The Canyon of the Lost (Jed Horn Supernatural Thrillers)

by Peter Nealen

  “Some of ‘em might,” he said. “A lot of tourists from down Seattle way up here. I’ll be leading the team, though, so I really don’t give a crap.”

  Just going off of what I’d seen so far, I expected Leahy to shuffle a lot of the outsiders off on Steve’s team. Right he may have been, but the old man was an abrasive codger, and just judging by his comments, he and Leahy probably didn’t get along all that well. Leahy might even agree with him, but Steve’s assumption that anybody who didn’t immediately follow up on his suspicions was an idiot would probably tend to rub people the wrong way. Hell, if I was in Leahy’s place, it was probably what I’d do. Let the people who didn’t know Steve deal with him.

  “Would you object if we followed up some suspicions of our own?” I asked.

  The look he gave me suggested that he was starting to have his own suspicions about us. “What kind of suspicions?” he asked. He looked back and forth between us. “You aren’t some bigfoot hunter crackpots, are you? We’ve got a kid to try to find up here. This isn’t the time to go looking for evidence for your latest documentary.”

  I was starting to imagine why people didn’t take this guy’s stories about patterns of disappearances seriously. One minute he’s brimming over with conspiracies, the next he’s accusing us of being cryptid-hunting loons who would only get in the way of the real work. Only the fact that there was indeed a kid out there somewhere who needed help, and that this old codger was our best bet to get up into the woods without interference, kept me from snapping at him. I caught the warning look from Dan out of the corner of my eye. Dan had a lot more experience than I did, and that included the “dealing with people” part of the job.

  “Look,” Dan said, kind of shouldering me aside, “we’re here to help find the kid. You said yourself that there’s a pattern, and that that ridge is right in the middle of it. If checking it out might help us find a lost little girl, shouldn’t we give it a try? If the dogs can’t find the kid, business as usual hasn’t worked in any of the rest of these cases, and there really aren’t any other leads, then where’s the harm?”

  Steve still didn’t look entirely convinced, but it was hard to argue with Dan’s logic. If the pattern held, we could sweep the woods until doomsday and still only have a slim chance of finding the missing girl. We had nothing to lose by going outside the box.

  “What do you have in mind?” he asked grudgingly.

  “Once we get out there, Jed and I will break off and head up onto that ridge,” Dan explained, “unless we find something tangible beforehand. From what you’ve said, it sounds like nobody has seen fit to check it out before now.”

  He still looked skeptical, but finally shrugged, looking past us at the next knot of people coming toward us. I guessed these were the rest of our group, and can’t say I was all that impressed. Most of them were wearing shorts and sandals, and had the look of a bunch of city people out for a stroll in the park. I doubted they were really all that prepared for the often hard, strenuous work of Search and Rescue, but I imagined that Leahy was taking any help he could get at that point.

  Steve was just shaking his head a little. “Fine,” he said. “But I won’t take the blame if you get lost, too.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Dan replied. “We’ve definitely done this before.”

  It wasn’t much later before Leahy called out over the team radios that we were starting. By then, Dan and I had retrieved our rifles, though we kept them down by our sides, halfway covered by our jackets, and faded off toward the edge of the line of searchers, so as to avoid questions about the long, narrow objects we were carrying. We still got a couple of odd looks.

  We spread out, starting up the draw and through the thick pine and fir woods. There wasn’t a lot of undergrowth, but the forest floor was thickly carpeted with fallen needles and cones, along with the occasional fallen tree. Actually, the latter were a little more common than “occasional.” Blowdowns were everywhere back there, with piles of gray trunks stretching down the slopes of the opposing ridgelines for hundreds of yards.

  The farther we moved up the draw, the more we were pushed uphill, toward the crest of the rocky finger on the south side. I looked up at Dan, who carefully signaled that we would go up and over, then break off. Being on the far side, we wouldn’t draw much attention. I glanced down the slope beside me, where a blond yuppie in her twenties, dressed in what looked like very expensive hiking clothes, was struggling to get over a fallen log, and nodded fractionally.

  Within a few more minutes, we were over the ridgeline and out of sight. Dan quickly got a compass heading toward the ridge we planned to explore, and we started off.

  “You think any of the others are going to notice we’ve disappeared?” Dan asked.

  “Not for a while,” I replied. “I don’t know why that blond chick even bothered to come along; I don’t think she’s seen anything more than three feet away from her nose since we started hiking. Probably going through phone withdrawals, being out of signal range.”

  Dan grunted. It might have been a derisive snort, a laugh, or a combination of both. Without another word, he led off. I pulled my Winchester out where I could get it into action quickly and followed a few paces behind, keeping my eyes peeled.

  The ridge was a decent hike away. It lay about five miles north as the crow flies, but if the crow walked, it was more like fifteen or a little more. Still, it should have been a fairly straightforward route, only twisting a few times to reduce the number of draws we had to climb down into before trudging back up the ridgelines.

  I almost didn’t notice that there was anything wrong at first. I just suddenly looked up and realized that we were going downhill. That wasn’t all that strange; we’d needed to cross two draws already, and that had required a bit of up and down scrambling. But a look at the sky, briefly visible in a slight clearing of the trees, showed me that we were definitely going the wrong direction, down toward the river instead of up toward the ridge.

  “Dan?” I called out. “Why are we going southwest?”

  He stopped stock-still and looked around, a frown on his face. “What?” he said. “We’re not…” He looked up at the sky, then at the surrounding terrain. “Well I’ll be. That’s weird.”

  “Maybe we just drifted with the slope,” I said hopefully. It has been known to happen, particularly in thick growth. The natural line of drift tends to be downhill, and so a hiker starts moving that way without intending to, as human beings and animals both tend to naturally follow the line of least resistance.

  “Maybe,” Dan muttered, though there was doubt in his voice and he was frowning as he looked around us. I knew what he was thinking, and frankly didn’t want to think it myself, though we’d both certainly seen weirder things. I really, really wanted to believe that it was just natural drift.

  Squinting at the surrounding hills, Dan said, “Let’s get up on top of this finger and follow it. We should be able to stay on the right course if we’re on the crest.”

  I agreed. At the very least, we’d notice more quickly if we started to stray one way or another.

  Unfortunately, we had caught ourselves drifting right where the slope in front of us was steepest, presenting us with what might as well have been a sheer cliff, littered with fallen trees and slippery piles of needles. It was a slow, scrambling climb, on all fours much of the time, grabbing at roots and rocks to try to keep from slipping back downhill as piles of needles slithered out from underfoot. But we finally got up onto the crest and tiredly straightened up. After a moment to catch our breath, we started out again.

  Only to find that we were heading back downhill. Again.

  “Son of a…” I almost swore as I turned back around.

  “Well, that answers that question,” Dan said grimly. “Someone or something definitely does not want us up there.”

  I had slung my Winchester as we’d climbed, but now I brought it around and checked the chamber out of habit. It was probably only going to g
et worse from there on out.

  Rifles in hand, we both reached down to draw the silver crosses of our Order out of our shirts. Whatever was up there, most Otherworlders don’t tend to like the sight of holy things. It might not make whatever monster was prowling the ridge flee in terror, but it would definitely give it pause.

  This time, as we labored up the slope, careful to keep to the crest, I could almost feel the pressure to turn away. It was no longer a subtle, insidious misdirection, but a mounting mental compulsion. I can’t quite describe it, except to compare it to a growing, ferocious itch, or the beginnings of a migraine. Whatever was up there, it really wanted us to turn aside and walk back down the mountain.

  But when we didn’t turn aside, and just kept forging our way up the ridgeline, heads bowed at times almost like we were leaning into a gale-force wind, the pressure lessened. It never entirely went away, but remained like an annoying background hum. Still, it appeared that our unknown adversary had decided to change tactics.

  There was a rustling noise, like something running through the woods, just down the slope to my right, and I stopped and whirled, bringing my rifle up as I did so. There was nothing there, but whatever it had been, it had sounded close. Very close.

  I stayed put for a moment, frozen in place, rifle up, searching the gray boles of the trees for any movement, any sign of something that might have made the noise. When I didn’t see anything and turned back slowly, I saw that Dan had his .50 Beowulf up in his shoulder and pointed down the opposite slope.

  “Something over there, too?” I asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “Might be something, might be an illusion. We’ll just have to keep pushing and find out.”

  That was going to be fun.

  As soon as we got moving again, the rustling picked up again. I thought that I saw something dash from tree to tree out of the corner of my eye, but when I snapped my head and muzzle toward it, there was, once again, nothing there. Whatever it was, it was being cagey.

  A few yards up the hill, we passed under a tall spruce. I suddenly had a bad feeling about it, I don’t know why. Maybe my guardian angel whispered something in my ear that I couldn’t quite hear. He does that sometimes.

  Whatever it was that had warned me, I suddenly stopped dead, throwing out my hand to halt Dan just before he stepped beneath the branches of that hoary old tree. Even as I did, there was a loud crack from up above, and a branch about as big around as my calf crashed down in a cascade of needles and bark to slam into the ground at our feet. If we’d taken one more step, we would have been right underneath it. I’m not convinced that it would have killed either one of us, but it sure would have hurt. It could well have injured one or the other of us seriously enough that we’d have had to head back.

  I peered up into the treetops, looking over my rifle’s sights. If our adversary was up there, it might not settle for just dropping branches on us. I mean, sure, it might have been an accident. That branch could have been broken off by the wind a long time before, and had just been caught against another branch until the wind happened to be right, and we just coincidentally happened to step beneath it at that particular moment. Sure. If you believe that, I’ve got someone to introduce you to. He’d like to discuss selling a certain bridge.

  But there was no silhouette poised to fall on us from above. There was nothing but the branches languidly waving in the mountain breeze.

  I looked down at the broken branch lying on the rocks at our feet. If I had entertained any thought that it might have fallen accidentally, it was immediately dispelled by a glance at the splintered end. The wood was white and clean, still moist. There hadn’t been nearly enough wind to break it off. That had been torn off and thrown at us.

  “That was close,” Dan observed dryly.

  I didn’t answer. I was scanning our surroundings carefully, my rifle muzzle never getting too far away from where my eyes were pointing. Whatever was out there, it meant us harm, and I meant to put a bullet in it before it could make us disappear like that little girl.

  There was a patter like light feet running over leaves and pine needles, then nothing. Everything was still, aside from the gentle waving of the trees in the wind.

  I think both of us just kind of held our breath for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing happened. Everything was quiet again. The thing had made its play and disappeared. Or it wanted us to think that was what had happened.

  “It’s only going to get worse as we go higher,” I muttered.

  “Count on it,” Dan replied. “It’s a good sign, though. Means we’re getting close.”

  “That’s assuming that this is the same thing that took the girl,” I pointed out, as we resumed our hike, stepping carefully around the fallen branch, “and not some other monster lurking in the woods.”

  “You are such a cheerful ray of sunshine in this darkened vale of tears, Jed,” Dan remarked without looking back. “And to think that I thought I was getting jaded.”

  I just snorted, keeping my own eyes peeled for any sign of our lurking adversary.

  “Seriously, though,” he continued, “the odds are against that. Remember, a lot of Otherworlders are territorial, and if this thing is localized around that ridge and the surrounding country, it’s not going to brook much in the way of trespass, mortal or otherwise.”

  “Unless it has minions,” I said.

  That got him to turn around briefly and shoot me a somewhat less than amused look. He sighed. “Yes, that’s possible, but not likely in these sorts of cases. Most Otherworldly predators are solitary, like mountain lions. And if it had a pack, we’d have already seen more of them. No, this feels like just one critter.”

  “You’re the expert,” I conceded. “For what it’s worth, I do hope that you’re right.”

  We lapsed into silence as our upward climb continued. Not because we were worried that we would be heard; obviously the thing already knew we were there. No, we were staying quiet so that hopefully we could hear the next attack coming before it hit.

  While we didn’t have to do the up-and-down, cross-compartment climbing that we’d been doing earlier, when we’d been going against the line of fingers and draws, the going still got harder and steeper as we climbed. The crest of the finger was getting rockier, though it was still thickly forested. The wind was picking up, too, making the crests of the pines sway and hiss as we rose above the shelter of the lower elevations.

  A particularly strong gust snatched at my shirt as we clambered up a fragmented boulder in our path. Just at that moment, with an ominous creak, followed by a splintering, cracking sound, the dead pine just above the boulder came free from where it had been leaning against a tall spruce and fell toward us.

  If you’ve never been under a falling tree, take my word for it. It is not a fun experience. At first it was almost moving in slow motion, rotating away from the trunk that had been propping it up, dry branches snapping away as they failed under the weight of the dead tree. As it descended, though, it picked up speed, its crown of gray, dead branches hissing through the air.

  I confess that even though he had at least a decade on me, Dan moved faster than I did. He didn’t pause to gawp at the widow maker as it dropped, but jumped aside, bounding a few feet downhill and putting his back to a bigger tree that was still alive and reasonably well-rooted to the ground. Only when I saw him move did I realize that I had better follow suit if I didn’t want to get turned into a red smear on the mountainside.

  I barely made it out of the way, spinning aside and getting behind a tree that was really far too small for the purpose, throwing my arm up over my face as I turned away from the falling tree. I was showered with broken branches and bits of dead bark as the widow maker’s trunk bounced off of my inadequate cover, and picked up some scrapes from dead branches raking my side as the falling tree crashed to the forest floor right next to my boot.

  I blew out a pent-up breath and realized I was shaking a
little. After taking a second to compose myself, I craned my neck around the tree and peered up the slope.

  There was a flicker of movement above. I whipped my rifle to my shoulder, but once again, it was gone before I could spot anything.

  Dan was laboring back up the slope. “I’ve seen widow makers let go before,” he said, “but I don’t think that gust was quite strong enough for that.”

  “It wasn’t,” I said, still searching the shadows of the trees for whatever it was I had seen. “There’s something up there.”

  He brought his own muzzle up, though he was still looking around us instead of getting focused on where I was pointing. “Did you see it?”

  “Nope,” I replied. “Just movement. But it wasn’t the wind.”

  He spat. “I’m getting kinda tired of this cat-and-mouse game,” he grumbled. “We need to either corner this thing or draw it out.”

  “I’m open to ideas,” I said. “It doesn’t seem to be the fair fight type.”

  “Of course it ain’t,” Dan said loudly. “It prowls around in the woods and kidnaps little girls. It’s too scared to do much more than make noises in the woods when anyone else comes around.”

  He paused as if listening, as his voice echoed faintly off the slopes. I listened and watched, but nothing answered and nothing moved, except for a crow or a raven that cawed from across the draw, off to my right.

  Dan shrugged. “It was worth a try,” he said. “I hoped we might make it mad.” He started clambering over the fallen tree. I kept my rifle up until he had made it to where he could move a little better, then followed.

  As soon as we were moving again, the noises picked up again. Pattering footsteps, rustling branches where they should have been still, and what might have been muttering, though I could never make much of it out. Every time we stopped to listen, the noises and mutterings stopped, leaving us in silence. I was actually starting to get annoyed, as dangerous as the situation was.