Natural Selection

by Dave Freedman

  Jason pivoted. “What would a redwood look like after a bear had climbed up it?”

  Near a few huge suitcases they’d lugged off the boat, Phil cleared his throat. “Torn to bits. I know so from my fire-ranger days. Redwoods have very tough inner heartwood, but their bark is incredibly delicate. You’d be amazed—you can flake it off with your bare hands.”

  Jason stared at the man he no longer trusted. “So you’d know if a bear had climbed up a redwood?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “All right. When do you want do this, Darryl?”

  “Now.”

  “Now?” Jason looked around. “At night?”

  Darryl removed a map from the back of his khaki shorts. “I know exactly how to get there. And for those of you prone to the jitters . . .” He grabbed a rifle. “Let’s go.”

  MONIQUE COULDN’T believe the size of it. The tree was monstrous, even for a redwood. With a cornfield and the moon behind it, she made it out in silhouette. The tree reminded her of a Manhattan skyscraper, forty stories high, as straight as a steel bar and so big around that a car could drive through it. As she craned her neck up, she literally couldn’t see the top of it. “Could a bear actually climb this thing?”

  Craig turned on a flashlight. “Let’s see.”

  A small golden circle illuminated and shifted to the tree. The bark was thick, fibrous, and filled with crisscrossing four-inch-deep grooves. Craig scanned the redwood from the roots to several feet above his head. “Not a mark on it.” He methodically circled the entire perimeter. Nothing. “This bark hasn’t been touched.”

  Darryl gently rubbed it with his fingers. Just as Phil had said, small pieces of bark flaked off right in his hand. “You’d know if a squirrel climbed this thing.” He grabbed Craig’s flashlight and studied the tree himself, carefully circling it. “No bear or mountain lion’s been anywhere near here.” His eyes drifted to the cornstalks . . . then to the dark looming mountains beyond.

  Jason noticed him staring. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Wondering where it is. Where it is right now.”

  “Maybe back in the ocean.” Monique walked out of the shadows behind them. “Or another part of the forest. Or maybe we’ve got it all wrong, and it’s not here at all.”

  Darryl continued to stare at the mountains. “Let’s get our stuff and go to the cabin.”

  “KNOCK ON wood, my financial problems are solved, Jason. I came up with a plan to raise additional capital, and the bank just called to OK it. Right before you called actually.”

  On his phone in the SUV’s passenger seat, Jason nodded. “Must have been a good omen I got through, then, Harry.” On the first try no less.

  Ackerman hoped so. He’d been working on this plan for months, and now it was finally paying off. If it actually did, he’d soon be able to harvest his reputation as a world-class businessman and naturalist. Naturalist. Ackerman just loved the word. While the $2,500-a-head Union Club cancer benefit in New York had already passed, the spring galas for the new cause du jour would soon be sprouting up everywhere, and Ackerman hoped he’d have something substantial to discuss. “What’s the latest with our new species?”

  As they pulled into the park’s massive lit-up parking lot, Jason outlined the day’s drama.

  When he finished, Ackerman paused. “So let me understand this . . . you think the species you’ve been trailing might have something to do with this missing jogger?”

  Everybody got out of the car. “I know it sounds a little out there, Harry, but we couldn’t explain what happened to him and neither could the rangers.”

  “It does sound a little out there, but you’re the guy with your feet on the ground. I’ll support whatever you want to do, Jason. Although . . . I wouldn’t mind getting some more details on your plans, especially since it’s been so hard to talk because of the poor phone service. Can we meet in person?”

  “Sure.” As the others lugged bags out, Jason followed them toward the cabin. “Will you be in the neighborhood?”

  “I’ll be in San Francisco soon.”

  “That’s not exactly the neighborhood, Harry.”

  “Actually, I’ll be testing a yacht I’ve been thinking about buying, and I can take it pretty much anywhere. How about the docks in Eureka? Say four days at . . . three P.M.?”

  Jason paused. Eureka? Making that trip from San Francisco would take time, but if Ackerman wanted to do it, Jason could certainly take the Expedition to meet him. “Sure, Harry, that would be fine.” He followed Craig through a deserted campground to the cabin’s porch. “So I’ll look forward to seeing y—”

  The line cut out.

  “Harry? Harry?”

  The line was dead. Jason redialed but got nothing. Then he noticed Phil, huffing toward him with a zippered suitcase big enough to clothe a family of four for a month. “Man, does Lisa have a lot of clothes.”

  Jason chuckled, but Phil was serious. “I really shouldn’t be doing this, you know.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m busy, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Gimme a break.”

  “Whatever. Did I hear you’re meeting Ackerman?”

  “In four days.”

  Phil heaved up the suitcase again. “You gonna type up your notes later?”

  “If it’s all right with you.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Phil lugged the bag onto the porch. Watching him, Jason decided he had to get his own laptop. He didn’t want to rely on Phil Martino for anything anymore.

  Then Craig huffed closer, straining mightily with another enormous bag. “Man, does Lisa have a lot of clothes.” Jason chuckled as Craig put the bag on the porch. Then the two of them returned to the parking lot. Lisa had more clothes. Just before they reached the macadam, however, Craig paused at the storage shed. “I wonder what’s in here. . . .”

  As he walked in, Jason noticed Darryl, by himself and looking out at the dark forest. “What’s up, Darryl?”

  “Just realizing how much land’s really up here.”

  “It’s not going to be easy to find it, is it?”

  “I’m not gonna believe what ‘it’ is until I see it with my own eyes.”

  “How are we going to do it?”

  “With all this land, I honestly don’t know.”

  “I know,” a voice said from behind them.

  They turned. It was Craig. “I know exactly how we’ll find it.” He pointed to the shed. “The answer’s right in there.”

  CHAPTER 65

  “WHAT’S ‘THERMAL imaging equipment,’ Craig?” At the shed, Summers had simply said that the shed held thermal imaging equipment and that they’d use it to find the creature but without explaining what the equipment was or how it worked.

  Craig didn’t answer Jason as the two entered the rangers’ cabin. He had something else on his mind. “Look at this place. . . .” To Craig’s surprise, it actually looked very nice, almost like a ski lodge: beamed ceilings, an enormous brick fireplace with a raised hearth for sitting, well-worn brown leather couches with matching easy chair.

  Lisa exited a hallway. “Five bedrooms are back there. Also a fully stocked fridge and freezer in the kitchen.”

  Craig noticed a firewood supply big enough to survive a winter in Alaska. Then he peered out a window and surveyed outside. Beyond the covered porch was a campground—a dozen wood tables, steel garbage cans, a swing set—beyond that the storage shed, and farther, the massive parking lot, lit up like a baseball stadium at night.

  “Craig, what’s thermal imaging equipment?”

  “Oh.” Summers turned. “I’ve never worked with it myself, but fire rangers use it to measure heat when they’re doing prescribed burns. You’re familiar with it, right, Phil?”

  Seated on the easy chair, Phil nodded.

  Jason remained focused on Craig. “How does it help us here?”

  “By letting us see what’s out there. Day or night. It works by using differences in temperature
gradients to create an image.”

  “English, Craig.”

  “Basically, it’s night vision. Air is one temperature. Bodies—human, animal, whatever—are another. A thermal camera creates an image by using the difference. It’s easy to set up. Basically a camera on a tripod, so we can put it wherever we want. There are twenty cameras in that shed, so if nothing else, we can set some up near the area where we found the body and see if anything returns to the scene of the crime. And since they’ve got a monitor that reads the signals remotely, we don’t even have to leave the cabin. Between that and the radar, we’ll get a great look at what’s going on out there.”

  Impressed, Jason turned to Darryl. “What do you think?”

  “Not much.”

  “Really?” Jason shrugged. “It sounds like a good idea to me.”

  “Then do it.” Darryl walked to a window. “It’s technology hunting. Scopes, radar, GPS—it’s not my thing. I just wasn’t raised with all that crap. What are you gonna do when it doesn’t turn up anything, Craig?”

  Summers quietly seethed. “Shut up, Darryl. You don’t know it’s not gonna turn up any—”

  “For the sake of argument, let’s say it doesn’t.” Darryl said this with utter confidence, like it was as certain as the sun rising. “What are you gonna do, then? Go out there and look for it?”

  “Of course. We all will.”

  “You’re gonna lead us, then?”

  Craig paused nervously. “What?”

  “You heard me. Are you gonna lead us? Are you experienced hunting wild animals? Comfortable tracking, locating, and killing them?”

  “Well . . .”

  “Because I am experienced. I’ve spent a large part of my life doing it. And I’m not gonna waste our time on some random search.”

  “What ‘random search’? And what do you mean, ‘waste our time’? We have all the time in the world.”

  “Not what I’m talking about. I don’t want to burn our energy, blunt the knife before we even get a chance to use it.”

  “What do you mea—”

  “We’ll get tired. As simple as that is, it happens all the time. You realize how big this forest is? Try a few hundred square miles, junior. We go out there looking around, we could go for days without seeing anything. We wouldn’t just get tired; we’d get exhausted. But we’d be out there. Then, when we really needed it . . . We’d get slaughtered. And I’m not jeopardizing my safety, my wife’s safety—even your safety, Craig. When I step out to hunt, there’s only one way. Guns loaded and ready to kill.”

  “And I’m going out there to play hopscotch?” Craig shook his head. “Lisa, Jason, Phil. Tomorrow we’ll set up the equipment then practice shooting.” He gave Darryl a look. “We’ll be guns loaded and ready to kill, too. In the meantime”—he sat—“I’m exhausted. Anybody up for a fire?”

  Minutes later, they sat in front of a huge blaze with mugs of cocoa. The cocoa was the cheap watery stuff with fake marshmallows, but it still tasted good. They all relaxed. Even Jason. Staring at the flames, he was mesmerized. “I can’t remember the last time I was in front of a fire.” Neither could anyone else. They all just looked at the fire, drinking their cocoa, and savoring the rare homey feeling they’d all missed for so long.

  Darryl was the least relaxed of everyone. He gazed at the flickers of yellow and gold with particular interest, watching as a steady stream of smoke ascended. . . . Carried by convection currents, the smoke rose beyond his sight, into a flue then out the chimney, emerging into the cool night air. There was no wind, so the smoke drifted farther, wafting up along a redwood trunk. It continued straight up, passing the tree’s upper branches, then went higher still, and filtered through the evergreen leaves. Continuing, the smoke filtered into the sky then finally went still, taking on an eerie hue from the glowing moon above.

  The only sound was from the distant rolling ocean.

  But then there was a second sound, a natural sound that merged into the first.

  Breathing. Calm, even, and deep. Gliding silently, the winged body blew the smoke away. The animal tilted its head and studied the stream of white drifting up from the chimney below, tuning in to the signals inside. The creature wouldn’t attack them. It simply tuned to their heartbeats and listened to them breathe. Then it tilted a wing and glided toward the looming mountains in the distance. It disappeared gradually. The smoke was gone as well. All that remained were the sounds of the ocean and the silent, watching moon.

  THE MOON. In the cabin, Darryl stared at it through the window. As the others slept in front of the crackling fire, he couldn’t help but wonder. Is something out there? He didn’t know if his Indian mysticism was getting the best of him again, but . . . He went to his room and grabbed a rifle, not bothering with the bow and arrow now; he just wanted something quick. Back to the front door, he was careful not to wake anyone but . . .

  “What are you doing?” Monique’s eyes locked on the rifle.

  “I just want to check around a little.”

  “By yourself? At night?”

  “I think something might be out there. I just want to—”

  “I don’t want you to going, Darryl.” Her eyes were wet. “You understand me?”

  “I’m just gonna look around; that’s it.”

  She looked like she was going to cry. “I said I don’t want you to.”

  “I have to. I need to.”

  “You do not need to. Please don’t lie to me about this.”

  A line had just been crossed. “Have I ever lied to you? One time since the night we got married?”

  She suddenly looked guilty. “Of course not.”

  He touched her cheek. “Best night of my life.”

  She turned away. She didn’t want to hear this now.

  “Let me go.”

  “Why? Why do you want to so badly?”

  “To look around. That’s it. Get a sense of things. Like my grandfather taught me.” He glanced at the others, sleeping and lost in their dreams. “OK?”

  She didn’t want to, but she had to. “Go.”

  He kissed her on the lips. “I love you. And I promise I’ll be fine.”

  “I love you, too.” She couldn’t say anything else.

  As her husband walked out the door, Monique Hollis wondered if she’d ever see him again.

  CHAPTER 66

  ON THE porch, broken strands of moonlight shone into Darryl Hollis’s eyes. The night air was clean, dark, and cold. He entered the desolate campground slowly, just watching and listening to the sounds of the nearby forest, birds and chipmunks chirping and chittering. He wasn’t sure—he was very out of practice—but he didn’t think anything dangerous was here now. Though it might have been recently. Holding the rifle loosely, he walked into the trees and didn’t turn back, the cabin’s diffused golden light slowly disappearing.

  The shadows engulfed him. He continued for several minutes until he emerged into a clearing, the top of his head illuminated by a ghostly pale white light. He just stood there breathing, slowly, calmly, deeply. He focused on an enormous tree, a branchless shaft of wood that climbed straight into the sky. A pair of squirrels scampered past, and he followed them with his eyes. Nothing dangerous was here now; he was sure of it. He didn’t move. He just stood, watched, and waited.

  “MONIQUE?” LISA knocked on the Hollises’ bedroom at 7:50 A.M. No one answered, so she pushed it open. “Oh, excuse me.”

  In black sweats and a gray tank top, Monique was on the floor, covered in sweat and doing rapid push-ups.

  Lisa turned to go.

  “Stick around,” Monique ordered through deep breaths.

  Lisa did. She couldn’t help but notice the woman’s flexing muscles. Boy, she’s ripped! And intense. Lisa knew Monique’s background, of course—former ROTC and active duty in the army—but in all the time she’d known her, she’d never seen this side of her. She’d always thought of Monique Hollis as tall and elegant yet totally down-to-earth. But watching her now�
��her eyes. There was no fashion model behind those eyes, no vapid insecurity of any kind. Monique was a different person—tough, even brutal.

  She ripped off forty more push-ups and smiled, suddenly her old friendly self again. “Hey, Lisa.” She stood. “Didn’t mean to scare you; just doing a little morning exercise.”

  “You been doing this for a while?”

  Monique wiped her face with a fluffy white hand towel. “I took a month off actually; just getting back into it.” She’d started the previous night, right before Darryl returned to the cabin.

  Lisa eyed her muscular arms. “Look at you! You’re a total roughneck!”

  “Darryl’s a lot rougher, believe me.”

  “How come you’re getting back into it now?”

  Monique’s relaxed demeanor disappeared. “Did you see that jogger?”

  Lisa paused. “Of course.”

  “There’s your answer.”

  Lisa noticed a serrated hunting blade strapped to her calf. “You’re not taking any chances, are you?”

  “Are you, Lisa?”

  Another pause. “I didn’t think so. I’m about to do some rifle practice with Craig. What are you up to?”

  “Checking the forest with Darryl. Showering now. See you out there.”

  Lisa walked to the door.

  “Oh, and Lisa?”

  She turned back. “Yeah.”

  “Practice hard.”

  “NICE SHOT, Lisa!”

  It was just after eleven in the parking lot and they’d been shooting for hours, their targets—empty plastic water jugs—on top of a spindly-legged table.

  Jason and Phil had already shot, and Craig thought their progress was respectable. But Lisa’s progress was nothing short of stunning. She had taken to shooting like a fish to water. She fired again. Bam! One jug down. Bam! A second. Bam! A third. She was very accurate. And she paid attention. No matter what the directive, she needed to hear it only once. How to hold the rifle. How to load it. How to unload it. How to deal with the recoil.

  And her attitude was suddenly fantastic. Craig didn’t know what change had taken place in her psyche, but it was sure as hell something. He could see it in her eyes: she knew there was a deadly animal out there, and she had no intention of getting killed by it. With a rifle in her hand, Lisa Barton didn’t look like a dark-haired damsel in distress at all. She looked like a killer.