by M K Dymock
“Sol?” she asked.
“If Sean says it not safe, it’s not safe.”
She wondered if he’d stick to that argument once he understood exactly how involved Ryan was.
Ryan and Sean made some talk about warming up a few cans of stew while she and Sol went to the body. The temperatures were far colder than any morgue’s storage, keeping Phil somewhat preserved.
They documented as much of the scene as the light would allow. She updated Sol on what she learned.
“So Ryan’s a suspect?” he said.
She bit her tongue against an argument she couldn’t make. “If there’s something to be suspected of. Thought I’d let you make the decision on what kind of attack this was.”
He stood from where he’d been squatting next the body, having just zipped it up in a body bag. They stepped out of the tent. “Mina,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in the middle of this. If I had known, I wouldn’t have sent you. But you are here, and your first priority is to that man in there, and your second is to this office.”
Mina had never wanted to escape into woods alone and unfettered more than she did in that moment. “I give you my word.” She wouldn’t run, and she wouldn’t let him down.
35
Nobody slept much that night.
The four of them crowded together in one tent where every movement set everyone on edge. They awoke before dawn, or at least that was when they finally gave up and got up.
Mina longed for a shower and a change of clothes, but she settled for a pee in the woods over a log. The cold against her hiney was enough motivation to hold it in as long as possible before the next one.
She stayed in Sol’s tracks as they moved into the woods with untracked snow. “I want to do a circle of the campsite,” Sol said. “I didn’t dare do it in the darkness and mess something up.”
“He wasn’t attacked in the tent,” Mina said. “Animal or man, there would’ve been a struggle and a lot more blood. Everybody said the tent was standing perfectly upright with the zipper partway open.”
“So, somebody moved him or he somehow made it back there?”
They started their search at the tent door. There were too many tracks and chewed-up ground to determine anything. They widened their search.
Twenty feet out, they found a blood trail. Red streaks followed along a set of prints that matched the winter boots on the body. Other than the blood, it would’ve been almost impossible to know this was the last path Phil walked. Several sets of tracks from different boots had come along the same way.
They photographed and marked the trail as the blood drops grew in diameter until they reached the source. Mina was very glad the others hadn’t seen the spot where Phillip had lost his last battle.
Blood soaked the white snow, now a brownish red. An imprint in the snow, the size of a man, lay in the middle.
She squatted next to Sol as he examined the ground. She didn’t need his commentary to know they looked at the spot where Phillip had lain bleeding out. “How did he make it back?” she whispered. The site felt almost sacred.
“Probably instinct. I heard about a man who was stabbed in his bed, but police found him in the kitchen. There was a blood trail through the house, and near as they could figure, the victim was getting ready for work like a normal day. Didn’t even try to call for help.”
“Phil went back to his tent on instinct?”
“A place where he felt safe and protected. A place to die.”
They searched the site for the tracks they hoped to find, a coyote or bear. “No Bigfoot prints this time,” Mina said.
“Nope,” he said without a trace of irony.
“Do you think Bigfoot is out there?”
“I think I know enough to know I don’t know a lot. Do I believe there’s an ape-man in the woods? No. Do I think there are things hidden out there that we have never seen and, if we did, couldn’t explain? Yes. I’ve wandered these mountains enough to see and hear things I have no explanation for.” He gestured to the area they’d searched. “Although I hope this doesn’t turn into one of those things.”
“When they first came, the Squatchers, I thought they were crazy,” she said, looking back toward the camp where one of the craziest made breakfast.
“And now?”
“It’s a bit romantic—if that’s the right word—searching for something you probably will never find but always keep hoping.” They stood about twenty feet from the blood on the snow. “I liked Phil. He had no guile. Only the thrill of being in the mountains and living life.”
Sol moved away from the bloody spot in an ever-widening circle. She followed him in his tracks until he put up a hand to stop. “There.”
Next to a large pine tree, something had indented the snow in a vague shape of a footprint, a very large bare footprint. “Damn it,” Mina said.
Sol squatted over it. “Nobody finds out about this until we know what’s up. Nobody.”
36
The sheriff sent Ryan and Sean down the trail as soon as dawn hit, leaving him and Mina alone to investigate. Abandoning her up there with something killing off people went against every instinct Ryan didn’t know he had.
As if sensing his discomfort or at least sharing it, Sean spoke as they mounted the snowmobile. “They’ll be okay. Sol knows these mountains better than anyone, and Mina is a lot more capable than most people born here.”
The snowmobile ride back down didn’t faze Ryan; the risk of falling off a cliff seemed like a fair trade for what they’d left behind.
When they stopped in the trailhead parking lot, Michael jumped out of a car, camera in hand. “I’d love to get your first reaction of the Sasquatch attack.”
Ryan threw up a hand to block the light as well as the man.
Sean, who had more thought than Ryan’s stunned response, jumped off the sled and pushed the camera away. Sean ignored the man to throw down the ramp on the trailer.
Michael’s attention turned to Ryan as he climbed off the seat. “Ryan, would you call this vindication? You’ve been talking for years about the dangers of Sasquatch. Now he’s taken another life.”
Ryan had always been slow to action. Had he been quicker in the woods that day as a child, maybe he could’ve saved a life.
He stood up from the snowmobile, his full height several inches above Michael. Without a word and before Michael saw it coming, Ryan grabbed the camera and ripped it from his hands. Using the metal rail of Sean’s trailer, he bashed the side of it in again and again.
Still silent, he handed the camera back to Michael, who stood openmouthed before he sputtered out a string of obscenities. Ryan walked away and climbed into Sean’s truck.
Michael turned his anger on Sean, who replied, “Don’t know what you’re so pissy about. Your fault you dropped the camera in the snow.” Sean loaded the snowmobile on to the trailer before jumping in the truck. “What’s his deal?”
“He wants to sell tickets to his show, and now we’re the show.”
“Like hell.”
“He does a series of YouTube videos about Bigfoot hunting. I watched a few, but they’re pure BS. Most of his so-called evidence is invented.”
“Where’s his big money come from?”
“What big money?” Ryan asked. “The man lives out of his van for most of the summer.”
“He offered me $5,000 for a two-day trip, plus $5,000 if he caught something usable. I thought only a fool would turn down that kind of money. I got a daughter starting college next year.”
“Turn around,” Ryan ordered. Fortunately, Sean chose to ignore the briskness, which probably wouldn’t fly anytime else, and turned around.
By the time they returned to the parking lot, Michael had fled, leaving nothing but tracks.
“He can’t be that stupid,” Ryan said, more to himself. “Hurting Phil for a payday. Nobody would believe him.” That was something Ryan had firsthand knowledge of.
“Men do a lot dumb stuff for the righ
t price. I live on land that used to be a silver mine until it dried up. No less than four murders, that we know of, happened a hundred years ago. Some my own kin.”
Was it possible? Maybe it was more than possible. Six men went up; only one had a reason. “Michael’s not one to keep a secret when there’s bragging to be had and a camera out. Looks like I’ll be doing an interview.”
37
Keeping people from discovering secrets in a town as small as Lost Gorge and an internet with billion of users was difficult at best and impossible at worst. While they were able to keep the knowledge of the tracks within the confines of the sheriff’s office, the condition of the body made news before Sol and Mina got off the mountain.
Sol had sent Mina home to sleep that first night, where she did anything but. The voices in her head would not stop their incessant jabbering, all demanding her attention. Her phone dinged around breakfast, and she grabbed it hoping for an update from Sol or something Ryan. It was ski clients asking to book her for the week. They’d decided to extend their Christmas by a week and wondered if she was available.
She sent off a quick rejection with the name of three instructors desperate for work. She decided she was better off working than waiting and threw on her uniform.
Sol didn’t look surprised when she walked into the office. “I called Clint off leave. We need him on this. Once he’s done a prelim, we’ll call the FBI again. They might show more interest this time as it was technically forest service land.”
“Good. What do you want me to do?”
“Go back over the first guy. I want to see if there’s any similarities, but I don’t want to assume either way on whether they’re connected.”
Clint came out of the backroom, pulling off a pair of plastic gloves and dropping them in a garbage. Despite his training, he collapsed into a chair and put his head between his legs.
They both waited, understanding the horror he’d experienced.
Finally, Clint sat up and took a breath. “This one wasn’t like before. The wounds were cut this time, not torn. Possibly a knife.”
“His insides were pretty messed up.” Mina would give anything to wipe that memory away.
“If it was a knife, it would’ve needed to be very sharp. Someone slashed him up and down, but they didn’t stab him. There were also nicks on the bones.”
“And on the other body, the bones were broken but not marked up.”
Clint nodded. “Whatever it was, I don’t think he saw it coming. There were no wounds to his hands; he still had his gloves on.”
“He was wearing gloves?” Sol asked.
“Yeah.”
“Meaning he had the time and inclination to put them on. Didn’t jump out of bed in a panic. He was also fully dressed, but he could’ve slept in his clothes to stay warmer.”
“Nobody remembered what he was wearing when I asked,” Mina said. “Everybody else wore their clothes to bed, just took off their outer layers.”
“The question is,” Sol said, “what enticed him but not anyone else out of the tent?”
“Could’ve been a coincidence. He gets up to pee and runs into a bear that decided to come out of hibernation.” Mina didn’t believe that, but it seemed the simplest resolution to rule out. It was the answer everyone would want.
“I’m becoming less inclined to call these animal attacks—at least, not until we’ve gone through every option. First one, we went into it assuming animal. This one, let’s assume not until have more. I’d rather think the worst and be wrong than walk around thinking we’re safe.”
“If it’s murder, then what’s the motive or the reasoning?” Clint asked.
“If it wasn’t planned, then it could be Phil gets up in the middle of the night and walks into something he shouldn’t,” Mina said, thinking out loud. “If it was planned, it doesn’t make sense the murderer would sit outside in the cold and dark all night waiting for the off chance Phil decides to pee. They would’ve done something to entice him outside.”
Sol wrapped his hands around his coffee mug and stared into its depths as if, like with tea leaves, he could divine. “What would’ve gotten him out of bed, not woken up anyone else, and not made him freak out?”
“Bigfoot.” Mina considered that thought for a moment. “Where’s the camera?”
38
Back at the hotel, Ryan paced until his throbbing feet begged him to stop; then he paced some more. He picked up the phone to call Natalie, Phil’s daughter. He dialed the number, but it took three tries before he could hit send.
She had questions he had no answers to. How could he not have heard her father? How come her dad went out alone? Why had Ryan ever encouraged such an asinine hobby? She hung up on him, leaving the last question echoing through his mind.
He’d told his so-called truth time and again without any thought to what people’s responses would be. Good people had taken to the woods to find Bigfoot because he swore the beast existed. Some of them had no more outdoor experience than walking to their mailboxes.
Had he ever in all these years once discouraged someone from searching? No. Because he was so sure he was right. Why hadn’t he told Phillip to go home to be with his kids, who’d already lost a parent?
Ryan hung up the phone and called Michael. Much as he hated that man, he could know something. He just had to get the guy talking. As soon as Ryan said those magic words “I’ll sign a release,” Michael was at his hotel, camera ready.
“I want you to walk me through that day as much as you can remember,” Michael said as the red light blinked record.
“You probably remember more about than I do,” Ryan said.
“No, not about this week. Before, when you were a kid.”
It was one thing to tell fellow believers over a campfire when they were sharing their own tales, but to go on camera in front of countless people would open him to ridicule that would follow him to every job, every home, and every relationship.
But if he wanted to get Michael talking, he’d have to give him something.
He told the first part of the story, the one rehearsed and repeated many times. But then he got to the part with her.
“Tell me, what condition did you find the body in?” Michael continued the barrage. “Was Bigfoot eating her? Could you see blood?” Michael didn’t even try to hide the salaciousness in his voice.
“Hannah.” Ryan closed his eyes and pictured the counselor who’d welcomed him with a smile.
“What?”
“Her name was Hannah.”
He’d been fourteen and all of a sudden he got girls for the first time. He’d literally squeaked out a hello when meeting her. The other boys bragged about what they would do with her given the chance. Boys who knew way more things than Ryan. It wouldn’t be the last time he’d wonder what his parents had been thinking sending him there.
“Was she pretty?” Michael pressed. “Was she friendly with all the boys?”
Parts of the story had remained untold, and a lot of the parts included Hannah. He’d never met her parents and had no idea what they thought of him, but he could assume the worst. This would bring it back to them again.
Could he sacrifice one victim to help another?
“I saw she was dead and went for help.” Ryan truncated the story; Hannah would remain in the past. He stood, yanking the mic off his shirt.
“No,” Michael said. “I need more than that. I need the good stuff.”
Ryan glared. “Sorry, your YouTube visitors will have to find something else to watch.”
“It’s not YouTube!” Michael yelled. “It’s Netflix, and it’s a freaking million if I can get footage of Sasquatch.”
Ryan laughed. “Seriously, good luck with that. We’ve been at it for years.”
“I know, but this will be so much better. A murdering beast sells more than a gentle giant.”
Ryan had never hit anyone before, never had the need. The shocked gasp on Michael’s face as Ryan’s fist punched s
traight into Michael’s gut matched Ryan’s own surprise.
Michael slumped to the ground, sucking in air and adding a touch of dramatic. Always the showman.
“Did you hurt Phil?” Ryan yelled. “Did you murder a good man to sell tickets to a show?”
Michael turned up a stricken face. “No, of course not. But don’t fault me for capitalizing on opportunity you are all too stupid and too superstitious to take.”
Ryan wished he was the kind of man to kick another while he was down. Punching this guy wouldn’t give him the answers he needed, but he had another option.
After kicking Michael out, he made a phone call. “Sean, I need to get back to that campsite. Can I rent a snowmobile from you?”
Ryan had to pull the phone away from his ear as his response included an unnecessary amount of yelling and cursing, ending with, “You want to get yourself killed?”
“I need to know what happened that night. How a friend could be butchered while I slept two feet away?”
“What do you think you can do the police can’t?” he asked.
“I’ve been tracking Bigfoot for almost twenty years. I know his signs, and more than that, I know what isn’t him. The police will be looking at everything but a monster.”
Silence filled the line.
“And if it wasn’t a monster,” Ryan continued, “I’m fairly sure who it was, and I know his track as well.”
“I’ll take you. We leave before first light, and we return before dark.”
“You could drop me off and pick me up the next day.”
“I was responsible for Phillip’s safety. He hired me to guide him up and down, and I failed him. Least I can do is figure out what happened. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
Ryan needed to talk to one other person before he could face the mountain.
39
Patrick walked through the sheriff’s office door carrying a pair of boots in his hand. “Sol around?”