NorthWest (John Hazard - Book II)

by Glaze, JH

  She had made reservations for a private plane to fly her class up into the national forests of the Pacific Northwest, somewhere between the states of Washington and Oregon. She’d ordered supplies and rented equipment, and even covered accommodations for an overnight stay before heading off into the wilds of the forest.

  This had stretched her budget to the limit and now she had to figure out how to pay a videographer to film the adventure. Without proper documentation, it wouldn’t matter what they discovered if there was no proof of it to bring back.

  The student who had volunteered to go for free backed out at the last minute and now she would actually have to pay someone to take his place. Macy was determined to make this field trip for her students happen, and she had personal reasons for doing so. That was why she had placed the ad.

  She had been following a strange phenomenon for several months now. There were reports of missing aircraft, hikers and hunters in about a hundred square mile area of national forest. They had disappeared without a trace and all search and rescue operations had been abandoned in each incident. It was as though they had dropped off the planet.

  Macy had analyzed all of the information she had gathered and found similarities to disappearances in the Bermuda Triangle. She figured if she could get some half decent footage, she could distribute the film. It could be a documentary on the case of the NorthWest Triangle, a place where things simply vanished forever. Maybe they’d call it “Renner’s Triangle.”

  Just thinking about having the phenomenon named after her was enough to bring a smile to her face. It could finally be her chance to get some personal recognition and bring attention to her program. It might guarantee her funding at the university for years to come. Her career surely would benefit, but some of the details in the case reminded her of the horrible events that had occurred during her childhood.

  The unexplained disappearance of her twin sister at the age of thirteen continued to haunt her. How could anyone shake the loss of a sister who would never be seen or heard from again? She was her twin, her other half, and the only real friend that Macy had ever had. Her loss had a chilling effect on everything in her life in the years that followed.

  She picked up the framed photo of two little girls playing together, which sat at the corner of her desk. Gazing at her twin, she thought about all the secrets, the special ‘twin signals,’ and good times they had shared. What happened to you?

  The involuntary cry from her heart reaffirmed why she had started this two-semester course in the first place. It wasn’t because she thought it would be interesting to study paranormal phenomenon, though that was true enough. It was because she could still remember, in brief flashes of fragmented memories, the terrifying strangers that took her and her sister over a three-year span from ages ten to thirteen years old. “Fucking aliens,” she said out loud.

  It was something that no little girl should have to experience. The long cold gray fingers clenched around her legs as she was lifted from her bed, and silently, effortlessly carried upside down through her window and into an odd shaped doorway. She could hear the sounds of crying, and sometimes screaming humans, men, women and children all around her.

  The brilliant flashing lights that seemed to shine right through her body burned like points of fire as she lay helpless on a transparent but solid glass table. It was all she could do to keep from sobbing as once again, in her tortured mind, she could hear the familiar screams of her sister from another chamber as the creatures worked over her with their unusual metal instruments.

  A knock on her office door brought her back before she could recall what came next in this horrible flashback. “Yes?” She stood to answer it, steadying herself against the desk.

  The girl opened the door and stuck her head in, “Professor Renner, sorry to bother you. I just wanted to let you know that I received an email a few minutes ago from someone regarding the online ad for videographer. Do you want me to schedule an appointment with her for tomorrow?”

  “Oh, most definitely. Tell her to come in early in the morning so we can confirm our final team before lunchtime. We are down to less than forty eight hours to departure and we need to know if we are good to go or if we will need someone to pull double duty with the camera.” She set the photo back in its corner instinctively turning the photo face down to hide it from inquisitive eyes.

  “Is eight o’clock okay then?” The assistant watched Macy flip the photo over and made a mental note to check it out later.

  “That would be lovely. Could you please close the door for me on the way out?” She sat down and spun her chair around to face the window so the tears that had begun to flow down her cheeks would not prompt any questions.

  “Sure, sorry I interrupted…” The assistant was irritated by her cold behavior, but closed the door without any further comment.

  “I’m not.” Macy mumbled to herself as she stared out the window, her mind relieved for the moment from the terror of her memories.

  Five

  The last thing Rajesh Pradeep wanted to explain to his parents was how his engineering studies had been put on hold while he immersed himself in a half year of paranormal investigative studies. He decided it was best to keep it to himself rather than suffer the consequences. Had his father known what he was doing, it could mean the end of the cash flow that he needed to maintain his lifestyle.

  He eyed the shelves in the sporting goods store trying to decide if there was anything he needed that was not on his list. Was there anything else that he might need on this trip to the wilderness? He had already invested a considerable amount in his tent, sleeping bag and mat, stainless steel dish and utensil set, flashlights, batteries, dehydrated food, canteen, and a box of condoms… just in case. Like he would really need them, but there were going to be women on the trip, and anything could happen. Secretly he wished that something would.

  He looked again at his list and everything had been checked off except one thing, a hatchet. He had added the hatchet to the list because he realized they would need to have a fire to cook, and at night for light and communal discussions, but even the thought of carrying a hatchet went against his anti-violence stance. Not that he expected violence, but this was America and he had seen more violence in the two years since he had been attending school here, than he had his entire life before he came.

  Still, he did want to eat and stay warm on this trip, and building a fire would be difficult without something to chop up the wood. There were various sizes and the one he chose was about as long as his arm from elbow to fingertips. He took the thing from the display rack. The rubber grip felt uncomfortable in his hand. He could have sworn that it was burning the skin ever so slightly as he held it. At that moment he rather resented his parents for instilling so many fears and foolish beliefs in him. After all, this was simply a tool, a piece of metal designed to cut wood or drive in tent stakes. It would only be a weapon in the hand of a man that intended to use it as such.

  So while he was still convinced that it would be used only for good and practical purposes, he put the hatchet in his cart. After taking a few turns through the racks of sports clothes, he pushed his nearly empty cart to the front of the store and up to the checkout lane where an athletic looking type was working the register.

  As he stood there waiting for the person in front of him to find his credit card, he picked up an Outdoorsman magazine from the rack and flipped through the pages. There was an article on solar powered generators, an ad for shotgun shells, an article about building a shelter with a poncho and some branches and one on how to survive an avalanche in the spring. Flipping past an ad for mountain boots, his worst fears were confirmed. He stared at the article about a person who had accidentally lopped off three fingers while chopping firewood.

  He was stunned and stood staring in horror at the hatchet in his cart while the exasperated cashier repeated, “Next!” He began putting his few items on the conveyor belt and carefully picked up the hatchet, holding t
he wretched item between his thumb and pointer, and lifted it away from him. He set it on the energy drink display at the top of the counter. With obvious relief, he continued to empty his cart on the belt.

  The cashier rang everything up and announced, “That will be twenty three dollars and eighty-five cents.” After he swiped Rajesh’s card, he pointed at the card reader and said, “Please press the green button.”

  The young cashier tore off the receipt, quickly glanced at it, and smiled. “You saved two dollars today. Thank you for shopping at Sports Mart!”

  Rajesh took his receipt, shoved it in his pocket, and pushed his cart out the door and across the parking lot to his car. On the way home, he was thinking about his feelings about the whole hatchet thing. Was he being ridiculous? Shouldn’t one live by their convictions? “You have to believe in something or your time here on earth will mean nothing,” his father always said. Seeing things from that perspective, he felt proud that he had walked out without it, but somehow deep in his gut he had a feeling he would be sorry he had done so.

  Six

  Sherri Washington carefully reviewed her stack of documents wondering if she had forgotten anything that Dr. Renner had asked her to do. This had been referred to as a ‘class assignment’. She had made the reservations, procured the maps, and hired the guide to take them up into the forest the first two days.

  For some reason he had refused to travel beyond the Whitmore gap. When she inquired as to his reason, he simply replied, “Weird things going on up there lately. Can’t do it.” Weird things indeed, exactly what her class was going into the woods to investigate. She didn’t even try to argue with him about it.

  It looked like she had taken care of everything, everything except packing her clothes and a small bag for her son, Shandre. His grandmother, his father’s mother, had agreed to keep him for the next two weeks while she was away. For this she was grateful since she needed to go on this trip to get a passing grade in her class.

  Shandre was already six, and quite the little man, but he would always be her baby no matter how old he was. Being a single mother was no easy task and situations like this always pointed a wagging finger at her ability to manage, something she had been dealing with for some time now.

  This trip was the pivot point of a life spent searching for answers, and she was truly looking forward to it. If she had not been able to make arrangements for her son, she might have not been able to go on this trip. Without these class credits, she wouldn’t graduate and might miss the only chance she had for some kind of life for her and the boy, away from here.

  There was no way that she could raise the money for more classes if she were unable to complete this course. This Paranormal Investigative career path was a total fit with the life she had been ‘blessed with’, as she put it.

  When Sherri was fifteen years old, she developed an ability to hear voices of those who had passed from this world, in particular the voices of her grandmother and her great aunt who had both died years earlier. Throughout the years, they spoke to her whenever she was in danger, or if she was about to make a decision that would have a negative impact on her life. At those times her protectors would advise her on what was about to occur and what action to take to avoid peril.

  Anyone could imagine how shocking it was when she heard them for the first time. It was an experience she rarely related to family, and definitely not to friends.

  She was on a trip to Los Angeles with her high school marching band. They were scheduled to march in the Tournament of Roses Parade on New Year’s Day. Their chartered bus made a stop at a truck stop along the highway for a thirty-minute break.

  Like many highway truck stops, this one was a combination of gas stations and fast food restaurants. At this time of the day, it was a very busy place as families and truckers stopped to get something to eat.

  The group piled out of the bus and most of the kids headed straight to the food court area. The number of band members inside of the building swelled the size of the crowd considerably and all of the talking, laughing, and carrying on added to the din and chaos.

  Sherri and a few of her friends had gone into the restroom while the other band members got in line at the counter. After she finished using the toilet, she stood in front of the mirror washing her hands next to her friend. She casually smoothed her hair with her fingers as she stepped away from the sink when she heard a voice saying, “Don’t go out yet. Stay here for a few more minutes.”

  “Did you say something, Annie?” She looked at her friend in the mirror.

  “No, but I was thinking about Max. You must have been reading my mind. You didn’t read my mind, did you?” she blushed. “I mean, like that would really creep me out if you did!”

  “No, of course not! I must be hearing things.”

  “Right, I’m glad you can’t read my mind because I think Max is so totally hot!” Annie was gushing with evident passion for the guy.

  “Max? Really? Isn’t he kind of a geek? Like, he reads those comics all the time and hangs out with those programmers. They’re always talking about video games and stuff like that.”

  “Yeah, I know, but Max is different. He just seems to really ‘see’ me, right? Hey, come on. Let’s get out there and get some food before we have to go. I’m starving!”

  “Don’t go Sherri. Stay here. There’s something you need to know.” It was that voice again. It seemed louder this time and more insistent.

  Sherri turned to face Annie, “So-o-o, you didn’t just tell me to stay here? You want to tell me something?”

  “Girl, were you smokin’ something in that stall? Nobody said anything!” Annie checked her hair to make sure every strand was perfect, moving her head from side to side to fix her part.

  “Something strange is going on. You go ahead. I’ll be out in a minute. I need to… uh… check something.” And she leaned in closer to the mirror and pretended to look at one of her eyes as if to remove something from it.

  “Are you sure? You’re acting kind of funny. I can check that for you if you want.” Annie moved closer.

  “No, really, I’ll be right out.”

  Annie looked at her quizzically, wondering for a moment what was going on. “Ok then, I’ll go see if Max is in line. Maybe he’ll give me cuts!” She turned on her heels and walked out of the bathroom.

  Did she look strange? Sherri examined her face to look for any sign of illness. She didn’t know for sure what she was looking for, but there had to be some reason she would start hearing voices.

  “Don’t worry, baby. You hear us now because you need us.” It was her grandmother’s voice, she remembered her well enough.

  “But why, Gran? How? You’re not really here. I mean, you’re…” She looked around the restroom expecting to see someone.

  The familiar voice finished her sentence, “Dead, honey?”

  Just then gunshots rang out and she heard a scream. Without hesitation she ran to the door catching herself before she opened it. She had no idea what might be happening out there, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. However, curiosity got the best of her and she cracked the door so she could try to see what was going on.

  Out in the food court area where the rest of the band members were waiting to get some lunch, three armed robbers were holding up the restaurant and the customers. She couldn’t see most of what was happening, but she could hear it all.

  “Everybody get your wallets out and throw them in this bag.” A white pillowcase was being passed from person to person and wallets and loose money were being tossed into it as it went by. Across the room at the gas station counter, the cash register was being emptied into a similar bag, and Sherri could see that the barrel of a gun was being pressed against the cashier’s forehead.

  At one of the tables in the food court, two police officers had just finished their lunch. Until now they had remained hidden behind the group of teens. Quietly, they whispered and used hand signs to coordinate their next move and ro
se from the table. Pulling their weapons, they stood and took aim at two of the gunmen, yelling, “Police – drop your weapons!”

  The trigger happy robbers opened fire on the crowd. As the deluge of bullets rained upon them, the teenagers who had been standing in lines at the counter fell to the floor. Some had been hit and were on the floor screaming, while others ducked or scrambled for cover. The police had positioned themselves in a way that blocked both front exits so no one could run for the door. They had hoped to surprise the thugs into giving themselves up, however, the automatic weapons continued to fire round after round and there was nothing they could do to stop them.

  The punks worked their way to the doors, stepping over bodies and grabbing up kids to use as human shields until their bullet ridden bodies could no longer be supported. Stray bullets slammed into tables and walls and ricocheted off the tile. When a napkin dispenser was hit, bits of paper floated like giant snowflakes in the air.

  Time warped to a slowed pace before the police, who had each been hit several times, got off a few lucky shots. Amidst the screaming and chaos, the killers dropped to the floor. The third punk had taken advantage of the confusion and ran out a back door. He was two blocks down the street when the shooting ended.

  As the smoke cleared from the building, thirteen students, including Annie and the two policemen, lay dead on the floor and eleven more were critically wounded. The screaming and wailing of the injured rang in Sherri’s ears for weeks afterward. The scenes of death invaded her dreams, leaving her screaming in the dark night after night. Had she not received the warning, she may have been killed and at times she felt the guilt of having survived.

  Now many years and dozens of similar spiritual warnings later, Sherri was about to become part of a team where others knew of her gift and respected her for it. In fact, they were counting on her to help them discover the secrets behind what was happening up in the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest. For once in her life, her gift could make a real difference for something beyond self preservation.