Beasts of Extraordinary Circumstance

by Ruth Emmie Lang

  Now the water reached my hips. I looked down at Merlin, who was grunting anxiously. “Aren’t you going to do something?” I was almost screaming. “You can make this stop! Why don’t you?”

  The pig looked up at me helplessly. I climbed on top of a horizontal beam and crouched there, holding Merlin in one arm and the vertical post in the other. Weylyn was nothing but a fuzzy shape now. What was he doing out there? I was furious at him, furious that he’d left me alone. Merlin was squealing now, probably because he saw Weylyn, too. “If you’re so worried about him, then help him!” I was crying now. I had made a terrible mistake.

  Then something completely inexplicable happened. It was subtle at first, so subtle I thought my eyes were playing a trick on me. The rain appeared to slow, as if the gravitational pull of the Earth had grown weaker. And it continued to slow until each drop became a liquid marble suspended in midair. I couldn’t believe it, but I had to.

  I could see Weylyn better now. He staggered from the force of the waves, but he held his ground. Above him, the clouds circled like sharks.

  The wind died down. The tide sucked back toward the ocean like a turtle hiding in its shell, and the clouds stopped circling. Weylyn was hunched over, his body shaking like he was supporting a tremendous amount of weight, like Atlas holding the world.

  Then came the storm’s last stand. It let loose the only thing it had left—lightning. A dozen bolts dropped from the sky in one brilliant flash. The crack of thunder that followed rattled my bones. When the spots in my eyes had faded, I saw a clear sky, a calm sea, and Weylyn’s motionless body on the sand.

  31

  BOBBY QUINN JR.

  “I had to hold the flashlight.” I laughed and took a swig of beer. It was happy hour at Crableg Joe’s, and I was feeling generous. I had bought the whole joint a round of beers and popcorn shrimp buckets to celebrate my good fortune. “Then Lacey screamed, ‘Dammit, Bobby! You’re pointing that thing right in my eye!’”

  My friends who had gathered around laughed, and my little girl, Carly Jade Quinn, squawked at me from her carrier. That was the seventh time she had heard the story, so I couldn’t blame her.

  “So, I heard a rumor,” my buddy Jake began, “that you were the one who brought that guy to town. The one they found on the beach.”

  Everyone watched me expectantly. I squirmed, uncertain of how honest I wanted to be. Talk of Weylyn had spread like wildfire since the hurricane, but I had mostly managed to stay out of the conversation until now. Supposedly, multiple people had seen Weylyn on the beach fending off the hurricane with his bare hands before he was struck by lightning. According to these eyewitnesses, the storm simply disintegrated the moment he hit the sand. I wasn’t sure how much of this story was true—I hadn’t heard from Weylyn since that day at city hall—but I liked to think that he kept his promise that day. Even if it was just fantasy, it was a hell of a story.

  I scanned the faces of my friends, trying to decide what answer would result in the least amount of public humiliation. Carly Jade watched me intently over her fuzzy pink blanket, waiting to see whether her daddy would chicken out or not. I drew a deep breath, winked at her, and said, “His name’s Weylyn, and yeah, I asked him to help us.”

  Instead of ridiculing me, my friends all looked at each other and shrugged. “Well, whatever the hell it was that you did, I guess it worked, ’cause we all still have homes to go back to tonight,” Jake said, then clapped me on the back and raised his beer over his head. “To Bobby!”

  “To Bobby!” my other friends toasted.

  I clinked my beer bottle against Jake’s and breathed a fermented sigh of relief.

  “That was some storm,” said a man’s voice. I turned and saw my dad peering at Carly Jade from his wheelchair. For a moment, I wasn’t sure whether he was addressing her or me.

  “Yeah, it was,” I said carefully.

  “Teddy told me you’ve been working hard on storm cleanup. He said you’ve really stepped up to the plate.”

  “He did?” I said, surprised.

  “I couldn’t believe it myself,” he answered, gently pinching my daughter’s tiny toes.

  “Would you like to hold her?”

  He nodded. I pulled Carly out of her carrier and sat her in his lap. Then, for the first time since my dad’s stroke, I saw him smile without any pretense, just simple joy. He looked from my daughter to me and said sincerely, “Congratulations, Mr. Mayor.”

  32

  MARY PENLORE

  Weylyn had been unconscious for two days. He was lying in a room at Mercy Hospital with tubes coming out of his nose and arms like extensions of his veins, just like Mom had before she passed. I couldn’t smell disinfectant without seeing her blue, cracked lips and the air that wheezed out of them.

  I stayed with him most of the day, only taking breaks to go home and feed Merlin, who hardly ate what I gave him, anyway. I wasn’t eating much, either, or sleeping. I kept dreaming about that day at the beach, or some version of it, but the beginning and end were always the same. It started with the sun bursting through the clouds, like it was coming up for air, and ended with me bent over Weylyn’s still body, howling over the sound of the waves that lapped at his feet.

  On the fourth day, I smuggled Merlin into Weylyn’s room in a duffel bag, in hopes that the sound of the pig would somehow bring him back. When the nurse left the room, I sat Merlin on the bed. The pig sniffed his hair and grunted softly. Weylyn didn’t respond. I lifted Merlin down and petted the velvety flesh of his ears.

  The clothes Weylyn was wearing when he was brought in had been laundered and folded by hospital staff and were sitting in a pile on a chair by the bed. I noticed the corner of a piece of paper poking out from his pants pocket. I pulled it out. There were multiple pages, all wrinkled from moisture. Most of it was illegible, as the ink had run, but I did make out a few words at the top of one of the pages. The top-left corner was torn off, but I already knew what that piece said. It read:

  [Mary] looks very pretty with her hair down. I considered mentioning that she wear it like that more often, but was worried she might think I don’t think she’s pretty when her hair is up. Maybe I should just tell her that her hair is pretty no matter what its configuration.

  I smiled to myself and tried to read the rest of the pages, but the ink was too smudged, so I folded them and put them back in his pants pocket.

  I took Merlin home and came back that afternoon. When I arrived, Weylyn was conscious. “Weylyn? You’re awake.”

  The young nurse who was tending to him looked at me sharply. “He isn’t really in a condition to do much talking yet. I’ll give you a moment, but I’d keep the chitchat to a minimum.”

  “May I ask your name, Nurse?” Weylyn croaked.

  “Amanda.”

  “Amanda, I didn’t think I was ever going to see this woman again. I doubt we will be discussing the weather or gossiping about celebrity misfortunes, so you need not worry about us ‘chitchatting.’”

  The nurse huffed and took her leave. I sat down on a chair next to Weylyn’s hospital bed and said sternly, “I think we should talk about the weather.”

  “You’re angry with me,” he stated.

  “What happened, Weylyn?”

  “I was struck by lightning.”

  “Yes, but why were you struck by lightning?”

  He gave a coy smile and fiddled with his hospital wristband. “I don’t know, Mary. I don’t control the weather.”

  “Don’t you?” I insisted.

  Weylyn let out a short laugh that launched him into a coughing fit. When he had recovered, I continued, “I think you stopped that hurricane. Not Merlin. I don’t know how, but I think you did.” I felt ridiculous just saying it, but the high of surviving a massive hurricane will make you do and say all kinds of ridiculous things. “Am I right?”

  “You usually are, Mary Jane,” he said; then he took my hand in his and closed his lids over the silver coins of his eyes. But I had one last t
hing to say before he drifted into sleep. “Weylyn, I left Quan … and I’m leaving in two weeks to study wolves out west.”

  Without opening his eyes, he said, softly yet assuredly, “And I’d like to come with you.”

  book 4

  THE FOREST FAMILIAR

  MELTWATER, MONTANA

  1998

  33

  DUANE FORDHAM

  There was only one set of tracks that led from my cabin. I used to fantasize about a second set of tracks, a woman’s, ones she made walking to the yard to split logs or the coop to feed the chickens, two sizes smaller than mine with treads that left star-shaped impressions in the snow. But there was no woman.

  But I did have Primrose. Every morning, I’d bring my cup of coffee with me to check on her. She was a Scottish Highland cow, a breed that bears little resemblance to the typical dairy cow. They are shaggy, prehistoric-looking creatures with mops of hair that fan over their faces. Margot, my ex, would joke that she looked like she had put her wig on backward.

  Primrose was dun colored, with horns almost as big as a bull’s. Despite their size, she never used her horns for anything other than scratching the occasional itch. She didn’t even protest when Margot trimmed them with tinsel for Christmas.

  She was about to mother another calf. Her belly hung low, and her udder was bagged with milk. It was only a matter of days before the calf would arrive, and I was as anxious as if it were my own kid. The real father was a seventeen-hundred-pound bull from Butte whose owner I paid to bring him up to Meltwater. After the deed was done and the trailer pulled out onto the main road, I couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit angry, like that bull was some deadbeat running out on his family.

  “Mornin’, Mama.” Primrose greeted me at the fence, and I patted her snout. Her breath was warm and humid against my palm and smelled like the hotel room Margot and I had shared on a trip to Florida that was supposed to save our relationship. I could tell it wasn’t going to work when she reserved a room with two double beds.

  Primrose used her nose to lift my hand, something she did when she was hungry. I usually just let her graze, but the winter had been a harsh one and didn’t leave much in the way of vegetation. Plus, Primrose was eating for two. “I know, Rosie. I’ll feed you after I drink my coffee.” Only I never got the chance. Primrose butted the mug out of my hand, and I watched the brown liquid melt the snow at my feet. “All right,” I said. “Message received.”

  I left a bale of hay for her in the barn, collected four eggs from the hens, and made an omelet with them for breakfast. Rosie was saving her milk for the calf, so I had to make the hour-and-a-half round-trip to Glacier Mercantile. I got bacon while I was there and chatted with Ellen, who ran the place. She was a pleasantly curvy woman, midthirties, with crisp, northern blue eyes. Her pupils contracted to the size of pinholes in the sun, which allowed her to stare straight into it for almost a minute without them watering. The second she showed me that trick, I was smitten.

  “Heya, Duane! How you doing?” Ellen said as I walked in. She was wearing a low-cut sweater and jeans tucked into a pair of furry boots. Her blond hair was swept over one shoulder in a messy braid, and her cheeks glowed like she’d just come in from the cold. I wanted to take her to Florida, get a room with one king bed and an ocean view, and watch her eyes take in all that sunlight.

  “Better now that I’m here with you,” I said in my usual flirty fashion.

  “Pshht! I bet you say that to all the ladies.”

  “Only my cow.”

  Ellen laughed, bringing her left hand up to her mouth. That’s when I saw the ring. “Is that … an engagement ring?”

  She wiggled her fingers as if I hadn’t already noticed it. “Yep!”

  “When did that happen?” I said like she’d just been diagnosed with some terminal illness.

  “Last night. Moose had a fire going, and we were roasting marshmallows. He put the ring on the end of his stick and held it out and was like, ‘Ellie, will you marry me?’ I’ve never been so happy.”

  This was the first time I’d ever heard of Moose. I’d never even asked her if she had a boyfriend, probably because I’d hoped she secretly had feelings for me. Maybe if I had asked her out six months ago when I met her, before she went to whatever dive bar or truck show she met this Moose person at, she would have said yes.

  “Wow. How long have you known … Moose?”

  “Three months.”

  Dammit.

  “I know that sounds fast, but when you know, you know.”

  “I’m happy for you. Really.”

  “Thank you.” She looked down at her diamond, and I could swear her pupils contracted a little from its shine.

  I grabbed my milk and bacon and got out of there as fast as I could. On my way out, Ellen told me to be careful. There was a big snowstorm coming and I was to call her if I needed anything and she’d bring it to me. I stopped at Rudy’s General Store down the street and stocked up on enough canned soup and beans to last me all winter.

  Eighteen inches. That’s what was supposed to fall that night on top of the six that already sat fat and happy on the frozen earth. I made sure Primrose had enough feed for the next couple of days just in case I couldn’t get more out to her. The snow was falling in huge, feathery clumps like God had ripped open a giant pillow. They clung to Rosie’s coat, and she wandered into the barn looking like some kind of fairy-tale snow beast. I brushed the snow from her bangs, then headed back inside to a bottle of Southern Comfort and a crackling fire.

  34

  MARY PENLORE

  I was pretty certain I was falling for Weylyn Grey, but the moment I realized it for sure was not when he saved me from drowning or when he lay in that hospital bed after being struck by lightning. It was in a little roadside diner in South Dakota. After a goopy plate of biscuits and gravy, Weylyn and I ordered two pieces of blackberry pie. “Someone worked really hard to make this,” he said, pointing to his slice with his fork. That’s what sealed it for me, that simple appreciation for something that most of us take for granted. When he said it, I choked on my Cherry Coke and coughed violently for a minute straight.

  “Mary! Are you okay?” Weylyn rushed around to my side of the booth and rubbed my back until I had finished hacking my lungs out. Yes. I’m okay, I thought. I am very okay.

  I had accepted the Canis Fellowship, and Weylyn and I were driving the twenty-three hundred miles north to Mammoth National Park, Montana. Weylyn was still a little weak from his stay in the hospital, but overall, he was recovering nicely. It was early March, so we’d get to the park before the Canadian geese showed back up for spring, returning from Mason-Dixon Line states like Kentucky and Missouri. We’d tell them how far we’d traveled and watch their beady black eyes fill with respect.

  “How much longer do you think we have to go?” Weylyn said after I had caught my breath.

  “A day and a half. Still plenty of time for you to explain everything,” I said and took a bite of my pie. It was still warm. “Mmmm. This is really good.” I looked across the table to see Merlin bent over Weylyn’s plate, his face covered in pie filling. “Apparently, Merlin thinks so, too.”

  “Merlin! No!” Weylyn reached across the booth to grab him, but the pig squealed, jumped out of his reach, and hid under the table. Weylyn sat back down on his side of the booth and looked sadly at his empty, blackberry-smeared plate. “I’ve told him a hundred times that all he has to do is ask and I’ll share with him.”

  “I think it’s the sharing he has a problem with.”

  “Yeah, I guess…” Weylyn eyed my piece of pie. It was so warm that the whipped cream was melting and sliding off the side. “Do you think you’re going to eat all of that?”

  “I dunno. Do you think you’re going tell me what happened on that beach?” I shoved my fork through the golden, flaky crust and lifted a giant piece to my lips.

  “I told you. I don’t know,” he insisted and tentatively reached for my plate. I pulled i
t out of his reach.

  “Yes, you do,” I said, chewing.

  Weylyn scowled. “You’re the scientist. Shouldn’t you be telling me?”

  I took another big bite. He whimpered slightly. “I don’t know what you saw,” I continued, “but what I saw defied the laws of physics.”

  “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

  I started shoveling pie into my face faster than I could swallow. Weylyn watched in horror. “Okay, okay! I’ll tell you. Just leave me a bite. Please?”

  I laid my fork on the table and washed the rest of my bite down with soda. “Okay,” I said. “Start from the beginning.”

  Weylyn heaved a sigh and peered out the window at the desolate stretch of highway. “The weather…,” he spoke quietly. “It’s tied to my emotions, I think. If I’m in a bad mood, it rains. If I’m in a good mood, it’s sunny. And then there’s the damn rainbows.”

  I looked out the window and saw a rainbow hovering over the I-90. “What’s wrong with them?”

  “I can’t eat a piece of cake or laugh at a joke without one of those ridiculous things showing up.”

  “You’re making that up,” I said and turned back to Weylyn, who was lifting a forkful of my pie to his mouth.

  “Hey!” I was about to snatch the plate from him and finish it off myself, but my stomach hurt from scarfing down the first two-thirds. “This conversation is not over,” I said. Weylyn grinned back at me, his lips purple with blackberry syrup.

  That rainbow followed us all the way to Billings, Montana, where trails of snow snaked across the highway. I hadn’t driven in snow in years, not since I left Michigan, so it made me a little anxious. I could tell it made Weylyn nervous, too.

  “It’s too bad you don’t have magic powers,” I said, half jokingly, “or you could take care of all this.”