A twelve-minute drive took him to the turnoff. He pulled in behind the abandoned truck and left the headlights shining in through the truck’s windows. Joe got his flashlight and a thin metal hanger he kept under the seat. He went to the driver’s side of the abandoned truck and shoved the hanger between the glass and the rubber seal, fishing for the hook end to connect with the lock. When he felt the slack get firm, he pulled up and unlocked the door. Little tricks of investigation; the notion made him smile, feeling more like a detective or a car thief than a ranger. Joe got behind the wheel and leaned far to his right, inches from lying down on the seat. He reached beneath the seats and found some receipts, fast food wrappers, and crumpled napkins with dried ketchup on them. The glove box wasn’t much different; just a thick stack of napkins and Rowena’s insurance information. Nothing else. There were no notes from a jaded lover or maps with circled destinations. Joe got out of the truck and headed up to the campsite. There were a few deer tracks walking through the dirt by the makeshift fire pit, probably after the food wrappers and the boxes of crackers they’d left behind.
“Hunting for night crawlers?”
“Jesus, Andy! What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack?” Joe took a seat on a nearby log and slowed his breathing. “What the hell are you doing out here anyway?”
“I was coming out of Old Faithful there when I saw your lights heading off the road. I remember you telling me about those kids, so I thought I’d give you a hand. You’re not cross, are you?” Andy recoiled a bit, turning toward his truck.
“Heck no. It’ll be nice to have the company.” Joe stood from the log, dusting off the seat of his pants. “Got your flashlight?”
“Always.”
“Good, then let’s take a walk.”
Joe pulled his flashlight from his belt and headed off into the trees, not bothering to take the trail. He had to duck and dodge numerous branches, using his flashlight to hold some up as he passed beneath. The brush thinned out, allowing just enough space to walk hunched over.
“Why are you bushwhacking?” Andy asked, bringing up the rear and nearly falling over a tree root.
“We’ve already searched up and down that trail and found nothing. I was thinking about the deer running off with the crap these kids left behind and started thinking about what direction these kids would be dragged off in. Since their sleeping bags are directly behind us, I figured it’s worth a shot.”
“What do you think dragged them off?”
“Maybe a who, but I honestly don’t know.”
“Wait.” Andy came up right behind Joe, placing a hand on his back as he shined his light over his right shoulder.
“What? What did you see?”
“Something reflective. There!”
Andy aimed his flashlight at the glowing object on the ground, hidden in a tiny shrub. Joe had to duck beneath a thick branch and get down on his knees, crawling a bit till he reached the item. He reached into the shrub and lifted up Doug’s wristwatch.
“What is it?” Andy came up from behind Joe, careful not to step on his leg. “Nice watch.”
“Yeah, but what is this…slimy crap all over it.”
The watch was almost stuck to the plant with some sappy, black liquid. Joe held it up to his nose and took a whiff, pulling it away instantly. The smell was foul. Like mold and bog water rolled into one. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief, wrapping the watch up as best he could to make sure none of that gooey liquid was exposed. Last thing he needed was that staining the inside of his pocket.
“What do you suppose this means?” Andy turned his light ahead of them, shining it into the thick brush.
“Nothing good.” Joe backed out and turned back toward the campsite, walking hunched over until he nearly stepped on Doug’s sleeping bag. “One thing’s for sure, they didn’t just walk out of here. I haven’t the foggiest what, if anything, could have carried them both off through that kind of brush.” Joe knelt down and touched the dried dab of blood. “I honestly have no idea what we’re dealing with.”
16
This had been Arthur Morrison’s dream vacation since he’d been in his early forties. He had pictured his retired life while working day in and day out behind his desk at State Life Insurance, on the phone sometimes the entire day with cranky people. He had given thirty years of dedicated service, coming in while sick or covering for someone on vacation, working his ass off till he could call it quits. And now his time had finally come. Sixty-two years young, a brand new trailer to camp in and his lovely wife, Sandy, to keep him company. He’d spent the entire morning fishing off the banks of the Yellowstone River, catching nothing but the occasional twig without so much as a care in the world. Didn’t even bother him that the sky had been almost entirely black with smoke from the fire. If anything, it kept the rest of the fishermen home, giving him that much more peace and quiet. Fire or no fire, hell, even if the river was burning, he’d still be out there fishing. He’d waited too long for this well-earned vacation and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.
Sandy was not as enthusiastic about their trip. She spent most of the day inside the small camper, reading her cozy mysteries or smoking. Arthur had been very firm on the no smoking policy within the camper, but she figured he was out having his relaxing time so she should enjoy hers.
“If I smoke outside I’ll be eaten alive by mosquitoes!” Sandy had stomped her foot and gotten her way, crossing her arms patiently, waiting for him to give in as he always did.
But that had been their only little blowout of the entire trip. Six days of vacation and only one little tiff was a record for them. Even while driving up from Jacksonville, not one unpleasant word had passed between them. Only a comfortable silence accompanied the wind or the occasional song from Jonny Cash, Sandy’s favorite. He couldn’t stand the man, but he let her have it. This was her vacation too. All he needed was the promise of a beautiful river, wide open spaces, and fresh air. The exact opposite of thirty years stuffed inside a cubicle—gripping the wheel with a smile as he looked forward to seven long days inside the park, just him, Sandy, and hopefully a fish or two.
Now he was five days into his stay, sitting on the small built-in sofa with a crossword puzzle on the table. Sandy sat in the passenger seat, reclining slightly as she started her second novel since their arrival. Arthur looked up from the puzzle and shook his head, wondering how anyone could read with such a dim light shining down from the overhead panel. It would have given him a headache for sure.
“Hello!” a man screamed, banging on the camper’s side door. “Please, help me!”
“What the hell?” Arthur fell from his seat, scurrying back against the opposite side of the camper as if the door itself had gone toxic. “Who’s out there?”
Sandy dropped her book and turned in the seat, wrapping her arms around the headrest for what little protection it could offer her between herself and the door. She held on tight as the trailer rocked back and forth from the ferocity of the knocks.
“Someone please help me.” The man outside began sobbing, his voice tired and strained. “Please.”
“What do we do?” Sandy was frightened. The last fifteen pages of her novel had been too similar to what was now happening. A couple murdered in their summer house in the Hamptons by an unknown man. Maybe it wasn’t by chance that her friend at work had loaned her this book. Maybe it was some kind of warning from a higher source. “Arthur?”
Arthur pulled open the only drawer beside the sink, turning around with two steak knives. He tiptoed toward his wife, passing the smaller of the two to her, handle first. The man was no longer banging against the door, but he was still there. Sobbing softly like a child.
“Be ready. If he comes after me I want you to start this baby up and take off. Got it?”
Sandy nodded,
her eyes watering. She instinctively looked down at the driver’s side, the keys gently swaying back and forth from the previous momentum of the rocking. Not that she would ever just take off and leave her husband to his death, but still nice to know they were there. She turned back to Arthur and gave a nod, bracing herself for the worst as he threw open the door.
“Oh thank you!” The man dove into the camper, crawling up the stairs past Arthur. “Oh thank God.”
“What the hell is going on?” Arthur asked him, extending the steak knife out before him, darting it back and forth in his shaking hand. “Explain yourself.”
“Close the door! Close it. Hurry.” The man was panicked, thrashing about with his back against the far wall, swatting the air as if Arthur had let in a million ravenous flies. “Do it. Hurry!”
Arthur shut the door and locked it, his heart racing faster than it should at his age. He calmed slightly as the man gave out a deep breath, sinking to the floor in an exhausted heap. He wrapped his arms about himself and began to cry, lying there like a helpless infant. This stranger of perhaps thirty, a thin young man, held himself before two complete strangers.
“You’re safe now.” Arthur spoke calmly, lowering the knife to his side as he assessed the situation. “The door’s locked and you’re safe inside. Just calm down.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Sandy asked as if he weren’t there, looking him over like a new species.
Arthur shot her a quick glance over his shoulder, telling her with his eyes that she wasn’t helping. He got down on his knees and reached out to the man, withdrawing his hands as the man tensed up, pulling away. His hair was matted with dirt and grime. Dried mud caked his skin and clothes.
“What’s your name?”
The man looked at Arthur, perhaps really seeing him for the first time. “What?”
“Your name, son. What’s your name?”
“Alex Boone.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, smearing damp soil into his bushy eyebrows.
“What’s going on here, Alex?” Arthur got down on his knees, keeping his tone calm to help Alex relax.
“My girlfriend and I were camping up by Fairy Falls four nights ago…I think, I don’t even really know what day it is.”
“Calm down.” Arthur thought for a moment. “Fairy Falls is about fifteen miles north of where we are. You say you’ve been wandering around for three days? Did you get lost or drunk?”
“It just took her.”
“Who took her?” Sandy asked with interest, leaning toward them in her seat as her fear of Alex subsided.
“It did. The darkness.” Alex looked up with pleading eyes, seeing the only woman he’d ever loved being pulled away from their tent by her feet, screaming his name as she disappeared in the brush. “The night took her.”
The camper shook, knocking Sandy out of her chair. Arthur fell backward, hitting the wall hard with the back of his head. The camper shook again, and again. Rocking back and forth like a bear shaking a thin tree. Then it stopped all at once.
“What the hell was that?” Arthur rubbed his head as he sat up, falling back with a shock as something landed on the roof. “Who’s with you?” Arthur screamed at Alex.
“It found me,” Alex moaned, falling to the floor while cradling his head. “Don’t let it take me!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, pressing the boundaries of a shriek.
Arthur crawled toward the driver’s seat, jumping every time whatever was above them hit the roof. He looked up and saw the center of the roof was beginning to cave in, as if it were reaching down to Alex. Arthur was scared stiff. Never had he been more afraid, his heart rate had been set to its maximum setting, ringing in his ears like a kettledrum. He crawled up into the seat, stepping over Sandy as she lay curled on the floor, shying away from the cacophony above them of twisting metal and repetitious impact. He fumbled with the keys, losing them between his fingers with every hard smack from above. Even though the key was already in the ignition. Finally he gripped the key and started the camper, putting it in drive and taking off with the emergency brake still engaged. He frantically kicked it off and gripped the wheel tight, turning it as tight an arc as his camper could make.
“You’re going to tip us!” Sandy screamed, holding onto the bottom of the seat as momentum pulled her toward the door.
Arthur pressed his teeth together and straightened the wheel, breathing hard as the camper turned back down the trail and up toward the main road. The hammering from above had ceased, leaving an eerie silence filled only with their short breaths and the hum of the camper’s engine. Arthur turned left onto the main highway and pressed his foot down on the pedal, pushing the camper ten miles above the recommended speed limit. The camper groaned in protest as they began an upward climb, taking them above Yellowstone Lake.
“It’s okay,” Arthur assured them between breaths. “We’ll be at the ranger station in ten minutes,” he told them, managing a smile.
The driver’s side window shattered, spraying glass in Arthur’s face. A black arm with three thick fingers reached through the opening and dug its three-inch claws into Arthur’s eyes. The arm withdrew as Arthur pulled hard on the wheel, driving off the highway and beyond the gravel shoulder. They screamed in unison as the camper fell weightlessly toward the freezing water of the lake below. Only a camping chair left at the site and some light skid marks on the highway showed they were ever there.
17
It had been two full days now since Rowena and Doug had disappeared and there was no sign of them. Kelly and Richard awoke early the next morning, dressed, and went to Stew’s cabin, where they’d knocked on the door. They had to wait for five minutes before Stew answered, his eyes bloodshot.
“What the hell, dude?” Stew looked at the sky and squinted, despite the lack of sun. “What time is it?” He stood bare-chested in his boxer shorts.
“Six thirty.” Kelly looked under his arm and saw Sonia in her usual fashion, passed out on her stomach, subtly snoring. “We need the keys to your jeep.”
“The what?” Stew yawned, scratching the back of his head, looking like a zombie.
“Your keys. We need to borrow your jeep.” Richard spoke loudly and slowly.
Stew nodded, the words finally boring through his sleeping brain. He turned and shuffled across the room, bending down to dig through his pants pockets. He returned with the keys, handing them off to Stew. Without another word, he shut the door in their faces.
“Guess that’s it then.” Richard smiled, both of them sharing a little laugh at Stew’s expense.
They drove to the campsite and spent the next two hours walking the trails, circling the site and combing through the brush. They ventured a few miles beyond the thermal pools, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to rule them out. They found nothing; not a single shirt fiber or footprint. Kelly couldn’t stand leaving Doug and Rowena’s stuff there another night, like discarded junk. She got down on her knees and rolled Doug’s bag, tossing it to Richard before moving a few feet to Rowena’s. But as she started rolling it up, she paused, lifting up the bag to look at the ground beneath.
“What is it?” Richard tossed Doug’s bag into the back of the jeep and hurried over, looking down at the partial footprint left in the dirt. “What the hell is that?” Richard got on his knees and leaned in close, tracing the large print with his eye. “Looks like Bigfoot.”
“But what’s that slimy goop around the toes?”
Richard shook his head, wondering the same. It looked like someone had sneezed all over his foot and then stepped in the dirt. It was dark green, on the verge of being black. Richard pulled back as a smell drifted up, assaulting his nostrils. He covered his nose with the back of his arm and scooted back, waving a hand before his face as if he’d just cut one.
“Smells awful.” Kelly turned her head back towa
rd the jeep. “Like rotten garbage or decaying meat. What could it be?”
“I have no freaking idea.” Richard braved the smell and leaned toward the partial footprint, searching the nearby soil for a second, but there was nothing. “Why’s there only the one print? Where is this thing’s other foot?”
“What thing? You’re speaking as if some kind of creature carried them off.” Kelly’s eyes went wide with horror. She turned her head and saw herself sleeping in her sleeping bag, helpless and vulnerable as something crept into their campsite and plucked up her friends like a couple of chickens. It could just have easily been her that was taken. “Oh my God, what do we do?”
“Nothing.” Richard continued to roll up Rowena’s bag, pausing as he felt her eyes bearing down on him. “What can we do? That could have been caused by any number of things. Maybe even one of our feet.”
“And the slimy stuff?”
“Someone could have stepped in something. I don’t know.”
Richard pulled the elastic straps at the bottom around the bag and walked it over to the jeep. He turned and waved Kelly over, but she shook her head. She couldn’t pull herself away from the print. It was too wide to be a human, yet it did look human. A normal person’s foot would have to have stepped in the dirt and then flattened out, like a foot made of Jell-O. It was highly unlikely that her friends were taken away by a giant monster made of gelatin. Kelly finally stood, her hands shaking. She couldn’t stop thinking about how close it had come to being her. She could be dead right now. Her friends could be dead right now. Lying in the woods with their stomachs torn open while some creature ate their intestines like sausages. The realization was too overwhelming, gripping her mind and shaking it like a baby’s rattle. She stood there, unable to move, her body trembling. Kelly looked Richard directly in the eyes and began to cry, unable to control the floodgates. He took hold of her and wrapped his arms about her, placing a hand to the back of her head while guiding her face to his shoulder. He held her, allowing her to cry for as long as she needed.
Faithful Shadow Page 8
