Ally Oop Through the Ulysses Trees

by Lenny Everson

  "Depends, I suppose." Darkh put his credit card on the bill to pay for Olnya and Gabe too. "Does it involve ghosts or space aliens?"

  "International spies kidnapping Canadian spies. Not sure about the others."

  "Well, it's going to be quiet here until sunset, so I'll maybe give it a try."

  Which is how the three found themselves walking down the small streets of Ward's Island, singing out loud, "The Shadow of Your Smile." Gabe merely raised his eyebrows when Darkh used his cell phone to call up the lyrics and a sample of the tune. It started to rain, lightly.

  They got no response on Ward's Island, and no one even looked at them except a sad-looking group on the lawn of a corner cottage. When they'd passed the group, Gabe turned to Darkh. "There's something unhuman about the people we just passed."

  Darkh turned for a quick look. "Ghosts? Zombies like you?"

  "No. I'm not sure, but they're different. Out in the prairies, we'd wonder if they were windigoes pretending to be humans. Isn't that right, Olnya?"

  She smiled. "A lot of people nowadays have devils inside them, or a monkey on their backs."

  "In every shining city, there are dark corners?"

  "Something like that." She laughed and danced on ahead, spinning and walking backwards for a bit in the rain.

  By the time they got to Algonquin Island, Darkh was sure the police were bound have been called to deal with three apparent drunks. But they were only halfway down Dakotah Street when Gabe abruptly raised his hand to call a stop. There was a moment of silence, then he pointed to the closest house.

  "You heard something?" Darkh hadn't heard a sound.

  Gabe nodded.

  "Now what?" Darkh asked. Olnya just smiled.

  ***

  Cope, tied up in the basement of the house on Dakotah Street, twisted and kicked over another shelf. Patricia opened the basement door of her CIA safe house and looked to see if he wanted to use the bucket again. It didn't look liked that was his problem, so she just scowled at him, then closed the door as someone began banging on the front door of the house.

  Hearing another noise, Cope looked up as a boot came through a basement window, and a bearded man in a buckskin jacket slid, feet-first, into the room.

  Patricia was still trying to make sense of what the dapper man with the smiling woman on her step were trying to tell her about earthquakes and squid, when she heard a noise in the kitchen. She looked around as her former hostage, accompanied by a stranger in a cowboy hat, pushed past her.

  "Ah," Patricia said, "Hostage rescue!" She finally smiled. "About freakin' time. Have a good day." She closed the door, and went back into her house, still trying to figure out who'd authorized the whole hostage thing in the first place. And what to do next.

  Cope and his three rescuers, quite wet from a cold autumn rain, took the next ferry back to the mainland and a taxi back to Darkh's hotel. Somewhere in the lobby, Olnya vanished. In Darkh's hotel room, Cope called Ottawa. He probably should have called Jag, too, and Paula. But he didn't.

  ****

  Popham Bay

  High Bluff Island

  Two Days after Button Day

  The day came to the Daniels with a few gusts of wind and scattering of rain that rattled on the upturned aluminum boat. The two hgkpphtitrw (in their shivering hosts) had spent the night under the boat, well back in the little grove of trees and the hull covered with brush. They'd turned the metabolism of their hosts bodies down as far as they dared, and pumped out few shots of serotonin that left both humans with silly grins.

  "How was I to know you were celebrating interstellar stupidity day?" Jack asked. He stared out across the bay towards the cottage they'd abandoned the evening before.

  "You're the one that had it last, you know," Jim said. His host kept on smiling, his eyes focused on the brush ahead. Two of the herd of small High Bluff Island deer poked their noses through the waving brush, then turned and ran.

  "Should we go back and get it?"

  "We have a choice? What are we going to tell the others when they get here?"

  "We don't need it. Humans might never discover the secret. Especially if we set them back by changing the climate." Jack obviously wasn't going to volunteer.

  "They're bound to get past quantum sooner or later."

  "That doesn't mean they'll discover the Horf – lots of civilizations never do."

  "All it takes is one kid fiddling around with a Passive Thorium Enabler in the area and he'll zero in on the rock. After that…." Jim had always been pessimistic.

  "We can be back here before that happens."

  "In a cage, if anyone finds out. Then it's game over ten minutes after recovery."

  "I suppose. But how? Those two guys spooked me."

  "We can wait till this evening, I guess. Humans aren't likely to do anything with it. It looks like a rock to them. As long as they don't throw it away there shouldn't be a problem finding it."

  "Assuming our quick exit didn't make anybody suspicious."

  "Why would anybody be suspicious? What's the chance that Alien Hunters International is on to us?"

  There was a long silence as the squall passed. They waited out the day, eating out of the cans of food they'd brought.

  The Daniels couldn't see the near shore of the park, where Clyde Books was standing by the water's edge watching High Bluff Island with binoculars. Eventually, the alien hunter drove into Frankford and borrowed a squareback canoe and a small motor from a cousin. He never mentioned that he planned to take it onto Lake Ontario.

  ****

  Brighton

  Jag's Place, on a hill.

  Two Days after Button Day

  "I'm worried about Tom," Laura said, somewhere about midnight.

  "I wonder if I'm still in love with Tammy," Jag said, "or if I'm simply trying to get my life back."

  "Your old life? Maybe it's gone. And we should have heard from Cope by now, shouldn't we? Tom may be sleeping in the woods for all I know, but Cope said he'd tell you what he found, and how long would that take?" Laura rolled out of the bed and got a drink of water.

  "If your mate dies," Jag said, "there are bittersweet memories. I talked to the widows of guys that got killed in the war. It's like that."

  Laura was waking up a bit, although it was way past her bedtime. "But if your mate leaves you? I know about that."

  "All the memories are bitter. There's no sweet left. a part of your life just disappears. Just a big pit of pain. Memories of the bad times are better than memories of the good times. The world's upside down."

  "Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt. I know Tom won't answer his phone, but can't you phone Cope?" Laura stared at the ceiling.

  "What if he's keeping hidden somewhere? Knew a guy in Afghanistan who got it when his cell phone went off while he was sneaking up on the bad guys. Served him right; he shouldn't have had it with him. It's the betrayal. I can see her point but I can't. In war you stand with your buddy and worry about right and wrong after the war's over."

  "She didn't stand with you. But if you take her back, if she wants you to take her back, you get all those years back. Sound about right?"

  There was a long pause. Jag got up and went to the bathroom, then came back. "Why are you worried about Tom? Just how bonkers will he get without his medication?"

  "He gets paranoid. Trusts no-one. Thinks the government's out to get him." Laura shook her head. Don't know how he'll deal with this?"

  "This?"

  "Secret agents out in the dark with him." Laura laughed. "He's paranoid, but maybe this time he's right. Imagine that?"

  "I've talked to people like that." Jag shook his head. "Next thing you know he'll decide his neighbours are all space aliens."

  Laura seemed for a moment like she was about to say something.

  "You want me to go out there now?" Jag asked.

  "No sense in that. Wait till morning. Tom may be crazy, but he's not stupid when he's off his pills." She thought a mi
nute, then wrote on a piece of paper, "In the woods, the moonlight is cold and every moonshadow is full of wolves."

  After he read it, she wrote more. "Have the September winds and shortening days and solitary mornings got you contemplating life, and mortality and the closing of doors?”

  He read it, then held up a finger for a moment's writing on his own. He handed her a note with the following: “All that lost its abstraction, and with that, its fascination. I am an old guy waiting in a suit of fallen leaves; no lion, just a chipmunk, watching.”

  She poured a small glass of white wine for each of them. saying nothing, for a moment. which was exactly the right thing to do.

  "Perhaps," he said, "more than one poet per room should be forbidden by law."

  She nodded. "There's much to be said for that. I read Exile from the Shadow, you know.

  He squinted at her. "Where would you get a copy of that? There were only a dozen copies printed."

  "A woman has her ways."

  He suspected Josie was involved. "I read The Minor Odyssey, he said."

  "Figured that. We'll go look for lost guys in the morning."

  "Sounds like the place is full of secret agents and crazy people. I'm more used to that than you are. I'll scout the area, then report back."

  She thought about it. "Okay."

  ***

  But Jag didn't get out to check on Cope and Tom in the morning. He had been using some of his vacation time, but one of the other cops had called in sick, and there was no way of getting around that. He told Laura he'd be back by noon. "Those two should be okay," he said. "Both of them are careful and used to watching their backs." He put on his hat. "I'm more worried about the dogs," he lied. "At noon we'll go out there, talk to them, and maybe drive around looking for UFOs for your book." He waved goodbye as he drove out.

  Laura left him a note on the table. At first she wrote, "I didn’t tell you I was researching UFOs for a book – I just told you I was looking for treasure on the island.." Then she tore that one up, and wrote, "Taking a taxi to get my car. See you later."

  She walked downtown and phoned for a taxi to take her to the cottage she'd rented.

  Laura had the taxi go past the cottage twice before letting her out a bit down the road. She walked quietly along the edge of the road until she was at the Daniels' cottage. There was no car in either driveway except her Jeep. She saw the dogs, tied to trees, about the time they saw her. Potto started to bark, but there was no other movement there. She pulled open the door to the Daniels cottage and walked carefully through it, pausing only to look at the blood stain on the floor.

  Cautiously, she walked to her own rental cottage. The door was open, and she jumped when she saw the stuffed dummy Cope had used. There were signs someone had been in there, and a bag of dog food on the floor, but no one else there. She took bowls of food and water out for the dogs.

  Again, she walked out towards the road. "Tom!" she shouted. "It's Laura!"

  He stepped out from behind a swamp cedar on the other side of the road. "Hi," he said.

  "Thank God. I thought you were dead. There's blood in the other cottage."

  "A deer." Tom tilted his head to make sure there was no one hiding behind her. "They knocked out a deer with one of their strange guns, then cut it up alive."

  "Have you seen Cope? He came with the dogs."

  Tom shook his head. "I talked to him. They stuffed him into the trunk of their car and took off."

  "Let's get out of here."

  For a moment he hesitated, his head down. Then he said, "Okay. You fed the dogs and gave them water which I was going to do, so I'll go with you.

  Then she locked the cottage, got into her car with Tom, and drove away.

  Sammy and Lester arrived moments later.

  ****

  Brighton

  Jag's Place, on a hill.

  Two Days after Button Day

  Jag got home just after noon with a pizza in hand, only to discover Laura wasn't there. He called Laura's number and it rang several times before it was answered.

  "Sorry," Laura said. "I had to find a place to pull off the road."

  "Laura. Where are you?"

  "Got my car. Got Tom here. The dogs are tied outside the cottage. Nobody else there. Some blood on the floor of the Daniels' cottage; Tom says it's from a deer they killed. No sign of Cope. Tom says they put him into the trunk of the car and drove off."

  There was a silence. "They put Cope into the trunk? Are you coming back here? Jag asked."

  "Yeah. Cope. Trunk. How'd you know I was researching a UFO book for Passion Among the Cacti Press and not hunting for treasure?"

  A longer pause. "Why'd you say you were?"

  "Jesus Christ," Laura said. "Maybe it's no wonder we're both single." She broke the connection.

  ****

  Brighton

  Along Popham Bay

  Two Days after Button Day

  There was blood on the floor of the cabin, by the table, Jag noted. Maybe Tom was right and it was deer blood. Maybe Tom was crazy. Maybe all blood looked the same and there had been more than one animal killed.

  The blood at least, wasn't from Cory or Potto. Jag had parked his car a bit down the road, in the laneway of someone he knew was working in Belleville, and had come through the woods. Laura's cabin had been empty, and there was no evidence of activity at the Daniels' cottage, which was just as well, since Cory had greeted him rather noisily.

  He put the dogs inside Laura's cottage, with a pan full of water and watched them drink. Then he got food from the fridge and left it for the dogs. He closed the door behind them, so he could move around the yard without anybody being alerted. In retrospect, that was a mistake, since the dogs might have warned Jag of others coming near the cottages.

  He'd gone over to the Daniels' place, then, through the aspen trees. The door had been unlocked, and he went inside, moving slowly and watching for traps.

  Outside, a sudden wind brought a rattle of rain on the roof and set the trees to banging against each other and the waves to pounding on the pebble beach. The sky got very dark.

  Jag looked around more carefully then looked into the fridge. Several pieces of meat were wrapped in newspaper. Unless these guys were cannibals, the meat was likely from a deer. Deer weren't hard to get around the area, but it would be useful to hold these guys for poaching, if nothing else.

  Jag searched the rest of the cottage quickly, but found nothing. At the door, Jag listened. Everything seemed peaceful, but there was still the matter of Cope missing. He called the number Cope had left with him, and gave Cope's identifier to the sexless voice that answered. The voice said they'd call back.

  For some reason, the whole process landed onto his shoulders like a house. Maybe it was the crap he'd taken in Afghanistan. Maybe it was the SIU hearings after the Toronto incident. Maybe it was Tammy's call. Maybe it was all of it. He'd taken a job that was on a comprehensible scale in Brighton. The OPP office had heroes and assholes and the usual process stupidity. But he could live with that. He had, he realized, simply lost his ability to put up with stupid bureaucracies with incomprehensible motives. He came within an ace of stomping on his phone and deciding to live on the four dollars a year his poetry earned. That's when the phone rang.

  Why the hell, he thought, as he contemplated giving answers, would anybody want an umbilical to the world especially through something the size and shape of a flattened turd? Call me Retroman, he thought, or just call me a person who demands that the world and its people be more than they actually were. He said hello.

  "Your voice doesn't match that of the person giving the password," a woman giving her name as Ethyl said, just before she started asking questions, interrupted only by the sound of a helicopter passing overhead, leaving a silence behind.

  Jag let a long silence get longer then told the woman that he was a friend of Cope's, and had been told to call that number by Cope if and when the aforementioned Oscar Copeman disappeared
for some reason.

  Can I have your name?” Ethyl asked.

  “Only if you marry me,” Jag answered. “And then you’d only want the last part; ‘Jag’ is no name for a woman. And we’d really have to date a couple of times, you know.”

  There was a long pause. “Are you going to give me your name?”

  “Not today; I really need it. But I’d be willing to tell you what it is.” He thought about waiting till she answered, but decided against it. “Jag Stone,” he said. “Is this being taped?”

  “If it wasn’t being taped, I might have a few comments about you and your type. Where are you now?”

  Jag explained the situation as best he could.

  "Okay." A pause. "We've called up your file. Glad to have you there. If you look out into the bay, you'll see a boat this side of the island." Jag looked out the big window facing the water.

  "I see it. Is it one of ours?"

  "No. It's from across the lake. We don't know why they're here. I'll call you if there's anything else we want you to do."

  They'll call me, Jag thought. Thanks, lady; thanks, government, but I don't work for you any more. Send in somebody who does. He edged out the door. The rain had stopped and a sliver of sunlight fell on the trees between the cottages. Odd, he thought, the way those three trees are all bent the same way. He began a tour of the area. Cautiously, he checked out the wood shed by the Daniels' place. Lots of wood; one sharp axe. No bloodstains on the axe.

  He decided to check the outhouse, since Cope had mentioned it. When he opened the door, there was a man inside.

  “Hi,” the guy said. He was tall, blond, and wore a Bob Marley T-shirt under a fringed buckskin jacket.

  “Shaman Shaman” Jag said.

  “Well,” said Shaman, “I’m a man trying to keep dry.”

  “Wouldn’t the cabin have been better? Or the woodshed?”

  Shaman got up. "The woodshed’s too open, and the cabin’s got blood on the floor and I can feel strange things hanging around.” He shook his dreadlocks. "I followed the shore looking for chaos, and ended up here."

  "Wouldn't you be better off at home with Gina?"

  "Oh, mon, that woman's where my chaos begins and ends."

  “I’m not going to stand here all day, Shaman” Jag said, as wind shook a volley of water from the trees.

  “I guess if we’re together, the spirits won’t get us.” Shaman acknowledged. He stepped outside, closed his eyes, and said, "Wrong on that one. There's something not safe around here." He opened his eyes, said, "Be careful," and walked away into the swamp cedar.