by M K Dymock
“Don’t cry,” he said aloud in case the others returned, but he really, really wanted to. When he lifted his T-shirt, his young mind was sure to find a bone sticking out of his stomach. No protruding bone, though it felt like one ought to.
He cussed his parents in his head. Despite a few hundred miles between them, that wasn’t something he dared to do out loud.
Three choices faced Ryan: hike up, hike down, or stay put.
Hiking up was out of the question—the planned hike went in a giant circle. He’d never catch up. Waiting was worthless—only one counselor accompanied the twenty or so boys. The counselor was in front. He only stopped to mock and wouldn’t notice one random boy missing.
Ryan knew he had only one choice—hike back out.
Each step brought a considerable groan. He tried to figure out a way to breathe only out of his right lung but couldn’t master that.
The fog descended with a light mist, and Ryan didn’t have a coat. He hadn’t felt cold since he’d turned twelve and his feet shot out the bottom of his pants. His mother said she could feel heat blowing off him like smoke off a fire. His stomach rumbled, but it always did.
With the fog, he lost all sense of distance—not that he ever had a good sense of it before. As long as he stuck to the trail, he’d be fine. At least that’s what he told himself when a few teardrops made it past his defenses.
“I’m eating two hamburgers for dinner,” he said. “Don’t care what they say. Maybe even three.” He kicked a rock more embedded into the mud than he anticipated. The pain in his toe went straight to his ribs. He swore with a boy’s delight that no one could tell him to stop.
The half hour it should’ve taken him to make it to the lodge stretched into an hour. Between the gray fog and dark green trees, the landscape blurred into a bad watercolor painting.
Ryan shivered as the fog turned into a heavier spray. The trail stopped short of a waterfall, its source hidden in the rocks above. “Wish we’d stopped here on the way up. Wait, why didn’t we?” Come to think of it, he didn’t recall them passing it by, and he would’ve remembered. “I stayed on the trail!” he yelled to the empty woods. Nothing, not even a bird, answered back.
“Maybe I went up instead of down,” he said to the dark green forest, so thick with leaves and moss he could barely see a tree trunk. “Must’ve gone up.”
He backtracked his muddy footprints back up the trail. The least he could do was return to where he’d fallen.
With each step, the pain grew, clamping on his body to punish him for daring to walk. Darkness crept on; he’d missed dinner.
The whistle. He smacked his head at his stupidity. That morning he’d won a whistle in a potato sack competition. The little orange piece of plastic wasn’t much, but when he put it to his lips, a small sound did come out. He blew harder. The thick pines muffled the screeching whistle; someone would have to be super close to hear him.
He sank against a giant boulder, leaning against it. He stopped shivering and sweat dripped from his hat brim down his forehead.
The small rocks he sat on felt cold, and he took one and pressed it against his injured side. The cold acted as a sort of compress. It helped some. With his eyes closed, the sounds of the forest retreated.
A distant whistle answered him back.
Mina’s phone buzzed. “Shoot,” she said, interrupting him. “I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to go.” Clint’s wife had given birth; she was officially on the job.
28
With another storm and a drop in the barometer, Deputy Clint Gallagher’s wife had gone into labor six weeks early. Kevin delivered the baby, who had to be taken by helicopter to the closest children’s hospital.
Mina officially went from ski instructor to deputy. Though she’d already been working as one on and off, when she put on her uniform and snapped on the radio and gun, a heaviness came over her. She spent the rest of her Christmas patrolling the roads for partying drunks.
Christmas morning, she pushed open the door the sheriff’s office, grateful that the heat didn’t blast her back. Each morning at 7:30, Sol insisted all on-duty personnel, including the deputies serving in other parts of the county, and the on-call EMTs speak on a group call.
Sol had already dialed the number into the conference line and waited for the others join in.
“Hello.” A voice emanated from the speaker, and the meeting was on. No big updates. A slide-off already cleaned up, the deputy down at the Junction handled a domestic but no one would admit anything happened, and ski patrol pulled a few passes from some very drunk guests, who wanted to start a fight over it. Typical day, Mina had come to learn.
After Sol hung up the phone, he and Mina sat down to go over their own day. He assigned her to patrol the highway within city limits for speeders. “Should be quiet today. Sometime in the next day or so I want you to go talk to your new buddy, Ryan.”
“What for?”
“That group of Bigfoot hunters have made a camp in the vacant lot behind Outfitters. They’ve got permission, but I was over there last night and there’s going on thirty of them, with more coming in. Groups like that make me uncomfortable.”
“They are a bit out there.”
“When you get a group like that, and I’ve seen it with something as simple as family reunions, they tend to have their own set of rules and leadership. Sometimes those rules clash with ours.”
“Like the O’Briens?”
“Exactly.” The O’Briens had family living in this town since before the mines opened and closed and would be here long after everyone else was dead. The family long overflowed the borders of Lost Gorge. Many returned each summer to the motherland for their family reunion.
Their last reunion had resulted in three arrests when at midnight they raced four-wheelers down the highway. Said they’d done it every year and nobody was going to tell them different. Apparently, the previous sheriffs had given up and cordoned off the road for them. Sol didn’t give up, and he and Mina spent every night dragging various members in to be arrested and then released the next morning. Good times.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“Go hang out with your friend. See if they have any plans to go look for Bigfoot and where. As trigger-happy as people can be, I don’t want them on private land or spooking folks.”
“Ryan mentioned a bonfire tonight.”
“See, you are buddies. Use that.”
A dark, moonless night filled the valley as she pulled into the parking lot of Outfitters. She’d made a quick stop at home to change out of her uniform. When she’d worked the fair over the summer, she’d noticed folks couldn’t relax around the uniform. A gap existed between her and the population everywhere she moved.
About five or so RVs were parked in a circle around a large bonfire. She imagined the numbers would hold steady until after New Year’s when life would pull them home again. Several people moved around the edges of the light, carrying mugs or plates of food. Ryan sat on a folding chair, eyes half closed and legs propped up close enough to the fire he risked melting his shoes.
She sank into an extra chair next him. “Hey, your feet are going to be on fire soon.”
He jerked up in surprise at her voice. “If only. What are you doing here?”
“I was driving home from work and saw the fire. Thought I’d say hello.” She glanced around the fire at the standing figures. “Did I steal someone’s seat?”
“No, it’s been empty most the night.”
“How are the feet doing?”
“Kevin said even if they heal, I’ll always have trouble keeping them warm. The circulation doesn’t come back.” He stretched his legs. “This feels all right, but night’s the worst. I’ve taken to wrapping them up in a heated blanket.”
Mina unconsciously pulled the scarf higher over her nose. It hadn’t necessarily been a bad thing sitting in a patrol car for a good chunk of the day.
Ryan stood. “You want coffee or hot chocolate
? We’ve even got cider. Warm you up.”
“Cider sounds good.” Before she could protest she could get it herself, he was off.
Philip, Ryan’s friend, sat on a chair on the other side. “Good work keeping Ryan alive, and in one piece, considering he has all his toes.”
“He kept me alive as well.”
“Not the way he tells it. He said you kept him going when he would’ve sat down and called it.” He grabbed a stick off the ground and poked a log in the fire, breaking it up. “Of course, he tends to take himself out of the stories. That’s uncommon around here. Most of these folks come for the stories, making themselves and Squatch bigger with each telling.”
“I have to ask. What’s the difference between Sasquatch and Bigfoot?”
Phil leaned forward in his chair and whispered, “Careful. Do you want to start a fight?”
“No, I just…”
He laughed. “I’m messing with you. Though that is a common argument amongst us.”
“Is there a difference?”
“Not really. Bigfoot was first coined in California when some loggers discovered footprints. Sasquatch came from the Native Americans. If anyone gets their underwear really bunched up about which term is right, they’re probably posers anyway.”
“Have you seen Sasquatch yet?” Mina asked, pulling her own eyes away from the fire to face the man.
“This trip? No. But ever? Still no.”
“Why do it, then?” She could sort of understand Ryan’s quest, as he truly believed he’d experienced something.
Phil leaned back in his chair, and the legs sank in the soot-covered snow. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Why are we all here chasing something that may not exist? And if it does, we’ll probably never see it.”
“Especially if you’re not sure.”
“The short answer is, I don’t know.”
Mina liked this man, she decided, liked his forthrightness. “Bet that answer drives people nuts.”
He laughed, a laugh that rolled from deep inside him. “It drives my kids nuts, that’s for sure. They keep asking why I can’t have a hobby like gardening.”
“My parents say the same thing about skiing. ‘Why you got to live in the frozen tundra jumping off cliffs?’”
“What do you tell them?”
Mina turned reflective. “I don’t know,” she said after a moment. “Just do.” She wanted to change the subject to something lighter. “You don’t look old enough to have grown kids.”
“We started young. My wife passed when they were teens. When it was time for college, they both went out of state.” Ashes and smoke blew from the fire. They adjusted their chairs accordingly. “Couldn’t blame them for wanting to escape the sadness. I realized I did too, so I sold my company to take a few years off.”
So much for talking about something lighter. “I’m so sorry.”
“It happens. I was always interested in myths and legends. One day I ran into Ryan flipping through a Sasquatch book at REI, and we started a conversation.” He took a sip from his mug. “Told me about an upcoming trip, and I went along. Second I saw those prints, I was hooked. If my kids ask, I rented the house for the winter to ski, not hunt Sasquatch. They’re coming to visit in a few days and should be here for almost two weeks.”
Ryan walked back, carrying two drinks and looking triumphant.
“Ryan, here.” Phillip continued. “His search is more of an investigation and less of a need. Someday he may even walk away from it, if he finds what he’s looking for.”
“Sasquatch?” Mina asked.
“Validation.”
Ryan reclaimed his seat on her other side. “Proselytizing, Phillip? I don’t think you’ll convince Mina.”
“I don’t know. This one has the heart of a romantic, unlike you.”
Mina turned to stare at the man she’d just met. Nobody had accused her of being a romantic. In fact, Patrick had argued she was the exact opposite after she’d responded to his text calling her “beautiful” as utter BS.
“What?” Ryan feigned offense. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You’re here, but a poet’s soul you do not have.”
“I can’t argue with that.” He propped his feet back up. “You ready for tomorrow?”
Mina perked up at the information she’d come for.
“I’m in,” Phil said.
Mina sat straight up in her chair. “Ryan.”
“What?”
The strident tone in her voice took her aback as well as him. She hesitated. “It’s just that with your feet and all…” Who was she to tell him what to do? She barely knew the guy.
“Maybe she’s right,” Phillip said. “Sit this one out.”
“No, something’s out there. I’ve got to look while we can.”
“Not if one of your toes falls off,” Mina muttered. “Where’re you even going?”
“A friend has hired a snowmobile guide to take us into the mountains where there were some sightings years ago.”
“Was the guide’s last name O’Brien?” Mina asked.
“Yeah, you know him. Is he trustworthy?” Ryan said.
“Enough. Just hang on tight to the snowmobile. He’ll get you there in plenty of time.”
The talk shifted as other people joined the fire. Mina was content to lean back and learn what she could. Her cider grew cold as she sipped it.
Once there was a break in the conversation, Mina stood; she’d had an early morning. Ryan walked her to her Jeep, their breath creating a cloud that filled the space between them. “You really going to camp out,” she said.
“You worried about me?” He nudged her with his hip.
“No,” she said a little too sharply. “Seems a little risky is all.” Even as she said the words, she wondered at herself for saying them. It pissed her off to no end when someone questioned the safety of her choices. Like they didn’t think she was smart enough or capable enough to make good decisions.
“It is,” he said without excuses. “But I’ll take precautions, and I’ll only go for one night.”
“Sorry, it’s your business. Have a good time.” They reached her Jeep, and she unzipped her jacket pocket to pull out her keys. “I’ll see you later.”
“Can later be Wednesday when I get back?”
Her brow furrowed. Was this a date or a friend thing? She felt a rush of panic. Was he interested in her? Had she inadvertently made him think she was interested in him? As a filler to the silence, she pushed the button on her keys and popped the locks. Wait, was she interested?
He waited for an answer with infuriating calm as if her response didn’t matter much.
“Yeah, I guess. You do owe me the rest of the story,” she finally said. “Text me when you’re down from the mountains.”
He pulled open her door the rest of the way. “I’ll do that.”
As she drove away, Mina found herself smiling just a little when the headlights lit him up, waving with a goofy smile.
29
Ryan held on with an embarrassingly tight grip to the man driving the snowmobile. Mina had been correct with her warning about Sean O’Brien and his driving skills.
Sean was quick to explain the slower the machine goes, the harder it is to control. “Needs the momentum,” he’d explained, “to really bank the turns.”
Any more momentum and Ryan would throw up. Once he realized he wouldn’t die—or if he did, it would be quick—he started to relax his clench.
They rode for about an hour up snowmobile trails marked with tall skinny poles. Mini replicas of the Cats used to groom the ski resort crawled along the trail, smoothing out the series of bumps the snowmobiles left.
Eventually they ran out of level ground and the trail went up. Sean paused along the side of a mountain and killed the engine before pulling off his helmet, revealing a face mask where only his eyes and a tuft of red hair poked out. Ryan pulled off his own helmet, his head still vibrating from the roar of the machine. The two ma
chines behind them, loaded with Squatchers and supplies, stopped as well.
“The trail gets bumpy and really tight around this corner. The groomers don’t come past here,” Sean said. “If you have a problem with heights, I suggest you close your eyes.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“Sure you will.”
They started back up and the snowmobile crept around the blind corner. Ryan had lied. He now had a very big problem with heights.
The mountain fell away, leaving a trail only a few feet wide and a cliff hundreds of feet to the bottom. The machine itself took up the entire width of the trail, and at one spot, the right ski dangled over the edge. Ryan so wanted to close his eyes, but they, along with the rest of his body, froze in place. As death came closer, he would see it.
This ungroomed part of the trail had a series of bumps and dips left from other sleds. Each time they dropped down a bump, the back track of the snowmobile slid back and forth. Ryan gripped the bars on the side until he realized if the machine slid, he didn’t want to go with it. He tried to force himself to relax, but force and relax do not go together.
Fifty excruciating yards later, the trail widened. Sean pulled off and waited for the rest of the group to come around. “That gets the old heart pumping, doesn’t it?”
Ryan didn’t reply. He dismounted and sank into snow up to his knees, which concealed the fact his legs had no strength in them. Another machine came around the corner, and pride kept him from lying prostrate on the snow offering thanks to God. His relief, however, was cut short when he realized that stretch of trail would have to be taken again on the way home. Maybe they could be helicoptered out, he half-seriously wondered.
They waited as the snowmobiles made it around the cliff: one carried Phil and the other Michael Jenkins, Bigfoot Hunter.
