Kelly walked through the cabins across from the inn’s parking lot, looking from one empty cabin to the next. They’d started off with a full booking, but then word had spread as quickly as the flames in the south; one cancellation after another. A cabin on her left had a broken front window. The glass littered the small porch. Probably a drunken employee having a laugh since no one was around. The park was still completely open and enjoyable, leaving all the major tourist attractions unharmed and accessible. Most people never got out of their cars anyway. They rolled down their windows, snapped a photo, and moved on. Kelly felt sorry for them, people like her snoring roommate. All so absorbed in their own little worlds, unable to take a few moments to take a deep breath and admire the beautiful palette of nature. Kelly laughed at herself, feeling like some sentimental poet trying to convince people of how deep he was. She paused at the trail’s head and pulled her MP3 player from her thin sweater’s front pouch. She put on the headphones and pressed play.
As she did every morning, she began with a light jog. The trail offered some fantastic scenery with a flat and reasonably smooth path. She ran this trail almost every morning, excluding mornings with excessive cramps or hangovers. This was something that reminded her of home. She’d been born and raised in a small town outside of Mobile, Alabama. Behind her house was a beautiful creek lined with trees, a smooth path, and wild-flowers. She and her dog Biscuit, an old Lab now, went running every morning.
Kelly screamed as someone grabbed her from behind, lifting her off the ground with his arms wrapped tightly about her stomach. She thrashed beneath the tight grip and was quickly released. She spun around the second her feet hit the ground with her hands raised and ready to rumble. She may be dainty and sweet, but her dad had taught her a thing or two about self-defense.
“Richard!” Kelly lowered her arms, pressing a hand to her heart as she slowed her breathing. “You stupid son of a bitch!”
“Language.” Richard Cain laughed hard, holding his stomach as he took a seat on a nearby fallen tree.
“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Kelly’s agitation faded with a smile.
Her Southern accent was quite the turn-on. Being one of the hottest girls in the park didn’t hurt either—blonde hair down to her shoulder blades, a perfect tan. Her eyes were deep blue and her teeth were a sparkling white. For Richard, she was the definition of a Southern Belle.
“A simple hello will do from now on.” Kelly took a seat beside him, giving him a hard elbow to the side. “Almost made me drop my MP3 player.”
“Who are you listening too?”
“Mozart.”
Richard shook his head. “Sounds like I did you a favor then.”
“You’re just an uncultured California boy.” Kelly really enjoyed her time with him. He had the most beautiful smile. “Is this your way of joining me?”
“If you don’t mind.” Richard proceeded to stretch his hamstrings.
Kelly smiled, wanting nothing more than to have him tag along. Since the beginning of summer, she and Richard had been flirting. Then on the Fourth of July, extremely intoxicated but still able to form a rational thought, she’d made her intentions clear. She’d awoken in his cabin wearing his shirt and nothing else, but there were no regrets. He’d been a gentleman then and remained so to this day. Even with all the available tail in the park for a beautiful physical specimen such as himself, he remained true to her.
“Well, let’s get going.” Kelly headed up the trail. “Keep up if you can,” she yelled over her shoulder.
Richard smiled, watching her head down the trail with his focus solely on her little running shorts. Long enough to cover her ass, but short enough to offer a hint of cheek. He shook his head and got moving, knowing this was going to be a great day.
4
Joe pulled up to the Old Faithful backcountry office on Grand Loop Road, just sixteen miles short of the Madison Junction. He sat in his truck for a moment, looking down at his hands. The elk’s blood had dried on his fingertips, painting his flesh a dark maroon. Had he gotten so careless that he didn’t even wear gloves anymore? He shrugged off his own question and grabbed the flask from the inside pocket of his coat. Joe sighed, shaking the flask slightly. It didn’t even make a sound. He slipped it back into his pocket and sat for a moment, setting his hands on the wheel. A powerful migraine began marching from the back of his head, advancing to the front to make base camp behind the eyes. It was the booze. Every morning was the same. First he’d wake up with a cold sweat; then he’d sit in bed and cry. This would go on for an hour and then he’d get up for a healthy breakfast of sugary cereal and a beer. The beer had to be ice cold or he couldn’t stomach it. Joe typically hated beer, always had, but he needed something and it was the cheapest in the park. Some crappy, piss-colored concoction brewed in Washington State. Joe lifted his head and looked at himself in the rearview mirror; dark circles weighed down his bloodshot eyes.
“You look like shit,” he told the mirror, wishing to hell it had been someone else’s face.
Joe got out of his truck and made his way to the small station. Immediately he was assaulted by the nasally voice of Andy Lutz.
“Hey Joe, we got a call here.” Andy hurried toward the door, nearly bumping into him. “Sounds pretty urgent.”
Joe held up a hand, his palm flat. “Just give me a moment.” He went down the short hall to the familiar last door on the left. “Need my coffee,” Joe hollered out the door before shutting it.
Joe took a seat behind his desk and began rubbing his temples. The coffee had been a lie. The truth was that he hated coffee, always had. It tasted like burned dirt, but the excuse worked every morning. Andy was a good man and an excellent ranger, but too much of his jittery personality would wear a person thin; especially when a headache was involved. Besides, it was always an urgent call or an important this or that. They were rangers. They didn’t get called out for simple tasks like washing someone’s car or making sure the tourists were smiling. This was serious work and the last thing he needed was a reminder of it. He placed his hands on the desk and looked at the dried blood, all the reminder he would need. Nature didn’t wait for you to curb your headache or sober up. Joe unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a bottle of vodka. He unscrewed the lid with one hand and filled the flask, careful not to top it off.
There was a knock at the door.
“Come on in, Andy.” Joe slipped the bottle back into his drawer and the flask into his pocket.
“Sorry to bug you.” Andy opened the door wide enough to squeeze his head through. “Got a call from Mira down at Old Faithful, said there’s been some vandalism in Loop 39.”
“How is some vandalism an urgent matter?” Joe rubbed his temples, looking at the desk.
Andy ignored his short temper, looking from Joe to the overturned picture on his desk; the one Joe had taken of Ryan fishing in the Yellowstone River when he was just a young boy. “She said there’s some blood on the door.”
Joe looked up with an interest, surprised by the added twist. He leaned back in his chair and turned toward the window with a deep groan. This was going to be one of those days. In a single motion, he leaned forward and rolled out of the chair into a standing position, swaying a bit.
“You up for a drive?” Not waiting for a response, Joe and Andy walked down the hall and out the front.
“Do you want me to drive?” Andy paused with his hand on the passenger side door handle.
Joe glared at him before getting behind the wheel, and started the truck without a word. As soon as Andy buckled his seatbelt, Joe backed up and peeled out. They drove in silence for a moment. Joe wanted to be left alone, while Andy didn’t know what to say without coming off as a nagger. They passed a caravan of firefighters on the right, and honked their horn, followed up with a wave of respect.
“What’s the latest on the fire?” Andy asked, looking up at the black smoke rising from the east.
“Last I heard it was moving rapidly toward the inn, but then again, we don’t ever hear the up to date.”
“Sure would be a shame to have the inn damaged.” Andy shook his head with a heavy heart.
Joe looked at the old man, surprised to feel a smile surfacing from the dark cloud of his mood. Andy may be annoying as hell, but at least he was genuine. It was gratifying to have his sprits lifted, even if only for a few moments. His headache even retreated further into the back of his head, not fully, but at least fading into the background for the time being. He lifted his nose into the air and smelled the unmistakable scent of burning timber. As sad as it was, the smell was soothing. It opened a floodgate of so many childhood memories—campouts, campfires, roasting marshmallows. He remembered one day in particular when he and his son had gone camping in Yosemite and…the headache began moving up. The grinding of gravel from the shoulder beneath the tires jerked him back into the moment. Joe replaced the memory of his son with the call they were responding to and eased the truck back onto the road. He looked at Andy without moving his head, seeing concern.
“Did Mira mention anything else?”Joe asked as he turned off the main highway and headed toward the inn.
“Just the broken window and some blood. Nothing else.”
Joe passed the inn and turned right, slowing his speed to five miles an hour as the road narrowed and became uneven. There were never enough funds to fill the thousands of potholes and torn pavement across the park. He stopped the truck by the first cabin, waving to Mira as she waddled toward them.
“Which one did you call about?” Joe asked as he stepped out of the truck.
Mira hurried over, her chest and stomach bouncing from the effort. She stood for a moment, winded and wheezing. Without a word, she pointed down the road toward the last set of cabins.
“What exactly happened?” Andy asked.
“Not sure.” Mira sucked in a deep breath, her wheezing beginning to ease up. “I did my rounds this morning and saw the broken window.”
“Was there anything damaged inside?” Joe didn’t bother taking any notes or starting a report. This type of call never got solved or had any leads; just a sad part of life. Stick too many young people from all around the country in a small space, add a dash of booze and pot, and you’re bound to get a little destruction.
“I didn’t dare touch the door.” Mira shook her head, her flesh going pale. “No way did I want to look inside.”
Joe nodded, not really sure why some blood was such a big deal. Bloody animal carcasses were a daily occurrence around the park.
“We’ll have a look.” Andy gave her shoulder a good squeeze, telling her not to worry.
They turned from the woman and walked toward the cabin, seeing the glass scattered on the ground, just as she’d said. Joe saw the entire window had been smashed to hell, not the work of a single pebble or a misguided bird. Joe went to grab the knob, but paused, his hand hovering just above the faded brass. He looked at Andy and then back down to the door. The knob was coated in dried blood, so was the door and the mat on the top of the small porch. The door was ajar. Joe pressed on the top corner of the door and let the hinges take over. His mouth dropped as it swung inward.
“What is it?” Andy leaned from side to side to get a look around Joe’s frame.
“What the hell did this?” Joe was startled, a feeling he hadn’t had in quite a long time. He was pretty sure he had moved well beyond the point of surprise, that he’d seen all the mayhem this park could dish out, but the scene before him made him feel like a rookie.
Andy stepped onto the two-step porch and lifted up on his tiptoes, getting his first look at the scene. The entire floor of the cabin looked as if it had been mopped in blood. Chunks of fur, flesh, and even some feathers were scattered about. The walls were splattered almost as high up as the ceiling.
“What kind of animal could have done all this?” Andy shook his head, unable to piece it together. “Why drag its prey inside the cabin?”
“Maybe something was chasing the bird.” Joe pointed at some feathers that were stuck to the wall. “It wasn’t looking where it was going or perhaps was already wounded. Flew right through the window here, then it got devoured.” Joe puzzled over his own line of thought and shook his head. It didn’t work. He knelt down on the porch, careful not to put his knee in the blood, and eyed the front of the door. “This doesn’t add up.”
“None of it does.” Andy put a hand to his mouth.
“No, I mean the attack isn’t possible. Look.” Joe ran his hand over the front of the door. “For my story to work, the animal would have had to scratch at the knob until it finally turned. But there isn’t a single mark. Furthermore, where are the footprints? All this blood and not a single track.” Joe shook his head, perplexed by so many questions, wondering back to the amount of glass found on the porch and the blood within the cabin. First thoughts had been that someone had smashed it from the outside, but maybe something had been trying to escape, and from what?
Andy and Joe both knelt down low, eyeing the porch and the ground for a single bloody paw print, but there were none. Not even within the cabin.
“Maybe it was a large bird of prey and it flew out the window.” Andy shrugged. Nothing else seemed possible.
“I’ve never heard of something like this. Not even close. Not without some kind of evidence being left behind. No paw prints, scat, scratches or marks of any kind. And that other carcass is too small to be a deer or a coyote. Maybe a small dog or a fox?”
The clumps of fur were matted with blood and scattered about without an indication of species or breed. There were no bones; nothing but the blood. Joe shook his head and turned from the porch, removing his hat to let the morning sun rub an answer into his scalp.
“What should we do?”
“What can we do? Issue an arrest warrant for some animal we can’t identify?” Joe laughed and headed back to the truck.
“What was it?” Mira asked from her rocking chair on the porch.
“I don’t think we’ll ever know. Possibly a rogue bear attack. Go ahead and have it cleaned as best you can and we’ll issue an alert for the area.” Joe knew damn well it wasn’t a bear, but better to tell her something than to leave her frightened. “Just don’t let it sit that way for too long.”
Andy gave Mira a wave and joined Joe in the truck. A moment later they were back on their way to the station, both of them lost in thought.
“Poor Mira, having to scrub that place clean as awful as it was. Probably going to kill her back.” Andy shook his head.
“Any news on those missing hikers?” Joe changed the subject, moving in a direction they were both familiar with.
“No, nothing yet.” Andy frowned. Joe knew his fellow ranger didn’t want to think the worst. After all he had issued them their backcountry pass. She was very fit, mid-thirties. He was a little out of shape but looked like he could handle himself. Andy had told Joe they’d taken the required class and passed the joke of a test they offered. But since they’d signed in at the trailhead two days ago, they hadn’t been seen.
“Check the sign-in at the trailheads and send a wire to the other stations. Let’s have a little bit of good news this morning.”
5
“This is so messed up.” Sonia Valentine sat in the ice cream parlor, looking out the window at the black smoke. She had all but forgotten about the chocolate fudge sundae she’d made herself, which was now melting in front of her on the table. A small dab of chocolate sauce had stained her red apron. “Just think of all those poor animals.”
“I can smell them now.” Stewart Olive stuck his nose into the air and sniffed, closing his eyes to savor the false aroma. “I believe it’s ribs
and bacon, maybe some chicken too.” He smiled and elbowed Marco Wheeler.
“You’re such a jackass, Stew.” Marco felt bad for the animals, but what could they do? Not like any of them had started the blaze.
“What a sweet scene.” Stew aimed his camera out the window at the smoke, snapping picture after picture. “Maybe I could sell these to, like, National Geographic or something.”
“Who wants some pictures of black smoke?” Marco asked, laughing over a spoonful of ice cream.
“You two know nothing of fine art.” Stewart zoomed in on the distant trees, hoping to catch the flicker of red flames.
“Whatever, Picasso.” Marco wiped his mouth, looking up from his bowl to Sonia’s impressive cleavage. He turned away and pretended to be looking up at the menu, but when she looked back out the window he went right back to her generous display.
“Picasso was a painter, dumbass. I’m a photographer.” Stewart turned from the window and aimed his camera at Sonia’s chest. “Right now I’m going to take a picture of the best two scoops I’ve ever seen in an ice cream shop.”
“You are such a dick!” Sonia reached across the table and slapped his arm.
Faithful Shadow Page 2
