unmoving at the edge of the circle of firelight, her hands up as if pleading for mercy. Tears streamed down her face. “Please,” she said. “Please.”

  Ed heard the growling bear. He heard Angel's final words. Then he heard the indescribable.

  A moment later, through moist and blurry eyes, he watched as the bear appeared and towered over him with Angel's crushed body in its jaws. A bloody scrap twisted about her shoulders was all that remained of her shirt. Her torso was slashed and bleeding. Her face, once as angelic as her name, was torn beyond recognition. The monster released her and she toppled, though Ed felt nothing, onto his chest. Several minutes later Ed quit breathing.