Faithful Shadow (20 page)

“There’s no evidence that anything had happened to them.”

“You sound just like that dick ranger.” Stew stood up from the table, gripping his tray. “I’ve lost my appetite.” He turned and headed off, dumping his trash and then dropping his tray in the bin by the door.

Kelly sighed, knowing full well how he felt. She herself wasn’t furious with the rangers. That one in particular, Joe, may have been a drunken dick, but he had still believed them enough to follow them to the campsite. Best not to completely hate the only person who could really help them. Out here in the woods they didn’t have any other resource. Can’t just call up the cops and expect to hear sirens anytime soon.

Kelly looked down to her tray, poking a fork into the watery eggs and the dry bacon. For the first time since she’d stepped foot in the park, Kelly gave serious thought to the fact that maybe it was time for her to leave. It would have been the last thing on her mind five days ago, but things had changed so quickly. Life had a way of pulling the rug out from under you, what mattered in those moments is what you chose to do next. Kelly was torn, knowing it was better to leave before her name ended up on some report, but also wanting to stay and wait this out. Once the fire was out she’d have her park back. She shook her head, wishing Richard hadn’t had to go to work this morning.

Stew took the sensation as an omen, telling him he needed to get away, far away from this reminder of why he’d been down in the first place. He turned from the cabins and headed past the Inn, pausing as he came around the front of the building. Parked in front of the Inn was that asshole’s truck. He’d recognize it anywhere with the dented front fender and the sticker of Smokey the Bear on the rear window.

“Eat this, shithead.” Stew took his Swiss army knife from his pocket and pulled the largest blade, running it along the passenger side of the truck. “That’s what you get,” he told the truck with a wicked smile as he tucked the knife back into his pocket.

Stew instantly felt guilty, knowing he shouldn’t sink to petty violence. Besides, his mother would rip him a new one if he got sent home for vandalizing a federal vehicle; probably throw him in jail with murderers and rapists. Stew quickly took off across the parking lot, keeping his jog slow and steady so as not to look suspicious. He headed toward the cabins, running past them. There was an odd eerie silence. It felt like running through a ghost town, all those deserted windows staring back at him as he passed. Stew stopped moving and stood in the middle of the road. He expected to see something hiding among the cabins, waiting for him like in some classic horror film, but they were just the same old cabins. He turned back toward the trail to continue with a nice, relaxing jog, but there was a truck parked at the trailhead. He’d seen this truck before. It belonged to one of the firemen. Stew peeked in through the glass, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. He thought back to the ranger’s truck and figured maybe they were both in the Inn, doing some kind of systems check on the sprinkler system or some shit. He shrugged it off and headed up the trail, again at a soft jog.

Unlike Kelly, Stew felt it was a complete waste of time to go running with your MP3 player, using music to cover up what nature was willing to provide you free of charge. None of his friends, even Sonia, took the time to observe him closely. They had come to the conclusion right away that he was a tall, athletic black man and was therefore not very deep or spiritual; just another hotheaded black guy in the woods looking for a little ass. Stew couldn’t deny that getting some ass was a large part of his reason for being here, but the rest was pure idiotic speculation. Stew was a very deep and intellectual individual. Someone who often saw beyond the trees to the beauty that lay within. He enjoyed reading, writing, and especially painting. More than anything, he loved nature. Camping beneath the stars, running through the constellations in his mind. Even Oregon had too much light pollution to see more than a few stars. Back home it was either Orion’s Belt or Polaris, nothing else but an unnatural orange glow to the clouds. Here he could see them all. If his friends wanted to lump him into some stereotype, that was fine with him. He knew who he was. One compliment his mother was willing to provide, although it was on rare occasions, was that he had a very grounded head on his shoulders; college material. Stew smiled, thinking back to when she’d told him that over the breakfast he’d made. Her smile had been genuine and her eyes honest. But as always, she turned and began yelling at his youngest sister, leaving the moment on the table to get cold with the eggs and toast.

Stew’s moment of peace and serenity faded as he thought back to the ranger’s truck, revisiting his growing guilt. What if the prick had come by the Inn to tell them some good news about Doug and Rowena? Maybe he’d found them hitchhiking out by Jackson Hole. Who’d look like the asshole then? Stew tripped over a rock embedded in the path while lost in his moral dilemma, falling forward on his stomach. He slid a few feet along the loose gravel and occasional patches of grass, scratching the hell out of his palms and knees. As he came to a stop, Stew pushed himself up into a sitting position, taking a moment to catch his breath. Tiny pebbles and grains of sand had embedded themselves into the small cuts along his hands. Stew swept them away with an agitated growl.

“What the hell is taking so goddamn long?”

Stew froze, instantly lowering his shoulders as he ducked beneath the bush. He crawled off the trail and pulled himself behind the nearest tree, taking a deep breath and holding it as he peeked around the trunk. The voice had been so close it had startled him, making him jump. He saw that elderly ranger he’d seen walking around the Inn just a few days ago leaning against a tree no more than ten yards away, with his hands shoved into his pockets. His body language read impatient, nervous, and even fearful.

Andy would take a deep breath, push off from the tree and look down into a hole in the ground. He’d wait there a moment, turning his head from side to side, give a heavy sigh and return to the tree. Stew wondered what a man could possibly be so nervous about. He looked at the tree Andy was leaning on and saw a rope tied around the trunk. The rope disappeared into the ground, down into the hole. Stew became very interested, wondering why a ranger would be keeping watch at the top of some hole. Maybe to keep someone from falling in? But the rope told Stew that someone had already gone in. But who? And why?

“What did you find?”

Joe bent down and picked up the bone, waving it between them. “This is a human femur.”

“How can you be so sure? It’s broken at the end and covered with gunk.”

“Believe me, there’s no mistaking it. You can tell by the thickness and the width here.” Joe ran his gloved finger over the bone, a bit taken aback that he was holding part of a human. Could be Paul’s for all he knew.

Joe dropped the bone, letting it splash back into the water without care. He was becoming grossed out. He wiped his wet hands on his coat. The water itself began to work itself into his mind, pushing through the folds and crevices of his brain as it might rush through the blacktop of a road. It smelled putrid, as if it had been sitting on the ground of this cave for hundreds of years; animals and people alike rotting in it until it was no longer water but some kind of slimy muck that was now staining his clothing. The smell, so rank and vile, brought a gurgle to his stomach. Even with the mask on he could smell the stench, radiating off the water in powerful waves.

“Come on.” Dale turned from Joe and began walking, not wanting to linger as the smell had begun to affect him as well. “Let’s find this bitch so we can get the hell out of here.”

They walked side by side for some time, stepping lightly on the uneven floor. There were so many bones underfoot, slipping out from beneath their weight or merely crushing into dust from age and wear. The deeper they walked, the more bones there were, moving from scatters to layers, eventually coating the ground like leaves. At times the walls became so narrow they had to squeeze through before the walls opened again after a few feet to another giant cavern. Every few hundred feet they’d see natural streams of light spilling down from above; light casting in perfect circles from holes of different sizes. The beams of light filtered through the heavy smoke of the cave, giving the light particles the illusion of weight. It was oddly beautiful.

“Which tunnel should we take?” Dale pointed to an opening on their right and another on their left. “They both look like a tight squeeze. Or we can just keep going forward.” Dale looked up at the ray of light, waving his hand in front of his face to disperse the smoke. “Where in the park do you think we are?”

Joe dug around his pocket until he felt the small round object that could only be his compass. He pulled it out and held it before his face, trying hard to see the little needle through the smoke and the condensation on his facemask. Using the back of his arm, he wiped down his facemask to gain some visibility. “If we’ve been heading solid west, which it looks like we have, then I’d say we’re almost to the West Thumb area of the park.”

“Right where Paul disappeared,” Dale said to himself, speaking slowly as he began running his eyes over the collection of bones in this cavern.

Joe knew exactly where he was going with this. Given their miles of wandering in the same direction and now another hole above them, it stood to reason that his missing man had fallen victim to Yellowstone’s “trap door creature.” Dale splashed about the water, seeming to forget there could be something lurking anywhere within the millions of places to hide, watching them. But he needed to know, to satisfy his duties as Paul’s lieutenant. If Paul was here, then he would find him.

“Fabric,” Joe exclaimed, waving his hand for Dale to see. “Looks like they might have been pants at one time.” Joe pulled them from the water, ripping them clear of the skeleton that had worn them. “Sorry about that.”

“My God, this thing has killed so many.”

“You’d be surprised how many people can come here and disappear without a trace. Millions of tourists every year from around the globe, sometimes they come alone to do some solitary fishing or soul seeking, then they’re gone.” Joe couldn’t count all the animal and human remains even if he spent ten years in this hole. It was just overwhelming to see, standing in so much death. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Me too, but wait to throw up until we’re topside.”

Joe nodded, not wanting to make himself that vulnerable down here in the dark, hunched over while retching loudly. And there was the possibility of having this disgusting water splash back onto his face and potentially into his mouth. The thought alone made his stomach roll. Joe lowered the pants back into the water, but something caught his attention. There was an unnatural weight to them, aside from the water and the femur that was dangling by some loose threads. Joe crumpled the pants into a ball and felt something solid inside. He reached into the pocket and pulled out a wallet.

“I don’t think he’ll mind,” Joe told Dale as he joined him, looking down at the tattered remains in Joe’s hands. Joe flipped it open, pulling out business cards and pieces of paper that may have once been money, but now nothing but a wad of faded paper. “Here’s something.” Joe pulled a small ticket from an inside pouch, surprised it had remained mostly dry. “Oh my dear Lord.” Joe looked up with wide eyes, drowning in the wake of such a startling discovery.

“What is it?”

“It’s a raffle ticket for the Fourth of July Extravaganza, 1904.”

They both stared at the ticket with a shared expression of disbelief and amazement, and a strong sense of dread. It had become quite apparent from the bones and the date on the ticket stub that this wasn’t your average everyday woodland creature. It was old. As old as the forest for all they knew. Either that or there were far more than one, and that thought was too horrific to dwell on.

“Look!” Joe pointed to a dim reflection in the water to their left, catching a brief moment of light before fading back into the darkness.

Dale rushed over with a glimmer of hope, his flashlight highlighting the unmistakable yellow of a fireman’s coat. He stood above it and lingered a moment, shining his light down on the back of Paul’s coat, his name faded in black ink. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to reach down and turn him over. If he were face down, then he was dead, but it could just be an empty coat for all he knew, laying over some ancient corpse while Paul ran and hid through this endless series of tunnels. But he had to. Dale bent down with shaking knees and gripped the back of the coat, pulling hard to roll the man beneath it onto his back. Dale and Joe both pulled back, shielding their eyes from the twisted remains of Paul’s face. His nose had been torn clean off. Both eye sockets were bare, seeping the foul fluid like tears. The skin about his cheeks and neck had been pulled free of the face, hanging loosely about his chin, like a mannequin made of wax that had been left out in the sun on a hot day. Dale hunched over and pulled off his mask just in time. He vomited loudly, spilling his guts on a pile of bones. The sound of his despair echoed madly all around them, mocking their pain.