Here Be Monsters (Tyler Cunningham)

by Sheffield, Jamie

  We parked a little past the shelter on Algonquin Avenue, a residential street nearby, and walked through the woods to the shelter from behind. I didn’t want to expose the TLAS or Dorothy to more risk than was necessary to get my plan in motion, although she seemed to be having fun (she was humming the theme from, “Mission Impossible” the whole time). We spent an hour or so using the shelter's ancient desktop computer, with its slow Internet access and an even slower printer, to lay the groundwork for my plan's implementation. Once everything had been double-checked and printed off, I sent a slightly reluctant and confused Dorothy up Panther Mountain with her headlamp, while I made a quick run to Cynthia's house for a needed item. I was back a few minutes before Dorothy (Panther is both close and teeny, and she must have jogged up and down it). Once she had hosed off her head in the shelter's grooming sink to cool down, she blocked the door and forced me to explain my plan to her.

  “Give, or you don't get out this door, peewee!” she said as she leaned back against the only exit from the room, air-poking menacingly near my injured shoulder.

  “OK, I can tell you some of it, but there are parts that I have to leave out, and others that will develop once the plan is in motion.” This wasn't strictly the truth, but it was hopefully close enough to mollify her, and get me out and moving. If I spent too long thinking about the complex series of events that all had to shake out in the right way in the next eighteen hours, I might just hike to Smart Pig and drive away in the Element; and I wouldn't like the way that felt.

  “I need to break the bad guys into more manageable units, get them out of their comfort zone, and take them off the game board in a way that won't bounce back on me, and you.” I began, looking to see if she was going to move away from the door... she wasn't... yet. I needed to give her a bit more

  “They're comfortable in and around Saranac Lake, Lake Placid, Tupper Lake, and the roads connecting them to each other and the world outside of the Park. We're going to use the GPS and my knowledge of the wild places around here to get them off their personal maps, and onto mine. I'll bounce them from nook to cranny all over the backwoods around here, both to make sure that they don't bring extra guys, and to keep them off-balance. Once we've gotten sufficiently far from prying eyes, I've got a way to insure that they leave me alone once and for all.”

  “Explain how the Ziploc bag and note that I hid at the base of that huge rock on the back of Panther fits in to the master plan?”

  “This note and a GPS receiver (that I got out of my cache a few hours ago) will be going to George in a little while, and then I'll head out to hide a couple more notes in some increasingly wild spots. The GPS will have coordinates for the note up on Panther programmed into it, and once he gets there, the note you left will give him the coordinates to the next note... and so on. It's like a ransom payoff in reverse... making sure that we control the bad guys instead of the other way around.” She tilted her head like a dog listening hard to an unexpected and confusing noise, so I tried to continue and expand upon my answer. I now wanted to continue not just to appease Dot sufficiently so that she would let me leave, but also to see if my plan made some sense; my last plan for dealing with George had seemed perfectly reasonable to me, and had failed miserably.

  “The note that I wrote to him will be dropped off, with the GPS, and it will lead him on a hunt into the woods. He'll think that he's in a position of power because he has guys and guns, and he thinks I'm injured and alone, which, in fact, I will be; but getting him out of town and away from his internal map of the world will shift the balance of power in my favor, possibly by enough to allow me to win. I plan to strip him of his guys in the early rounds, so that at the end of the game, when just the two of us are left, I've got the upper hand by virtue of my home-court advantage... does that make sense now?” I finished up hopefully.

  “Sorta, except that even with them being uncomfortable in the woods, and all, there are more of them than there are of us, and they have guns.” I smiled at the fact that she had included herself on my team; she had already helped me too much though, and I couldn't bring her along on this next stage, even though I desperately wanted to do just that.

  “Just me, Dot, just me. And their guns won't matter because I'll be ‘a leaf on the wind’.” Serenity or Firefly references always seem to make her happy, but in this case it didn't work; perhaps it was a poor choice of quotes.

  “Yeah, that worked out great for Wash... 'watch me-SPLUNK!'... if things go badly, when do I tell Meg's husband?”

  “If I don't check back in before dinnertime tomorrow then tell Frank if you want, but think about it before you do... it won't help me by that point, and could make things difficult for you on a number of levels. If I don't make this work, then you would be best off just forgetting about it to the greatest degree possible, and move forward. There'll be a crap-ton of money coming to the shelter once my will is settled, more if you find a way to tell Frank where to look for Cynthia.” I had my money set to split mostly between Cyn and Dot, but with Cynthia provably dead, Dorothy and the shelter would get a bunch more.

  “Well, that changes things a bit... I might sign up for George's team, so I can stop hustling for kibble and cat-litter. Dorothy smiled at me in a way that let me know exactly what she thought of my chances of seeing her before dinnertime, or ever again, “But how will he know that you want to play?”

  “I've got a burner-phone I picked up from Kinney's when all of this started. Paid for it with cash and set it up with no useful information in the activation details, I used the Lake Placid McDonald's Wi-Fi. I'm going to head out and drop the GPS and note to George at his mailbox. As soon as I'm clear, I'll call and text him to let him know that I’m alive and that we need to meet, so that I can talk him out of further attempts to kill me.”

  “He won't take it at face-value, but might assume that I'm dumb enough to put myself in his crosshairs again, which in some ways is exactly what I'm doing. Either way, he'll have to play my game. I think it's probable that he'll limit himself to bringing along just Justin and Barry, to keep his circle of who knows what as small as possible.”

  “It sounds like a complex way to commit suicide at the end of a nice hike to me, but you're a pretty smart guy, gunshot wound to the contrary... so I'm just going to wish you good luck, drop you off at your car, and see you later.” She did just that, nobody seemed to be watching my Element, so I waved goodbye to Dorothy and drove off into darkness.

  Tupper Lake, Stewart's Convenience Store, 1:47a.m.,

  9/9/2012

  “George, are you awake?” he had taken four rings to answer his phone, and sounded groggy when he mumbled something into the phone.

  “Who the fuck is this, and how'd you get this number?” it sounded as though he didn't like being called on his private cell number.

  “It's Tyler, George, the guy you tried to kill a few days ago, despite some perfectly good reasons not to do just that.” I let that sink in, and waited on the line, listening to his breath for a few seconds.

  “I told those morons that if they didn't see you dead, you're not dead, but in truth, I figured you probably drowned or bled to death. Why am I talking to you instead of a tac-team of State Troopers? Not that I mind, but it don't make sense.”

  “I want the same thing now that I wanted before... to be left alone and living... only this time I want some money also.” I assumed that he wouldn't believe my motivations this time either, unless I added greed into the mix.

  “How much, and why should I leave you alone instead of actually killing you this time?”

  “I want $50,000 in twenties and tens, and you shouldn't kill me because this time I actually did leave a note, and this time I have more than guesswork... I literally know where the bodies are buried.”

  “OK, come out to the house tomorrow morning for coffee, and we'll work it out.”

  “No chance George. I left a GPS and a note explaining the way we're going to do this in the mailbox at the end of your
driveway... don't tell the post office, it may be illegal... I want you to follow the GPS to a set of coordinates already programmed into it... there will be a note in a baggie giving you coordinates to another note, and so on... I'll be watching at one, or more, of the spots to see that you're not bringing a mob with you, and that you've got the money. After a couple of stops and bounces, I'll meet you at a final set of coordinates down near Old Forge. You give me the money, I go on a short vacation, and when I come back, I'll find someplace else to live, thanks to your relocation funds.”

  “Sounds mostly OK, except I'm bringing my guys, so you don't ambush me in the woods.”

  “If by guys, you mean Barry and Justin, that's all right with me, but nobody else... no new faces.”

  “Fine, whatever. Do I gotta get going now, or can I sleep until a decent hour?”

  “Sleep George, you'll need your rest tomorrow... wear clothes for hiking, and bring water and snacks for all day.”

  “Fuck you!”

  “Sleep tight.” I hung up, figuring that we were done.

  I had gassed up and grabbed some food and water at Stewart's (paying cash so as to leave no trace in case of subsequent inquiries) and dry-swallowed another round of the dog-meds. I had a short drive to the spot where I was going to hide the second note, with the coordinates in it for the third location. My aim was to take George and the boys on a series of hikes to tire them out and get them used to being alone in the woods, seemingly wasting time. By the time we met up for the exchange later in the day, I wanted them all to be stressed and stretched-thin and ready to be caught unaware for the twist that I had in mind.

  Bog River Falls Bridge, 2:31a.m., 9/9/2012

  I have no idea why the bridge up above the Bog River Falls was built, but it looks to have been abandoned before it was ever put to use; I planned to make good use of it tonight and tomorrow. Route 30 is a two-laner, and Route 421 is a tiny road off of that; the bridge was on a tinier road (really an overgrown Jeep trail now) off of that, which didn't lead anywhere except to an infinite supply of wilderness. The road leading to the bridge has been mostly reclaimed by the forest, and walking down the cracked pavement mostly by feel in the glow of my headlamp's lowest setting, I was, as always, surprised when the clean and angular lines of the bridge loomed out of the dark.

  It stretched more than 100 feet across the river, and was nearly four lanes wide. I had spent a night hanging underneath the bridge (from the network of support beams) the previous winter in my hammock. That underside was my goal now. On the far side of the bridge, I climbed around and underneath the structure and climbed up and into the girders to hide George's second note where it would be plainly visible when they arrived. I was feeling a bit sore and tired by the time I climbed out from under the bridge and walked slowly back to my car to wait for dawn or a phone call, whichever came first. I checked to make sure that my phone was charged and that I had enough bars to make/receive a call, set my alarm for 5:30a.m., moved the car a bit down the road (just in case George and company arrived earlier than expected), and washed more doggie-pills down with a Gatorade before going to sleep. Dot was supposed to call me in a bit, but I had an alarm set just in case.

  Bog River Falls Outlet, 6:37a.m., 9/9/2012

  “Morning Boss! This is your henchperson, Dorothy, calling to report in on enemy troop movements. Out.”

  “Dorothy, you're using a cell-phone, not a 'walkie'. You can just talk, no need to use communications jargon... although I like the idea of having a 'henchperson'. What's going on?”

  “First, Boooooo about no comms-jargons! Second, thanks! Third, I was parked at the Bartlett Carry turnoff like you suggested, and a couple of minutes ago saw a single yellow crew-cab truck go by. I pulled out a minute later to follow them down the road. I had to slow down a bit at the Panther Mountain parking lot to avoid two guys, one looked like Justin and the other had to be Barry based on your descriptions. I didn't see George, but he could be letting them climb the mountain while he finishes his first cup of coffee. There were no other cars or trucks with them in convoy or in the parking lot”

  “Thanks Dorothy! Did they see you?”

  “Not likely... I kept my high-beams on when I passed, and they were focused on finding the trailhead. I made the turn at Wawbeek Corner, and drove back into cell-range down by the Upper Saranac boat launch. They should be back down in a few minutes, do you want me to circle back and report when they are headed your way?”

  “Nope, thanks for the offer, but you should go to work and help clean and feed homeless beasts. I feel bad enough that I've involved you to this extent, but I couldn't figure out how to watch them and get done what I needed to do. Now though, you should clock out as henchperson, and clock in at the shelter. I'll talk to you later.” Strangely, I felt as confident as I sounded, although there were probably a nearly infinite number of things that could go wrong from here on out; things were going to get exponentially trickier and riskier until a tipping point sometime around midday when they would resolve themselves in one of only two ways... that I could see.

  “Good luck, and Tyler... do what you have to do to come home tonight, OK?” I don't think that Dorothy had figured out my endgame yet, but if she had, I'm sure that she would have approved. She sees the world in simplistic terms, and tends not to worry much about what happened yesterday.

  “Will do. Remember to drop your phone and SIM-card in two different lakes on your way to work, and give Gandhi a cookie from me. Evil Mastermind over and out.” I closed the clamshell phone, walked over to look at the Bog River dumping into the bottom of Tupper Lake, stripping the SIM-card and battery out as I went and chucked the phone and card as far as I could (tossing the battery into the lower end of Tupper Lake seemed needlessly eco-hostile, and I regretted not mentioning it to Dot, although she would probably forget to ditch the phone altogether).

  I walked to the Element and hopped in, ready to turn it around and get headed towards the end of George's treasure hunt, realizing how much I didn't want a flat-tire or dead alternator right now. The car started up and seemed to run smoothly enough as I pointed it towards Long Lake and points south. I could feel George and Justin and Barry move through a similar arc in time space about one hour and 30 miles behind me.

  Hoss's Country Corner, 7:58a.m., 9/9/2012

  I had stopped in Long Lake to top up my gas and get some cokes and jerky and nuts to keep me going for the day, when the sign at Hoss's grabbed my attention. Hoss's has grown from a simple country store into a complex of connected buildings and services, offering everything from Adirondack souvenirs to fancy coffee to haircuts to bait to ice cream to internet access... it was the last that pulled at me, despite the fact that I was in something of a hurry. I gave the bored kid at the counter a twenty dollar bill, indicating the coke I had taken from their cooler and an unoccupied computer with the same waving hand gesture. Signing in, and then logging in to my iGoogle page and gmail was a matter of a minute, and gave my significantly-too-crazy day a slight tinge of normalcy; weeding out the hundreds of useless emails to end up with three that I wanted to read took a few minutes though. The first was a robo-email from the TLAS, inviting me to a food-related benefit for the beasts, and I RSVP'd in a fit of optimism (hopefully not jinxing myself). The second was from Gregory Simmons, saying that Jacob Hostetler had come by with a still warm apple pie and ten pounds of smoked bacon from his farm, begging Mike to pass them on along with Jacob's desperate pleas to come up with a more meaningful way to let him thank me for saving his daughter's life (that seemed a bit dramatic to me, but with farm-fresh Amish bacon in the equation, I was willing to live with it). The third was from Meg, reminding me about dinner tomorrow night, and that I had agreed to bring dessert; I googled tiramisu, found a couple of the best/easiest recipes, and emailed them to myself. I threw all of the emails into a “9/2012” folder, and logged out... of gmail, igoogle, and Hoss's system... and eventually, Long Lake.

  Out in the Element again, I tried to figure o
ut where Justin and Barry (and maybe George too) were at this point; my mental map and timing mechanisms placed them in Tupper, driving prudently (there are lots of cops on all three roads in and out of Tupper) with coffee and donuts from Stewart's past the huge swamp where I had seen my first Adirondack moose a few years earlier. They would likely be tromping out to the ghost-bridge in a few minutes and back on the road only a bit after that; I needed to get moving. I was having more fun than seemed proper or judicious or moral, and had to tell myself not to forget why I was doing this, remembering my not-so-great best-case version of how the day would end; even so, I still felt good, despite the steady ache in my shoulder. I swallowed my next round of pills, a bit early but I might not get a chance later in the day, dropped off another treasure-hunt note at the next site, and drove towards some serious middle of nowhere, to get lost, and hopefully find the solution to my problems.

  Deep woods near Tahawus, 9:28a.m., 9/9/2012

  The road up to Tahawus from Newcomb, New York, is like a portal through time. The road ends at a trailhead leading hikers up into the High Peaks Wilderness through a back door that allows them to avoid the crowds that you tend to see when hiking in from the Lake Placid side. Also on the road from Newcomb is a ghost town, the leftovers from a series of mines and mining enterprises over the last 150 years; they have taken lead, silver, garnet titanium, and iron out of the mountains in unbelievable amounts over the last 150 years. The wild country is a mix of private and public land, but both the public and private lands are generally deserted and abandoned; it was the perfect setting for the scene that I wanted to play out with George and his guys.