The giant beast tilted its enormous head as it studied the small man before it. The eyes were a dull green and seemed to be illuminated from the inside. The man tried to take a step back and the beast grunted its displeasure at the movement. Then the guard made a move to unholster his weapon from his side. The great beast saw the movement and in a split second had reached out and grabbed the man’s wrist, snapping the thick bone in two. The man was shocked at the speed of movement and really didn’t realize his wrist had been snapped like a dry twig.
The animal grunted again and then its luminous eyes came up and it studied the camp across the river. When he felt the man start to pull away, the animal returned all of its attention to him. As the beast moved its head, the man was amazed to see that some of the thick, foul-smelling hair of its head had been braided. It was sloppily done, but braided nonetheless. The guard pulled harder at the restraining hand of the animal and that was when the great beast took the man into the air by grabbing his neck. It shook him like a rag doll, snapping not only his neck, but three places in his spine as well.
The animal held the man closer to its face and sniffed the body. It growled deep in its throat and shook the guard one last time, and when it stopped it glanced across the river once more toward the Russian encampment. It growled again, this time deeper in its chest until it finally escaped its apelike mouth.
The beast sniffed the air and then lowered the man in its grasp. Then it raised the body by its neck and tossed it into the Stikine as if it were nothing more than a stone. With one last look at the men across the river, the beast turned and walked into the dark woods.
Fifty-six miles downriver, Professor Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III awoke so suddenly from dreaming of that long-ago summer of 1968 that he at first failed to realize where he was. He grimaced and then rolled over on the sleeping bag after tossing the top half off of his body, knowing that Mendenhall must have covered him after he had fallen asleep. He felt around and then raised the bottom half of the bag and pulled out a large rock that was jabbing painfully into his backside. He hefted the large stone and was just drawing back to toss it into the river, when a hand reached out and took his wrist. Charlie almost let out a wail of fright until he looked up and even without his glasses he realized it was the Frenchman, Farbeaux, who had stopped his rock toss. Standing beside him was Colonel Collins, who held his right index finger up to his lips. The stone fell from Charlie’s grasp and it clinked onto the ground.
“What is it?” Charlie whispered when he saw their worried faces.
Instead of answering, Jack used hand signals to someone in the rear of their cold camp; Charlie then watched Carl Everett and Punchy Alexander emerge from the tree line. Then he placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
“Something came across the river about five minutes ago,” Collins said, looking from a scared Ellenshaw to Will Mendenhall, who came in from the forest side of the camp. He stopped and shook his head in the negative at Collins. “Take a whiff with your nose, Doc. Have you ever smelled anything like that before?”
Ellenshaw turned his nose to the slight wind coming from the north. He did smell something on the air—it was an even deeper forest smell than what was naturally given on a regular wind. Earthy, most people would call it. Wetness, much like a waterlogged dog or other animal, mixed with the rich earth of the woods. He indeed had smelled that odor before.
“I have, once, many years ago.” Charlie slowly stood and looked around. The moon was setting and he felt the small amount of wind that had been present a moment before, slowly subside. “They are close by.”
Collins and Farbeaux were feeling something that the others besides Everett had yet to catch onto. They took a step toward the river, watching as they went. Then they stopped and one head turned the opposite of the other, slowly circling the area around them, finally settling on the trees behind their camp where Everett and Mendenhall had searched a moment before.
“Not even the Russians can be that brazen, or that stealthy,” Will said as he looked around in the direction he had just come from with the old-fashioned Colt .45 Peacemaker six-shot revolver he had removed from his pack. The old woman had passed it to him back at the fishing camp saying, he looked more the fast-draw type than the others.
“I think the Russians are fast asleep many miles upriver, young Lieutenant; this is something else,” Farbeaux said as he shook his head. “Whatever it was is gone now, Colonel.”
“I told you, it’s them,” Charlie said, acting excited. “They are close.”
Jack nodded his head, knowing Henri was right—whatever had come across the river was now gone. He was also taking Charlie a little more seriously than he had before. Their stealthy visitors were either gone, or went to ground. He looked at his watch and sighed. “Well, it’s 0440, let’s break out the Sterno and get some coffee going.”
“Is that wise? The smell of coffee travels a long way,” Charlie asked as he started rolling up his sleeping bag and then he looked up at Mendenhall. “And that I did see in a western.”
Jack continued to look around the camp. “Wind is picking up again and coming from the north, Doc, the Russians are in the opposite direction,” he said as if speaking to himself.
As the others watched the colonel slowly walk away, it was Henri who caught up with Jack at the river’s edge. Collins turned and saw the Frenchman looking at a spot directly across from them on the northern riverbank.
“I’m glad you were alert during your watch, Colonel,” Jack said turning back to face the river.
“Let’s be honest here, you were as awake as I. No sleeping man has those kinds of reactions.”
Collins gave a false smile, but didn’t turn to face Farbeaux. “Whatever came across that river was fast and large as hell, it would have awoken a dead man.”
“If you say so,” Henri replied. “Now, what do we do about whatever it was, now that it is obviously over on this side of the river?”
“Nothing.”
“That doesn’t sound like you, Colonel.”
“Whatever it was, all it did was join the others of its kind that were already following us, Henri.” Jack finally faced Farbeaux. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been surrounded by whatever is out there every foot upriver we’ve traveled.”
The Frenchman watched Jack turn and walk away. “Are you always so cheerful in the mornings, Colonel?”
WAHACHAPEE FISHING CAMP
THE STIKINE RIVER
Sarah McIntire and Jason Ryan had been so exhausted that they just rolled two sleeping bags out by the Bell Ranger where they had worked at tearing into the battered engine compartment most of the day and into the night. They had discovered that the only part that needed attention outside of a few rubber hoses was the fuel injector. It lay in several pieces on a blanket next to the skid of the Ranger. Jason said that he would be able to repair the minute holes in the complicated fuel delivery system with some melted lead or solder.
Finally, Sarah and Jason had called it quits and lowered the gas flow on the lanterns and went right to sleep without claiming the offer made by Marla and her grandmother of a hot meal. At 4:50 A.M., it was Marla who shook them awake.
“You have to come up to the porch—now,” the girl said as she pulled a shawl tightly around her shoulders. Sarah saw that when the words came, the girl’s eyes were not watching them but were on the woods to her right.
“What is it?” Sarah asked as her and Ryan sat up.
The girl didn’t explain; she stood and started walking back to the general store. Sarah watched her go and then her eyes traveled to the porch. There she saw in the darkness the girl’s grandmother standing with arms crossed, watching them.
“I think we better do what she says,” Sarah said as she started shaking out of the sleeping bag.
“What? Is there a deer stampede headed our way or something?” Ryan asked, shaking his head and trying desperately to get the kinks in his muscles stretched out.
Sudde
nly, they both sensed the change that came over the fishing camp. The utter silence told them something was happening that they couldn’t see, but could sense. Sarah looked at Ryan, and without hesitation stood and started for the grocery store and didn’t look back until they had joined the old woman and Marla on the steps of the porch. When they turned, Sarah watched the woods, her eyes eventually moving to the river, which was now in total darkness since the setting of the moon. She could barely make out the helicopter as it sat before them only fifty yards away.
“What is it?” Ryan asked the old woman, who was watching the same area as Sarah.
“We’ve had visitors in the night,” Helena Petrovich said as her eyes moved from the trees to the open area before the store. “I’m surprised you didn’t wake up when they were rummagin’ around that whirly chopper you were working on.”
“When who was rummaging around?” Ryan asked, not liking the fact that something was so close to them and they never knew it.
The old woman didn’t answer. She pulled her granddaughter closer to her and placed a protective arm around her.
“Are you saying that the local Indians steal things during the night?” Jason persisted.
Helena finally spared Ryan a look. “The Indians here ’bouts don’t steal, navy man. And before you ask, we don’t, either.”
“He wasn’t inferring—”
“Let’s just say it would be better if you stretch out on the porch till the sun comes up.”
In the distance, two gunshots rang out. They waited, but there was only one other that followed. Then silence once more took hold.
“Who in the hell’s out there?” Sarah asked when the echoes stopped.
“Don’t know,” the old woman said looking toward the sound of the gunfire. “Maybe we should try for some sleep; Marla and I have a workday tomorrow.”
“I think I can safely say, I’m done sleeping for the night,” Ryan said, taking a step off the porch and walking toward the helicopter.
“Well, why don’t we eat some breakfast then,” Marla said hurriedly as she took three quick steps down the wooden stairs and quickly took Jason by the arm. “By that time, the sun’ll be up.”
Sarah could see that the girl was frightened and didn’t want Ryan to return to the chopper.
“That’s a good idea; we missed dinner last night,” Sarah said, looking Ryan in the eyes and then using her head to get him to return to the porch.
“You know, it’s not polite to keep secrets from strangers,” Ryan said, relenting to Sarah’s silent request and taking a step back as the girl pulled on his arm.
The old woman watched all three enter the store, then she called out: “Secrets are how privacy is kept, Lieutenant Ryan.”
_______
Two hours later the sun had crested over the small hills that hid the warmth of the new day till the last moment before it actually appeared over the closest of the giant trees.
Ryan stepped out onto the porch and was feeling better about the early morning wakeup call than he had before he ate a full stomach’s worth of a breakfast that he knew was going to shorten his life by at least three years. He had never eaten so many eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy in one setting. He patted his stomach and then made his way down the porch.
As he approached the Bell Ranger, he immediately saw that things were not as they were left when he and Sarah ceased working the night before. The blanket he had laid the fuel injector on was hanging from one of the rotor blades and even their sleeping bags had been tossed about like they were discarded rags. That meant that someone had been there after they had returned to the store early this morning.
“Damn it!” Ryan said angrily as Sarah stepped out onto the porch and saw him jogging toward the helicopter. She quickly followed.
As he approached, he started scanning the ground for the fuel injector. As he looked he saw the old tool box that the Petrov’s had given him turned over and the old rusty tools were spread all over the rocky soil.
“What happened?” Sarah asked as she caught up with Ryan.
“Someone is screwing around with us,” Jason said as he kicked the tool box upright. “The damn fuel injector is gone.”
“Maybe it’s on the ground somewhere,” she said hopefully.
“All the other parts are here, but the injector is gone. It’s large enough where you could spot it right off. Look, here are the hoses, even the housing screws.”
“They took the one part that would get us into the air,” Sarah said, deflating, as suspects started flashing through her mind.
“Was the part in need of repair shiny—you know, bright?”
They both turned to see Marla standing just behind them. She was fully dressed in her work clothes and had bundles of paper-wrapped bait fish piled in her arms.
“Yes, it was shiny aluminum,” Ryan answered with hands on hips. “Why, do Indians like shiny things?”
“Grandmother said it wasn’t Indians.” Marla looked around, and then looked at the river. “As a matter of fact, they don’t seem to be showing up this morning for their bait.”
Sarah watched the girl as she scanned the river. Then she took a step toward Marla.
“Who took the part?” she asked, not trying to push the young girl too hard.
Marla laid the bundles of fish down on the stony ground. “I think if we look real hard, we may find it out there,” she said pointing into the trees. “They usually get bored pretty quickly with things that they steal.”
“Who gets bored with the shiny things?” Sarah asked.
“They mean no harm and just as I said, I bet we can find the thing you’re looking for. They like shiny things is all,” she repeated, scared that Sarah and Ryan were mad at her.
“It’s the Indians, Sarah, come on,” Ryan said, looking from McIntire to the girl. “Look, Marla, they won’t be in trouble, but we need that part. We can’t leave our friends out there with no way back. They’ll need us, I guarantee you that.”
“I’m sorry, I’ll help you look. I bet it’s not that far away,” she said biting her lip and looking nervously about the woods.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Ryan said as he reached down and retrieved the M-16 from where he had laid it the night before, thinking about why the Indians didn’t take the weapon when they took the part.
“Lieutenant, the Tlingit are not thieves. They are the most honest people in the world, if they are guilty of anything, it’s pride in what they do—living out here all alone. They live here where no man can survive without assistance from the outside world, they always have.”
“Except for your family,” Sarah reminded her.
“But that’s just it, without the Tlingit, none of my ancestors could have made it here.” Her eyes softened. “They did not take your part.”
Ryan let out a loud breath, reached down and tossed Sarah her AK-47, and then started for the tree line.
Sarah watched him leave and then looked and made sure there was a round in the chamber of the Russian-made weapon. With a sad look at Marla—feeling she was being far less than honest with them—she turned and followed Ryan into the tree line. The girl quickly followed.
RUSSIAN BASE CAMP
Lynn had managed losing her tag-team guards for a few minutes, just long enough to relieve herself in the woods surrounding the camp. She could smell something that may be breakfast, or something akin to it. As she started toward the sounds and smells of the camp, that was when she saw it—or more accurate—them. There were a series of large footprints, the size of which were enormous, leading from the thick grove of trees to about the spot where Lynn had entered the woods to seek relief. As she bent over and looked closer at the footprints, she saw that they were almost human in appearance, with the exception of the size, as they were at least twenty-four inches in length and twelve inches wide. She swallowed as she turned her head back to where she had been moments before and saw that there were two differing sets, one coming, and one leaving the area. What
ever had made the prints had been watching the camp on the south side of the river.
Lynn stood, her eyes retuning to the giant impression at her feet. With total trepidation she laid her own size six shoe next to it. She closed her eyes when she realized that her small foot only covered the large toe of whatever creature made the print. Every legend and myth about the dark woods of the northwest came flooding back into her memory from childhood. When she found that she had actually stopped breathing, she opened her eyes and allowed the intrusion of the real world to flood back into her senses once more.
As Lynn took another deep breath, she first heard, and then saw several men running toward the large electronics tent. There were shouts and angry sounding orders being given, and then Sagli stepped out and looked around until he saw Lynn standing at the edge of the tree line. He quickly walked up to her, his hair hanging free and wild.
“Where have you been?” he asked stepping up menacingly.
“I assume I am allowed to use nature’s facilities?” she asked, raising her brows, trying to get her emotions under control. She shuffled her feet across the closest foot impression as she stepped forward.
“You will ask for escort next time.”
“I think I’ll pass on presenting your men with a peep show so early in the morning.”
Sagli looked as if he wanted to say something, but turned on his heels instead. Lynn watched as he started shouting orders. With one look back at the path she had just taken, she wondered if something was nearby—a thing that could not possibly exist, but evidently had escaped from the annals of B-Moviedom.
Deonovich soon joined the men as they started looking around the entire camp. It was as if they were searching for something. Lynn decided she would risk a backhanded strike from the large Russian and approached him.
“What happened, you lose something?” she asked.
Primeval: An Event Group Thriller Page 29