Abominable

by Alan Nayes

  She saw John change directions and slow suddenly near a running stream. She pulled beside him. He pointed.

  “Sonofabitch,” escaped her lips. Shelby grinned and dismounted. “You think?”

  “I’ll cover you.”

  She noticed he’d unstrapped the carbine. “Don’t shoot anything,” she requested.

  He scanned the trees and ice-frosted boulders, patting the rifle. “Just in case. You saw what he did to that corrugated siding.”

  She trudged through the drift, sinking to mid-calves. No gargantuan tracks anywhere. Still a wave of apprehension engulfed her. On the snowmobile, she’d felt safe, but now, looking around her…

  She studied the tall spruces—no hulking shadows lurking—then kicked the snow off the dirty brown cloth. Lifting the burlap, she read Bagley stenciled in large black lettering.

  They’d found the stolen research station fruit sack.

  Shredded and empty.

  The search wound into high gear. Shelby figured they would find Goliath in a day or two, certainly not more than three. After nothing on the second day she reluctantly flew back with John and Mendle to Eielson Air Force Base on the Pave Hawk. The search continued, extending into the higher elevations. One night it snowed. Nothing but caribou and several grizzlies were seen, also wolves, plenty of wolves, and a few cougars and bison. Even a bull moose.

  Shelby returned to the lab, putting off flying to Los Angeles until the huge primate was tracked down. She wanted to be there when the capture went down. She worked on the juvenile skeleton and large adult ulna, doing as much as she could—documenting measurements, reconstructing the bones she had, planning a second trip to Little Okpilak. Each time she studied the prehistoric bones, a hypothesis started to form. But nothing solid.

  She analyzed the strand of white hair collected from the research station. Definitely a primate, and nonhuman. A few strands she sent to her lab in Los Angeles for DNA testing.

  Every newscast led with the story. She gave multiple interviews. She realized she was receiving more air time than Astor, not that she desired this. Reddic was thrilled with Dr. Hollister’s newfound fame, though, which extended to his Center of Primatology as well as the primate and anthropology departments at UCLA. Shelby purposely exuded certainty that Goliath would soon be caught. Inside, though, with each passing day and no success, her inner confidence waned. She kept telling herself he couldn’t hide for much longer. He was too damn big, even if he was albino and the mountainous ridges lay buried deep in snow and ice. This state had too much damn snow and ice, she lamented.

  By the seventh day, Goliath was still on the loose.

  Shelby began to fear the worst.

  That the giant primate had succumbed to the elements.

  She hoped they could find his body before the heavy snows of winter set in.

  CHAPTER 14

  The smells were different, the sounds unfamiliar, even the terrain had altered. He moved stealthily through the boreal forests—his coordination and strength improving each day—feeding on the leaves of aspen and poplar, easily reaching sixteen and seventeen feet in the air for the more tender branches and buds. Or he would simply rip the smaller trees out of the earth and feed on the more tender roots, and any grubs that came with them. Wildflowers satisfied his craving when he couldn’t get enough of the young trees at the lower elevations where the ground was not frozen.

  The vegetation was not so changed as everything else. Instinct told the great ape something drastic had changed in his life. He couldn’t comprehend what. Many different smells assaulted his nostrils, scents he was unfamiliar with. This added to his extreme disquiet. Those obnoxious strange objects flying overhead with the rough vibrating noises not only hurt his ears but incensed his already frayed nerves. His demeanor grew more tense with each day. The first time he’d seen one of them pass over, he roared in anger and reached up and swung a thick fist, trying to bash it from the overcast sky, unaware it was over a mile above him. He’d pounded the hard earth in frustration and moved along the steep snow covered escarpment, on all fours—knuckle-walking—staying close to cover. Other noises told him similar strange objects moved along the ground, their noise just as irritating. And the scent—the smoke and exhaust fumes, smells he was unfamiliar with, made him nauseous. He easily avoided being seen.

  The wildlife had changed as well. Always cautious of the larger predators—though with his size he really had no predators—he avoided the big cats with the huge pair of saber canines. But he hadn’t picked up their scent since escaping. He wondered if they’d moved out of the area. He’d seen wolves before but the ones he spotted now were smaller and not as bold. They bolted from him when he stood to his full height and growled menacingly. With one huge hand he could rip a head off as easily as ripping a fistful of vegetation from a poplar limb.

  The giant ape sensed he was being tracked by the things in the sky and ground but had no real fear. This was nothing compared to what had happened to him before.

  The memories remained blurred, indistinct. There was a deep swath of recollection missing, as if part of his primate brain had been sliced away, leaving only a profound sense of loss. He knew where he was going, though. All higher-functioning cerebral functions remained intact.

  He continued moving in a northwesterly direction. His species had been passing over the land bridge for hundreds of thousands of years. Their homing instincts were as developed as any animal on land or air. Finding his way back to where it’d happened would not be an issue. Then he would cross back over. If he was left alone. He realized he had a long way to go. And what of the others, those who had done this to him? What they’d taken from him? But what had they taken from him? He couldn’t recall.

  First food. His bipedal gargantuan frame required a hundred kilograms of vegetation a day. He wasn’t getting near this.

  The first night free he’d found the fruit. He learned fast. The strange bright shining “objects” had drawn him in over the ice. Since that night, he’d seen more bright objects, but these were moving over the snow and through the air—danger. If he could stalk up upon some shining objects that remained still, instinct told him more food of the nourishing kind would be near.

  The seventh night foraging he crossed a ragged tree-covered ridge of ice and snow. Standing upright, he stopped to smell the breeze. Smoke. He cringed down. He knew fire. His vision was excellent, though, and he detected no flames. However, far downhill and just where the trees thinned, he saw what he’d been searching for. Bright shining objects that didn’t move. And a wide meandering river. Water would not be an issue for his species.

  The giant started down the steep declivity.

  Lights.

  Lights meant food.

  Chitina boasted a population of a whopping 126 in 2010 and the numbers hadn’t fluctuated significantly since. Labeled a CDC, census-designated place, the small settlement sat nestled along the west bank of the Copper River. Most of the population’s activity revolved around catching red salmon in the summer, using dip-nets. Copper mining had died in the 1930s. Electricity was supplied via a unique hydroelectric system, also supplying hot and cold water to the town’s residences. Hunting was popular as well as catering to tourists that came to enjoy the unique outdoors experience the subarctic geography and climate offered.

  When Sal Tananta locked up the town’s only general store, a light mist had only begun to fall. He didn’t mind. The Native American enjoyed the precipitation, and business had been good that day. He’d already sold out of half his supply of fresh produce. Another shipment would arrive in two days.

  He double-checked the bolt—secure—and made sure the security lights remained on. No break-ins for over two years. The locals he trusted; the tourists, well, never tempt fate, he liked to preach. The slight man trudged along the gravel road to his small two-room house. Semi-retired and divorced, he lived alone. During the day, he could watch the spawning salmon in the Copper River mak
ing their annual summer migration upstream. Chitina’s three hotels were booked solid and in the evening he could hear music from the local club, which had only opened last year. He wasn’t a fan of the club scene, but the new owner boasted of brisk liquor sales, which boded well for the general store’s future growth in alcohol revenue.

  By ten p.m. he’d turned off the computer, his Internet wireless connection to civilization—he didn’t own a television—and showered and settled in bed. The pitter-patter of rain drops grew louder on the wood-shingled roof. The sun, buried behind the heavy overcast, would set in less than an hour. This far north, long summer days, short winter.

  A sharp cracking sound awoke him just past three a.m. He rolled over, thinking it might have been an earthquake. It didn’t repeat. No shaking of the house either. Could have been one of the dead black spruce toppling in the woods down by the river.

  He’d just drifted off again when the sharp sound repeated, louder this time. “Fuck,” he muttered, throwing on his overalls, shirt, and boots. That was definitely rending wood. He grabbed the well-used .375 H&H bolt action rifle—good for any game from whitetail all the way up to moose and grizzly—and made a quick security check of the house. Quiet.

  He moved to the front door, unbolted it, and stepped out on the wood porch, eyes roving up and down the quiet gravel road. No movement, not even a raccoon or opossum. Most of the residences situated on the hillside across the way were dark. A few had lights on. The drizzle had let up but the forty-degree air hung heavy with moisture and the scent of spruce. A mild fish smell rose from the slope behind him, and he guessed he would find partially eaten salmon carcasses from a bear or otter along the river’s muddy shore.

  Slinging the rifle, he turned on the flashlight—the two hours of dark was already giving way to civil twilight—and started down the road to the store. His cell phone was ready if needed. As he approached, he kept a lookout for what he feared he might find, if in fact the general store had been violated. A hungry grizzly or black could pick up the myriad food scents from miles away. He didn’t want to shoot one, especially a female with growing cubs, but he would if the hungry omnivore decided he was as good a meal as a slab of fresh bacon or a salmon. In the near ridges he listened to a great horned owl’s mournful hoot, and a responding alpha male wolf howl.

  “Damn,” he cursed, seeing the front door to the store ajar and off its hinges. Unslinging his rifle, he made sure a round was bolted into the chamber and called from the road, “I’m armed. Get your asses out here.” He flicked off the rifle’s safety.

  He didn’t expect a response and didn’t receive one. He could hear something rummaging around inside. Certainly sounded animal in nature, making no attempt to stifle the sounds of its presence. Tananta held off on the cell phone. A bear he could handle. Or a real drunk burglar.

  Aiming the beam inside with one hand, he stepped up on the porch. The wood beneath his boots creaked. The sound inside ceased. He cursorily checked the door. The entire panel around the handle was missing. Fuck. It would need to be replaced.

  He stepped inside, detecting an odd scent separate from the cabbage, lettuce, carrots, and apples. Something had helped itself to the produce. He inhaled the pungent almost musky smell. Didn’t smell like a bear. He swung the beam around, grimacing at the mess. Canned goods, plastic containers and bottles, crushed paper cartons, and products littered the floor. Kicking some loaves of bread and a box of detergent aside, he moved to the back room where the produce was kept. That door was completely ripped off its hinges. He aimed the light.

  “Jesus!” he cried out, swinging the rifle up.

  The massive shadow rose up, and up, and up. Releasing an angry bellow, it threw a twenty-pound bag of onions at him like it was a Nerf ball.

  Before he could get off a shot, the bag smacked his shoulder, knocking him off balance. He watched it step into the flashlight’s beam. The giant simply stared at him with pale pinkish-brown narrowly spaced eyes. He brought the rifle up, settling on the massive chest. A blind person could hit this target. The thing moved toward him, making a soft guttural noise.

  Tananta quaked in his boots and even though he’d read the Internet news, and the Bagley Icefield was over a hundred miles away, he still couldn’t quite grasp what he was witnessing. The hair was not pure white, but yellowish in areas over his scalp and wide shoulders, and seemed to glisten with moisture. He could see it ducking its giant head beneath the nine-foot wood ceiling rafters. He’s over ten feet tall! And just for a moment before pulling the trigger, he wondered if someone might be playing a cruel joke on him. It looked almost like a big hairy human! But where in the hell did you get a gorilla costume that fucking big? And in Alaska? Second-degree murder charges briefly entered his thoughts if he accidently shot and killed a man in a monkey suit. “Get the fuck away from me!” he cried out.

  That was all the hesitation it took.

  A resounding crash shook the very foundation of the entire structure, leaving Tananta with a clear view of the rising slope behind the store through what used to be the general store’s back wall.

  And the huge white shape moving on all fours vanishing into the trees.

  No human moved like that!

  He dashed out, aimed, and fired twice.

  CHAPTER 15

  Chitina’s Gilpatrick Hotel lobby had been converted to a press room planning station for the ground capture. Shelby sat in the front row ready to give her spiel. Her anticipation of what would take place in only a few hours rivaled anything she’d ever experienced in her life. Since Vanessa Bayliss had reported Shelby as the paleoprimate expert who’d named Goliath, she’d become the go-to person regarding anything to do with the monster primate. That included questions like “What size would his poop be?” from some reporter out of Canada. Shelby had simply smiled weakly and replied diplomatically, “Picture a huge grizzly…”

  She gazed around her. The lobby was packed with locals, the press, hunters, hikers, and experts in tracking and search-and-rescue. And the military. Make no mistake about it. The US government still claimed ownership of the UCO—and Goliath.

  Shelby watched the slight man with a gray beard speaking to a reporter out of Anchorage. Sal Tananta had been in much demand since his fling with the giant ape two nights ago. For over two hours she’d been present when Mendle and his superiors questioned him. She understood why—he was the first eyewitness to actually see Goliath live. Though she tried to check her emotions regarding his “shots in the dark,” she found herself both frustrated and relieved. Yes, he’d in all likelihood been scared to death, but why shoot when Goliath was plainly trying to escape? Still, she tried to put herself in his place, the huge primate standing over her. How would she have reacted? She sighed. At least the store owner had missed, according to the initial trackers’ account. No blood recovered on the trail up the ridge to the long abandoned Copper River railroad tunnel entrance seemed to confirm this.

  Seated at a side table, she counted three members of the Alaskan Fish and Game. More government. One of them would speak after her. She’d had to tranquilize orangutans in the wild before to examine, but nothing of Goliath’s dimensions. She would leave the sedation to the experts in big North American game.

  More individuals entered. She recognized Astor and Jean Simpkins from SETI. No Max Bonds, though. Did they still consider Goliath an overgrown ET? She heard NASA and the military were making no progress in identifying what the UCO had been composed of. The outer shell, anyway. The now frangible remnants resided back in Hangar 13. “Still losing mass,” she overheard Astor complain. The cargo plane crash—nothing definite there yet, either. Except it had disintegrated. No signs of any thermal explosion indicating a bomb.

  Standing near one side exit, she noticed a tall well-built man watching her. She guessed he was of Middle Eastern descent, and actually was quite handsome in a younger-version Omar Sharif way. Dressed in camouflage, he seemed to start her way but stopped when the em
pty chair beside her filled.

  John passed her a hot Styrofoam cup. “Two creams, double sugar.” He was dressed in his Search-and-Rescue uniform. He looked ruggedly good enough to be in an outdoor men’s calendar. Last night they’d shared dinner together and had rooms on the second floor of the Gilpatrick. There was no denying the chemistry was there, but she was too wired to think of anything else but the job at hand.

  “Not a glaciologist today?” she remarked lightly. “Thanks.”

  He gently tapped her cup with his. “Here’s to no rescue needed.” He motioned to the swarthy individual in camouflage pants and leather jacket. “You know him?”

  Shelby glanced toward the side exit. “No, why?”

  “Besides the fact he’s been watching you? That’s Rasheed Ahmen. One of the richest individuals in British Columbia. I only know him because he was a member of the team that climbed Mount Vinson with me.”

  “You mentioned you climbed the highest peak in Antarctica. Impressive.”

  “You look shocked.”

  Mild embarrassment flushed her face. “Well, I didn’t doubt…”

  He grinned. “It’s okay. Vinson Massif has a very interesting geological history. Anyway, Ahmen’s primary interests, other than hunting big game, is primates. He collects them.”

  “Collects them?”

  “Yes. He kills or traps them and has them stuffed. Ahmen, according to the two men climbing with him, has the most prolific private primate collection in the world. All preserved. Described as a natural history museum. He’s quite an outdoorsman.”

  Shelby watched the man with renewed interest. “Goliath. He’s here because of Goliath.”

  John followed Shelby’s gaze. “He’s not here to mine copper.”

  Shelby followed Ahmen as he gravitated over to Astor and the SETI woman. Has them stuffed. For the first time since seeing the huge prehistoric primate trapped inside the UCO back at Eielson she experienced a layer of relief Mendle and the US military were in charge in Chitina.