by Josi Russell
"What is it?" Walt tried not to sound too eager, or too commanding.
"I was turning to look at the guard station because I thought I heard—“ Sol looked up, uncertainty and fear in his eyes.
"What?"
"A little scream."
He watched over the kid until the next day, but Karson was bound to get news of the truck parked in the Grant Ranger Housing lot. When Karson arrived with two other Rangers, Walt was planted firmly in the door. He knew they would have seen the kid’s truck, and he’d been preparing a speech.
"Now I know you've got to take him,” he told Karson, and I know you're angry and afraid, but you need to understand that he's hurt."
Syd, the biggest of the other Rangers, shouldered past him and hauled Sol off the couch and to his feet. “You wanted to bring that crate in yourself, huh kid? We trusted you.” Disgust trembled under his voice.
“I don’t think he had anything to do with this, Syd.” Walt didn’t understand the comment about the crate.
Syd spat an answer. "That's not what it looks like, Walt."
“I know." Walt said, "But he's not the only one who needs to be questioned."
"What are you talking about?" Karson snapped, stepping aside as Syd and Giles escorted Sol out to their crawler.
Walt gestured Karson inside. "I think you'd better talk to Caldwell." He said, wincing at what he was implying.
"Caldwell? About the explosion?" Karson shrugged impatiently. "That makes no sense. I can see him being violent to people, or the Stracahn, but why would he blow up the gate? Especially while the aliens are still in here? All he wants it to get them out of the park."
"I've got a bad feeling about him," Walt said. "He's too worked up, too volatile lately."
"Everybody has a bad feeling about him," Karson said, "that's his main impression."
Walt hesitated.
"What aren't you telling me, Walt? What do you know?"
Walt hesitated. "I saw something . . . Strange." He said, not sure how far he should go with the little evidence he had. Through the window, he saw the Ranger's spider move out. Sol slumped against the window. Walt rushed on, "I was working on the schedule with Caldwell a couple of months ago—not long after that little girl drowned—and I saw that Caldwell had this big black pack next to his door. I commented on it, and there was this eerie tone in his voice when he answered. He looked at me and said, ‘I keep that there for the day when life becomes unbearable.’” Walt was trying to articulate it in the most accurate way possible, but it was hard to explain why he’d been so alarmed. "I got this weird feeling. Caldwell said, ‘If that’s ever gone, Walt, you know I’ve reached my limit.’”
Karson blinked, and Walt put a hand on his arm. "Right! You see, why would he say that? What does it even mean?" Walt heard the intensity in his own voice. "He used to be at least sort of stable, Karson, but since the Stracahn came, he’s been getting more and more unstable. He gets angry at nothing; he makes threats. He just can't get past it. I think he may have been entertaining some worrisome ideas for a while now."
Karson contemplated for a moment. "I'm not sayin' that's good," he said carefully, "but it’s not evidence. Anyway, I don't think Caldwell would attack the park like this. He's too attached to it and likes to see things done by the rules too much. I don't know why he'd say that, but it really doesn't matter. I think this is a pretty open and shut case. The kid was at the gate; the electronic entry notes say he had an unlabeled crate with him."
Walt shook his head hard, "But Sol isn't that kind of—"
Karson went on, forcefully, "Walt, we found part of the explosive packs that were used. They were registered to this kid's uncle.”
Walt stopped talking for a moment. “I admit that looks bad,” he said slowly.
“You want to know the clincher?” Karson was grimly confident. “This kid's father was Timothy Brooks, the man who was shot when we upgraded the fences ten years ago."
Walt's argument died in his throat as the name brought the horror of that day sweeping back to him.
"I gotta go, Walt." Karson tried to smile. "I'm sorry. I know you want to think the best of everyone."
24
Caldwell had hiked through the night and the next day. The kid in the truck had spooked him, and he stayed off the road, walking the roughcountry. He worked his way up to the abandoned boathouse at Fishing Bridge, where he finally rested. When dark came on he snagged an old kayak. Nobody was going to miss it. Since the park had closed to visitors, no one kayaked anymore. But the way it cut low and silently through the water was perfect for not drawing attention to himself.
The night was going to be full dark. Even now it was probably too dark for someone to pick him out from the shore. He grinned at his luck. He could hole up on Stevenson Island for days, getting ready for the next phase. There was plenty to eat there and plenty of cover. He thought about going back to his apartment, doing his shifts like usual and acting nonchalant. He'd like to plant some ideas in their heads about the ranchers. But that was too arrogant. He needed to disappear and do this deliberately. If he slipped, or if that kid driver had seen him, the whole thing was shot. He could probably beat it in court, he had done it twice before, but that would take up valuable time, and every minute he wasted meant more damage to the park. No, better to settle in and wait until they had realized the explosives were from outside the park. Then he may go back.
All in all, it had gone plenty smooth. Even the kid checking through was lucky. That was something he couldn't have planned, and it made it unnecessary for him to plant the explosives outside the gate. He'd just set them on the crate the kid had brought in. Easy. Caldwell rowed on through the cold lake air, and the fury he’d felt inside for the past several weeks began to subside. He was finally doing something to stop this travesty.
As Caldwell eased the kayak onto the shore of Stevenson Island, he felt an uneasiness he'd never felt here before. Something was different. He tried to search his memory. There had been talk of placing a fish monitoring station out here that would be staffed by a couple of Rangers, but he didn't remember that ever actually going through. He couldn't imagine what would feel different. Nobody cared about this place; nobody would bother him here. He shook it off. Maybe all the excitement was making him jittery. Stashing the kayak under a pile of boughs and leaves, he headed for the cabin to catch some sleep before heading to the East Gate.
As he approached the cabin, a shifting of the light near the door caught his eye. He froze, then realized it was just a cottontail rabbit that had made the movement. Suddenly his mouth started to water. Sleep would come, but first, he needed food. He walked towards the rabbit, whose eyes were wide and questioning in the dark.
Why wasn't it running? Caldwell had caught a lot of rabbits, most of them on the run, some of them in snares, but never had he seen one that would let you just walk up to it. This one was different. He crouched down, snapping off a handful of grass and holding it towards the wriggling nose. The rabbit hopped closer, stopped, then came to nibble on the treat.
With a fluid, calculated movement Caldwell grasped the rabbit's ears and swung it in a wide arc around his head, snapping its neck.
For a meal like this, he had to have a fire. Who knew how long it would be before he'd eat this well again. It would be okay. No one would be looking at Stevenson Island when the whole South gate was demolished.
When he hit the backcountry, he'd have to keep on the move, and he may not even be able to risk a fire. So tonight, before he slept, he'd feast. He made a fire and let it burn down to bright coals. He skinned the rabbit and put it on a spit, roasting it slowly. It smelled delicious. Finally, he could wait no longer. He pulled a strip of crisp meat off the side and savored it. He was just starting on the foreleg when he glanced up and saw the child.
She was standing in the old cabin, and she had not yet seen him. Reddish light from the fire flickered through the vines around her, casting shifting shadows on her as she stood in the d
oorway.
Her eyes were fixed on the roasting rabbit, and in them burned a peculiar light. Caldwell had seen it enough to know what it was: fury.
They stayed frozen for a moment, then he stood, quickly.
"So you didn't drown, then?" he said in a low voice.
He could tell that she saw him now. She shook her head. She was looking through the rising smoke of his campfire, watching it. She shook her head and crouched down, tracing a swirling pattern in the dirt.
He paused a moment, looking at the smoke, looking at her. She was, for some inexplicable reason, tracing the design of the smoke.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
She kept tracing and nodded.
He tossed the rabbit bone aside. "That's too bad." He said softly. He took a measured step toward her. He saw the fear on her face. She knew he was going to kill her. He wondered for a moment how he should do this. Caldwell knew that the park could take care of itself. It could rid him of this new problem.
She was one of the invaders, and he had a mission to accomplish. She was the first of many beings he would sacrifice for the good of this land. Not the first, actually, but the first alien. And he wouldn't save this place by being weak.
But how? A wolf or a mountain lion could help him get rid of her, but there were no big predators on the island. A tree was unlikely to fall. There were no steep cliffs here. The lake was his only option. Lake Yellowstone would have to take her.
He took another step. At that moment, though she kept her hand moving, she shifted her gaze and looked directly into his eyes.
Later, when Caldwell looked back on it, he would wonder what had happened. It was as if the world stopped spinning for that one long moment. As if his mind stopped and his body stopped. As he watched her draw, he was concentrating on moving forward, on ending this here and now and finishing his rabbit and getting to the back country. But then he wasn’t moving forward. He was doing nothing. He didn’t see her stop drawing or stand or walk. Inexplicably, she was suddenly farther away, stepping sideways along the front of the old cabin and slipping off into the trees. It was only when he heard the brush breaking that he blinked rapidly and turned toward the sound. And by then she was gone, and he was in pursuit.
The child ran blindly, pushing through the dense undergrowth, trying to get away. Caldwell heard her crashing along in front of him. Her breath was ragged, but she kept running.
He heard the moment she broke free from the resistance of the brush, and he saw her ahead, out on the lake shore, slipping across the rocks and splashing into the water. Before he could get there, she had run into the lake. He heard her swimming, choking on the water as it rushed in and fought to pull her under.
Caldwell got to the shore, searching the surface for her. But the night was too dark. He felt exposed on the broad stretch of sand. If someone else happened to see him now, he'd never get away. He swore. Who was going to listen to a half-crazed alien girl? And wasn’t this basically what he’d wanted? She'd likely drown before she got to shore. The park could take her now.
Still, he needed to get moving. With her out there he couldn’t stay on the island. The backcountry was his only sure chance at staying hidden, and he'd have to vanish into it quickly now.
25
Nowhere seemed safe to Zyn'dri. She had made it to the shore and found the long black road. As she stumbled along it, every passing tree seemed to hold in its shadow the bearded Ranger with the weapon. Even as the sun rose, his face haunted every rock and bend in the road. She left the road and followed a more inviting side path that was dappled with morning sun and alive with scurrying animals.
She felt the Earth under her feet here, felt its tempestuous soul. It was never more evident than now that it was not the old and serene world she had come from. This world was turbulent. Things were happening inside it that she did not understand. What she did understand was that it was no place for the tranquil Stracahn.
Zyn’dri struck out through a bright meadow. It felt more like home. A small stream wound through the tall grass, its voice laughing and singing beside her. She breathed in the warm smell of the grass and the wildflowers. Primrose and lupine bloomed around her, and she found herself transfixed by their bright colors. As she waded through the grass, Zyn'dri let out a little yell.
There in the grass lay a woman, beautiful and old. She sat up when she heard Zyn'dri's cry.
"I'm sorry I scared you," said the woman. Her silver hair flowed out behind her. She wore a flowered wrap. There were sandals beside her feet in the bright grass.
Zyn'dri looked for the fear she felt whenever she spoke to humans but found none. She sorted through her vocabulary. "Hello." She said carefully.
"My name is Sylvia." Said the woman, smiling until her face folded.
"I am Zyn'dri." As she said it, the woman blinked, then gasped.
"Zyn'dri!" The woman struggled to her feet, slipping on her shoes and crossing the few feet between them. Zyn'dri found herself caught in a warm embrace. "You’re okay!" Sylvia stepped back and held out a hand. "Will you come with me?"
Zyn'dri hesitated. "Where will you take me?" she managed.
Sylvia's eyes filled with understanding. "You're afraid. That's all right. If you'd like, we can go to my house—" she gestured to a row of buildings behind the meadow, "and have some fresh strawberries. Are you hungry?"
Zyn'dri considered. She was hungry, and she had certainly had enough of being alone with the specter of the bearded Ranger hovering behind every tree. Tentatively, she reached out and took Sylvia's hand. The two walked together to the cozy little apartment.
26
Sol could hear his mother's voice, high and wild, outside the corridor of cells.
"I want to talk to my son!"
The Rangers had turned him over to the police at the west entrance, and they had taken him into Cascadia, to a jail in the nearest town: Sunset. It was a small jail, and on either side of him, the cells held three drunken cowboys and a thief.
His ears were still ringing and his head still throbbing. He didn't know what he was going to do to get out of this.
When she came down and peered through the bars at him, tears formed in his mother's eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” He managed, “You were right. I shouldn’t have been in there. I was going to tell you.”
She reached through the bars and placed a cool hand on his bandaged head. "It's okay, honey," she said.
Sol, after the fear and confusion of this whole day, couldn't stop his own tears as he leaned forward toward his mom. He tried to stop crying as he saw Uncle Carl coming down the corridor, but it only made his sobs come harder. Uncle Carl stood for a moment, then slowly put a big arm around his sister and reached through the bars to rest a hand on Sol's shoulder. His voice was choked with emotion when he spoke. "Thank God you're okay," he murmured. "We're gonna fix this."
27
Walt spent the entire day at headquarters working on a timeline of the explosion with the other Rangers. He almost couldn’t be in the same room with Syd, who felt betrayed and had already convinced himself of Sol’s guilt.
Walt hadn’t wanted to leave Sylvia. She had been a little stronger, insisting that she was going into the meadow for some sunshine. He had argued for a while, but there was no dissuading her. He’d made her promise to keep her radio close.
He hadn't stopped thinking about her all day, and as he left headquarters, he was disgusted to see that his radio’s battery was dead. He wouldn't know if she needed him.
By the time he got back to the apartment, Walt had convinced himself of the worst. He threw the door open, his eyes sweeping the room anxiously for his wife. They stopped to rest on two figures at the table, Sylvia smiling broadly, Zyn'dri peering shyly from beneath long turquoise lashes.
"Sylvia . . ." Walt attempted, crossing the room to them and leaning on a chair, "Sylvia, what--"
His wife stood, "Walt, it's Zyn'dri."
He was suddenly dizzy. Wal
t sat heavily at the table. He felt himself breaking into a grin as he studied her. "Where have you been?"
She paused, searching for words. "I was . . . In the water."
The couple exchanged glances. "In the water?"
Zyn'dri shook her head, then rephrased. "On the water. On the land on the water."
Suddenly Walt saw it. Saw what had happened. "Stevenson Island? You swam all the way to Stevenson Island?"
Zyn'dri nodded. "I found a house there. I made a rug."
Walt breathed out. "I never would have figured." He said.
They watched her eat, her quiet, controlled movements so unlike a child of her age. Walt was amazed at how many strawberries such a little girl could eat.
"Are you feeling better?" Sylvia asked, glancing anxiously at the child.
Zyn'dri finished off her berries and sipped the tea Sylvia had given her. "Yes."
The child seemed old, somehow, and very wise. Walt wanted to be near her forever. He saw the same feeling in Sylvia's eyes and with a growing sense of horror he realized that if she became too attached, she would grieve when the child had to go home. Grief takes a terrible toll all on its own, and Sylvia didn't have the energy to spare. "Do you want me to take you to your village?" he asked the child.
The little girl's eyes grew sad. She took the piece of bison jerky Sylvia was offering, took a bite, and chewed as she said, "Not really."
Walt was taken aback. "Why?"
For the first time since she'd come here, Zyn'dri felt like crying. "My parents died. I will be raised Chantha. I will have to live in my hut all alone." She held the jerky, not eating it now, just sitting very still.
"Chantha is an orphan? It means not having parents?"
Zyn'dri nodded.
Before Walt knew what was happening, Sylvia had reached across the table and had taken the little girl's hand. "Would you like to stay here? With us?"