A Solitude of Wolverines

by ALICE HENDERSON

  “It’s rewarding work,” she told Alex. “But it can be sad sometimes. We have a vet who volunteers her time there. She’s fixed up a lot of critters. It’s so good to see them go back to the wild.”

  At last Jolene turned down a paved road that looked like it hadn’t been resurfaced in decades. They bounced and jostled over countless potholes, slowly climbing higher and higher up a mountain. They came to a green metal gate designed to go across the road, but it was open.

  “That thing hasn’t been locked in decades, but it still closes if you want it to. I’m sure they’ll give you a key to it,” Jolene told her. “I just leave it open, though, when I check on the place. People used to break in there all the time before the wildlife folks bought it.”

  They climbed still higher. Then, past a final bend in the road, a lodge came into view. The place was gargantuan, a massive edifice of wood. A faded sign above the main doors read snowline resort. She could see that at one time it must have been breathtaking. Now, though, it had fallen into serious disrepair. Outbuildings stood scattered around the main building, their roofs partially caved in. The windows were boarded up on the main lodge.

  “It’s certainly seen better days,” Jolene said, giving a long whistle. “Cozy, eh?”

  Alex couldn’t bring herself to say anything. She just leaned forward, peering up at the lodge through the windshield.

  “That wildlife fellow should be along shortly, I think. I met him once when they first got the property and turned it into a preserve. He’s a cute one.” She faced Alex. “So what is a group of wolverines called, anyway? I mean, there’s a pride of lions, a pod of whales, a herd of deer. What’s it for a wolverine?”

  Alex gave it some thought. “Huh, I don’t think there is a group name. They’re so solitary. The only time they really hang out in a group is when the father or mother takes the kits out and shows them the ropes of surviving in the high country. Other than that, they spend their time alone.”

  “You should make one up, then, you being out here to study them.”

  Alex laughed. “Okay. How about a solitude of wolverines?”

  Jolene snapped her fingers. “I like it!”

  Alex didn’t want to keep Jolene longer than she had to. “It was so nice of you to pick me up, Jolene.”

  “You’re very welcome.” The woman gazed thoughtfully around at the mountains. “You’re going to be hiking alone, aren’t you?” the woman asked, turning in the driver’s seat to face her, a sudden serious expression on her face.

  Alex assumed she was worried about bears, so she said, “It’ll be okay. They’re bringing me bear spray.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not the bears. There are other things out there, too.”

  “You mean like mountain lions?”

  She shook her head again, her eyes wide. “No, Sasquatch.”

  “Sasquatch?”

  “Sasquatch. I saw one, up there on the mountain.” She pointed out the window to a steep, forested slope, dense pines reaching all the way up to the tree line, where jagged gray rock and a few patches of snow took over. “It was moving through the trees. I’ve never been so scared. I could feel it looking at me, feel its eyes burning into me. So I ran.”

  “You saw a Sasquatch,” Alex said simply.

  “Plain as day. So be careful.”

  Alex didn’t know what to make of the story, but wanted to be polite. “I will.”

  Jolene turned her face toward the rambling old lodge. “The wolverines won’t be the only ones in solitude. Being up here alone’s going to be a challenge. Look at that old pile. And there were a series of murders here, you know.”

  Oh, jeez. Just what I need. Icing on the cake. Alex followed the woman’s gaze to the sun-faded exterior of the main lodge.

  “Years ago now. It happened after the place was abandoned. Some crazy guy kidnapped hitchhikers and brought them up here and murdered them in different rooms. Wrote things all over the walls. He killed four people before he was caught.” She turned back toward Alex, frowning, her eyes hollow. “Restless souls wander that place.”

  Sasquatch. Murderers. Ghosts. Check. If Alex spent any more time in Jolene’s company, she was going to be checking inside every closet and under every bed in the old place.

  “They had some ghost hunters out here a few years ago,” Jolene went on. “They filmed an episode of that TV show—you know the one?”

  Alex knew a few of those kinds of shows, but didn’t say anything.

  “Anyway, they got some EVP in there.”

  “EVP?”

  “That’s when you run a recorder and ask questions. Later, when you listen to the tape, you can hear ghosts answering. Hostile stuff, usually. Angry.” Jolene turned back to the lodge. “Nope. I don’t envy you at all.”

  Alex wanted to make the mood upbeat again. She smiled. “You’ve painted such an encouraging picture of the place.”

  Jolene laughed, a warm sound, and patted Alex’s leg comfortingly. “You’re right! I’m sorry. I get lost in myself sometimes. You’ll be fine! And you can always come see Jerry and me anytime you like. Here, let me draw you a map to our place.”

  She reached over and opened the glove compartment, and papers, a screwdriver, and a tremendous bag of weed spilled out. “Oops, sorry about that,” Jolene said, tucking it all back in. She pulled out an old gas receipt and flipped it over, drawing a crude map on the back. “Here you go. Come by anytime.”

  “I’d like that.” Alex still wasn’t sure what to make of the woman, but Jolene was kind and generous, and she definitely liked her.

  Alex got out of the truck and grabbed her pack out of the back.

  “Take care!” Jolene told her, and pulled away, leaving Alex standing in the crumbling driveway with her backpack.

  As Jolene’s truck bounced back down the driveway and out of sight, Alex slung her pack onto the ground and began to explore. The place had been built in the style of a Swiss chalet, with dark wood and painted panels of griffins and lions and flowers. It stood three stories high, and wooden decks wrapped all the way around the building on the two upper floors.

  A weather-beaten double door, made of heavy wood, was set into the center of the ground floor. Walking to it, she tested the handles, finding it locked. Skirting around the building, she explored it from all angles. It was too late in the season for many wildflowers, but she saw the vivid red stalks of pinedrops, a flowering plant in the heath family that Alex had always loved. It didn’t use chlorophyll, instead relying on a symbiotic relationship with the fungus under the ground for its food. In other places, a few purple blooms of lupine held on in the face of the oncoming cold.

  She returned to her pack, sitting down on it to wait for the wildlife coordinator.

  Above her, cumulus clouds drifted by lazily, stark white against the deep blue of the mountain sky. The high-altitude sun was intense, and Alex could feel how much hotter it was than at sea level. On all sides of her towered steep mountains, their forested slopes deep green in the sunlight. A few of them sported massive avalanche chutes, places where the crushing blow of speeding ice and snow had wiped out all the trees in its path. In a few shadowy places, snowfields clung to the steep slopes. A fresh dusting of snow covered the tops of the peaks.

  She breathed deeply, smelling the sweet smell of subalpine fir. Above her, a red-tailed hawk cried out, circling lazily on the thermals. Moments later, a honking sound brought her gaze back to the sky, and she watched as four trumpeter swans flew by, their white plumage gleaming in the sunlight. Two were juveniles that didn’t have their white plumage yet, still looking gray.

  She pulled out her phone and checked the time. She’d expected the coordinator to be here before her, but he must have been delayed. She checked to see if Brad had called or texted but had no bars, just the icon of a satellite dish with a red slash across it.

  She stood up again, walking around. A friend of hers in college had always sworn by “stirring” his phone to get a signal. She t
hought he was joking at the time, but now she tried it, moving her phone in circles in the air. Nothing. She walked around the building, returning to her backpack without getting a single bar. Sitting back down on her pack, she switched the phone off to save the battery, then suddenly wondered if she had electricity in this place. She owned a nice little portable solar panel, perfect for charging small USB devices, but she’d left it in her closet in Boston.

  Above her a raven wheeled on the wind, landed on top of a tall, thin lodgepole pine, and looked down at her. It croaked and gurgled, making strange raven noises, and Alex was charmed. “Hello,” she said to it, giving a small wave. It gurgled back.

  Above the sigh of wind in the pines, she heard a vehicle making the long trek up the mountain to the lodge. She hoped it would be the coordinator and not the highway murderer.

  A few moments later a pristine red Honda came into view, slowing down as the driver saw her. He was about her age, with tousled sandy brown hair. He smiled as he saw her and gave a wave. He parked where Jolene had and stepped out. He was fit and tall, and Jolene was right. He was definitely attractive. His tawny, angular face was classically handsome, and he wore a black T-shirt under a brown and green flannel shirt. His faded jeans and hiking boots looked like they’d seen a lot of wear.

  “Sorry!” he said with a big grin. “I was hoping to beat you here, get the place presentable.” He walked forward as she stood up. “Ben Hathaway.”

  She held out her hand. “Alex Carter.”

  They shook, his handshake warm and firm. She disliked it when people grasped only her fingers, giving her a weak handshake. His handshake was confident. He smiled again, his whole face lighting up. “We can’t tell you how much we appreciate you uprooting your life and coming out here at the last minute.”

  “I’m happy to be here. It’s beautiful.”

  He gazed around, lifting his face to take in the mountains. “It certainly is.” He nodded toward the ski lodge. “And how about this old place? Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

  She turned to follow his gaze. “It’s huge.”

  He walked past her and motioned for her to follow. “C’mon, let me show you inside. A lot of the place isn’t livable, but we’ve fixed up a couple of the rooms for researchers or potential donors who want to come out here and see what we do. There’s a working kitchen, too—electricity, hot water. Even laundry. I just have to turn everything on.”

  Electricity and hot water were indeed luxuries. And laundry meant she wouldn’t have to wear the same dirty jeans day after day. Most of the time when Alex was in the field, it was just her tiny tent, a cold rinse-off in a river for a shower, and the small solar panel to run her laptop if she needed it.

  She followed him to the main doors, his strides easy and assured, the mark of someone who spent a lot of time outdoors and felt very comfortable in his own body. He fished out a set of keys. Above her the raven gurgled again, then flew off. The door swung open, admitting them into a cavernous darkness. “Hang on,” he said, and vanished.

  Moments later, lights flooded the lobby. It truly was beautiful, even now. Huge wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling. A massive stone fireplace stood in the center of the room, ringed with seating. A bar stood in one corner, and even had bottles gathering dust on the shelves. Some of the bottles still had alcohol in them.

  In another corner, couches and chairs clustered around tables, and along the far wall stood wooden writing desks and wicker chairs, with small lamps on each desk. Two enormous bronze bear sculptures loomed on tables on either side of the front entrance. They stood on their hind legs, mouths open in a roar. On the wall, framed black-and-white photographs showed long-ago guests enjoying themselves, drinking champagne and dressed in costumes for amateur theatricals. The place was charming.

  To her right, the reception desk was covered in a layer of dust, too, with cobwebs in the corners. An old dial phone from the early eighties sat there.

  Ben noticed her gaze. “It still works. No cell signal up here, so if you need the phone, it has to be the landline.” Then he moved back toward the main doors. “Let me just get these shutters off,” Ben said, and went outside. A moment later, sunlight spilled in through one of the big windows as he lifted off a wooden shutter. Alex went outside and helped him, and soon all the windows on the bottom floor were streaming with sunlight.

  “Much better!” he said as they went back inside. “Let me show you the kitchen.”

  He took her through a pair of double doors in the rear of the main floor to the kitchen, a sprawling affair with stainless steel preparation tables, pots and pans still hanging from a rack suspended from the ceiling, a walk-in refrigerator and freezer, and shelves full of other tools of the restaurant trade—meat thermometers, ladles, stockpots.

  He went to a smaller refrigerator and opened the door, sticking his hand in. “Cold. Great!”

  Leaning against one of the steel tables, he said, “The fridge is new. It works and the stove runs on gas. Matches are in this drawer.” He walked to a small cabinet next to the stove and pulled them out. “Silverware, plates are all in here.” He opened another cabinet, revealing its contents. “Feel free to use any of this stuff.”

  Next to a box of crackers she spotted a stash of old fireworks and a package of birthday candles. Ben noticed her gaze. “Left over from an old party, I imagine. Back before fireworks were considered not the smartest thing to set off in a forest.” He pointed to a cabinet on the other side of the room. “That one’s full of canned goods. I stocked it last time I was here. There’s coffee and tea, sugar. Help yourself to any of it. Keep track of anything you spend on food and we’ll reimburse you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He pointed to another set of double doors on the far side of the room. “Through there is the laundry room. Lots of washers and dryers, and most of them still work. I stocked the shelves in there with new sheets and towels last time I was here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Now let’s turn on the water heater.” She followed him again, going to a narrow door on the far side of the kitchen. It led down some stairs to a basement, where a huge furnace took up most of the space. The cellar was dark and damp, most of it in shadows. He moved to a water heater and turned up the dial. The heater looked brand-new. “Should be warm in about an hour. We put this in last year. It goes to the kitchen and the two rooms I mentioned before. The rest of the place doesn’t have hot water. We can’t afford to do that, and there’s really no reason to now, anyway.”

  Ben led the way back up the stairs. “Great!” He clasped his hands together. “I guess that just leaves the sleeping areas.”

  She followed him back to the lobby, then up a magnificent staircase to the floor above. He stopped at the first room on the left. “This room and the next one,” he said, pointing to the adjacent door, “have both been updated. I think you’ll want to sleep in one of them. The rest of the rooms are pretty bad off. Water damage, broken windows. In fact, I wouldn’t wander too much in here at all. There are weak spots in the floor, and in some places, storm damage has affected the roof.”

  And murdered ghosts roam the halls, she thought, feeling a little spooked as she gazed down the long dark hallway beyond.

  He opened the first door and invited her into a spacious room with a bed, a desk, a bedside table and lamp, and its own bathroom off to one side. “Feel free to use the fresh linens in the laundry room.” He ducked back into the hall. “And then there’s this room, too.” He opened the second door. She followed and stuck her head in to see an almost identical room, but with a different-colored bedspread on the bed.

  “Both bathrooms work great,” he told her.

  Having a hot shower was going to be a luxury on this assignment. Dunking into a river in this area to freshen up would have meant braving glacial melt. In fact, with laundry and electricity and hot water, this was the most posh field assignment she’d ever had. Of course, she knew that the rugged terrain and the sheer number of miles
she was going to cover on foot meant there would be many nights in her tiny backcountry tent, but she looked forward to that.

  “Let’s look at some maps. I’ll be right back.”

  He jogged down the stairs and disappeared through the main doors. Alex took a moment to let the place seep in. It was certainly huge, and a little gloomy, but it had a rather good feeling of days gone by, of people coming here to ski and vacation with loved ones. She walked down the stairs to the lobby just as Ben came back in with several rolled-up maps.

  Spreading them out on a table, he pointed out their location on the first one. She caught the barest hint of him, a combination of his shampoo and his own natural scent. It was inviting. “Here we are,” he said. She leaned over to see the lodge on the map. “And this is the extent of the preserve.” He switched the map out for one with a larger scale. His finger found their location on this next map, then he pointed to a yellow highlighted boundary going for miles and miles around the lodge. “It’s pretty rugged terrain up here,” he said, pointing to areas with so many steep contour lines that Alex’s legs already felt tired. “There are a few outbuildings lying around. We’ve left most of them up so bats can use them for roosting.” He unfolded a well-worn paper map. “Here’s a copy of the resort map that employees used to have here.” He handed it to her. “Out there in my rental car I’ve got remote cameras, a microscope, two GPS units, more maps, two-way radios, batteries, memory cards, a battery charger. Oh, and I brought you a few cans of bear spray. There’s also an old truck in the maintenance shed.” He fished around in his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. “Here’s a spare set. Keys to the main lodge, the maintenance shed, the truck, several other outbuildings, along with a key to the gate if you decide to close it.

  “At the top of the mountain is an old restaurant and a shed with some gear in it—ropes, ice axes, that kind of thing. And there’s an old bunkhouse that the last biologist, Dalton Cuthbert, used as a sort of field station. It’s got a generator and should have plenty of gas if you decide to use that building. He split his time between the lodge and there. When the resort was open, the bunkhouse belonged to the guy who cared for the sleigh-ride horses. It’s still in pretty good condition.” He looked at her apologetically. “Sometimes, though, kids break into those buildings. Just fair warning. I cleaned up a hell of a lot of liquor bottles, beer cans, and cigarette butts from that restaurant at the top of the old gondola track.”