“Yes, footprints,” responded Grant. Before he could say another word, the two scientists were on the move.
“Nobody said it was safe to come over here,” said Grant.
“I know, but I couldn’t wait a single second longer,” replied Elena as she got down on one knee to look inside the pod. She started snapping pictures with her camera.
Grant joined her. He had expected to see a seat or at least some harnesses to keep the pilot securely in place after ejection, but there was nothing. The inside of the device was completely bare. He placed his hand on the outer casing. Although the sun was directly overhead, the metal was cool to the touch. Grant pushed down gently on the casing, and to his surprise, he saw his hand leave an imprint on it. A second later, the metal rose up and erased the print.
Elena looked up at Hayes with a bright twinkle in her eyes.
Maclean patted Hayes on the shoulder. “Okay, Doc, there’s no way in hell you can tell me that’s Russian.”
“We won’t know that for sure until we’ve had a better chance to study the metallurgy,” replied the scientist.
Elena stepped back and brought up her camera. “David, would you please stand beside the pod so I can use you for scale?”
Grant nodded and stood ramrod-straight next to the ejection pod.
Elena took a half-dozen photos before lowering her camera. “Now, where are these tracks that you found?”
“They’re over here,” said Maclean.
Elena and Hayes walked to the soldier’s side, and looked down at the imprints in the ground. Elena placed her foot next to a track and snapped off a couple more pictures.
“My God, those boot prints are enormous,” remarked Elena.
“That they are,” said Maclean. “Now, can either of you two fine doctors tell me what is odd about those boot tracks?”
“I have no idea,” said Hayes with a shrug.
“Neither do I,” added Elena.
“I’m not a fashion expert, as my boots come free of charge from the army. But I find it quite odd that there no ridges on the soles of his boots. They are as flat as an ironing board. Not the best footwear to have on one’s feet when one is slogging through the woods of Alaska.”
“I would never have thought of that,” said Elena.
“So, folks, what do you want to do?” said Grant. “It’s nearly three in the afternoon. Do you want to head back to town and inform Colonel Andrews about what we’ve found so far, or would you like to follow these tracks for a few hours before calling it a day?”
“We can’t go back now,” said Elena. “I have to see where these tracks lead.”
“I disagree,” said Hayes. “The pilot is clearly still alive and could see us as his enemy. I’m in no mood to get shot by a scared Russian test pilot. It’s time to bring in more people to help with the investigation.”
“Jim, your thoughts?” asked Grant.
“I’m with Elena,” he replied, winking at her. “We’ve got plenty of time before the sun goes down. As long as we’re cautious, we should be okay.”
Grant grinned. He knew his comrade would want to push on. “I agree with James and Elena. We’ll follow the tracks for another hour or two before heading back to town.”
Hayes let out a moan and shook his head. “Captain, please, I’m an analyst, not a field operative.”
“Quit yer griping, Doc,” said Maclean. “Live a little. You can’t sit behind a desk all your life. Consider this a crash course in fieldwork.”
“Let’s go,” said Grant. “Jim, you’ve got the lead.”
With that, Maclean began to walk slowly, following the tracks in the mud. Less than ten minutes had passed before they emerged out of the woods and into another open space. In the middle of the clearing were the remains of a destroyed log cabin. Although there were no visible signs of a fire, the roof and most of the front of the building was gone. Shattered wooden timbers covered the ground.
Grant placed a hand firmly on Elena’s shoulder. “I want you to listen to me this time. You two have to stay here, while Jim and I check this place out.”
Elena nodded, solemnly, and reached for her phone to take more pictures.
Both men drew their pistols and walked toward the cabin.
“Hello, is there anyone alive in there?” called out Grant.
Silence greeted his call.
“This happened only hours ago,” said Maclean.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because the pilot’s footprints lead right up to where the front door would have been on this cabin.”
Grant edged up to an opening on the side of the cabin and peered inside. Everything was a mess. The interior looked as if a tornado had just gone through the home. All of the furniture had been flipped over and thrown about inside the tiny cabin.
“I’ll check around back,” said Maclean.
Grant walked to the front of the cabin, and stepped over an old iron stove lying on its side. He threaded his way through the debris until he was near the back of the small home. There was no sign of the pilot or the person who had lived in the cabin. However, what surprised Grant were the number of destroyed bird cages littering the floor.
“Dave, out here,” cried out James.
Grant pushed his way past the kitchen table blocking the back door and ran outside. “What’s up?”
“I think I’ve found the homeowner,” said Maclean who was on his knees, cradling an old man in his arms. The man was wearing a dirty red-and-white checkered shirt underneath his blue-jean overalls. His face was wrinkled and in need of a shave. He had long, scraggly, white hair.
“Is he alive?” asked Grant.
“Yeah. He’s breathing. I think he was knocked out cold by whoever, or whatever did that to his place.”
Grant looked around. The pilot’s boot prints were nowhere to be seen. A chill ran down his spine. He cupped a hand to his mouth and shouted, “Elena, Jeremy, come here please.”
“Oh, my. Is he all right?” said Elena, when she saw the old man.
“He seems okay. I think he was knocked out by the blast,” explained Maclean.
“That man clearly needs to see a doctor,” said Hayes. “We should stop what we’re doing and take him into town without delay.”
“I think you’re right,” said Grant. “We’ve done all we can today.”
Maclean scooped up the man in his arms and struggled to stand. He raised his eyebrows and let out a deep grunt. “Whoa, this old bugger is a might bit heavier than he looks.”
Grant pointed toward a trail in the woods. “I think that will lead us back to our cars.”
“I’ll take the lead, and anytime you need a break, Jim, holler out, and I’ll take a turn carrying the old man,” said Grant.
Maclean gritted his teeth. “I’ll be fine. Lead on, boss.”
After thirty minutes of bashing through the woods, Grant helped Maclean lay the sleeping man down on the backseat of his Ford Mustang, before stepping back so he could stretch out his back.
“My feet feel as if they’ve marched one hundred kilometers today,” complained Hayes, as he deposited his tired body onto a seat at the front of the vehicle.
All of a sudden, the old man sat straight up and opened his eyes. “My birds! Where are my birds?”
Elena ran over and took one of the man’s gnarled and callused hands in hers. “Sir, you’re okay. You’re with friends. My name is Elena, what’s yours?”
“Joe. Joe Sparks.”
The old man looked from person to person. “I don’t know any of you. Have you seen my birds?”
Maclean handed the man a bottle of water. “Here, Joe, drink some of this.”
Sparks eyed the bottle suspiciously before taking a sip. “Where are we?”
“We’re just over a mile from your cabin,” said Grant, suspecting the old-timer wouldn’t have a good grasp of the metric system. “We found you lying on the ground outside of your home. Joe, what’s the last thing you remember?”
Sparks took a long drink of water. He scrunched up his weathered face. “I thought I heard someone moving around outside, so I went to grab my shotgun. A split-second later, there was a flash of light. No noise, just a light as bright as the sun. After that, I don’t recall a thing until I woke up here with you people. Can you take me back to my cabin? I also got some cats to look after. They and my birds are going to need to be fed.”
“Sir, your home was blown to pieces,” said Grant. “I’m sorry, but we didn’t see any of your pets when we looked through your cabin. They were either killed in the explosion or ran off.”
Sparks’ shoulders drooped. His eyes filled with tears. “They were all I had to keep me company after my wife died.”
“Sir, we’re sorry for your loss, but you need to see a doctor,” said Elena. “I think you may have suffered a concussion when your cabin exploded.”
“I guess there’s no point going back, now. There’s a clinic in town that I go to a couple of times a year. You can take me there.”
“Okay, that settles it,” said Grant. “We’ll take you to the clinic, and then let the police know what happened. I’m sure they’ll want to investigate the explosion.”
“Dear God,” said Hayes, his voice was tight with fear.
“What is it Doc?” Grant asked.
“The lake…” Hayes mumbled, pointing a shaking finger at the water.
Everyone turned their heads and stared in disbelief as a cloud of steam began to rise from the middle of the lake. Within seconds, the entire lake became a bubbling, frothing mass. An unusual orange glow appeared the far end of the lake and grew so bright that it was near impossible to look at.
“Time to leave,” called out Grant. He ran to his vehicle and started it up. Elena opened her door and jumped in next to him.
The two cars had barely pulled back ten meters, when a tall plume of water shot out of the lake and rocketed up into the sky. A couple of seconds later, the water began to rain back down to earth, covering the vehicles. Grant hurried to turn on his windshield wipers, so he could see what was going on. With a loud crunch, a fish landed on the windshield, cracking it.
Elena jumped back in her seat. “What the hell was that?”
“A trout…I think,” replied Grant, trying to keep things calm. Inside, his heart was pounding away.
“Stop backing up,” said Elena, peering out through the cracked windshield.
Grant placed the vehicle in park. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“The lake…I think it’s gone.”
Grant opened his door and stepped outside.
“Be careful out there,” said Elena.
“Not to worry,” he replied, placing his hand on his holster. A thick, humid mist hung in the air. It felt like Grant was standing inside a sauna. The ground at his feet was soaked. Dozens of dead fish lay scattered all around the vehicle. Grant watched for a few moments, as the fog began to dissipate. He looked over at the lake, and shook his head. Elena was right; the lake was gone. There wasn’t a drop of water left in it. Grant stared at the muddy lake bottom, bewildered. His mind was unable to process what his eyes were seeing.
“Now that was something,” said Maclean, joining his comrade.
Grant blinked a couple of times, as if he were in a dream. “Jim, where’s the lake?”
“Dave, that’s not the problem.”
“Really?” Grant’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “What would you say is the problem, then?”
“The UFO. Where’s the friggin’ craft that Elena thinks may have crashed into the lake? I don’t see it, do you?”
Both men stood there staring at the empty crater which less than thirty seconds ago had been full of water.
Grant looked over his shoulder at Elena and Hayes. “A crashed experimental Russian airplane…my ass. I think it’s high time the two good doctors learned to trust us and opened up a little bit more about what’s really going on.”
“Gents, we’ve got to go,” said Hayes, waving a hand-held Geiger counter in the air. “The ground at our feet is highly radioactive. We’ll need to wash both cars before entering the town, if we can. Also, we’re going to need to change all of our clothes and shower up the instant we get back to our hotel.”
Neither soldier had to hear another word. They ran back to their cars. Before long, they were speeding down the dirt trail back toward town, desperate to find a working car wash.
Chapter 19
Robin Black parked her Suburban, and got out. She could see Ellen Marshall sitting on her front steps. In one hand was a glass. In the other was a half empty bottle of bourbon.
“I’m sorry to hear about your dogs, Ellen,” said Black.
“I’d raised them ever since they were pups,” bemoaned Ellen. “They were good dogs. Why did the Good Lord have to take them away from me?”
Black took a seat next to Marshall. “There’s no rhyme or reason as to why these things happen. They just do. I called the State Wildlife Troopers, and they’re going to send a couple of officers to look for the bear that got your dogs.”
“Thanks,” said Ellen, as she poured herself another stiff drink.
“Ellen, do you have any family or friends nearby who you could stay with for a couple of days, while the troopers hunt down this bear?”
Ellen nodded. “Gladys Wright is on her way here to pick me up and take into town for a few days.”
Black smiled. Gladys was the wife of the town church’s minister, and a kind-hearted soul. Marshall would be in good hands until the dust settled. As if on cue, Gladys’ car came into sight.
“You’d best hide the bottle,” whispered Black to Ellen. “Pastor Wright isn’t fond of people who overindulge.”
Ellen shrugged. “This is nothing. I can finish a bottle by myself without even batting an eye.”
“That may be so, but you’d best behave yourself while you’re living under their roof.”
“I guess I should go and pack a few things to take with me.” Ellen stood and shuffled back inside her home.
Black got to her feet and walked toward Gladys’ car. “Afternoon, Gladys,” she said in greeting.
“Afternoon to you, too, Robin,” replied Gladys, as cheerful as ever.
“It’s awfully good of you to take in Ellen on such short notice.”
“Nonsense. Ellen may not come to church as much as she used to but she’s a person in need, and it’s our job to help people like her.”
“Well, I, for one, will sleep better knowing she’s not out here by herself for the next few days.”
“Do you think we’ve got a rogue grizzly on our hands?”
“I don’t know. I’ll leave it the wildlife troopers to sort it out.”
At that moment, Ellen Marshall walked out of her home carrying a small bag jammed with clothes, locked the front door, and got in Gladys’ car.
“I’ll come by and see you in a day or so,” said Black to Marshall. With that, Gladys turned her car around and drove off. Black stood still, studying the woods which surrounded Marshall’s home. The hair on her arms stood. The same as it did when she got the feeling she was being watched. Black was used to being in the woods and didn’t fear any animal which lived there. Her father had taken her hunting as soon as she was old enough to carry a rifle. Something felt off. She shook her head and put it all down to nerves. Black got back into her SUV and pressed the button to start her engine. She had intended to go back to the station, but instead, decided to pay a quick visit to Ronald Deering, as his home was only a couple of kilometers down the road.
The moment she saw the front door standing wide open at Deering’s house, Black knew something was wrong. The man was almost a recluse. He liked his privacy, and rarely dealt with anyone in town unless he needed something. She had never seen his door open in all the years she had been with the police force.
Black parked her vehicle and got out. She stopped at the front of her SUV and called out, “Ron, it’s me, Sheriff Black. Are you h
ome? Are you in need of assistance?”
Silence.
Black reached down and pushed the thumb break on her holster forward, allowing her instant access to the firearm, should she need it. Her heart began to race, when she spotted several discharged shotgun shells lying on the ground.
She edged toward the door. “Ron, are you okay? Do you need help?”
Black stopped by the open door and drew her pistol. She took a deep breath to calm herself and stepped inside. “Ron, it’s me, Robin. If you’re here, please call out.” She walked through the tiny, well-kept bungalow until she came to the back door, which was also wide open.
Black holstered her pistol, shook her head, and mumbled to herself, “What the hell happened here, Ron?”
Black walked out back and looked down. There were more fired shotgun shells. She noticed a set of footprints leading away from the house. Black brought a hand to her mouth and yelled, “Ron, it’s me, Sheriff Black. Are you out in the woods?”
Aside from a couple of birds chirping in a tree next to the house, the woods were silent.
Black followed the tracks until they stopped at an old brick well, from which Deering still got his water. On the ground lay a double-barreled shotgun. Black picked it up and popped it open. There were two more fired shells inside the barrels. She looked around, but couldn’t see what Deering had been trying to hit. Black turned to leave, when out of the corner of her eye she spotted some peculiar-looking tracks in the wet ground. She bent down to examine the imprints in the ground. There were several large three-toed tracks which looked like they came out of the woods to the well and then went back again. Black struggled to identify the tracks. They looked more like a giant bird’s footprint, than any other animal she had ever seen. There wasn’t any sign of a struggle, nor was there any blood on the ground. It was as if Deering had simply vanished. Black checked the time. It would be getting dark in a couple of hours. If she were going to organize a search party, she would have to get back to town right away.
Black jogged back to her Suburban and reached for her radio. “Sheryl, this is Sheriff Black, do you read me, over?”
Fallen Star (Project Gauntlet Book 1) Page 11
