Faithful Shadow (2 page)

“Where’s the driver?” Joe asked as he stepped out of his truck.

“Had him taken over to Lake. He had some minor injuries, sore neck and all.” Rita motioned with her hand at the car’s nearly flattened hood. “Boy’s lucky this is the worst of it.”

“Looks like this elk wasn’t quite so lucky.” Joe bent down over the mutilated carcass, guessing from the growth of its antlers that the creature had been a young buck. Joe touched the only part of the elk that wasn’t matted with blood and tissue, giving the poor creature a gentle pat. “Sorry fella.” He gripped the elk by the head and pulled it over onto the shoulder.

“Listen, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am to hear about Ryan. I hope I’m not being too forward.” She felt bad, looking at the tension in his shoulders and the sadness in his eyes.

“Yeah…” Joe closed his eyes as he stood, working hard to keep a professional front. He turned to Rita and forced a smile. “Thank you, but I’m doing okay.”

Rita knew a tortured soul when she saw one, but she wasn’t going to pry. Joe was her superior and the death of one’s son was far too touchy to risk a blow out. She gave a single nod and hurried off to the back of her truck. This was a procedure she’d gone through far too many times. She pulled out the cones and began setting them around the accident, agitated that this young man had chosen a sharp curve to hit the elk rather than a straight shot of road. But accidents were never accommodating. She set the last cone down and looked up, spying Jackson’s unmistakable tow truck heading toward them.

“Have you been shooting tourists again?” Jackson laughed as he pulled up beside her. “Looks like you need to work on your aim.”

“Maybe I need bigger targets.” Rita smacked the passenger side door of the tow truck.

“Ouch.” Jackson smiled, giving her a wink. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll be pulling out my hook. Wanna help?”

“Get to work, jackass.” Rita stepped back as he drove toward the front of the vehicle, backing up as best he could without running over the elk. “Such a sad affair.” Rita shook her head.

“Whatever. Stupid ass tourists going way too fast on these roads.” Jackson hopped out of the truck and grabbed the towing cable. “Probably texting.” He got down on his knees and attached the hook.

“It was an employee’s car,” Rita said, feeling the comments were undeserved.

Joe shook his head, looking from the crumpled hood to the dead animal. It had become a tradition of his to give a little speech at the new employee orientation every May. He started it off the same way every time, a slide show that began with a photo taken from one of the worst car accidents he’d ever seen within the park. An employee working in Mammoth had taken a drive after a few too many drinks. He’d turned a corner and plowed right into a herd of buffalo as it was crossing the road. The car was smashed like a pancake. Joe took in the new employees’ stunned silence and added another bit of shock. He told them that every year, every single year since he’d been there, he’d had to place one employee in a body bag. Whether from a car accident, falling, drowning, or an animal goring, every year someone is killed. The warning faded from their minds after the first solid month of casual sex and drinking. Still, looking at the hood of this young man’s car, Joe thought he’d come close to fulfilling his yearly quota.

“It’s going to be a very long day.” Joe lifted his face up to the morning sun, watching it make its way up into the sky. “Have this towed over to Fishing Bridge,” Joe instructed Jackson. “Rita, please inform the driver of the vehicle’s location and take a statement.”

“Will do.” Rita gave a tip of her hat and was off. She got into her truck and did a slow U-turn, giving Jackson the middle finger as he gave her a suggestive wink.

Joe went back to his truck and watched Jackson work, shaking his head. This was just nature’s way of reminding them that they were in its domain. Fast machines weighing four thousand pounds mean dick against nature. Sad the poor elk had to lose its life to remind the employee not to be such an ass. But such is life.

“No,” Sonia groaned as she rolled onto her side, facing the wall.

“Suit yourself.”

Kelly opened the door to their cabin and stood for a moment, closing her eyes as she took her first deep breath of fresh air. It’s her ritual, something she does to usher in a good day. With a final look back at her roommate, Kelly shut the door and began her walk; a brisk walk from her cabin, past the inn, and through the parking lot. Once she reached the tourist cabins across the street where the trail started, she’d break out into a light jog. There was no traffic this early in the morning, nothing to break her stride as she hurried through the nearly empty parking lot. Not too many tourists staying at the inn, given the state of things. Kelly looked up at the unnatural redness of the morning sun shining through the black smoke of the fire. She shook her head, angry that such a tragedy should befall the park the one year she’d decided to work there. It was a family tradition for the Foster clan. Her mother and father had first met working there. Her brother Phil had even worked there, but he had entirely different reasons for making the trip. He once told her it was the best place to sell pot since the market was virtually wide open. Kelly had come for the beauty of nature, the peace, and experience. It would be so sad if her time here were cut short by the fire and horrible if the uncontrolled burn made it to the inn.

Kelly walked through the cabins across from the inn’s parking lot, looking from one empty cabin to the next. They’d started off with a full booking, but then word had spread as quickly as the flames in the south; one cancellation after another. A cabin on her left had a broken front window. The glass littered the small porch. Probably a drunken employee having a laugh since no one was around. The park was still completely open and enjoyable, leaving all the major tourist attractions unharmed and accessible. Most people never got out of their cars anyway. They rolled down their windows, snapped a photo, and moved on. Kelly felt sorry for them, people like her snoring roommate. All so absorbed in their own little worlds, unable to take a few moments to take a deep breath and admire the beautiful palette of nature. Kelly laughed at herself, feeling like some sentimental poet trying to convince people of how deep he was. She paused at the trail’s head and pulled her MP3 player from her thin sweater’s front pouch. She put on the headphones and pressed play.

As she did every morning, she began with a light jog. The trail offered some fantastic scenery with a flat and reasonably smooth path. She ran this trail almost every morning, excluding mornings with excessive cramps or hangovers. This was something that reminded her of home. She’d been born and raised in a small town outside of Mobile, Alabama. Behind her house was a beautiful creek lined with trees, a smooth path, and wild-flowers. She and her dog Biscuit, an old Lab now, went running every morning.

Kelly screamed as someone grabbed her from behind, lifting her off the ground with his arms wrapped tightly about her stomach. She thrashed beneath the tight grip and was quickly released. She spun around the second her feet hit the ground with her hands raised and ready to rumble. She may be dainty and sweet, but her dad had taught her a thing or two about self-defense.

“Richard!” Kelly lowered her arms, pressing a hand to her heart as she slowed her breathing. “You stupid son of a bitch!”

“Language.” Richard Cain laughed hard, holding his stomach as he took a seat on a nearby fallen tree.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Kelly’s agitation faded with a smile.

Her Southern accent was quite the turn-on. Being one of the hottest girls in the park didn’t hurt either—blonde hair down to her shoulder blades, a perfect tan. Her eyes were deep blue and her teeth were a sparkling white. For Richard, she was the definition of a Southern Belle.

“A simple hello will do from now on.” Kelly took a seat beside him, giving him a hard elbow to the side. “Almost made me drop my MP3 player.”

“Who are you listening too?”

“Mozart.”

Richard shook his head. “Sounds like I did you a favor then.”

“You’re just an uncultured California boy.” Kelly really enjoyed her time with him. He had the most beautiful smile. “Is this your way of joining me?”

“If you don’t mind.” Richard proceeded to stretch his hamstrings.

Kelly smiled, wanting nothing more than to have him tag along. Since the beginning of summer, she and Richard had been flirting. Then on the Fourth of July, extremely intoxicated but still able to form a rational thought, she’d made her intentions clear. She’d awoken in his cabin wearing his shirt and nothing else, but there were no regrets. He’d been a gentleman then and remained so to this day. Even with all the available tail in the park for a beautiful physical specimen such as himself, he remained true to her.

“Well, let’s get going.” Kelly headed up the trail. “Keep up if you can,” she yelled over her shoulder.

Richard smiled, watching her head down the trail with his focus solely on her little running shorts. Long enough to cover her ass, but short enough to offer a hint of cheek. He shook his head and got moving, knowing this was going to be a great day.

“You look like shit,” he told the mirror, wishing to hell it had been someone else’s face.

Joe got out of his truck and made his way to the small station. Immediately he was assaulted by the nasally voice of Andy Lutz.

“Hey Joe, we got a call here.” Andy hurried toward the door, nearly bumping into him. “Sounds pretty urgent.”

Joe held up a hand, his palm flat. “Just give me a moment.” He went down the short hall to the familiar last door on the left. “Need my coffee,” Joe hollered out the door before shutting it.

Joe took a seat behind his desk and began rubbing his temples. The coffee had been a lie. The truth was that he hated coffee, always had. It tasted like burned dirt, but the excuse worked every morning. Andy was a good man and an excellent ranger, but too much of his jittery personality would wear a person thin; especially when a headache was involved. Besides, it was always an urgent call or an important this or that. They were rangers. They didn’t get called out for simple tasks like washing someone’s car or making sure the tourists were smiling. This was serious work and the last thing he needed was a reminder of it. He placed his hands on the desk and looked at the dried blood, all the reminder he would need. Nature didn’t wait for you to curb your headache or sober up. Joe unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and removed a bottle of vodka. He unscrewed the lid with one hand and filled the flask, careful not to top it off.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come on in, Andy.” Joe slipped the bottle back into his drawer and the flask into his pocket.

“Sorry to bug you.” Andy opened the door wide enough to squeeze his head through. “Got a call from Mira down at Old Faithful, said there’s been some vandalism in Loop 39.”

“How is some vandalism an urgent matter?” Joe rubbed his temples, looking at the desk.

Andy ignored his short temper, looking from Joe to the overturned picture on his desk; the one Joe had taken of Ryan fishing in the Yellowstone River when he was just a young boy. “She said there’s some blood on the door.”

Joe looked up with an interest, surprised by the added twist. He leaned back in his chair and turned toward the window with a deep groan. This was going to be one of those days. In a single motion, he leaned forward and rolled out of the chair into a standing position, swaying a bit.

“You up for a drive?” Not waiting for a response, Joe and Andy walked down the hall and out the front.

“Do you want me to drive?” Andy paused with his hand on the passenger side door handle.

Joe glared at him before getting behind the wheel, and started the truck without a word. As soon as Andy buckled his seatbelt, Joe backed up and peeled out. They drove in silence for a moment. Joe wanted to be left alone, while Andy didn’t know what to say without coming off as a nagger. They passed a caravan of firefighters on the right, and honked their horn, followed up with a wave of respect.

“What’s the latest on the fire?” Andy asked, looking up at the black smoke rising from the east.

“Last I heard it was moving rapidly toward the inn, but then again, we don’t ever hear the up to date.”

“Sure would be a shame to have the inn damaged.” Andy shook his head with a heavy heart.

Joe looked at the old man, surprised to feel a smile surfacing from the dark cloud of his mood. Andy may be annoying as hell, but at least he was genuine. It was gratifying to have his sprits lifted, even if only for a few moments. His headache even retreated further into the back of his head, not fully, but at least fading into the background for the time being. He lifted his nose into the air and smelled the unmistakable scent of burning timber. As sad as it was, the smell was soothing. It opened a floodgate of so many childhood memories—campouts, campfires, roasting marshmallows. He remembered one day in particular when he and his son had gone camping in Yosemite and…the headache began moving up. The grinding of gravel from the shoulder beneath the tires jerked him back into the moment. Joe replaced the memory of his son with the call they were responding to and eased the truck back onto the road. He looked at Andy without moving his head, seeing concern.