by Nick Thacker
Ben let his eyes drift back to the trail, focusing on a pie-shaped area centered on where the trail disappeared into the sage and lodgepole pine about eighty yards away. There was a small creek just beyond the trees with a hot spring feeding into it that was pumping steam into the air, making it impossible to see anything past it. He strained his eyes, trying to draw the bear into view by force of willpower alone. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up again, and he had the distinct feeling that the bear was toying with them, circling around behind to take them by surprise. He had to force himself not to turn and look.
Then, movement. The top of a large sagebrush quivered and went still. Ben stared at it, wondering how the bear could hide behind it. There was a sneeze, followed by another loud snort, and the bear suddenly appeared out of the steam to the right of the sagebrush, looking for all the world like he’d simply sprouted out of the ground right there. Ben eased the stock of the rifle more tightly into the hollow of his shoulder and focused on his breathing. The bear moved the same way it had that morning, its massive head swinging form side to side, ears swiveling forward and back, nose constantly sampling the still air.
Ben checked the bear’s distance to the burnt stump. Less than forty yards to go. Ben wanted to look at Travis, try to find some encouragement there, but he didn’t dare look away now. He held the rifle steady, keeping the stump in his peripheral vision.
Twenty yards.
Ten.
Five.
The bear paused right next to the stump as Ben felt a sudden breath of wind on his cheek. A moment earlier it had been dead calm, but now a fickle breeze was suddenly swirling around them, not sure which direction it wanted to go, but threatening to betray their position at any moment. The bear abruptly stood up on his hind legs, tottering slightly from its injury as it came to its full height. It turned a bit to its left, chin raised, nose working hard to filter the unexpected abundance of new information it was getting on the light breeze.
Ben knew he wasn’t going to get a better shot. The bear’s right hindquarter was fully exposed, the large mass of muscle there offering a perfect target. Gently, Ben squeezed the trigger back.
The sudden crack of the .22 blank made the bear flinch, but he didn’t run until the dart hit his hindquarter half a second later. He dropped down on all fours, turned and crashed through the brush, plowing through the sagebrush on the bank of the creek and disappearing down the bank in a cloud of dust and twigs. Steam eddied around the spot where he vanished.
Ben’s heart was pounding, but he stayed put, listening carefully for sounds of the bear slowing down. The noise stopped just a few seconds later, and Ben turned to find Travis grinning at him.
His boss got up and walked across the trail. “Nice shootin’. Sounds like he stopped running just past the creek. Let’s just hang here a few minutes, make sure he’s good and sleepy before we go find him.”
Ben realized with surprise that he was holding his breath. He exhaled with relief and rolled over onto his back in the dirt.
“Y’all right?” Travis whispered.
“You tell me,” Ben said, his eyes closed against the sun.
“I’d say you’re just fine,” Travis said. “You didn’t hesitate. That’s good. I knew you could do it.” Ben opened his eyes and looked up at Travis, raising his right hand to shield his eyes from the sun. “I just wasn’t sure if you knew you could do it.”
“Thanks,” Ben said. “Thanks for trusting me.”
Travis pulled out a canteen and handed it down to Ben. Ben took a long, grateful swig, then hauled himself to his feet. “Let’s go take a look,” Travis said. “Get another dart loaded, just in case, and stay behind me for now. Those tranquilizers’ll stop a truck, eventually. With a grizzly, you don’t ever want to get in a hurry. We don’t want to come up on him if he’s awake and feeling irritable.”
Ben followed Travis cautiously down the trail, both men watching and listening. They got to the top of the creek bed next to the big sagebrush and looked down. The bear was laying on the far side of the creek with his head pointing uphill. His legs were splayed out in an awkward spread-eagle, like a cartoon character who’d run full-bore into a brick wall.
“How’s your throwing arm?” Travis asked. He had his rifle in a low-ready position, finger on the trigger guard.
“What?” Ben said, confused.
“I don’t want to go down there and tickle him,” Travis said. “Especially if he’s not all the way out. Toss a couple of little rocks at him, just to be sure.”
Ben slung his rifle and picked up a few plum-sized rocks. He tossed several at the bear, missing with every one of them.
Travis scoffed. “Good thing this job’s working out for you,” he said. “Cuz I doubt you’re getting called up to the major leagues any time soon.” He held his rifle out to Ben. “Gimme those rocks, weenie-arm.”
Ben grinned, taking the rifle. Travis threw three rocks, hitting the bear in the side twice and in the back of the head with the smallest rock. The bear didn’t move.
“Those tranquilizers usually only work that fast on TV,” Travis said. “This old boy must be getting kinda weak from hobbling around on that leg. Probably hasn’t been able to find much to eat since the car hit him.”
Ben watched the massive animal as its chest rose and fell with each breath. He wanted to go closer, but knew he needed to wait for Travis, who was already on the radio, letting the waiting veterinary team know their current location. He asked them to hurry, since he suspected the bear was malnourished and weak.
Travis clipped the radio to his belt. “They’re on their way,” he said. “You feel up to going down there?
Ben nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m good.”
“All right. Stay behind me.” They started down the embankment, sliding in loose gravel and twigs all the way to the bottom. Travis hopped the narrow creek and stopped next to the bear’s back legs. He reached out a toe of his boot and pushed on the bear’s paw, but the animal didn’t respond. “Out like a light,” he said, turning.
Ben was still standing on the far side of the creek, staring.
“It’s all right, Ben,” Travis said. “Come on over here.”
Ben stared for a few long moments, then blinked and looked at Travis. He nodded quickly, then hopped across the creek. Travis crouched down next to the animal and laid a hand on its hindquarter. He looked up at Ben. “Go ahead.”
Ben took a knee next to Travis. He was sweating and shaking, feeling like a bunch of raw nerves wrapped up in a ball of live wires. He had to force himself to extend his hand and lay it on the bear’s flank. The fur was coarse, but soft in spite of it. Slowly, Ben spread his fingers out and ran them through the thick hairs. Travis watched him closely.
As he petted the semi-conscious bear, Ben realized that at some point he’d stopped sweating, and his hands weren’t shaking any more. Where he’d felt dread a few moments before, now he felt calm and a sense of wonder at the nearness and sheer size of this wild, living thing. He could hear the bear breathing, feel its heart beating as he moved his hand up along the ribcage. All the doubt and worry he’d been carrying inside for months about not being able to do this job, about failing his family and his friends, about his own sense of worth and place in the world - all of it just evaporated in that moment.
The animal that had taken his father from him, that had laid bare Ben’s own shortcomings as a son and a brother, and had started him on a strange, roundabout journey to find his place in life, had been very much like this same animal now lying helpless at his feet. Somehow, after all the uncertain and sometimes terrifying things he’d experienced to finally arrive at this place, it was another encounter with a bear that marked the moment for him, and Ben was certain of it.
He was finally home.
Want More?
There’s more to the story. How did Harvey Bennett become Harvey Bennett? What happened after Ben started at Yellowstone?
Turn the page for a sneak-peek
at the next in the series, The Severed Pines.
After that, continue on to the first in the Harvey Bennett Mysteries series, The Enigma Strain!
Chapter One
Of all the poop-scrapers in Rocky Mountain National Park, Ben figured he was the best. Top three, for sure. It didn’t matter that he was probably one of only about three — he was definitely one of the best. Poop scraping, he’d learned, was both an art and a science, and Ben sometimes thought he’d found the perfect road between the two.
Of course, Ben hated poop scraping with a red-hot passion, but he’d almost convinced himself he was okay with his job. As he woke in his sleeping bag, he stared at the fabric of his tent and took a few deep breaths to start the day.
His destination this morning was the privy next to the ranger station below Haynach Lake, one of the most remote parts of the park. Geographically, it was smack in the middle of the park’s sprawling landmass, but Haynach was far enough from roads or visitors centers, it was a two-day slog in and out. Not that Ben minded. September in Rocky Mountain National Park was the kind of place where a slog of solitude proved to be exactly what he wanted and needed.
He’d only worked at the park for four months, and the summer had been much hotter than he expected. At this altitude, he assumed he’d be fighting snow in July and August. But, most days, he could don the uniform of his green shorts and short-sleeve shirt and not feel a chill. Morning and evening still produced frigid temps, but every afternoon felt glorious in the sun.
Temperatures had already started to dip, but Ben still relished the weather. The tourists were evaporating now that Labor Day was behind them. And Ben enjoyed that fact most of all. Being alone out in the wilderness almost gave him a sense of peace. Almost.
At Yellowstone, where he had started as a park ranger about six years ago, there were always crowds. Infinite crowds. Vehicles backed up on the park roads for “moose jams” and casual hikers destroying trails with careless habits.
As a volunteer, Ben more or less had to go where he was told.
A volunteer ranger didn’t get the best jobs, especially ones on the ranger exchange program. So, he was a poop scraper. He wasn’t even the head poop-scraper. No, he wasn’t the guy to come along with the pack llamas to mine the compost. His job was much more menial. He would stir, add bark mulch, and remove objects that weren’t supposed to be there.
The things people dropped into privies were beyond explanation. Maybe he would write a book someday about it. He enjoyed writing, but most of what he wrote was in a small journal he kept around to record thoughts and musings.
Ben packed up his tent as his water boiled. Stomach grumbling, he was ready for the oatmeal now. Lack of sleep last night had made him hungry before the sun had even risen. A light dusting of snow during the night hadn’t helped matters, as he’d burned quite a lot of calories shivering in his sleeping bag.
Still, as he sat on a stump and dropped the packet of oats into the water, he took a whiff of the air and let it relax him. The sounds of a nearby creek rushing along created the only noise in the air.
“It’s going to be a good day,” he said to the quiet wilderness around him. A deer appeared at the top of a nearby hill, steam pluming from its nostrils. The deer eyed him for a moment, and then trotted away.
After breakfast, Ben packed up the rest of his gear and headed for the ranger cabin, a mile up this trail toward Haynach. There was something appealing about the backpacker life; to carry your domicile on your back and put down temporary roots wherever it pleased you. Within the park-acceptable backcountry areas, of course.
His boots shuffled through leaves and downed branches from creaking beetle-kill trees. A trail runner came sprinting by him, a woman decked head-to-toe in spandex. Pretty deep in the park for trail runners, but Ben had seen some day hikers tackle twenty mile in a single day. Eyes forward, white earbuds dangled from her ears as she huffed and puffed along the trail.
He resisted the urge to turn his head and check her backside as she streamed past him. No, this woman wasn’t on his agenda today.
For the next twenty minutes as the trail climbed uphill, he tried to remember the name of the ranger stationed at the cabin. He first thought it was Harold, but that wasn’t right. His brain kept getting stuck on names that started with H. Horace. Henry. Harper. Eventually, he broke free of his H prison and the name William leaped into his brain. William the full-time ranger, a guy with a scraggly beard and thick glasses that turned his eyes into circular orbs. A heavyset guy who liked to chuckle heartily at all jokes and had a penchant for local beers and expensive marijuana.
After another ten minutes traversing the trail, Ben noted the solitary wooden cabin off to the side of the trail. A small, one-room little structure shrouded by trees. Privy about a hundred feet away. Normally, Ben would go right to the privy and do his job, but when he noticed the trail of smoke leading up from the chimney, he thought maybe he should say hi. Plus, maybe William had some coffee brewing — or better yet, some of that amazing Wild Turkey 101 he’d given Ben a sample of a month ago. Amazing because it was nearly dirt cheap and therefore flowed freely out of William’s decanter. Ben wasn’t a whiskey connoisseur, as he typically preferred rum and Coke, but he was never one to turn down free booze, either.
Ben wondered if his desire for a drink or a cup of coffee had more to do with his desire to interact with a human being. Even though Ben preferred solitude, he still could get lonely sometimes. Back at the trailer park where the rangers and volunteers were quartered, he tended to keep to himself, even though he had ample opportunities for socialization. Out here, with no one around, he craved a little human engagement. Ironic.
Ben dropped his gear on the front porch of the cabin and rapped the side of his palm on the door a few times, screen door rattling. He waited for the shuffle of feet on the other side, but heard nothing. After ten more seconds, he knocked again.
“Estes Park PD,” he said. “We’ve heard you have some weed plants in there. I can smell it coming out of the chimney, so no point in hiding it. Open up.”
Ben opened the screen door and knocked directly on the wood, then pushed his ear against it. After a few seconds, still nothing. If William wasn’t home, then why was there smoke coming out of the chimney? Something about it didn’t sit right.
“Actually, that was a joke. It’s not the cops.”
Ben waited a full minute now, trying to still his breathing to listen through the door.
“William?” he said, trying to make his voice loud enough to breach the door, but not too loud. “You in there? It’s Harvey Bennett. Ben, remember? I’m here to scrape the poop. If you’ve got coffee, can I have some?”
Now, he took a step back, since he didn’t want to freak the guy out if the door opened. But, after standing there for thirty more seconds, there was still no activity on the other side.
Ben stepped back off the porch. “Out for an early morning hike? What’s the deal?”
Maybe he’d started a fire and went out to get a little more kindling. That seemed like a reasonable explanation. Ben shrugged and opened his pack to remove the supplies to treat the privy. And that’s when he got his first real feeling something wasn’t right.
The privy stood fifty feet from the cabin, a wooden outhouse with an angled roof and area cleared of brush and grass in a circle around it. Like a pitcher’s mound. For some reason, as Ben walked the short distance form the porch to the privy, his heart raced.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” he whispered.
The privy loomed large as Ben approached it. A cold, rickety wooden structure, not much larger than a phone booth.
But there was something about it that didn’t feel right. Too cold. Too small. Too barren. The blank emptiness of the area tickled Ben’s spine like a ghost’s finger.
Ben set his gear outside the privy and knocked on the wooden door a couple times. “William, if you’re in there, it’s Ben. I’m really hoping I don’t accidentally see
your bare ass, so please tell me if you’re inside this thing.”
No response.
Ben lifted the latch and pulled open the door, and what he saw inside drained all the color from his face. William, the bearded park ranger, was indeed sitting on the toilet. A knife jutting from his neck, his shirt a carpet of red.
Dead.
Chapter Two
Ben staggered back from the privy, his eyes locked on the blood drained from William’s neck. Like a big red scarf all down the front of William’s parka. His mouth zipped tight, his head lolled to the side.
But his eyes were still open, underneath the Coke-bottle glasses. That part bothered Ben the most. The eyes that seemed to bore into a spot on the ground. Ben looked down at that spot, an innocuous little square of land, just grass and a coupe of twigs. Was that the last thing William had seen before he died?
Ben realized he was becoming lightheaded, he was sucking on oxygen so fast. He held his hands out to steady himself as stars dotted the edges of his vision.
After a deep breath, he paused to think. He had to examine the situation. Whatever else was going on, Ben was first on the scene, and that was an important detail. He recalled all the collective knowledge from the cop shows he’d seen on TV.
The blood wasn’t moving or dripping, so this kill hadn’t occurred within the last few minutes. But he also wasn’t frozen, so Ben didn’t think William had been out here all night.
He’d been killed some time this morning.
Ben knew he should go inside the privy to see if the body was cold, but he didn’t know if he could bring himself to touch it. William was dead, no doubt about it. With all that blood, and the fact that he hadn’t moved a muscle in the forty-five seconds Ben had been standing here.
