CLAWS 2

by Stacey Cochran

  She looked back over the handful of guys with whom she had had what could be characterized as a “close relationship,” and she saw a disturbing trend. They had all let her down. For the longest time, Angie felt nothing but anger and frustration for guys who ended up being too immature for a serious relationship.

  But why was it that they all ended up running out on her? Why was it that they all ended up caring more about themselves than her? Was it really always their fault?

  Before John Crandall, there had been Richard Jenkins. Richard had ended up being too controlling. He didn’t let her go out with her friends, and he refused to let her have professional relationships with people of the opposite sex. He was always suspicious that she would cheat on him. That relationship had ended so badly that police got involved a couple of times, and once, Richard had actually taken a crowbar to a door on the other side of which Angie had locked herself.

  Before Richard, there was Avery Grady from when she was an undergraduate student. Avery had been a witty, intense band major who could make her cry with the way he played the trumpet. But Avery had cared more about playing the trumpet and being a musician than he did about her. All he ever talked about was his music, and he never seemed to show any real interest in her. That relationship had staggered along for three years, before Angie discovered that Avery was secretly keeping a cocaine addiction from her. He’d nearly killed himself two weeks before Christmas their senior year, only half by accident, she suspected, and she was absolutely stunned when she found out it had been with cocaine. She had no idea.

  Or did she?

  The more she thought honestly about it now that she was a few years into her thirties, the more she wondered if the problem wasn’t partly her own fault. For the better part of ten years, she was sure it was the guys’ fault, not hers. After all, it was the guys who ended up doing something stupid, dangerous, selfish, or immature. But she asked herself why she’d gotten into these relationships in the first place.

  “Bullshit,” Angie said.

  It wasn’t her fault that these guys couldn’t keep it together. It wasn’t her fault that they each proved inadequate. It wasn’t her damn fault that they were each self-absorbed, arrogant jerks. How could that be her fault?

  It couldn’t be.

  It wasn’t. . .

  Still, there had to be good guys out there. Or was the entire male species just a screwed up, self-serving bunch of morons who cared nothing about anything other than their own fragile egos?

  “I wonder,” Angie said.

  She heard a car coming in the distance behind her.

  Again, she stepped over to the snowy shoulder, and she began to wave her arm. The car raced by, and she watched it fade into the distance. She stepped up onto the side of the road and continued walking.

  The truth was she was through with men. She couldn’t figure out whether it was herself or men in general, but whatever the cause, relationships were hard and painful, and she was just sick of them. And she knew it.

  Part of her motivation for taking this job in the first place had been exactly that; she wanted to put herself to work, and she didn’t want to think about her love life. She didn’t want to think about the personal. It made her uncomfortable and self-conscious to think about the personal, and she always ended up feeling self-pity. She hated it.

  She was addicted to success, even though success had passed her by these past few years. It was as shallow as that, and maybe that had been her undoing in the first place. She wanted to accomplish things so that people would like her. She wanted to feel like her life mattered to other people. The naked truth wasn’t very glamorous or noble, but it may have been nothing more than that.

  Sure, on one level, she thought she could make a difference. Like with the mountain lions. She thought that she could raise awareness. She thought that if she understood the animals, she would understand herself. She thought that maybe, just maybe, she could help curb the vanishing wilderness in the American West. And while she’d brought down one real estate developer, what was the cost?

  She’d lost her job, her friends, her home, her car, her money, her position. She’d lost everything. And now, she was three years older, and what was she doing?

  She was chasing the dream again.

  Angie believed that if she succeeded for Governor Janet Creed, she could regain everything that she had lost. If the governor approved of her, and she succeeded as a worthwhile ally, she’d be back on top. She would matter once again.

  Maybe she could even get a teaching job.

  She loved the environment, and she loved animals. She knew that. She loved feeling like she made a difference, even though deep down inside, she doubted that she ever would. Life was a cruel joke, a blend of fate, chance, and reason, and it seemed that she was forever paying off some debt from a mistake she couldn’t even remember making.

  She heard a siren coming toward her out of the north. She couldn’t see the car yet, but a moment, later, she saw the spinning blue lights around a hillside in the distance.

  “Police,” Angie said.

  She thought about stepping over to the shoulder again, but she realized that the patrolman wouldn’t see her. She decided to stay up on the side of the northbound lane to flag down the southbound car. It raced around a corner up ahead of her.

  Angie started waving her arms up over her head. The snow continued to fall. The police car raced towards her. Angie kept waving her arms frantically. The car didn’t look to be slowing down. She actually stepped over toward the center of the lane.

  Suddenly, the patrol car hit its brakes. It started to swerve.

  “Uh, oh,” Angie said.

  The car swerved across the snow-covered center line, its blue lights spinning.

  For an instant, Angie knew she was going to be hit.

  The patrol car swerved back toward its right, went off of the road over the shoulder. Snow blasted up into the air. The tires screeched, and then the car spun wildly and shot back out onto the pavement. Angie could see the lone patrolman inside as the side of the car raced towards her. She prepared herself to dive out of the way. The car continued to spin around out of control. The back left corner of the car raced towards her.

  Angie dove to her left.

  The car raced by her, a blur of spinning lights and flying snow, and it crashed down into the ditch on the northbound side of the road. Angie lay on the ground a moment, her eyes closed. She heard the clatter of metal, and she turned and saw the patrol car down into the ditch.

  It wasn’t moving.

  The blue lights on the top spun around, and the siren slowed down as though dying. It sputtered and died.

  “Oh, my God,” Angie said.

  She climbed to her feet and started running back over the highway towards the crashed car.

  “Are you alright?” Angie said.

  She could see the light on inside the car, but she couldn’t tell if the driver was moving. He looked to be slumped over the steering wheel.

  “Oh, my God,” Angie said.

  She reached the back right fender of the car and climbed down into the ditch on the left side of the car. She reached the driver’s-side door and glanced inside.

  The driver wasn’t moving.

  “Oh, my God,” Angie said. “Hello? Are you alright?”

  The guy inside did not respond.

  She tried the handle. The door was locked. She couldn’t see his face. She tapped frantically at the glass. She tried the door behind the driver. It, too, was locked. She peered across the inside of the car. Both doors looked locked on the right side.

  She looked out at the roadway, hoping for another car. There was none.

  She looked at the snowy bank. She saw a rock about the size of a bowling ball with a pointy pyramid-shaped top sticking up from the snow. She glanced back inside.

  “Oh, please,” she whispered.

  She tapped at the driver’s window. Then, she saw blood dripping from the driver’s nose.
r />   “Oh, my God!”

  She spun around and clambered up the hill towards the rock. She managed to pick it up from the snow. It weighed about twenty pounds, and she slid back down the hill. She held the rock in her right hand and prepared to smash in the window.

  She tapped the pointy end against the glass. It would go right through, she realized. She looked in once more, and the guy still did not move.

  “Here goes,” she said.

  She pulled the rock back, readying to slam it through the glass. And at just the moment that she started down with the rock, the driver sat bolt upright like he’d been struck with a thousand volts. His face looked up, and the rock smashed through the window.

  “Oh, my God,” Angie gasped.

  Reflexively, the driver went for his gun on his right hip, but he was still dazed. The rock dropped to the ground and struck Angie’s shin and foot. She howled out in pain, and fell backwards into the snow.

  “Owww!!” she cried out, and she rolled over holding her leg.

  The rock had struck her shin before it hit her foot, and she could feel the skin dampening already.

  The officer looked out the smashed out window, pointing his gun.

  “What the hell is going on?” he said.

  Angie rolled around in the snow, cursing her leg.

  “It’s you!” the officer said.

  He withdrew his gun and tried to open the door, but it must have bent in the frame because he couldn’t pop it open.

  Angie looked up from the snow. She lay on the ground holding her right leg in her hands. Her eyes were watering, not from emotions, but from sheer stinging pain. She squinted and looked towards the brightened car window. It was the guy from the checkout line, the guy who had offered her five bucks.

  “You’re the biologist,” he said.

  He crawled out the window of the police car and approached Angie. He offered her his hand.

  “Come here,” he said. “Let me help you up. Or don’t you want my help again?”

  Angie reached up her right hand, and he helped her to stand up on her feet.

  “I think I broke my leg,” she said.

  “Are you serious?”

  Angie staggered around, testing how her leg would do.

  He said, “What were you doing standing out in the middle of the road? You could’ve gotten us both killed.”

  “I didn’t want another car to pass me.”

  “What are you doing out here?” he said. “It’s three in the morning.”

  The young sheriff’s deputy leaned in the window and grabbed his CB. He called in: “Ten-seventy-six, there’s been a slight delay,” placed the CB back on the clip, and then stepped back and appraised the situation with the car. He glanced at Angie who had stepped back up to the road.

  “Somebody tried to break into my place tonight,” she said over the car’s roof.

  “What?” he said. “Why didn’t you call this in? What are doing out here on the side of the road?”

  “I was walking to town,” she said.

  The young officer shook his head with irritation.

  “Who tried to break into your place?” he said.

  “I don’t know if they were trying to break into my place,” she said. “I think they were trying to scare me. One of ’em threw a pig’s head at me. They had a Halloween mask. Like a Yoda mask.”

  “Are you serious?” he said. “Are you okay?”

  “Up until my shin,” she said, “I was fine.” She looked at him over the hood of the car. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll help you push it back up onto the road.”

  Angie got around the front of the patrol car and readied to push. The officer leaned in the window, cranked the ignition, and prepared to pop it into reverse.

  “Ready?” he said.

  “Go!”

  The officer threw the gear into reverse, and the wheels began to spin. Pushing against the doorframe, he found his footing. Angie pushed from the hood area, and the car rocked a moment, and then started rolling up from the ditch.

  The officer forgot that the door couldn’t open, and the car kept rolling slowly up on the road. He climbed in the window, holding onto the steering wheel, fell inside into the driver’s-seat and then threw the car into Park. The gears ground loudly, but the car stalled and stopped.

  Angie heard him mutter from inside on the driver’s seat. His legs were still sticking out the window. It made her smile, and she walked up toward the window.

  “You alright?” she said.

  He rolled over, pulled his legs in from the window, and righted himself behind the steering wheel.

  “You’re just a barrel of laughs,” he said.

  He restarted the patrol car and pulled over to the side of the road. Smoke poured from the hood for a second, but he killed the ignition before it got any worse. He grabbed the CB and made another call.

  The operator responded a moment later through the radio, “Code six; paramedics arriving on scene. We have a ten-eleven. Please standby.”

  “Copy that,” the officer said. “Ten-seventy-six.” He looked at the steering wheel and said, “Let’s hope.”

  “What’s going on?” Angie said.

  “Hop in,” the officer said. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “What is it?” she said. She opened the passenger door and climbed in.

  The sheriff’s deputy held his bloody nose pinched in a clean hankie. He reached across the car with his clean hand, and she shook it.

  “My name’s Jonas Frommer,” he said. “Deputy Sheriff Jonas Frommer. This one’s right up your alley, Dr. Rippard,” he said. “We got a ten-eleven.”

  “How do you know my name?” Angie said, pulling her door shut.

  The sheriff’s deputy turned the ignition, popped the patrol car into gear, and gave it some gas. He waited to see that the hood didn’t smoke. The car’s gears ground for a second, but then caught and they rolled forward. He started to accelerate. He glanced across at Angie.

  “Your reputation precedes you,” he said. He managed a friendly little smile.

  Angie said, “What’s a ten-eleven?”

  Jonas looked at her. “Animal trouble,” he said. “Buckle up.”

  The radio crackled: “907-T, be advised. We’ve got a 927-D.”

  Jonas grabbed the CB. “Copy that.”

  Angie watched him.

  “What’s 907-T?” she said. “What’s a 927-D?”

  “It means the animal trouble is bad,” he said. “It means that people are screaming.”

  Eleven

  Carson Richards stared at the open window on the passenger side of the SUV and felt pure terror. Eight of her friends were dead. A bear had attacked them.

  She felt the brake pedal and accelerator on her left arm. Her head rested against the bottom of the driver’s side door. She wore a ski jacket and not much else. Her hair was still wet, and the skin of her legs was so cold that goose bumps formed over the smoothest parts of her upper thighs. Her feet were bare, and she was shivering.

  Her legs stretched to the passenger side. She realized they were too close to the window, and so pulled them in, wrapping her arms around her knees. She tried to wrap herself wholly in her ski jacket for warmth, and she stared at the window, waiting for the bear to return.

  The bear did not return.

  She didn’t hear it outside, but it had already done that twice before, only to attack when they least expected it. So, she stayed on the floor of the SUV and waited.

  • •

  Paramedic Anthony Newcomb peered out from the passenger seat of the four-wheel-drive ambulance at the narrow forest road ahead of them. They could see reasonably fresh tracks in the snow, signs that someone had driven up this road in the past three hours.

  The woods were dark and thick with trees on either side of the ambulance. Neither the driver, Anthony, nor the two EMTs in the back had ever been up to Marilyn’s Well.

  “There’s a gate,” Anthony said.

  “
I see it,” driver Mike Simpson said. Mike pulled the ambulance up to the gate, and Anthony jumped out and ran through the snow to open it.

  He popped the latch and pushed the gate open. Mike pulled the ambulance on through, and Anthony climbed back up into the passenger seat. They continued on up the mountain through the dark and snowy woods.

  “What in the world,” Anthony said.

  The ambulance came up the final stretch of forest road through the trees. Already, driver Mike Simpson was on the radio calling for backup. It looked like a war zone.

  Smoke rose from a fire over on the right, but something had spilled the fire out onto the snow. The SUV thirty feet in front of them looked like it had been pummeled. They saw three bodies on the left, one at the edge of the woods. Two more people lay motionless in the snow on the right. Their headlights shined out over the steamy lake, and the red lights on top of the ambulance had a strobe effect, lighting everything in ever-shifting shades of red.

  “Don’t get out,” Mike said.

  The two EMTs in the back leaned forward and saw the remains outside.

  “We may still have an animal on the scene,” he said.

  Everyone looked out the front window of the SUV.

  Suddenly, the door on the driver’s side of the SUV swung open. A girl fell out onto the snow and started to climb to her feet. Anthony said, “We got a live one!”

  He threw open his door. The girl looked in the direction of the ambulance. She had on no shoes. Anthony ran to her.

  “Are you alright, ma’am?” he said.

  The girl looked up into his eyes. “We’re not safe out here,” she said. “It was a bear, a big bear. It may still be around.”

  Anthony looked up into the woods beyond the SUV. He held the young woman’s elbow, and they began walking back toward the ambulance. She kept looking nervously up towards the woods and out toward the lake.

  Twelve

  The almond-eyed redhead woke to the sound of the telephone ringing at a quarter past four in the morning. It was still dark outside over the seven-hundred-acre Aspen, Colorado ranch, but the snow had let up at some point during the night.