by Beth Manz
"Suit yourself," Fritz's voice followed him. "I'm gonna head on back to camp." Once again the old man leaned down, and Simon could smell the cigar on his breath as he warned, "But this track is fresh, Captain....I'd watch out for that bear if I were you."
/
/
/
Jim watched Blair where he sat on the other side of the camp, cross-legged on the ground, glasses perched on his nose, cataloguing each piece of evidence the group had picked up throughout the morning. He marked each of his tapes, the hair Stephen had found and the footprint Simon had brought back. His brow was creased in concentration as he studied the odd-looking footprint then placed it carefully inside the backpack that held his equipment.
All the other men in the group were working to dismantle their campground--taking down the tents and packing the gear. They would set out for the second campsite as soon as everything was in place.
Crossing to his partner, Jim crouched down beside him. "Hey, Chief. How goes the hunt?"
Blair pulled off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. "Okay, I guess." He looked at the pack filled with their "evidence" and frowned. "We've found a few things that should make Professor Aldman happy," Sandburg added somewhat sarcastically. "Especially that footprint Simon found."
Jim frowned. "Why don't you sound happy about it?"
Blair looked past Jim at the group of men working to take down the campsite, then shifted his attention back to the sentinel. "Let's just say that I'm not so sure the footprint is legitimate." He glanced at the men again, looking directly at Simon this time. "I think it's a bear print. So does Fritz."
"So why pack it up and haul it around? It's got to weigh a ton."
"Because Simon cast it," Blair said, keeping his voice low. "I know neither one of you really believes in all this stuff, so the fact that he did this...." His voice trailed off as he shook his head. "It really means a lot to me that he cast the track. And Simon's all excited, man. Thinks he may be the first person to actually find definitive evidence of Bigfoot's existence." He shook his head, his lips pursed in annoyance. "So I can't just dump it, no matter what I think it might be. I just can't do that to him."
Jim reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "I understand, Chief."
"Yeah? Well, you tell him and I'll kill you."
Jim chuckled. "Not to worry. Your secret's safe with me."
Blair slipped his glasses back on and turned to his evidence once again. "I know you think this whole thing is silly--"
"Actually," Jim cut in, "I'm impressed with how you're handling this trip. You're doing a great job out here."
Blair looked at Jim over the top of his glasses. "Surprised?"
"Not really," he admitted. "I didn't doubt you could do this. I know you're good at what you do, Chief."
"But?"
"But--we are out in the woods and even you have to admit that you've had a bit of trouble in this area, or at least as long as I've known you, you have."
"That's because most times when you and I have been out in the woods, we've either been pursued or have been pursuing a dangerous criminal." Blair quirked one eyebrow. "Makes a big difference in how I conduct myself when I'm not thinking about meeting up with some of Cascade's lower life forms, if you get my point."
Jim chuckled. "I get your point, Sandburg."
"Anyway," Blair continued, "I've always liked field work." He glanced around the clearing then turned his attention to Jim, excitement and wonder in his eyes. "I mean, teaching classes is one thing, but field work.... Field work is the best."
Jim frowned at the comment, his mind spinning as he thought of Blair's words.
"Hey," Blair said, pulling him from his thoughts with a quick swat against his knee. "What?"
"Nothing. Just thinking...."
"About?" Blair drawled the word out, his tone and his expression letting Jim know he expected him to continue.
The sentinel shrugged. "It's just that is the first time I've actually seen you work. Not teaching classes, but actually out in the field working. And I'm impressed. But...."
"Uh oh," Blair teased. "But what, Jim?"
"But...." Jim continued pointedly, then lowered his voice to add, "it makes me wonder how much have you missed out on because of me? How many trips? How many opportunities?"
"Oh, hundreds, easily," Blair answered without hesitation. Then he reached out and poked at the frowning detective. He gave Jim a warm smile, then waggled his eyebrows. "But I don't look at what I've missed, man. I look at how much I've gained."
"You dismiss your skills and opportunities pretty easily, don't you, Chief? You ever think that one day you might look back and resent what you've missed, what you're dismissing so easily now?"
"Hey," Blair countered, growing serious. "I'm not minimizing or dismissing anything here." He glanced around the camp as if to gauge how close the others were, then turned back to his partner. "Jim, you're a sentinel. The work I do with you every day is in the field. In my field."
"It's not the same."
"It is the same! I've been doing field work since the day I met you, man, and I wouldn't trade it for living in a tent in some sweltering jungle for anything in the world."
Jim stared at his partner, searching the blue eyes for any hint that he wasn't being sincere. "You mean that?"
"Absolutely. You're my Africa or Fiji or Amazon rain forest if you get what I'm saying. I'm in my field and I love it. And what that means, Jim, is that you have seen me working in the field. You've seen me doing field work for five years but you just never looked at it that way."
Jim huffed out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, I've seen you work at something you'll most likely never be able to share with anyone."
Blair shook his head. "We've been down this road before. I don't care about recognition."
"But you deserve it, Chief," Jim pressed. "That's important to me even if it isn't as important to you. You've worked so hard, discovered so much. I want others in your field to know what you've done."
Blair gave Jim a soft, warm smile. "I appreciate that, Jim. I really do. But the only person in my field I really care about is Professor Stoddard. And he knows, man. And some day, when you and I feel it's safe to do so, my books will be published."
"Sandburg," Jim objected, not happy to put aside Blair's future so easily. "That's not--"
"Jim," Blair cut in, "this is just way too heavy a conversation to have out here." He laid a hand on the evidence before him, smiling widely. "I'm supposed to be looking for Bigfoot and you're just distracting me." He waved a hand in the direction of the group behind them. "Go. Do...camper things."
/
/
/
"Hey, Dad, I saw that print you brought back. Too cool! I can't believe you found such good evidence of Bigfoot!"
Simon glanced at his son, smiling proudly. "Yeah, well, that's what we're out here to do, right?"
The men were hiking through the woods again, moving to the location that would serve as their camp that night. Jim and Stephen were just ahead of the captain and Darryl, the two brothers moving silently through the woods, not speaking more than a few words now and then. In the lead were Blair and Fritz. Those two talked almost constantly, Fritz periodically stopping to point out areas of interest to the anthropologist.
Simon shook his head. "You know, son, I have to admit that I'm having more fun on this trip than I expected to." He gave Darryl a stern look. "But if you tell Sandburg I said that, I'll ground you for a month!"
Darryl laughed. "Dad, I'm too old to be grounded. You wouldn't!"
"Just tell Sandburg what I said and see if I won't!"
Darryl raised his hands in surrender. "All right, all right, I believe you."
They walked for several moments in companionable silence. But it was clear to Simon by the sideways glances Darryl was casting in his direction that there was something on his son's mind. His suspicion was confirmed less than five minutes later when Darryl finally spoke up.
<
br /> "Dad, I have something I want to tell you. It's...um, it's about school.... I've made a decision."
Simon nodded thoughtfully, keeping his gaze locked forward. He'd actually been waiting for this "talk" for some time now. Ever since Darryl had announced that he was turning down his scholarship to Duke to enroll in the police academy, the two of them had grappled with the situation on a semi-regular basis--Simon trying to talk him into going to school, Darryl flat out refusing to even discuss it.
But as Darryl had just reminded him, he wasn't a child anymore. So whatever decision the boy had come to had to be respected, regardless of Simon's feelings on the matter. The captain sighed and determined not to overreact; even if Darryl was about to tell him he was going to the academy, he was determined to keep his cool. His son was almost twenty now-a man. Time for him to make his own future.
"Son," he began before Darryl could continue, "I just want you to know that I support you, no matter what decision you feel you need to make." The captain swallowed, then said, "If you want to be a cop, then I'm behind you-"
"I'm going to Duke, Dad."
"What!" Simon came to a sudden halt. He gaped at his son, at the pleased smile that graced the boy's young features. "You're going to...what?"
Darryl stood before him, the smile growing even wider as he took in his father's surprise. "I said I'm going to Duke. I realized you were right, and when we get back, I'm going to call the admissions office and tell them I'm coming in the fall. They've been holding a place for me ever since I turned down that scholarship last year."
Simon continued to stare down at his son in stunned silence, his mind replaying the words he'd just spoken, unable to believe what he was hearing.
"Say something!" Darryl prompted.
"I'm...I'm thrilled!" Simon blurted out. "I don't know what changed your mind but I'm grateful for it."
"Really?"
Simon smiled warmly. "Yes, son. Really."
Darryl shrugged one shoulder, dropping his gaze to the ground. "I'm just sorry I lost the scholarship." He glanced up sheepishly at his father. "Letting it go was a big mistake, Dad. I'm sorry."
Simon placed his hands on his son's shoulders and pinned him with his most serious look. "Darryl, I promise you that we'll find a way of paying for your school. Don't you worry about that, okay?"
Darryl nodded, some of the worry leaving his eyes. "Okay," he said softly.
"Good." Simon glanced toward the rest of their group. They'd moved ahead, not realizing that father and son had stopped to talk. "Hey!" Simon called out suddenly. "Hey, you guys, wait! I have an announcement to make!"
Blair was the first one to turn back at the sound of Simon's voice, and as his gaze took in Simon and then Darryl, a wide grin split his face. He knows, Simon thought to himself. The captain was sure he was right. Darryl must have already talked to Sandburg. Gratitude swept through him. Had it been Sandburg who convinced his son that the university was the right decision? No matter. His son was going Duke, and whoever or whatever had convinced him, he couldn't be happier.
Part Four
The five men stood spread out on the riverbank, their fishing lines in the water, waiting for a bite, hoping for a catch of salmon for that evening's meal. Fritz had left them to their fishing once the tents and campsite had been set up for the evening, preferring to wander the game trails in the forest, hoping-Blair surmised-for a glimpse of the ever-elusive Sasquatch to which he had dedicated his life.
"Sandburg, I've been thinking," Simon's voice cut through Blair's thoughts, jarring him back into the present. "If Bigfoot exists, then why haven't there ever been any findings of road kill? I mean, it would only make sense that eventually one of them would step out in front of a Peterbilt or something...."
Blair glanced at Simon, surprised by just how genuinely curious he sounded, glad he seemed to be taking the subject matter a bit more seriously. "I guess it's because there have only been a few dozen sightings of Bigfoot actually appearing in the road. Most sightings occur off roads."
"You think they sort of...know...that the road is dangerous for them?" Darryl asked, his eyes wide with questioning.
Blair nodded. "A lot of roadside sightings describe them hanging back in the shadows of the tree line, sort of like they're waiting for a vehicle to pass before crossing the road. This really only demonstrates the same pattern of super-cautious behavior they've exhibited in all their encounters with humans."
"But what about remains?" Stephen asked. "Why hasn't anyone found a Bigfoot carcass or some bones?"
Blair peered over at the younger Ellison from beneath the brim of his blue fishing cap. "Remains don't become fossilized very often. And unless fossilization happens, all the remains will, in time, become completely reabsorbed into the ecosystem. There'd be remains of animals everywhere if they weren't naturally recycled."
Stephen thought on that for a moment, then nodded his head. "Makes sense, I guess," he conceded.
But any further discussion the men may have had on the subject of Bigfoot was suddenly banished when Blair felt a definite tug at the end of his line. His eyes widened and he turned his attention back to the pole in his hand. "I think I've got something!" he called out, excitement coloring his words.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Jim reeling in his line. The detective deposited his rod on the bank of the river and quickly moved over to his partner. By the time Jim had moved up next to him, net in hand, it was evident that Blair had, indeed, hooked something. Jim stood at the ready, net outstretched to scoop up the fish that was valiantly fighting the hook and line. "Steady, steady," he prompted Sandburg.
"There he is!" Blair shouted, and within seconds a healthy looking Chinook salmon had been pulled in and netted.
Placing the net on the bank, Jim reached in and retrieved the still-fighting fish and deftly extracted the hook from its mouth. "There you go," he laughed, handing the fish over to his partner.
"He's a beauty," Simon praised, moving up to admire Blair's catch.
"He sure is," Stephen chimed in. "Be prepared to loan me that hat, Blair," he teased warmly.
"Is it twenty-two inches, Sandburg?" Simon asked, eyeing the fish skeptically. "You can't keep it unless it's at least twenty-two inches, you know."
Blair pursed his lips in annoyance and shot Simon a withering look. "So what are you, a game warden?"
Simon bristled and stood a bit more erect. "I'm still an officer of the law, Sandburg," he reminded Blair evenly, "even when I'm on vacation."
Blair rolled his eyes and pulled a tape measure from his pocket. "For your information, Simon, I'd never keep a salmon that was below legal limit." He smiled and waved the tape measure under Simon's nose. "And as you can see, I've come prepared." He turned to Ellison. "Jim, man, can you help me with this?"
"Sure thing." Jim took the measuring tape, waited for Blair to place the fish on the bank and get a firm grasp on it, then quickly measured the salmon. "Twenty-two and a quarter inches," he announced proudly, reaching over to slap Blair on the shoulder.
"All right!" Simon shouted enthusiastically. "Looks like we'll be enjoying fresh fried salmon for dinner tonight."
But instead of the expected excitement that such a remark would have normally elicited, Blair, Stephen and Darryl remained quiet. The three men exchanged covert glances among themselves, then Darryl grimaced and slipped quietly away, back to the tent the three men were sharing. The silence in the small clearing was just becoming uncomfortable when Blair spoke up. "Um, I don't think we'll be having fried salmon tonight," he told the captain.
"What?" Simon boomed. "Why not? Don't tell me you're going to throw that fish back?"
Blair looked down at his catch and smiled proudly. He turned his gaze toward Simon. "Nope. But I'm not going to fry him, either." He bounced up on his toes and grinned widely. "I'm making Salmon Nigiri for dinner tonight."
"Salmon Nigiri?" Simon repeated. "What's that?"
Behind them, Darryl had walked up to
the group again. He was carrying a plastic container of cloudy water in his hands. "It's sushi, Dad," he answered his father's question.
"Sushi!" the captain sputtered.
"Yep. Here you go, Blair," Darryl beamed, holding up the plastic container. " I brought the brine so we can put the filets into it right away."
"Brine?" Simon questioned, still clearly confused by all the talk about sushi. He stepped forward and peered at the cloudy solution, a disturbed expression on his face. "What's the brine for?"
"Parasites," Blair informed him with an evil grin, enjoying the look of repugnance that crossed the captain's face. "Salmon are filled with parasites," he continued gleefully, "so if you're gonna eat it raw you have to soak it in brine for at least half an hour to kill all the nasty little buggers."
"Well that decides it," Simon said at last, clearly flustered. "I wasn't planning to eat any of your raw salmon anyway, but now that I know we could get parasites...." He stopped mid-sentence and scowled. "Wait a minute," he drawled in a warning tone, wagging a finger at Sandburg, "isn't there some deadly poison you can get from raw fish? It's fatal, you know. What if this brine stuff doesn't do what it's supposed to? I'm not letting my son eat something that's going to make him sick...."
"Relax, Dad," Darryl cut in, waving off his father's concerns. "You're thinking about tetrodotoxin poisoning, and you can only get that from puffer fish. Salmon don't have it."
The captain narrowed his eyes and studied his son. "How do you know all this stuff?"
"Blair told me."
Simon sighed and gave the openly smiling Sandburg a look of distaste. "Oh well, of course. Blair told you."
"You're still welcome to join us, Simon," the grinning anthropologist offered graciously.
But Simon took another look at the fish that was about to become sushi and shook his head. "No thanks, Sandburg. Jim and I will take our chances at catching some fish of our own."
Blair raised an eyebrow, turning toward his partner. "You're out, too?"
