by Meg Ripley
I get back into my car and pull up the directions to the park. I’ve got about another hour or so before it’s too dark to really see, but I’ve got a heavy flashlight with me, so I’m not too worried.
As I pull into the park a few minutes later, I fumble through the glove compartment in search of the one-week pass I’d ordered online before my trip and hand it to the ranger at the gate. I take a second look and have to admit he’s pretty hot; he fills out that uniform really well with those broad shoulders of his. His deep brown hair and beard are cut short, and he’s got strikingly bright green eyes.
“Just to let you know, the visitor center is closed for the day, but the park is open twenty-four hours,” he tells me. “If you need any help, there are signs posted just about everywhere telling you how to get in touch with the rangers.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, taking back my visitor pass. Maybe I can interview him about Acadia, or at least get an official quote.
“I’m on duty for the rest of night, so I’ll be checking to make sure that everyone gets out. If you plan on staying late, give me a call up here at the gate and I’ll keep folks from coming after you to make sure you’re not dead or lost,” he says with a little smile.
I grin back at him. “That seems normal,” I say, not quite sarcastic. “Give me the number, and I’ll be sure to let you know that I’m okay.” I program the number into my phone and the ranger passes me through the gate, heading back to the warmth of the guard house while I pull forward.
I don’t see many cars in the lot, but that makes sense; it’s starting to get dark, and it’s chilly, too--enough so that I’m glad I thought to change into warmer clothes. I grab my flashlight and make sure I’ve got my phone and a few other things in my purse, and climb out of the car.
As I’m walking towards one of the hiking trails, I have to admit, the park is genuinely beautiful. It’s almost the end of the foliage season, and I could see why outdoorsy people would come to the park at the peak of it. I step onto the path and breathe in the scent of dried leaves, loamy soil, and the shoreline, trying to get a feel for everything around me.
I start wandering, falling into a kind of rhythm that helps me to think. It’ll be easier to get more intel when it’s daylight, but as night begins to fall around me, there’s something about the quiet of the place that makes it a little easier to understand why people might conjure up all these bizarre theories.
Right then, something shifts in the air, and I get the sense that I’m being watched, but I can’t see anyone when I look around to prove it to myself. Even though I’ve been a journalist for a few years, I’ve never really been in any kind of dangerous situation before; there’s no reason anyone would be after me, anyway. Right?
The deeper I get into the wooded areas around the hiking trail, the more the eerie feeling starts to weigh on me. Maybe it’s just campers or rangers working, but a primal part of me feels like there’s something else at play.
Something predatory.
I try to remain calm by reminding myself there aren’t all that many predators in this area; black bears and coyotes are out here, but they’re shy, and I have to assume they’re not all that interested in attacking humans.
“Shake it off, they’re more afraid of you than you are of them,” I tell myself, looking around. I realize that I’m on a loop, and decide that instead of branching off onto one of the more remote trails, I’ll just move ahead and make my way back to the parking lot.
Just then, I hear the distinct sound of a stick breaking behind me, followed by what sounds like a growl.
My heart starts pounding in my chest. “Probably just a coyote going after a rabbit or something,” I tell myself as I start to move a little faster on the path, trying to get back to my car as quickly as possible.
I hear something else, something I can’t even name; a sound I don’t even know the word for, and that’s enough to make me launch into a steady jog. It’s dark, and though my flashlight is shaking uncontrollably in my hand, there’s still enough light for me to see the path ahead of me. I hear more movement behind me, and despite telling myself that it’s probably nothing, or that I’m just overreacting to the darkness and the creepy silence of the woods, I start sprinting outright.
“Get her!”
That is something I absolutely can’t mistake for being some coyote or bobcat going after prey in the underbrush. I can’t be certain it’s directed at me, but it seems like the best idea is to just get the hell out of there as fast as I can, no matter who it’s actually directed at.
I nearly make it to the trail’s entrance when I hear the heavy footfalls right behind me, faster than I would have imagined possible, and I stumble over some uneven patch of the trail and land on the damp ground below with a thud.
“Fuck!” I mutter, struggling to get back on my feet to flee. I can’t lie to myself for a second longer; there’s someone--or something--chasing me, and I need to get to my car. What the hell ever possessed me to think it was a good idea to visit this park and hike these trails alone at night?
2
Knox
Some of those new assholes are chasing after a park visitor!
The words ring out in my brain almost like a shout, and I recognize the mental “voice” of one of the members of my clan, Cassidy Powers. I put her on trail duty for the night, and when I reach out to her mind, I can place her close to one of the easier hiking paths.
I’ve been waiting for those bastards to do something I can call them out on for the last three weeks. Since Acadia is neutral territory for shifters, I can’t kick them out--even as an Alpha--unless I have good reason to, and catching them committing a crime should be reason enough. I start heading in the direction I can feel Cassidy’s signal coming from, and I keep my ears open for any hint of what the pricks might be doing.
I slow down a bit once I get onto the right trail, taking a few moments to catch my breath. Just ahead of me, I catch the tail end of one of them running along the trail. My heart beats faster in my chest for reasons that have nothing to do with running and I growl to myself, thinking of how I’d like to call those fucking pissants out formally and take them down.
Instead, I have to deal with the situation at hand. I vaguely catch the scent of a human female overlaid by the mark of the four bears chasing her. If these guys are going after a human park visitor, that’s a big problem, and one I’m going to have to take care of as neatly as possible. They didn’t even bother shifting into their bear forms; at least if they had, I could publicly dismiss it as a random wildlife incursion.
As I pursue the group and their prey, I start thinking of how I’m going to handle brushing this incident aside. There was some chick from a magazine calling the park a week or so before, and based on her questioning, I have a feeling she was priming the pump to uncover some things that are better left alone. And if word gets out that there’s been an attack on someone visiting the park, there’s no way she’ll keep it out of whatever bullshit article she’s working on.
I catch up to the group just before the entrance to the trails, and I hear the woman, who’s now shouting.
“Don’t think you’re going to get anything from me--not without a goddamn fight!”
I can’t help but be a bit impressed by her feisty spirit, and as I try to sneak up on them, I catch little glimpses of her as they follow her deeper into the woods. I assume they’re probably planning to steal whatever valuables she’s got on her--or maybe, do worse.
The woman must have taken some kind of self-defense classes; she stopped running and is now kicking and throwing punches, turning her head to bite as viciously as any cornered animal would, making it tough for her would-be attackers to get what they want from her.
“Let’s take her to the campsite. Knock her out, Kevin.”
“What the fuck? This was supposed to be a quick grab, Shawn. Let’s just get her purse and get out of here, man. Right, Harris? Jamie?”
Shawn leers at the woman, “Y
eah, but she’s a hot little piece…”
I let them hear me approach, crunching hard on some underbrush and sticks to announce myself.
“You have two seconds to get the hell out of here,” I say, letting the Alpha growl reverberate through my voice. There’s one benefit to these interlopers not being part of my clan: they couldn’t hear me coming, since they aren’t tuned into the same telepathic channel.
“Oh, shit,” I hear one of them mutter.
“Uh, we were just helping this young lady find her way back to her car,” Jamie stammers, but he knows I’m not buying any of his bullshit.
“Did I stutter?” I get in his face and roar, “Get the fuck out of here. Now!”
Shawn, their Alpha, tries to posture a bit, but after a moment, with a low growl, they slink away into the woods. In the distance, I recognize the faint sounds of them shifting into their bear forms as they proceed to lumber off and sulk.
My focus shifts to the next priority: taking care of the woman, who is now sitting on a nearby boulder.
“You okay? I tried to get here before they could do anything,” I say.
“Just got a good scare,” she says. I move closer to her and see that she’s managed to hold onto her purse; points for that, I guess. During the chase, I’d been too obsessed with getting to her before the outsiders could do anything, but now that we’re close--and the adrenaline is starting to ebb out of my system--I can actually appreciate the scent of her; it reminds me of lavender honey, fresh out of a hive deep in the woods, and I recognize it as the scent of the visitor I’d just given the office phone number to an hour or so ago. I inhale once again; my mouth begins to water, but as I start to pick up on the sharper smell of her fear and anger, I have to remind myself she was almost the victim of an attack; one that could jeopardize the secrecy of Acadia.
“Here, let me help you up,” I offer, reaching out to give her a hand. Even with my keen eyesight, in the dark, it’s hard to make out too many particulars, but I can tell she’s got an incredible body beneath her clothes: full breasts and round hips with a little padding along her thighs that triggers vivid images of what it’d be like to have those sexy legs wrapped around me. She doesn’t accept my hand, but instead, rises from her seat on the huge chunk of granite and dusts herself off.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she says blandly.
“Just doing my job,” I tell her, giving her a smile that I’m pretty sure her human eyes can’t see in the darkness of the forest. “Please, let me walk you to your car to make sure you get out of here alright.”
“I guess you could do that,” the woman says, shifting her purse on her shoulder.
“What are you up to, wandering the woods at night, anyway?” We take off in the direction of the trail out to the parking lot, and I’m doing my best to get answers, while seeming to make small talk along the way.
“I know--I was actually heading back to my car when they started chasing me,” the woman says. “I guess I just wanted to do a quick trip through a bit of the park before I settle further into my research.”
“Research? Are you a scientist?” I haven’t received any petitions for studies, but sometimes students do trips on their own, without grants or funding, for papers. The woman I’m walking with doesn’t look like she’s much older than the average grad student, so that could be the case.
“I’m a journalist, actually,” she tells me. “I’m investigating the history of the National Park Service for an article, and I wanted to get a feel for one of its parks before starting to delve deeper, so I planned a little trip up here to Acadia.”
I nearly stop dead in my tracks.
“A journalist?” Great. Of course those assholes chose literally the worst person to attack. This is going to make things even more complicated.
“Yeah—I’m working with New World magazine,” she says. “The name’s Hannah Grant.” She holds out her hand for me to shake it, and I oblige, in spite of the multiple distractions raging for control of my mind.
“Knox Bernard,” I tell her. “We’ve spoken before.” I see her eyes widen as we pass into the lighted area surrounding the parking lot.
“You’re the administrator for this park,” she says, looking at me sharply. “We talked on the phone.”
“We did,” I agree. God could this situation get worse?
“You’re...much more attractive than you sounded on the phone,” the woman says, smiling a little awkwardly.
“I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered,” I tell her. She laughs, and it’s like someone’s run a finger down my spine in the best way possible.
“No, I didn’t mean it as an insult at all,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m just surprised that you’re the one who came to my rescue, I guess.” She shakes her head again and rummages through her purse. “I should probably head back to my Airbnb before I embarrass myself even more.”
“Let me just check you over before you leave,” I suggest, partly because I want to make sure she’s actually okay, but also because I want an excuse to linger. The scent rolling off her is enough to drive me mad; aside from that, I have to set some ground rules about this article she’s working on. I can’t be having a scandalous investigation into the park underway.
“I guess,” Hannah says, looking at me warily. I hold up my flashlight and wave the light over her hands, up her arms and down her legs, checking her over. I don’t really need it--there’s enough light from the moon and the safety lamps set out in the parking lot for me to see clearly--but it gives me an excuse to take my time, and besides: she doesn’t need to know that I can already see her as plain as day.
“I hope that little incident didn’t give you a bad first impression of the park,” I say, playing the light over her back. Her denim jacket must have gotten snagged on something; but thankfully, it’s not torn through.
“Well, it certainly gave me a good first impression of the park rangers,” Hannah says playfully. “Rushing to help this stupid damsel in distress.”
“It could’ve happened to anyone,” I tell her. “I’ve been trying to run those campers out of here for a couple of weeks, but they’re paid up and I haven’t had anything I can use as leverage ‘til now. Hopefully this changes things.”
“You know who they were?”
“I know this park inside and out,” I point out with a little smile. “Well, you look like you’re all in one piece, but you should check yourself over for ticks once you get back home.”
“I will,” Hannah says. And then we’re just standing there in the parking lot, awkwardly, with maybe a foot and a half of space between us. “Are you on duty tomorrow? I was hoping I could get a tour...in the daylight, of course.”
“I’m off duty, technically,” I reply, thinking fast. “But if you want to get a tour of the park, I’d be more than happy to show you around.”
“That would be great,” Hannah says.
“Think you can get here at about two? It should be warm enough, and we can make good time along the shoreline and through the wooded areas.”
“You realize I’m going to be interviewing you,” Hannah says, making it not quite a question.
“I expected as much,” I say, grinning at her. “Two?”
“That works,” she tells me, smiling back. “Thanks again. For...you know.”
“Just doing my job,” I insist. I turn away from her, stepping back to watch the gentle swaying of her hips as she walks the rest of the way to her car. I’m not sure whether I’m looking forward to tomorrow because it’ll give me a chance to run interference, or to be around that lingering, sweet scent of hers, but I can only hope I can get enough sleep to be functional before I have to meet up with her.
I watch as her car pulls away and then head back onto the trail, towards the part of the woods where the interlopers disappeared to. I’m going to have to discuss the incident with the members of my clan, and if I expect to be able to expel these bastards from the neutral, sacred land
s of the park, I’ll need some solid evidence to present to the conclave of shifters.
3
Hannah
The morning after my ill-fated trip to Acadia National Park, I’m up early, scanning through some of the research I’ve already done, trying to put together a cohesive strategy for interviewing Knox Bernard later in the day.
As I look through my records, there’s something odd I keep coming across, and while it doesn’t make me feel like I’m becoming a full-on conspiracy theorist, it does set off some red flags. Like many of the national parks that exist in the US, Acadia was made possible through lots of advocacy and generous contributions from wealthy men--but the donations were made by the same handful of families repeatedly.
Most well-off families do benevolent things to get their names in history books. But a lot of the people involved in the establishment of Acadia, and the National Park Service as a whole, seemed to not want any credit at all. I decide by around eleven that I’ll ask Knox what he knows about the history of the park itself, and start getting ready for our meeting. I’ve got a few bumps and bruises from falling on the trail, but I’m actually surprised at how unafraid I am to venture back into the woods. Of course, that could just be because I won’t be alone, and especially because the ranger who’ll be taking me around is actually pretty hot.
I weave my hair into a french braid and pull an old cap from my university over my head to keep the sun out of my eyes. It’s cool enough that it makes perfect sense to wear hiking boots, my other pair of thick jeans, and a heavy pullover sweater. I find myself hoping that I at least look halfway decent; not that I should be worried about how I look, other than needing to come across as professional.