PraiseforFrankPeretti’sWriting
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monster
monster
FRANK
Peretti
Copyright©2005byFrankPeretti
Allrightsreserved.Noportionofthisbookmaybereproduced,storedinaretrievalsystem,ortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans—electronic,mechanical,photocopy,recording,scanning,orother—exceptforbriefquotationsincriticalreviewsorarticles,withoutthepriorwrittenpermissionofthepublisher.
PublishedinNashville,Tennessee,byWestBowPress,adivisionofThomasNelson,Inc.
WestBow Press books may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or salespromotionaluse.Forinformation,[email protected].
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are eitherproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorusedfictitiously.Allcharactersarefictional,andanysimilaritytopeoplelivingordeadispurelycoincidental.
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Peretti,FrankE.
Monster/FrankPeretti.p.cm.
ISBN0-8499-1180-X(hardcover)ISBN1-5955-4032-6(IE)1.Northwest,Pacific—Fiction.2.Wildernessareas—Fiction.3.Supernatural—Fiction.4.Monsters
—Fiction.5.Hiking—Fiction.I.Title.PS3566.E691317M662005813'.54—dc22
2004030836
PrintedintheUnitedStatesofAmerica0506070809RRD987654321
ToBarbaraJean,mytruelove,andmybestfriendthroughitall.
DearReader—Sixyearsisalongtime.It’sespeciallytoolongforaFrankPerettifantowaitforhisnextmajornovel.Butthat'showlongit’sbeensincehislastepicthriller.Nowthewaitisover.AndMonsterfindsFrankPerettiat theabsolutetopof
hiswritinggame.Beprepared to enter intodeepwildernesswhere the rulesof civilizationno
longer apply. A world where strange shadows lurk. Where creatures longattributedtooveractiveimaginationsandnightmaresarethehunters...andyouarethehunted.To revealanythingmorewould reveal toomuch.AsPublisher, I’vegone to
greatlengthstokeepthisnovel’skeyplotpointsunderlockandkeysothatyou—thereader—couldsavoreverypage.Ipromiseyouthis—you’reinforquitearide.Attheendofeachchapter,you’llfindacustommaptohelpyoukeeptrackofall theaction.Evenwithmaps,however,youstillwill find ithard toguesswhere things are headed. Just when you think you have things figured out,Peretti’simaginationtakesyoudownanunexpectedroute,atrapdooropens,andyourealizetherearemorelayerstothestorythanyouimagined.Enjoy the read—but don’t blame me if you find yourself sleeping with a
flashlight at your side for the next severalmonths . . . because this time, themonsterisreal.Morerealthanyoucanimagine.
PublisherWestBowPress
Contents
acknowledgmentsonetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleventwelvethirteenfourteenfifteensixteenseventeeneighteennineteentwentyepiloguebehindthescenes
acknowledgments
It's not so easy finding capable people who can get excited about somebodyelse’sbookwhentheyhavetheirownprojectsandcommitments.Theseguysarespecial,andIthankthemprofuselyformakingthiswholestorysuchapleasuretotell:
JonathanWells,postdoctoralbiologistandseniorfellowattheDiscoveryInstitute,whosebook,IconsofEvolution,firstgotmycreativewheelsturning,andwhohelpedmeclarifymymainstoryideaoverapleasantlunch.
Dr.DavidDeWitt,directoroftheCenterforCreationStudiesatLibertyUniversity,who,besidesbeingabrilliant scientist and technicaladvisor, isquitean imaginative storycrafter inhisownright.
Dr.PaulBrillhart,myfamilyphysician,wholovestotellstoriesandwentbeyondthecallofdutytoprovidemewithmedicaldetails.
Nick Hogamier, a real, honest-to-goodness tracker, whose knowledge and fascinating storiesbecamethemodelforthecharacterPeteHenderson.
ThankstoallofyouformakingMonstersuchagreatadventure!FrankE.PerettiApril2005
one
TheHunter, rifle inhishands,dug inaheelandcame toa suddenhalton thegametrail,motionless,nearlyinvisibleinathicketofserviceberryandcrowdedpines.Heheardsomething.Thefirstraysofthesunflamedovertheridgetotheeast,knifingthroughthe
pineboughsandmorninghazeintranslucentwedges,backlightingtinygalaxiesof swirlingbugs.Soon thewarmingairwould floatup thedrawand thepineswouldwhisperlikedistantsurf,butinthelullbetweenthecoolofnightandthewarmthofday, theairwasstill, thesoundsdistinct.TheHunterheardhisownpulse. The scraping of branches against his camouflage sleeveswas crisp andbrilliant,thesnappingoftwigsunderhisbootsalmoststartling.Andtheeeriehowlwasclearenoughtoreachhimfrommilesaway,audible
underthesoundofthejaysandbetweenthechatteringsofasquirrel.He waited, not breathing, until he heard it again: long, mournful, rising in
pitch,andthenholdingthatanguishednotetothepointofagonybeforetrailingoff.TheHunter’sbrowcrinkledunderthebillofhiscap.Thehowlwastoodeep
andgutturalforawolf.Acougarnevermadeasoundlikethat.Abear?Nottohisknowledge.Ifitwashisquarry,itwasupsetaboutsomething.Andfaraheadofhim.Hemovedagain,quickstepping,duckingbranches,eyesdartingabout,dealing
withthedistance.Before he had worked his way through the forest another mile, he saw a
breachintheforestcanopyandanopenpatchofdaylightthroughthetrees.Hewascomingtoaclearing.He slowed, cautious, found a hiding place behind amassive fallen fir, and
peeredahead.Just a few yards beyond him, the forest had been shorn open by a logging
operation, awide swath of open ground litteredwith forest debris and freshlysawntreestumps.Adirtroadcutthroughitall,ahouse-sizedpileoflimbsandslash awaited burning, and on the far side of the clearing, a hulking, yellowbulldozer sat cold and silent, its tracks cakedwith fresh earth.A huge pile of
logslayneatlystackedneartheroad,readyfortheloggingtrucks.Hesawnomovement,andtheonlysoundwasthequietrumbleofabattered
pickuptruckidlingnearthecenteroftheclearing.Hewaited,crouching,eyeslevelwiththetopofthefallentree,scanningthe
clearing, searching for the human beings who had to be there. But no oneappearedandthetruckjustkeptidling.Hisgazeflittedfromthetrucktothebulldozer,thentothehugepileoflogs,
andthentothetruckagainwheresomethingprotrudingfrombehindthetruck’sfrontwheels caught his eye.He grabbed a compact pair of binoculars from apocketandtookacloserlook.Theprotrusionwasaman’sarm,motionlessandstreakedwithred.Lookingabout,theHunterwaitedjustafewmoresecondsandthen,satisfied
thatnooneelsewas there,heclimbedover the logandstole into theclearing,steppingcarefullyfromrocktostumptopatchofgrass,tryingtoavoidanysoilthatwouldregisterhisfootprints.Thetruckwasparkedinnothingbutloosesoil,freshly chewedby thebulldozer, buthewouldhave todealwith thatproblemlater.Hewasplanninghismovesashewentalong.He reached the truck, slowed with caution, and then eased around it, neck
craning,innomoodforgruesomesurprises.Whathe foundon theother sidewasno surprise, but itwasgruesome, and
definitely a complication. Cursing, he leaned against the truck’s hood, warilyscannedthetreelineandtheloggingroad,andstartedweighinghisoptions.The crumpled body on the groundwas obviously one of the logging crew,
mostlikelytheforemanwho’dlingeredalonetoolongonthesitethepreviousevening,judgingfromthestiffconditionofhisbody.Helayonhisbellyinthedirt,hisbodycrushed,driedbloodstreakedfromhisnoseandmouth,hisheadtwisted grotesquely on a broken neck.His hard hat lay top down several feetaway, and the ground around the truckwas litteredwithmetal shreds ofwhatusedtobealunchboxandscattered,chewed-upplasticwrappingsthatusedtoholdalunch.Idon’thavetimeforthis!TheHunterquicklystifledhisrage.Heneededtocalculate,foresee,plan.Hisgazeshiftedtothepileoflogs.Thatmightbeanoption.Hecouldmakeit
looklikeanaccidentthatwouldexplainthebent,torn,rag-dollconditionofthedeadman.
Werethekeysinthebulldozer?Leavinghisriflebythetruck, theHunterranto thebulldozer,clamberedup
onthebigsteeltrack,andsteppedintothecab.Hesankintothewornandtorndriver’sseatandsearched thepanel for thekeys.Thenhesniffedachuckleofrealization: Of course. This wasn’t in town, where idle punks drifted aboutlookingtostealanythingnotlockeduporbolteddown,andthismachinewasnocarforjoyriding.Thekeywasintheignition.Ithadbeenawhilesincehiscollegesummerswiththeconstructioncrew,but
ifthisthingwasanythinglikethattrackhoeheusedtooperate...HeclickedthekeyovertoPreheat,waited,thenturnedthekeytoStart.Thedozercrankedtolifewithapuffofblacksmoke.Hismindwasracing,stillplanning,asheput themountainousmachineinto
gearandgotitmoving.Reversecameeasilyenough.Forwardwaseasier.Withcarefulmanipulationofthebrakesandlevers,hebroughtthedozertothebackofthelogpile,thenleftitthere,stillrunning.Haulingthedeadmanacrossthegroundwouldbemessy,butitwastheonly
option.TheHuntergrabbedtheman’swrists—therightarmwasintact,buttheleftarmhadbeensnappedabovetheelbowandflexedlikearubberhose—andstarted pulling.He tugged anddragged the bodyover limbs, grass, rocks, anddebris.Theman’sheaddangledfromawrungneckandscrapedontheground.When theHunter reached the front of the logpile, he let goof the arms.Thestiffenedbodyfloppedintothedust.Seatedonceagaininthedozer,heedgedthemachineforward,reachingunder
the logswith thebucket.Withacalculating,steadypullof the lever,he raisedthebucket,liftingthelogs,lifting,lifting,until...The pile upset. The logs rolled and rumbled down, bouncing, tumbling one
overtheother,drummingtheground,kickingupdust.Thedeadman’sbodydisappearedbeneathajackstrawpileoflogs.No time, no time! The Hunter eased the dozer back to its resting place,
switched it off, and leaped to the ground.He ran back to the idling truck andpocketed every metal scrap, every torn plastic wrapper he could find. Then,slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he spotted and grabbed a broken-offevergreen bough and went to work, retracing his every step, brushing anderasingeachfootprintwithrapidside-sweepsashebackedoutoftheclearing.As expected, he heard the slowly rising sound of a vehicle coming up the
logging road, climbing switchbacks, lurching through gears, rattling overpotholes,andgrowlingovergravel.He crouched and headed for the trees, tossing away the branch. Just as he
slippedintotheforest,atruckpulledintotheclearingontheotherside.Hestolethrough the crowded timber, planting every footstep silently in the soft, pine-needledground.Truckdoorsslammed.Voiceslifted,followedbycriesofalarm.Thoseloggersweregoingtohavequiteamorning.“SowestayontheCaveLakeTrailfor3.4miles,andthenwecometothisforkwheretheLostCreekTrailbranchesofftotheright—Beck?Areyoufollowingthis?”Rebecca Shelton, twenty-eight, looked up from her compact, unhappywith
herclumpymascarabutresignedtoleavingitasitwas.“W-whichtrail?”Her husband, Reed, a six-foot hunk and very aware of it, was trying to be
patient, she could tell. She’d seen that understanding but slightly testyexpressionmanytimesovertheirsixyearsofmarriage.Hepointedonceagaintothe map he’d spread out on the hood of their Ford SUV, their route boldlymarked with orange highlighter. “This one. Cave Lake. Then this one. LostCreek.”“Mm.Gotit.”She’d been trying to pay attention and even scare up a little enthusiasm all
duringtheirlongdrive,orasReedcalledit,“InsertionintotheSurvivalZone.”They’d had a nice picnic lunch—“PreexcursionRations”—on a log, and evennow—at“TheFinalBriefing”onthehoodoftheircar—shewasdoingherbesttomatchReed’sexcitement,butitwashardtobeinterestedinhowmanymilestheywouldhike,thehoursitwouldtaketogetthere,thetrailgradestheywouldencounter,andtheiravailablephysicalenergy.Thiswholeadventurewasnevertheirideainthefirstplace,buthis.Hewassointothisstuff.He’dpickedoutallthegear, theboots, thebackpacks, themaps, thefreeze-driedapricotsand trailmix,everything.Heletherchoosewhichcolorofbackpackshewanted—blue—buthechosewhichkind.“Ifweaveragefourmilesanhour,wecanbetherein...threehours,”hewas
saying.Therehewentagain.Becksighed,andReedstoleasidewaysglanceather.“Uh,butconsideringtheroughterrainandthetwo-thousand-footclimb,I’veallowed for six hours, which will still get us there before dark. Got yourcanteen?”
“Chh-ch-check.”Well,checkwassupposedtosoundcool,butthewordmadeherstutterflareup,especiallynow,whenshewasupset.“Potablewateronly,remember.Treatanywateryoucollectbeforeyoudrink
it.”“B-beaverfever.”“Exactly.”Beaverfever.AccordingtoReed,beaverspoopedandpeedin thecreeks,so
theyweren’tsupposedtodrinkthewaterorthey’dcatchwhatevercontagionthebeaverswerepassing,somethingshewouldn’teventrytopronounce.“Beaverfever,”sherepeated,justforthesatisfactionofsayingitclearly.B’s
didn’tbotherhermuch,especiallywhenshewasalonewithReed.W’sands’swere the toughest,especiallyaroundpeopleorwhenshewasonedge.R’sandhardc’smade her nervous; thatwaswhy her name had shrunk to Beck—shedidn’thavetosayanR,andonceshegotthecout,thetaskwasover.“Now,you’regoingtoneedaminimumoftwoorthreequartsofwateraday,”
Reedsaid,“andthat’sifyouaren’texertingyourself,sodon’tpushittoohardonthewayup there.Andpay attention to your urine output.Youwant at least aquartinatwenty-fourhourperiod.”“R-r-reed!”Shewasincredulous.“Hey,you’re lookingout fordehydration. If enoughwater’sgoingout, then
youknowenough’sgoingin.”“Sss-soarethereanyb-bathroomsupthere?”Reedsmiledplayfully.“Honey,whatdoyouthinkyourcampshovel’sfor?”Oh,right.Thoselittlecollapsibleshovelshangingontheirpacks.Wonderful.“Youdidbringtoiletpaper,right?”Shecouldn’thelprollinghereyes.“Yes.I’vegots-someinmypackandsome
inmypocket.”Itwasthefirstthingshepacked,andshebroughtextra.Itwasthelastvestigeofthedecent,civilized,sensiblelifeshewasbeingrippedawayfrom—besidesafoldinghairbrushandasmallmakeupbag.“Ah,good.Leavesandgrasscangetalittleitchy.”She’dworkeduptheperfectangrywifelookovertheyears,andnowshegave
himagooddoseofit.Butitdidn’tfazehim.Helaughedandgaveheraplayfulrubonhershoulder.
Her tension eased. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Once you get up in those
mountains and start learninghow to survive,you’llwonderwhyweneverdidthisbefore.”“I’mw-w-wonderingwhywe’redoingitnow.”Reed studied her face a moment. “Because it’ll be good for us.” She was
abouttocounter,butheheadedheroff.“No,now,it’ssomethingweneedtodo.Weneedaweekawayfrom thegrind,away fromTVandcellphonesand thelittleholeswe’vedugourselvesinto.”“YouandCapmaybe.”“Sing’scomingtoo.”“It’saguything.YouandCap.Admitit.”“No, come on, you admit it. You need to stretch a little. Comfort can be a
dangerousthing.Youstickaroundhomeallthetimewhereit’ssafeandnothingever changes, and before you know it, you get set in yourways and you quitlearning,youquitchanging,youdon’tgrowanymore.”Hegesturedtowardthemountainsbefore them,vast, towering, fadingfromsharpgreen tosoftblue intheimmensedistance,withsnowstillvisibleontherockycrags.“Thiswillkeepyougrowing.Therearethingsoutthereyou’veneverseen,neverfelt,thingsyouneed toexperience. It’llbeworth the trouble.”Hegaveheraknowingglance.“Sometimeseventhetrouble’sworththetrouble.”“Areyoutalkingdowntome?”Nowhewasopenlymiffed.“I’mtalkingaboutallofus.”“Right.Allofus.”Shegazedatthemountains,thendownatherhikingoutfit
—rugged boots with high socks, khaki shorts with pockets for just abouteverything,andonherbackaveryslickandefficientbackpackwithamillionzippers,cinches,andVelcroflaps,asleepingbag,andatiny,rolled-uptentthatreallydidunroll andbecomebigenough for twopeople to sleep in.Reedhadalreadyseen to it that they’d taken three—notoneor two—short, “shakedownhikes” to test all this stuff: the fit of the clothes, theweight of the packs, theeffectivenessofthehikingshoes,howfasttheycouldsetupthetent,everything.“Well, I’m not home and I’m not c-comfortable, so I think you can b-besatisfied.”Reedlookedpleased.“It’sagoodstart.”Shewantedtohithim.Heturnedtothemapagain,andshetriedtofollowalong.“So,allright.We
taketheCaveLakeTrailfromheretotheLostCreekturnoff,thentakethattrail
foranother8.6miles,andweshouldhavenotroublereachingthehunter’scabinbeforenightfall.It’srighthere,rightonthecreek.RandyThompson’llbetherewaitingforus.”“Withdinner?”“If I know Randy, he’ll show us how to build the fire ourselves, without
matches,andhowtocookourowndinnerfromwhatwecanfindinthewoods.”“That’lltakeforever.”Reedcockedaneyebrow.“Randycanwhipupapineneedleteainundertwo
minutes—andafterthisweek,we’llbeabletodothesamething.”Beckmadeaface.“Pineneedletea?”Reed shrugged, undaunted, undimmed. “I understand it’s not too bad. We
mightevenlikeit.”“He’snotgoingtomakeuseatb-bugsandworms,ishe?”Reedwouldn’tgiveupthatplayfulsmile.“Mm,youmightlikethosetoo.”Shedrewabreathtomakeasnidecomment—“We’dbettergetgoing.”Hefoldedupthemapandtuckeditawayinoneof
his backpack’s many zippered compartments, then hefted the pack to hisshouldersandputhisarmsthroughthestraps.She followed his cue, and Reed held the pack aloft as she wrestled and
squirmedherwayinto thestraps.Thethingwasn’tasheavyas it looked—andthenagain,maybeitwas.Reedledthewayacrossthegravelparkinglottothetrailhead.Beckfollowed,
lookingbackoncetobesureshehadn’tleftanythingbehind,besideshersanity.The SUV sat there all by itself, like a faithful dog sitting in the drivewaywatchinghismastersleave.“You’regonnaroastinthatjacket,”Reedobserved.Beckregardedherfringedbuckskinjacket,agiftfromherfather—hewasan
outdoorsnut too.Sheneverwore it,but for thisouting, it seemedappropriate.“S-soIwanttobeDanielB-boone,allright?”“You’llbecarryingit.”“Justlookoutforyourself,Mr.Know-It-All.”Reedkeptwalking,aspringinhisstepdespitetheloadonhisback.Hewasso
pleasedBeckwassurehehadascrewloose.“Yeah,thisisjustwhatweneed.”
WhatIneed,youmean!Partofhercouldhave,peradventure,atabettertime,admittedhewasright,butrightnowshewasn’tinthemoodtoadmitanything.The moment came. Feeling like a Neil Armstrong, Beck followed her
adventurous husband and took thatOneSmallStepout of the parking lot andontothetrail.Otherstepscameafterthat,andshelookedbacktwicebeforethedeepeningforesthidthefamiliarworldfromview.Then,lookingbacknomore,shepressedon,leavingoneworldforanother.
Road228was“maintained”inthesummer,whichwasIdaho’swayofsayingitwouldbefilledbackinifitwashedout,andyoucouldstilldriveitifyoudidn’tmind the washboard rattle under your wheels, the blinding dust, the constantgrowlofthegravel,andtherudebumpingoftherocks.Dr.Michael Capella, a stocky, dark-haired college professor in his thirties,
was driving 228 in a Toyota 4Runner, climbing, ever climbing into themountains, his eyes intent on every curve, every bump, every rut as hemaintained a speed just a notch short of dangerous. His wife, Sing, a lovelyCoeurd’AleneNativeAmerican, satnext tohim,her facecloudedbya listofconcerns,nottheleastofwhichwashisdriving.“Incrediblemountains,”shesaid,admiringtheirbeauty.Capnodded,grippingthewheel.“Cap,therereallyissomegreatsceneryoutthere.”“Andyourpointis?”“It’s justa littleafter four.We’llmake it to theresortwith time tospare,so
relax.Kickbackalittle.Isn’tthatwhatthistrip’sallabout?”He eased off the accelerator. Sing said nothing, but a faint smile traced her
lips.Cap allowed himself a quick look to the right, where the edge of the road
dropped off sharply to the St.Marie’s River below and a lone osprey circledaboveafathomless,forestedvalley.Hedrewabreathandloosenedhisgriponthesteering.“It’shardtoletgoofthings.”Shesmiled.“Youmayaswell.Theyaren’tthereanymore.”Heponderedthatamoment,butshookhishead,stillunabletograspit.“No,
I’mtheonewho’snotthereanymore.AndIkeepthinkingIshouldbe,becausetheyare.”Shechuckled.“Youand thatconfidentialityagreement! Itmakesyou talk in
riddles—evernoticethat?”“Sorry.Iknowitmustseemrude.”Shetouchedhishand.“Youdon’thavetosayanything,andyoudon’thaveto
proveanything,especiallytome.IknowthemanImarried.”Henoddedadeepnodjusttoavoidthedebate.They’dhadthisconversation
before,andshe’dbeenright,buthe’dhadtroublebuyingit.Hestilldid.“Well,callitasabbatical,then.Callitabreak.”“It’sasabbatical.It’sabreak.AndReedhadagoodidea.”Thensheadded,“I
think.”Cap shifted his thoughts to the coming week. “Well, Reed says Randy
Thompson’sthebest.He’saNative,bytheway.”“Well,therearesomeofusstillaround.”“Randy’sup there rightnow,getting the cabin ready, laying in supplies.He
does these survival courses all the time, winter or summer, it doesn’t matter.Reedsaysyoucandropthatguyanywhereintheworldandhe’dknowwhattodotostayalive.”Singgave abarely audible sigh and lookedout thewindowamoment. “So
whatdoyoudowhileyou’reliving?Stayingaliveisnice,butyoucan’tdothatforever.It’showyoulivethelifeyouhavewhileyouhaveit.”Capsmirkedjustalittle.“Ishouldstickthatontherefrigerator.”“I’llwriteitdownforyou.”Sheturnedherbodytofacehimandputherhand
onhisshoulder.“Cap,youdidtherightthing.I’mproudofyou.”“At least thehouse is paid for.”He forced a smile. “It’swherewego from
herethatbothersme.”Shesmiled.Hefeltheracceptance,ashewas.Withoutchanginghim.“Wego
intothemountains,welearntosurvive,andwehearfromGod.That’senoughfornow.”Hedrovequietlyforamoment,noticingmountainpeaksandwaterfallsforthe
firsttime,andthenplacedhishandonhersandgaveitasqueeze.Thirtymilesof grinding, growling, gravel road later, they reachedAbney, a
once-boomingmining town that had long sincewithered andnowhad troublerememberingwhyitwasthere.“Well, it has ambience,” said Cap as they eased down the main road past
saggingstorefronts,well-usedvehicles,andmangystraydogs.
“Rustic,”Singobservedpolitely,kindtochooseeventhatword.They drove by a forlorn clapboard tavern with one corner sinking into the
ground,anautogaragewithdismemberedcarsandtrucksscatteredaboutandasnow cat up on blocks, a combination hardware store andminingmuseum—noteworthy because this building actually had a new front porch—and a postofficenotmuchbiggerthanaphonebooth.Theyhadyettoseeahumanbeing.“Can’twaittoseetheresort,”Singquipped.“Ihearit’stherealthing,rightoutoftherich,historicalheritageofIdaho.”They drove to the end of town—not far from the beginning— and found a
large log cabin towhich someonehad added another story, towhich someoneaddedanotherwingandadormer,towhichsomeoneaddedanotherbedroom,towhichsomeoneaddedfourmorebedroomslikeamotelandthentiedthewholethingtogetherwithonecontinuouswraparoundporchthatbumpedupanddowntolineupwithallthedoorstoallthoseadditions.Asignstrungonachainoverthe driveway read, “Tall Pine Resort.” On the rail fence was a weatheredVACANCYsignwithanemptynailforhangingaNOincasethatshouldeverbe thecase. Judging from the scarcityofvehicles in theparkingarea, theTallPinewasnotseeingaboomingbusinessatthemoment.Cappulledinnexttotwopickupsriggedwithhighsidesforhaulingfirewood
andastationwagonwithasadolddog—hemusthavebeen thesireofall theothersintown—staringatthemthroughthebackwindow.“Hm,”Capmused.“Reedsaidthisplaceisreallyhoppingthistimeofyear.”Thelobbywasacubbyholewedgedbetweenthecaféandthesouvenirshop,
with trophies ofmoose, deer, elk, and bear crowding thewalls, and one hugechandeliermadeofantlersthathungoverthefrontdesk.Thewhite-haired,leatheryproprietorbrokeintoasilverygrinfrombehindthe
frontdesk.“Soyoumustbethe,uh,theCampanellas...?”“Capella.Thisismywife,Sing.”Singshookhishand.Hehadgnarled fingers thathadhewnmanya logand
tannedmanyadeerhide.“Sing,”theoldmansaidquizzically.“It’sgottabeshortforsomething.”“Sings in theMorning,” she answered. “Myparents like theold traditions.”
Not that she didn’t; her and Cap’s home boasted some of the finest Salishartwork,andsheoftenworeherlongblackhair intraditionalbraidsasshedidtoday.
Thesilveryteethshowedagain.“Itsuitsyou.”HeextendedhishandtoCap.Capgrippeditfirmly.“I’mMichael,butmyfriendscallmeCap.”“ArlenPeak,pleasedtomeetyou.Nowwe’refriendsandIcancallyouCap.”“Gotthatroom?”Peakslida roomregistrationcard towardCap to fillout. “One-oh-four, just
rightforyouandthemissus.”Capstartedscribbling,ahintofasmileonhisface,hisfirstsincethey’dleft
Spokane.“So...”Peaksaid,watchingCapscribble,“Randysaysyou’replanningona
weekupthere.”“Yep.Our friendsought tobegetting there rightaboutnow.We’regoing to
hikeupandjointhemtomorrowmorning.We’readaylate,butwe’llcatchup.”“Hadtowaittogetoffwork,Isuppose.”“Singdid.”Singshothimalovingbutscoldingglance,thenshebrokethesilencewitha
question.“Sowhat’sthiscabinlike?”Peakchuckledapologetically.“It’snottheHilton,butit’singoodshape.We
gaveitaonce-overalittlewhileago,meandsomehunterfriends.Putinanewfloor, patched the roof, got it all up to snuff again.You understand it’s just ashelter for hunters. It’s got a few cots, some shelves, and some hooks forhanging things,but that’sabout it.Randyprefers it thatway.Helpspeoplegetintothewildernessframeofmind.”“We’re ready for it,” said Cap, sliding the completed card back across the
desk.“Yeah,well,Randyheadeduptherethismorning,sohe’sreadyforyou.”Peak
thought foramoment.“Butyou’llwannabecareful.Keepyoureyesandearsopen,anddon’t,uh,don’thangaroundif...youknow,ifyouthinkbetterofit.”CapandSinglookedathim,waitingformore.Peakmettheireyes.“Kindoflatetobetellingyou,Iknow.”CapsensedsomethinginArlenPeak,awarningtheyshouldheed.“Istherea
problem?”Theoldman’sfacebecamegrim.“Well,Mr.Capella...Cap...we’venever
hadanytroublearoundhere.Randyknowsthat,andthat’swhathetellsallhis
clients,butlikeItriedtotellhim,something’snotright.Wishhewould’vebeenhere a few hours ago and seen thatwhole herd of elk come through, right inbroaddaylight,allgoingsomeplaceinahurry.That’snotlikethem.It’stooearlyintheyearforthemtobedownthislow.”“Whatareyousaying?”Capasked.BothheandSingweremotionless,their
eyesontheoldman.Heseemedhesitanttoanswer.“I’velivedherealongtime,Cap,rightherein
thislodge,andwhenyouliveinaplacealongtime,yougettoknowhowthingsare supposed tohappen.”He leanedover thecounter for abetterviewout thefrontwindows.Hepointedashespoke.“Iknowwhentheelkaresupposedtomigratetothelowerground,andIknowwhattimeeachdaythedeeraregoingtocrossthatroadtogettotheriver.Iknowwhenthebearsaregoingtorunoutofforageandstartcomingdownheretoraidtheappletrees.Iknowwhenthingsare all right.”Thenhe looked at themagain and added, “And I can tellwhentheyaren’t.”Hegavehishandsalittletossup.“ButyouhavetolivehereawhiletounderstandwhatI’msaying.”Capdrummedonefingeronthecounter.“Isthereaspecificdangerweshould
beawareof?”Peak thought it over, came to some kind of agreement with himself, and
answered,“Youmayhavenoticed therearen’ta lotof folksaround.Not that Idon’twanttheirbusiness,Isurelydo,butwhatIknow,Itell’em,’causeIknowwhat I know, and nobody’s gonna tellme I don’t.” Then he nodded toward ayellowingpostertackedtothewall.Cap thought he’d seen this picture before, a blurry blowup of a massive,
apelikecreature.Itstrodeontwolegsacrossalog-strewnriverbed.Suddenlyhisuneasinessmeltedaway.“Bigfoot?”Singsaid.Capcouldtellshewasholdingbackasmile.“Don’tlaugh.”“No,no,I’mnotlaughing.”Peak’seyeswere intenseashe listened to somethingonlyhecouldhear,an
oldmemory playing in his mind. “I heard one howl once, maybe eight, nineyearsago.Itwasn’tlikeanythingIeverheardbefore.Chilledmyblood.”Singleanedforward,obviouslyintriguedbytheoldman’searnestness.“What
diditsoundlike?”shesaid.Hewrinkledthebridgeofhisnose,listeningsomemore.“Somethingbetween
thehowlofawolfandtheroarofalion.Reallong,andechoing.Scary.”Capwasn’tdoingmuchtocontrolhissmile.“Butthatwasnineyearsago?”PeaklockedeyeswithCap,notsmilingatall.“Thatwasthefirstone.ButI
wasmeaning to say, I’ve heard it again the last fewnights. Sounds likemorethanone,andthey’reupsetaboutsomething.”Caphadreadsuchnonsensebeforeongrocery-storetabloids.Heleanedback
and crossed his arms over his chest, allowing his eyes to wander toward theclutteredshelvesbehindtheoldman.“Nine years without making a sound,” Peak insisted, “and now they’re
makingallthisnoise?Cap,theydon’thowlfornothing.Something’swrong.”Capmethisgazeagain,indulgingly.“Itcouldbeawolf.Iunderstandthey’ve
beenreintroducedupnorth.”Theinnkeeperraisedhishandsinabriefsignofsurrender.“Allright,believe
whatyouwant,butjustdomeonefavor—becareful.”Capnodded.“We’llbecareful.”Sing was looking at a glass display cabinet immediately below the poster.
Insidewereyellowednewsclippings,photosoffootprints,andinthemiddleofitall,aplastercastofahugefootprint.“Huh.Lookatthis.”Cap leaned against the counter, detached and happy to remain that way.
“Guessyou’requitetheBigfootenthusiast.”“Notbychoice,”Peakanswered.“Everseenone?”“Nope.Everseenawolverine?”Capthoughtthequestionalittlestrange.“No.”“Veryfewpeoplehave,butit’soutthere,isn’tit?”While Sing perused the contents of the cabinet, Peak pointed at the plaster
cast. “Got that from a Sasquatch researcher just a year ago. He found thatfootprintrightaroundhere,rightupinthesemountains.”“Andyoupaidgoodmoneyforit,Isuppose,”saidCap.“Well,that’sbetweenhimandme.”Singleanedforacloserlookatthecast.CaphadtogrillPeakatouchlonger.“Buthowmanypeoplehavelivedinthis
countyalltheirlivesandneverseenathing?”
“Thesecreaturesaresmart,andtheydon’twanttobeseen.Didyoueverthinkofthat?”“Thatstilldoesn’tmean—”Capdidn’tlikethelookonSing’sfaceorwhatit
toldhim shemightbe thinking. “I’d say someonedid a real good job carvingthatout.”Singunfoldedherglassesandputthemon.Shebegantracingalineonthecast,eyeingitoverherfinger.“Averygoodjob.”The hike was going well—physically. Beck always ran two miles beforebreakfast,soshewasuptothearduoustrek,andReed,beingasheriff’sdeputy,prided himself on his physical condition. Theymaintained a brisk pace, Reedboundingalong the trail, fullydemonstrating the strengthandefficiencyofhismusclesandcardiovascularsystem,andBeckkeepingupjustfine,notabouttobeone-upped.Thedaywasgettingwarmer,andokay,Reedwasrightaboutherbuckskinjacket:she’dsheditonlyafewminutesintothehike,andnowitwasdrapedontheframeofherbackpack.Uphill,uphill,uphillhadbeentheruleoftheday.They’djustclimbedalonga
steep,forestedslope,halfamileoneway,thenaroundaswitchbackandanotherhalfamiletheotherway,thenbackagain,thesteepmountaindrop-offontheirright,thentheirleft,thentheirright,andsoitwent.Itwaswhentheyfinishedthatclimbanddescendedanorth-facingslopeinto
old-growthforestthatthehiketurnedfromaphysicalcompetitiontosomethingalmost...profound.Thiswasn’tcommon,everydayforestwithtreesthesizeoftelephone poles all close together and stickery bushes between them.No, thiswas something out of a Tolkien or Lewis fantasy, a wondrous, otherworldlyplacewhere theearthwassoftanddeepwithmossandpeat;where tinywhitewildflowers twinkled in the green carpet, iridescent bugs with fairy wingsflickeredinthesunbeams,andeveryfootstepwasmuffledinthepulverizedredbark of amillion trees that lived there before.Now, thiscaught Beck’s fancy.She’d read about this place, even written her own whimsical stories about itwhenshewasagirl.Thiswaswherehobbitsandelves, fairiesandprincesses,knights and ogres had their adventures and intrigues, andwhere all nature ofmischievouscreatureslivedamongthesnaking,claw-footroots.Thiswaswhere—“Youcaneatcattails,didyouknowthat?”Reedstillhadnotrunoutofthings
heknewandjusthadtoshare.“Youcaneatthestalk;youcaneatthepollen;youcaneveneattheroots.Ofcourse,theygrowinswampsandwetlands,andwe’reupalittlehighforthat.”Hesoundedlikeaforestrangeronanaturehike,andhe
waspastgettingonhernerves.Sheheldherpeaceandconcentratedonthecoarse,furrowedsidesofthehuge
trees.Howoldmusttheybebynow?Howmanycenturieshadtheyseen?Howmany—“Hey,aslug.Didyouknowthoseareedible?’Course,they’resupposedtobe
betterifyoucook’em,butyoucaneatthemeitherway.”Enough.“R-reed.Youc-canbarbecueoneands-serveitwithA1SauceandI
willnevereatit.Changethes-subject.”“How about grass? Remember that meadow back there? We could have
cookedupakettleofgrassstew,maybeevenmadesometea.”“IfIrecallc-correctly,wehavep-pineneedlesfortea.”“Nowyou’relearning.Hey,youknowhowtofindnorthandsouthwithouta
compass?”“D-doyoueverstoptalking?”“Beck,we’resupposedtolearnallthisstuff.”“Reed,Iamhappywithmylife,Ireallyam!Ihaveanoveltoworkon,two
paintings, and a stack of research. I could be doing all of that right now andenjoyingmylife,butnooo,Ihavetobehoofingoutinthemiddleofnowhere,listeningtomyback-to-earthhusbandtalkabouteatingslugs.”“Oneofthesedays,Beck,you’regonnawishyouknewthisstuff.”Shefullyintendedtolearnit,butshewasn’tabouttotellhim.Shedidsneaka
lookattheslugasshepassedby.Ooookay.Thatsettledthat.Reedheldback,whichgaveherprecioustimetomellowandenjoythings—
well,morethanjustenjoy.ShealreadyunderstoodwhatReedhadbeentryingtotellher.Thereweresightsouthereshe’dneverseen,andtherewerefeelingsthatcouldonlybe feltbybeinghere: thesolitude, thewonder.Theuniquesongofthewoodscouldonlybeheardinnature’skindofquiet.Shewantedtocaptureit,butwhatcamerawascapableofconveying thedepthof suchan image?Whatwords could evoke the emotion? God spoke through His creation, and themessagewentpastthemind,straighttotheheart.Itwasallso—“Uh-oh.”Reedstopped,andinherreverieBeckalmostranintohim.“What?”“Isthatthecabin?”Ahead, thetrailmeandereddownwardintoaquiet, tree-shadedravinewhere
an ancient fallen log formed a bridge across a creek. On the other side, theremainsofaman-madestructurehuddledagainst theslopeinwhatcouldhavebeen—should have been—a quaint setting. Once it had been a crude buteffectiveshelterbuiltfromhand-hewnlogsandsplitshakes,perchedonfootingsofriverrock.Onceithadashelteredfrontporch,afrontdoor,andawindowoneach side.Once it had been just asRandyThompson’s survival brochure haddescribedit—“awildernessretreatwellworththehike.”Theykeptaneyeon itas theysilentlyworked theirwaydown the trail, the
cabinpeekingandhiding,peekingandhidingthroughthetrees.Witheachnewviewcamemorewoefulnews:Theporch roofhadcollapsed, its supportpostssnapped in two; justvisibleunder the saggingporch roof, the frontdoorhungcrookedly from only one of the two strap hinges; on the shallow creek bankbelow, the remainsof a cot lay rippedandcrumpled, the framesplintered likematchsticks.Atthelogbridge, thecabinwasinplainsight.Reedrecheckedthemapand
RandyThompson’sdetailedinstructions.“Thisisit.Thisisthecabin.”Onewindowwasshattered;theotherwastornout,frameandall.Throughthe
window,andontheporch,andonthegroundaroundthecabinlayguttedfoodcontainers,shreddedwrappers,crumpledcans,spilledflour.“Someone’sbeenhere,”saidReed.“Maybeabear.”Beckcalled,“M-Mr.Thompson!Mr.Thompson!”The only answer was themournful sound of Lost Creekmoving under the
bridge.
two
Reeddidn’t likenotknowing.Hestartedtowardthecabin.“Guesswe’dbettercheckitout.”“I-I’mn-n-notgoing i-innnn there!”Beckprotested,stayingrightwhereshe
wasonthelogbridge.“Okay,fine.”Reedslippedhisbackpackoff.“Stayhereandwatchthestuff.”Hegrabbedhisdigitalcamerafromasidepocketofhispack,snappedsome
wideshotsfromthebridge,andthenwentacrosstotheotherside.The cop in him was coming out. He stepped carefully, not wanting to
contaminatethesitewithhisowndisturbances,movingovertherocks,avoidingthesofterareasthatmightrevealfootprints.Hesnappedsomemorepicturesofthelitter,thecabin,thetorn-outwindow,thecollapsingfrontporch,thebrokencotonthecreekbank.Heduckedunderthesaggingroof,pushedthebrokendooroutoftheway,and
took a look inside. The other cot was still here, but splintered like the oneoutside.Shelvesalongthebackwallweresmashed,andtheshredded,depletedremnantsofthefoodsuppliesspilledalloverthefloor,alongwitharustyshovel,most likely the cabin’s “toilet.” A sack of pancake mix had been ruptured,dustingthefloorandshelveswithatranslucentlayerofwhite.Athisfeetlayanemptybreadwrapper,acanofSpamtornopenandlickedclean,acrinkledandemptypackageofjerky,acanteenstillfullofwater.Beckcalled,“Isanybodyinthere?”“Yeah.Me.”“Veryfunny!”Heduckedbackoutside.Beck had ventured close enough to pick up and examine an empty can of
beans,itstornedgesjaggedasifithadbeenbittenorclawedopen.“There’smoreof that inside,”he toldher. “Had tohavebeenabear.That’s
whathappenswhenyouleavefoodaround.That’swhyyouneverleavefoodinyourcamp.Youstoreituphigh,outofreach,awayfromyourcampsite.”Foronceshewaslistening,withnocomebackorprotest—notwiththat torn
caninherhand.
“But thatmakesme think somebody’sbeenhere recently,”Reed said. “Thefoodaroundherewasallfreshstuff,likesomebodyjustbroughtit.”Maybehe shouldn’t have toldher that.She sighed, threwupher hands and
brought themdownwith a slap against her legs, twirled in place, scanned theforestallaround.“Oh,that’sjustg-great!Sow-whereishenow?”“Beck.”“Lookslikeyourb-b-bigvacationplanjustwents-south—”“Beck!Comeon,now.We’readults.We’reprofessionalpeople.Weworkthe
problem!”Good.Thatseemedtohithome.Beckbreathedamoment,brushedalockof
herreddish-brownhairfromherface,andaskedhim,“Sow-whatdowedo?”“Wegetagrip—”“I’vegotagrip!Whatdowedo?”Well,thiswashismoment.Hewasthestudhere,themanwiththeplan.He
drewabreath tobuya little time.“We think things through.Now,we’veonlygotanhourofdaylightleft.We’dbettergetourcampsetup.”Shecockedherheadandlookedathimwithunbelievingeyes.“Y-y-you—”“Yes.We’regoingtocamphere.Wedon’thavetimetohikebackdown.”“S-s-s-sow-whatiftheb-bearcomes-comesback?”“We’vegotourshovelsandthere’sashovelinthecabin.Wecanburyallthis
garbagesohedoesn’treturn,andthenwe’llcampsomewhereelseandhangourfoodup ina tree farawayfromwherewe’resleeping.Noproblem.That’s thewaycampersdoitallthetime.”“S-s-s—”Becksputteredandspitthroughherfumblinglipsinfrustration.“So
w-where’sMr.Thompson—that’swhatIwanttokn-n-n—”“Beck,we’re in thewilderness.The rulesaredifferentouthere. Ifwedon’t
keepourselvesalive,Mr.Thompsonisn’tgoingtomatteronewayortheother.”Beckfinallysighed,“Ooo-kay.”Heled,shefollowed,andtheyfoundasuitablespotfartherupthecreek,high,
dry,andmostlylevel,encircledbyheftyfirsandpines.Itprovidedagoodviewofthecabinbelow,butwashardtoseefrombelow—Becklikedthatpart.Reedgotoutalengthofrope,andbetweenthetwoofthem,withsomeshinnyingandclimbing, they were able to suspend their food containers on a clotheslinebetweentwotreesasuitabledistancefromtheircamp.Otherthanthefood,they
didn’t unpackmuch. Reed spread out a ground cloth, and they unrolled theirsleepingbagsonit.Intheebbinglight,Beckchangedintojeansandawarmershirt.Nowthecool
airmovingdown the ravinemadehergladshe’dbrought thatbuckskin jacket.Shegladlyputitbackon.Theircampprepared,theysatontheirsleepingbagsinthedeepeningdarkand
munchedoncoldsandwiches.“We’ll stow our sandwich boxes and wrappers up in the Remote Storage
Apparatusalongwiththeotherrations,”Reedsaid.Beck’ssandwichwascoldandsoggy.“Somuchforhotpineneedletea.”“Maybetomorrow.”Hesnappedafewpicturesofher.Shesmiled,ashadeofsmirkonherlipsdespitethewadofsandwichstillin
hercheek.“SoIwonderwhathappenedtoMr.Thompson?”“Thebearwouldn’thaveraidedthecabinifhe’dbeenhere.I’mguessinghe
wentbackdowntoAbneytobringupmoresupplies.”“Well,Mr.Survivalwasn’ttoosmarttoleaveallthatfoodinthecabininthe
firstplace,amIright?”Reednodded,concedingthepointevenasitpuzzledhim.“Itsuredidn’twork
out,didit?”Beck swallowed her bite of sandwich before she spoke again. “Maybe he’s
planningoncomingupwithSingandCapinthemorning.”“That’swhyweneedtosittight.Stickwiththeplan.”Beck chewed and thought it over. It did make sense. Sometime in the
midmorning,RandyThompsonwouldcomeup the trail fromAbney.CapandSingwouldberighttherewithhimcarryinginmoresupplies.Everythingwouldfall together, and they would all make the best of it. She allowed herself tobreathealittleeasier.Reedseemedtohaveahandleonthings.Maybeshe’dtrusthim.Maybe.Shelaybackonhersleepingbag,finishingupthelastbiteofhersandwich.
Thetreetopsconvergedaroundthecircleofdarkeningsky.Thefirststarswerevisible.Shehadtoadmit,thispartofitwasprettynice.Itcouldn’thavebeenmorethanahalfhoursincetheycrawledintotheirsleepingbags that Beck sat up, blinked, stared straight ahead, and saw nothing. Sheturnedherhead,felthereyesmovingintheirsockets,blinkedtobesurehereyes
wereopen.Wherewasshe?Thedarknesswassototal,soenveloping,thatshehadtotell
herself she was in the woods, somewhere along Lost Creek, above a torn-uplittlecabin.Shecouldn’tseethecabin.Shecouldn’tseethecreekorthetrail.Shegropedforherflashlightandfounditjustinsidehersleepingbag.Come
on,comeon,where’sthatbutton?Itclickedonandalmostblindedher.Okay.Squinting in the sudden light, she could see the trees encircling their
campingspot.Shecouldseea fewbushes, ferns, roots,androcks,stark in theflashlightbeamwithnothingbutbottomlessblackbehindthem.What happened to that wondrous place she’d seen by day, that enchanting
forest where the elves and princesses and heroes had their adventures andintriguesandlittlebugswithfairywingsfloatedinthesunbeams?Obviously, that was then, and this was night. Suddenly she felt lost.What
weretherulesnow?“Whatareyoudoing?”Reed’svoicemadeherjump.Shesettled,breathed,herhandoverherheart.“Y-you—”Shestoppedwithout
saying,scaredme.“N-nothing.Justlookingaround.”“Gotosleep.”Sheclickedoff theflashlight.Nowthedarknesswasdarker thanbeforeand
shesawnothingbutafterimagesfloatingonherretinas.Go to sleep, girl, she told herself.This is night. It happens every day. No,
everynight.Every—what?—sixteenhoursorso?No,morelikeeighthoursthatstartaftersixteenhoursofdaytime.Anyway,itonlylastssolong.Shelaybackandclosedhereyes.Snap.Shefroze,hereyeswidebutunseeing.“Didyouhearthat?”Reeddidn’tanswer.Shewantedtonudgehimbutdidn’t.Thereitwasagain,onlymoreofit:atwigsnapping,abushswishing.Crack!
Definitelyastickonthegroundbreaking.Nowshedidnudgehim.“What?”
“There’ss-somethingoutthere.”Reedproppedhimselfuponanelbowwithasighofexasperationandlistened
forat leasthalfaminute.Allwassilent.He turnedas if tochideher,but then—Snap!Reed’sstomachwrenched insidehim.Brother,nowshe’sgotmeworkedup.
But he couldn’t deny it. He heard it too: something wasmoving in the deepblacknessbeyond,somewheredownintheravine.Arustling.Thump!Somethingheavyandwoodentippedover.It’swildlife, he toldhimself. “It’swildlife,”hewhispered. “Youknow,deer,
elk,somethinglikethat.”“Ab-b-bear?”“Well, it could be the bear. Animals do a lot of foraging at night. There’s
nothingweirdaboutit.”Sheinsisted,“W-w-whatifit’stheb-bear?”“He’safterfood,remember?Ifhegoesanywhere,it’llbetothecabintoclean
upwhatever’sleft.Hedoesn’tevenknowwe’reuphere.”Therewasabreathlessmomentofsilence.“Oh,shoot,”Reedwhispered.“What?”“Iforgottohangupthesandwichcontainers.Westillhavethemhere.”“M-m-maybehewon’ts-smellanything.”“Airmovesdownhillatnight.We’reupwind.”Butthenitwasquiet,andstayedquiet.Reedspokefirst.“Guessit’sover.”Helaybackdown.Becksatupforanothermoment,theneasedbackandpulledthesleepingbag
uptoherchin.Shelayonherback,thenoneside,thentheotherside.Finally,shewhispered,“Arrrey-youasleep?”“No,”heansweredoutloud.“Howyoudoing?”“I’mokay.”“M-metoo.”“Yousoundnervous.”
“I’mnot.”Silence.“Well,aren’ty-you?”“Nope.Notme.”“You’renotasleep.”Hesighedandrustledaround.“Youwokemeup.”Hewasgettingtoheragain.“I’mr-reeeallynotafraid.Icanhandlethisjustas
w-wellasyoucan.”Well,hewasn’tafraid,noway.“Beck,youknowwhat?Theonlycreaturesout
here afraid of the dark are us. All the other animals are out there stompingaroundinthedarklikeit’snothing,andhereweare,scaredtodeath—”“Oh,w-we’rescaredtodeath?”“I’mtalkingingrouptalkhere.We’reateam,we’re—”“Oh, w-we’re a team? Well just-just tell me this: Which t-team has the
advantagehere?Imean,justwhoisonwhoseturf?”“Theanimalsdon’tmind.They’rejustdoingwhatanimalsdo—”Morenoise.Somethingmoving.“Ith-th-thinkit’snearthec-cabin,”Beckwhispered.“Thecabin’sthatway.”“W-whatway?”“Thatway.”“Ican’tseewhereyou’repointing.”“Well,justsittightand—”Thesoundwasnothingliketheyhadeverheardbefore,anditwasn’tquiet.It
wassoclear,so loud, thateven thoughReedknewitwassomewheredownintheravine,itseemedasifitwasrighttherenexttothem.Itwaslikeawomanwailingingriefandanguish,weepingoverthecorpseof
alovedone,hercryrising,wavering,holding,thenfallingoffintoahissingsob,then...gone.Silence.Snap!Crunch.Whateveritwas,itwascominguptheravine.Thewomanweptagain,hervoicequaking,thenoterisingtoanerve-rending
peakandthentrailingoff.Becksawnothingwithhereyes,butherimaginationwasprovidingthemost
horrible imagesof dismemberedwitches, transparent banshees, rotting corpseswalkingaboutseekingrevenge—
Oh,stopit!shescoldedherself.Reedfumbledforhisflashlight.“D-d-don’t-don’tturnthaton!She’llseewhereweare!”Reed’svoicewasshaking.“Nothing’sgonnasneakuponme—Imean,Ijust,I
justwannagetafixonit.”Thencameaquieterwhimper,asifthroughclenchedteeth.Reed found the button.Suddenly, shockingly, the beamof his flashlight cut
throughthedarkness,reachedasfarastheimmediatetrees,thenstretcheditselfinto oblivion in the tangled forest, bringing back only dim images of leaves,deadbranches,dancingshadows.Beckdidn’tlook—shewasafraidofwhatshemightsee.“Whatifitreallyissomebodyoutthere?”Reedwhispered.“Whatifthey’rein
trouble?”“Th-th-thenw-whydon’ttheysays-so?”Reedhollered,“Hello?Isanybodyoutthere?”Noanswer.Beckthought,Well,ifhe’sgoingtoholler...“Hello?Ar-rrr-reyouokay?”Nothing.Theywaited.Theylistened.Wasthatthinghiding?“Idon’tthinkitw-wasawoman,”Beckwhispered.NowReedwaswhispering.“Itsoundedlikeone.”“N-no,noitdidn’t.”“Ithinkwemadeitgoaway.”Agrowlandashortsnuff.Itwaslow,quiet,fromtheothersideoftheravine,
somewherehighuptheslope.Beckenvisionedsomethingbig,withlotsofteethandabadattitudeasitcrouchedinthebushes,feelingintrudedupon—Thereitwasagain,moreinsistentthistime,edgedwithanger.Itwasmoving.
Thedirectionwashard to tell, but it couldhavebeenaway from them,whichwasgreat,andsofar,itwasoutthereandnot...AchucklesniffedoutReed’snose.Beckthoughtthatwasquiteoutofplace.“W-whatareyoulaughingat?”“It’sajoke.”
Somehowshewasn’treadytoacceptthat.“It’sajoke,”heinsisted.“CapandRandyThompsonaretryingtoscareus.”“W-whatmakesyousos-sure?”“Well,it’sobvious.Everybodyknewwe’dbecominguphereonedaybefore
Cap and Sing, and thenThompson just happens to not show up, and thenwestarthearingstupidnoisesoutinthewoods.It’sabigput-on.”Beck sat there, her frightened face indirectly lit by Reed’s flashlight beam.
Shelongedforhimtoberight.He kept trying. “Don’t you remember when we were going to United
Christianandwewenttothatpartyfortheyoungcouples’group?”“Sure.”“WeallwentforthathayrideinthebackofGeorgeJohnson’struck—”“A-a-andthetruckb-brokedown,andabearcameoutofthew-woods.”Her
nervescalmed.“Anditwasjustwhat’s-his-name—”“Mr. Farmer wearing that bear rug.” Reed snickered. “But you sure were
scared.”“Iwasyoung!Andsowereyou!”Theysatstillandlistened.“S-soyouthinkthat’swhatitis?”Beckasked.Reedhollered,“Okay,youcancomeoutnow!Veryfunny!Ha-ha!”“Veryfunny,Cap!”Beckshouted.“Cap?”Noanswer.Thentheyheard,ofallthings,astrange,hissingkindofwhistle,likeateapot
ataboil,butbigger, louder,warblinga little. It sounded like itwas farup theoppositebankoftheravine.Itcouldhavebeenmoving...Anotherwhistleansweredthefirstone.Thisonewasmuchcloser,onthisside
oftheravine,offtotheirright.Betweenthepoundingofherheart,Beckheardsomethingleavingheavy,munchingfootfallsonthedeadneedlesandtwigs.“Whatifitisn’tajoke?”sheasked.“Hey—”“N-no,no,whatifitisCapandMr.Thompson,butthey’retestingus,trying
to demonstrate something, t-trying to showusw-what themind can do in thedark,inthewoods,lateatnight?”
Reedthoughtaboutthat.“Likeasimulation?”“Y-yeah.Toshowushowe-e-easyitistopanicandd-dothewrongthings.”Reednodded. “I’vedone thosebefore in thedepartment’s training sessions.
Crimescenesandhostagesituations...”“Yeah.”“Thatcouldbeit!”“So...howdowehandlethis?”“Well,ifit’ssupposedtobeabear,thenweshouldhollerandmakeabunchof
noiseandchaseitaway.”Shelookedathim;helookedather.Theygottotheirfeet,shouting,hollering,
shooing.“Yaaa!Goon!Getoutofhere!”Thewomanoutscreamed them in length, involume, anddefinitely in terror
effect,hercrysearinguptheravinelikeblackfireasshethrashedinthebrush.Awoodencreak,asplinteringsnap,clothtearing.Thatbrokencotinfrontofthecabin.Shewasthatclose.A very loud, throaty growl shattered the air and rippled through the trees.
Whatever had made that first whistle was bursting out in anger or fear or—whateveritwas,itwasn’tgood.Theyheardfootfallsmovingquickly,poundingandthrashingupthebank.The woman screamed in reply, splashing in the creek, thenmoving up the
bankasifinpursuit.ReedandBeckshiedbackinthedark.Beckclickedonherflashlighttomatch
Reed’s. They swept the perimeter. Trees. Brush. Bony, dead limbs. Blacknessbeyond.“Th-th-th-threeofthem,”Becksaid,hervoicebrokenwithterror.“Think,”Reedsaid,toherandtohimself.“Don’tpanic,justthink.”Beckthoughtoutloud,“B-big,hungrybeasts,twot-t-tender,chewablepeople
—”“You’relettingyourimaginationrunawaywithyou.”“It’smyimagination!”Sheexhaled,tryingtosteadyherself.Itwasquietoutthere.“I’mthink-th-thinkingsomething,”shesaid.
“I’mlistening.”“Cap andSingw-wouldn’t do this.They’dneverb-betrayour trust.George
Johnson,yeah,butnotCap,andnotSing.”Reedmulledthatoverforaprecioussecond.“You’reright.”Inamoment,he
came back with, “But if something out there was hunting us, it wouldn’t bemakingallthisnoise.Itwould’vesneakeduponus.”Morelistening.Moresilence.Thensomerustlingandmovementupthebank.
Whateverthecreatureswere,theywerestillthere.“Is-saywegetoutofhere,”shesaid.Snap!Thud.“Don’t panic. If we panic, we’re sunk.” He tried to steady his voice as he
quicklyadded,“Ifwestickwiththeplan,Mr.ThompsonandCapandSingwillknowwheretofindus.Iftheygetheretomorrowandwe’renothere—”Ahowlup in thewoods.Something—and itwasnosmallcoyoteorwolf—
wasveryupset.“Theymightbegoingaway.Don’tpanic,”Reedpleaded.“You’res-s-scaredtoo;comeon.”“I’mnotscared.”“Comeon,yourvoiceisshaking!”“I’mcold.”“W-w-wellI’mwearingajacket,s-sothere!”Reedstartedscramblingaroundthecampsite.“Whatareyoudoingnow?”“I’mgettingridofthesesandwichcontainers.”“You,youuucan’thangthoseupinthetreesnow!”“I’mgonnathrow’em,justget’emawayfromus!”“Yeah,andleavemehere?”“What’sthematter,youscared?”Shedidn’tanswer.Heturned,hisarmsfull,andleft.Shestoodthere,aloneinthedark,herflashlightshiningintoablackinfinity.
The quiet out there was not comforting. At least when those unknowns weremakingnoise,sheknewwheretheywere.
Uh-oh,therewasthatgrowlagain,somewhereupthebankacrosstheravine.Nowitsoundedalarmed.Butnoresponsefromthewailingwoman.Wherewasshe?Awhistle!Long,loud,likeescapingsteam,warbling—andclose.Beck swept thewoods that directionwith her flashlight. Tree trunks. Dead
limbs.Abrokensnag.Nothingbeyond.What on earth . . . ? Now she smelled something. She sniffed, first one
direction,thenanother.Itwasterrible,liketheworstbodyodor,likesomethingrotten.“R-r-reed?D-doyouuusmellthat?”Noanswer.“Reed?”Somethingrustledbehindher,andthencamethatwhistleagain,thistimelow
andhissing.Shespun,herhandsshaking,andshinedherlightupthehill,acrossa rowof tree trunks,pastablackchasmofnothing,over somemore trunks—Somethingglimmeredinthatblackchasm.Shereturnedtothedarknessbetweenthetrees.Sheknewwhatitwas.AnytimeJonah,theirdog,lookedbackataflashlight
beam, anytime a cat would look into their car’s headlights, the eyes alwaysreflectedthelightbacklike...likewhatshewasseeingrightnow.Twohugeeyes,likesilverygreenheadlightsfloatingslowlyinthedark.They
blinked at her, thenvanished as if blockedby a handor arm.Heavy footfalls,snapping,crunching!Beckplungedintothetrees,lookingforReed.Shemayhavebeenscreaming;
sheonlyknewshewasrunning,dodgingtreetrunksastheyleapedfromleftandright into her light. “R-r-rr-r—”His name justwouldn’t form.She abandonedconsonantsandletanysoundleapoutthatwould.“Here—”This time a scream came out easily, without forethought or construction,
mainlybecausesheranrightintohim.“Whoa,whoa,easy!”Shescreamedandstutteredandspitsomethingaboutseeingtheeyesandthe
smellandhowcloseitwasandhowhighoffthegroundthoseeyeswereandthenoise it made and how— Screams! Savage screeches! Howls! The rage and
thunder of demons, banshees, blackminions of hell, roared, echoed, crackleddownthehillside,reverberatingoffthetrees,quakingandbouncingthroughtheravine,ripplingupthecreek.Thebeastswereclose,soclose,thethumpoftheirfootfallslikesubwoofersintheground.ReedandBeckfoundthesametreeinthequaking,sweepingbeamsoftheir
flashlights,atangled,half-deadcedar.Bothhadthesamethought:Climb!Climbandnevercomedown,neverever—Hegotonehandunderherfoottogiveheraboost.Thefirstlimbshegrabbed
wore a shirt and gaveway themoment she touched it.A bloody, broken armdroppedoutofthetree.Shedidn’tscreamthistime.Nosoundwouldcome.Sheonlyfellaway,numbedbythesight,asshedroppedforaslow-motioneternitybeforelandinginatangleofbushes.Awide-eyed,crazed-facedmandroppedintothebeamoftheirlights.Hewas
upsidedown,swinging,flopping,limpandpurplewithdeath,hislegssnarledinthebranches,hislongbraiddanglinglikeablackviperbelowhishead.Theman’sheadwasbarelyattached.They ran, through tree trunks that flashed and flickered across their light
beams, over uneven, leg-grabbing tangles of growth, into endless night anddarkness,oblivious,reckless,madwithfear.Their backpacks were nearly an afterthought, but a shred of wisdom still
remained,andtheygrabbedthemupastheypassedby.Theydidn’tknowwherethetrailwas,onlythatitwasbelowthemintheravine,sodowntheywent,overthe bank, grabbing roots, plants, tree trunks, anything to keep from tumblingheadlong as they dropped down, gripping, heeling in, slipping, grabbing,droppingagain.Thebeasts, thedemons, thespiritsof theforestwerestill screamingas if in
the throes of battle. Their voices were everywhere, so loud that Beck had toscreamtobeheard.Shesputteredsomethingaboutseeingthetrail.One more leap and they were on the path, running up the trail out of the
ravine,hopingandprayingitwastherightone,theonethatwouldgetthemoutofthishellishplaceanddowntoAbney,atownthey’donlyheardabout.They ran as fast as they could see to run, adrenaline rushing, the trail, the
trees, the turns quaking in their light beams. They climbed, cut aroundswitchbacks, clamberedover rocks, dodged aroundwindfalls, gettingdistance,gettingaway,gettingdistance.
Butanotherenemywasstalkingthem,overcomingthemlikeaslow,creepingdeath:fatigue.Thesteepgrade, thealtitude,andtheirheavypackspulledthemdown,stoletheirbreath,consumedtheirmuscles.Beckwas in the lead, groping up a steep, precarious portion of trail on all
fours, gasping for breath, whimpering. She looked over her shoulder. Tearsstreakedherface.“W-w-where...?”“Idon’tknow.”Reedstopped, trying to stoppanting longenough tohear if
they’doutrunit.Therewasamomentwhentheycouldn’thearanything.Butonlyamoment.Thewomanwasstilloutthere.Shewailedagainandwouldn’tstopscreaming
whileanotherbeasthowled,itsvoicerumblingandflutteringfromadeep,slimythroat.“Behindus,”Reedfinallyanswered.Theykeptgoing,inchbyagonizinginch.They made it up out of the ravine, and the trail finally began to head
downward.They stumbled along, feet like lead, legs screaming in pain, lungslaboringforair.Beck’slegscollapsed.Shewentdownandstayedthere.Thegroundfeltgood.
Notmovingfeltlikelifeitself.Reed crumpled just behind her, gasping, slick with sweat, wiping salty
perspirationfromhiseyes.Theylistened,eyesdarting.The screaming andwailing had stopped.Maybe it was over.Maybe they’d
outrunthedanger.Maybetherestonthegroundandafewpreciousmoleculesofoxygenwerebringing the inklingofhopenowrising in theirhearts, thevagueanddreamlikenotionthattheyjustmightgetoutofthisalive.Reedpulled themap fromhispocketandunfolded it, thecrinkling, creased
pagesrattlingloudlyinthedark.“Oh,quiet,quiet!”Beckpleaded.“Gottoseewhereweare,wherewe’regoing.”Heshinedhislightonthemap,turneditrightsideup,searchedupanddown
thepageforsomethingfamiliar.“Thetrail’sgoing...southeast,Iguess.”“Soundsright.”
Wump!Thump!Thegroundquivered.“Oh,dearLord,no!”Beckcriedinawhisper.Reedclickedoffhislight, thentappedBeck,whodidthesame.Theystifled
their breathing and heard it plainly: heavy footfalls and snapping twigs,somethingmovingabovethem,movingfast,moving...It stopped.Not a sound. Theywaited, longing for air but hardly breathing,
probingthedarknesswithinadequateeyes.“Ifwekeepquiet,”Reedwhispered inBeck’s ear, “maybe it’ll giveupand
leave.”ButBecktouchedhisnoseandsniffed,asignal.Reedsniffedquietly.They’d
bothbeenrunning,panting,sweatinglikecrazy,butnothingcomingfromthemcouldmatchthisstench.Beckpointedupthehill,andheunderstood.Nightairmoveddownhill.Thatthingwasabovethemsomewhere.Thencamethewhistle,longandsteady,withalittlewarbleattheend.Itwas
closerthanthey’dthought.Sittingstillwasn’tgoingtowork.Theyeasedbackontothetrailandstartedto
runagain,but their legswere feebleand teetering, theirbodiesexhausted,andtheyhadnochoicebuttousetheirlights.Thewhistlesoundedagain,keepingpace.Faster,faster!The footfalls and thrashing in the brush did not fade back but only came
closer, louder, closing the distance. They were being hunted. That thing wasrunningthemdown,keepingupwithnoproblem,anditcouldsee.Beckheardtherushofawaterfall.Abruptly,thetrailcutthroughastreambed,
snakingthroughandoverslick,sharp-edgedrocks.Reedstopped,stumblingontherocks,hislegswobbly.Hebentasifsearchingforrockstothrow,astickhemightuseasaclub,anything.Beckjustwanted togetacross,getonsmooth trailagain.Thewaterfallwas
loud,close,justtoherright—The rocks broke away under her foot. She tumbled sideways, then fell
headlongovertheprecipice,flippingendoverend—Herbackpackabsorbedsomeof the impactwith the rocks,but shewasstill
tumbling,herflashlightflippinginmidair.Herheadhit.Ablindingflashexplodedinherbrain.
Reedheardhergodown,andhesearchedwithhislight.“Beck!” There she was, flailed like a rag doll on the rocks about ten feet
belowthetrail,herlegdanglingintheflowingwater,astreakofbloodreachingdown her face.He found away down, a slow but sure course through brush,limbs,andsaplings.“Beck!”Hegrabbedthefirstlimbandswunghimselfdown,thenanotherlimb,thena
fistfulofbrush.Lower,lower!“Beck!Saysomething!Talktome!”Therewasacommotionacrossthestream.OhdearLord,don’tletitbe—Thebeamcaughtthesilvery-greenglimmeroftworetinassuspendedwithina
massiveblackshadowthatswalloweduphislight.Hescreamed,halfoutofhisownterror,halftocauseterror.Wouldnothingchasethisthingaway?Theshadowmovedso fasthe lost it.Hesearched,wavedhis lightabout. It
caughtonefleetingimageofhiswife’sbodysweptuplikeatoy,armslimp,longbrownhairflying.Theshadowenfoldedherlikeablanket.Therewereheavy,bass-notefootfalls
upthebank,andthen...Nothing.
three
Reeddashedacross the stream, frantic, shininghis light in everydirectionbutseeingonlythick,tangledforest.Thestreamandwaterfallmadesomuchnoisehecouldn’thearanythingelse.Hegotoutofthere,clamberinguptheotherside,onlyguessingwhichwaythatthingwent.“Beck!”hecalled.Noanswer.Butshewasn’tdead.No.Hewouldnotallowhimselftothinkthat.Shewas
aliveandbreathing,andanymomentshewasgoingtohearhiscallandanswer.Ifshescreamedforhelp,hewouldhearher.Think,he told himself.Don’t panic. You can’t seemuch at all, but can you
hearanything?Canyousmellanything?There!Heheardlimbssnappingfartheruptheslope.Heracedalongthetrail,
probingwithhisflashlight.Abrokentreelimb!Thenanother!Heslippedoutofhispackanddoveintothetrees,probing,climbing,lookingforsigns,listening,thencalling.Fromdeep in hismind came awarning:Youhavenogun.Noweapon.You
needtofindsomething—Another rustling sound grabbed his attention and spurred him upward. He
foundagametrailwherethegroundwasdisturbedbyhoofprintsofelkanddeer.Amongtheseprintshefoundadeep,half-roundimpression,perhapsaheelprint.Withnewstrengthheclimbed,andthentraversedtheslope,thenzigzaggedashelost,thenfound,thenlostthegametrail.Withthetrailgone,hefollowedsounds,anysound.“Beck!”Theforestswallowedhisvoice.Hehurried,hestruggled,heclimbed,hedoubledback,heclimbedagain,then
descended,thenclimbed,untilfearanddesperationgavewaytoexhaustionandhebegantorealizethathewaslikeamiteinacarpet.Asloudashemightcall,thiswilderness stretched farther thanhisvoicecould reach.The light fromhisflashlighthaddimmedtoadullorangeglow,butthemountainshaddarknesstospare,plentytoswallowupanylight.
Thesecondshadstackedupandbecomeminutes; theminuteshadstretchedintohours.Stepshadbecomeyards,andyardshadbecomemiles,buttheforesthadnot shrunk. Itwasstillbigger thanhecouldeverbe,withmoreobstacles,tangles,confusion,anddark,dark,dark!When he broke into a meadow where the stars were visible and a waning
moonwasfinallyrising,hecollapsedtothegroundwithaquietwhimper,limpandtotallyspent,headhanging,conflictingthoughtsbanteringinhishead.She’sgone.No,no,sheisn’t.Justhavetofindher,that’sall.Where?Wherecouldyouevenstartlooking?Well,somedaylightwouldsurehelp.She’llbesomebody’sdinnerbythen.No.Godwon’tletthathappen.LookatwhatHe’salready lethappen!Rememberwhereyouare!Thereare
differentrulesouthere!Reed’shandswenttohisheadasifhecouldcorralhisthoughts.Hisaimless
thrashingaroundin thewoodsforhourshadaccomplishednothing;amadandfrenzied mind would accomplish even less. He forced himself to lie still,breathingforbreathing’ssakeuntilhecouldconstructacoherentthought.Firstcoherentthought:Hehadn’tfoundhiswife.Secondcoherent thought: Inallhismadscramblingandsearching,hecould
havewanderedfartherfromher,notcloser.Third coherent thought: He’d become part of the problem. He was lost,
withoutprovisions,withoutaweapon.Hestillhadhismapandcompass.Ifthesunevercameupagainsometimein
hislife,hecouldtakealookaroundandhopefullygethisbearings.Fornow,hewas too tired and emotionally spent to work it out, and anymore wanderingwouldonlymake thingsworse.Untilhegot some rest andsome real light,hewouldbenohelptoBeckorhimself.Thedyingorangebeamofhis flashlight foundanold fallensnag justa few
feeble steps up the hill, with a hollow in the ground beneath it. His heartscreamedagainstthedecision,buthismindmadeitstick.Hewouldshelterhimselfunder thesnag tomaintainhisbodyheat,and rest
untildaylight.
“Beck...Beck...Beck!”Beck was dreaming, far from fear in the dark, merely puzzled by her
husband’sanguishedvoiceashescreamedhername.Beyondherdreamwasafarawaypain,adullthrobbing,adizzyworldtippingandturning,abodyaching,butshedidn’twakeupfromthedream.Shedidn’twantto.Wakingwouldhurt;thedreamdidn’t. In thedreamshewas floating as if in a stream,glidingpastlimbsandtreesandleavesthatwentswish,withthegroundsofarbelow.Shewaswarm,asifcuddledinafurryblanket,butitwasdark,likebeingin
herbedroomatnight.Can’twakeup,won’twakeup,eyeswon’topen,stayinginthedream,moving
fast,canfeelthebreeze...Monsters,snorting,drooling,stomping,invisibleinthedark.Allaround,closer,closer.Beck!Beck!Hislegswouldn’tmove—“Reed!Beck!”Reedawokewithastart.“Reed!”ThatsoundedlikeCap.Hestirred,unclearastowherehewas,butwillinghislegsandarmstomove,
topull,push,andclawhiswayintotheopen,throughtangledexposedrootsandcrumbledrocksintoeye-stingingdaylight.Thedistantcallcameagain:“Reed!Beck!”Reed rolled out into the grass, the dew soaking through his clothes.
Everythinglookedsodifferent.“Hello!”hecried.HeheardSing’svoicecall,“Reed!Whereareyou?”“Uphere!”hecalled.Heleapedtohisfeet,buthisheademptiedofbloodandhefell,remindedof
howweakandshakenhewas.Theyshoutedagain,heansweredagain,andthatwasallhewasgoodforuntilhisfriendsreachedhim,snappingandrustlingtheirway through the thickundergrowthuntil they emerged into the clearing.Theylookedprepared for aweek in thewilderness,withpackson theirbacks,hats,boots, jackets. Reed figured he must look pretty horrible, judging from theirexpressions.“Reed!Wefoundyourpackdownbythecreek.Whathappened?”Capasked.“Where’sBeck?”
Bythatafternoon,theTallPineResortbegantoseemoreactivitythanithadall
season.TwosquadcarsfromtheWhitcombCountySheriff’sDepartmentwereangled in against themeandering, up-and-downporch.On either side of themwerethepickuptrucks,SUVs,cars,andmotorcyclesthathadbroughttheSearchand Rescue volunteers. The volunteers, more than a dozen strong, wasted notimeunloadingandfillingbackpackswithneededgear, testingportable radios,and organizing survival equipment and medical supplies. Some of the guysprepared high-powered rifles and stowed cases of ammunition. A van arrivedand lurched into a space at the far end of the parking lot, an eager Germanshepherdbarkingandwhiningintheback.Acrosstheparkinglot,hookedtoanRV power outlet, was the Search and Rescue command vehicle, a convertedschool bus now crammed with equipment, supplies, a computer, and radios.Close to the main door was a sharp-looking King Cab pickup with an IdahoDepartmentofFishandGameinsigniaontheside.DeputySheriffPatrickSaunders,ingreenfieldjacketandbilledcap,walked
brisklyoutthemaindoor,reportingintoahandheldradio,“Yeah,JimmyClark’sheredebriefingthewitness.We’llallgetrollingwhenhe’sdone.It’saprobablebearattack,sowe’reliningupsomehunters—”Sheriff Patrick Mills signaled a halt right in front of Dave’s mouth and
whisperedsharply,“Dave,let’snotsayitsoloud,shallwe?”The deputy followed the sheriff’s glance to where Reed Shelton sat on a
woodenbenchfartherupthemeanderingporch,justoutsideRoom105.Hewashaggard,dazed,anddirty,apparentlytryingtomakesensetoJimmyClark,theconservationofficerwhoaskedhimquestions.“Oh,man,sorry,”thedeputysaid.Sheriff Mills, a tall man weathered by experience and sporting a graying
mustache,wentbacktoaconversationhe’dbeenhavingwithCapandSingonthe slapped-together porch near themain door.Hewas dressed forwildernesswork,inthestandard-issuegreenjacketwithSHERIFFinlargeyellowlettersontheback,butinsteadofapoliceman’shat,heworeacowboyhatwithacountysheriffinsigniaonitsfront.“Sorry,”thesheriffsaidtoCap.“Now,youweresaying?”Cap stood nervously, taking deep breaths, shifting his weight, grasping the
porchpostas if tosteadyhimself.Thecollegeprofessor’swordsracedandhisvoiceseemedweak.“Wefound—itwasontherocksbelowthewaterfall.”“Blood,”Millsrefreshedhim.
“Yeah.Wecheckedallaround thecreekarea,bothsidesof the trail,upanddowntheslope...”“Howwidearadius?”Capshrugged.“Idon’tknow,maybefortyfeet,maybefifty...”Helookedat
Sing,passingherthequestion.She was sitting on a hand-hewn bench against the old log wall, her face
troubledasshestudiedtheLCDofReedShelton’scamera.ShewasreviewingthedigitalphotographsReedhadtakenofthesplinteredcabinandtheshotsofBecksitting in theircampsite,hercheeksplumpwithamouthfulofsandwich.SingandCap’sbackpacksrestedagainstthewallnexttoher,packedtobulgingbut never opened.Leaves andneedles clung toher clothing andher braids. “Iwouldsayahundred-footradius.Butitwasdifficult.Thebrushisthickinthatarea.”MillslookedoverSing’sshoulderatthesmallcamerascreen.“Didhegetany
shotsofThompson’sbody?”Singcametotheendofthepicturesinthecamera’smemory.“No.Apparently
Reedwas innopicture-takingmoodwhenheandBeckwererunningfor theirlives.”“Andyounevergotbacktothecabintocheckitout?”Capwasobviouslyonedge,tiringofthequestions.Hewaggedhishead.“We
onlywantedtofindBeck,thatwasall.”“Soyoudidn’tseewhetherornottherewasabodyupthere?”“No!”Caploweredhisvoice.“ReedsaidRandywasdead,andthatwasgood
enoughforus.Beckwastheonewewereconcernedabout.”Singstrokedherforehead.“Weweren’tgettinganywhere.Reeddidn’twantto
leave,butwehadtogetbackhere;wehadtogetsomehelp.”Mills regarded the folks gathering in the parking lot, well trained, some
specialized,alltheretofindBeckSheltonnomatterwhat.“Youmadetherightdecision.Sing,you’vebeenour forensicsspecialist for fiveyearsnow.You’veteamed upwith some of these people before.You know they’re good atwhattheydo.”Singnoddedandgaveawavetothedoghandler,whowassharingapieceof
breakfasttoastwithCaesar,theGermanshepherd.“IneverthoughtI’dbepartofthecasewe’reworkingon.”
Sheriff Mills looked past Cap and Sing to where Reed was still beingquestioned by JimmyClark. “So how clear do you thinkReed’s head is rightnow?”Capstoleaglance.“Idon’tknow.He’sinsomesortofshock,likehe’shaving
wakingnightmares.IfhetellsJimmywhathetoldus...”Singshivered,puttingthecamerainitscase.“Reedwasrightaboutthecabin.
IfwefindRandyThompsonthrownupina tree,wemighthavetobelievetherestofhisstory.”“Beinginthedark,inthewoods,canmakethingsseemalotworsethanthey
are,”thesheriffsuggested.“MaybefindingRandy’sbodywasthethingthatshockedhim,”Capoffered,
“andafterthat,well,then,Beckgetsgrabbed...Idon’tknow,I’dprobablybeseeingsomeprettyhorriblethingsbythen.”“Reed’s a deputy sheriff!” Sing’s voice was edgy. “Let’s not underestimate
him!”Awkwardsilencefollowed.“Dulynoted,”Millsfinallysaid.“Sing,takeReed’scameraovertoMarshain
thecommandvehicle.SeeifshecandownloadthoseshotsofBeckandprint’emup.”Singgottoherfeet,asifeagertodosomething,anything.“Andthencanwe
pleasegetupthere?”Millslookedathiswatch.“Petesaidhe’dbeabouttenminutes.”Capstartedtosay,“Wedon’thaveten—”whentiresgrowledonthegravel.An older brown pickup with a rumbling muffler pulled in and nosed up
against the building four vehicles down. The fellow who got out looked asthoughhe’dalreadybeeninthewoodsmostofhislifeandwouldbeoutofplaceanywhere else. He was dressed in tired jeans, a frayed leather coat, and adrooping,wide-brimmedhatwitharattlesnakeskinforahatband.Hemayhavehadahaircutthreeorfourmonthsagobutobviouslyhadn’tthoughtmuchaboutitsincethen.“Ah,”saidMills,“thereheis.”Pete Henderson, search manager and tracker, was already sizing up the
situationwhenMillsmet him in the center of the parking lot. “Huh. Jimmy’shere,”Petesaid,“soitwasabear.You’rehere,sosomebody’sdead.You’vegot
meandmysearchershere,soyoucan’tfindwhoeveritis.”“Come on.” As they crossed the parking lot, Mills gave Pete an abridged
versionofReed’saccount.“Youarekiddingme—Reedsaidthat?”“Let’shopehisheadstartstoclearup.”Theywalkedquietly,unobtrusively,uptowhereJimmywasfinishingupwith
Reed.Theconservationofficersatontheedgeoftheporch,penandnotepadinhis hands, questioning, almost grilling Reed in his eagerness to get theinformationandgetgoing.Hisconservationofficer’suniformspokewellofhismanner,meantforthewilderness,notthetownorcity;nocreasedtrouserswitha stripe,but tough, forest-greenLevi’s;no spit-polished shoes,butoiledbootsfor slogging through rough and often muddy terrain; his gray shirt had ashoulderinsignia,butitwasruggedenoughforthewildernessandhadobviouslybeenthere.HisbilledcapwiththeIdahoDepartmentofFishandGameinsigniarestedontheporchnearby.Reedwassittingonthebenchagainstthebuilding,seeminglyimmovableasif
hewereafungusthathadgrownthere.Hishairwasmattedfromsweat;hisfaceand clotheswere those of a desperatemanwho’d lost hiswife and spent thenightunderafallentree.Reed’svoicewasbarelyaudibleashesaid,“IthadtobeRandy.Hehadalongblackbraid,Isawthatclearly.”JimmylookedupatSheriffMillsandPete.TheyknewthatdescribedRandy
Thompson.WhenReedliftedhisface,atinyhintofhopecametohiseyes.“Hey,Pete!”“We’rehereforyou,partner,”Petesaid.“We’realmostfinished,”saidJimmy.Heprodded,“Howdidhelooktoyou,
Reed?Wasthereanythingabouthisconditionthatwouldindicateanattackbya—”“Hewasthrownupinthetree!”Reedinsistedasifhe’dsaiditbefore.“His
headwaspracticallytornoff!”“But he could have been climbing the tree, trying to get away froma bear,
right?”Reedthoughtamoment,thennodded.“Yeah.Thatmakessense,ifthat’swhat
youwanttothink.”Jimmylookedaround,apparentlyfortherightwords.“Reed,I’mhatingthis.
Youknowthat.”Reed’sheadsank.Tearsfilledhiseyes.“Ifwehadn’tcampedtherethatnight,
ifwe’donlyburied that garbage, if I hadn’t forgotten tohangup those stupidsandwichcontainers...!”“WasBeckhavingherperiod?”“No.”“Didshebringanymakeupalong?”Reedlookedathimblankly.Jimmyexplained,“Toabear,thesmellmeansfood.”“Ididn’tseeabear,”Reedemphasizedasifforthehundredthtime.Jimmyjustlookedathisnotes.“Therecouldhavebeenanynumberoffactors,
Reed.Youdon’tneedtoblameyourself.”“Arewethrough?”Jimmynodded. “Yeah,Reed.We’re through.We’regonnaget on this, right
now.”Reedboltedtohisfeet.“I’vegottogetmygearready.”HeduckedintoRoom
105andslammedthedoor,notlookingback.JimmyrosefromtheporchanddrewinclosetoSheriffMillsandPete.“Pete.”“Hi.”Jimmyreviewedhisnotesandspokeinsecretivetones.“Guessyou’veheard
thestorybynow.”“Hasitchangedany?”Millsasked.JimmystoleafurtiveglanceatReed’sdoor.“Don’tthinkso,soIcan’ttellyou
whathappeneduptherebesidestheobvious.Reed’ssoshookuprightnowhe’shallucinating,talkingaboutawomanscreamingandbigmonstersfightinginthedark. He insists something really big and foul-smelling chased him andBeckalongthetrailandthengrabbedher.”Jimmy’sexpressionsaid,NeedIsaymore?Millsasked,“DidhesayanythingaboutBeckfallingoverawaterfall?”“Yeah,rightbeforetheattack.Ifitreallyhappened,I’dguessthat’swherethe
AbneyTrailcutsacrossScatterCreek.”“CapandSingcanshowusthespot.Theyjustcamefromthere.”Jimmyconsultedhis notes again. “Reeddrewamap to showwherehe and
BeckfoundRandy’sbody.It’supthecreekalittle,onaknollabovethecabin.”MillsspoketoPete,“Lookslikewe’llneedtwoteams,onetoworkthecabin
siteandonetoworkthecreek.”“We’llmostlikelybepickingupthepieces,”Petemuttered,bitternessinhis
toneashepeeredoverhisshouldertowardthevolunteers.JimmyleanedclosetoMills.“SheriffMills,Ican’tletReedgoonthishunt.”“Goodluckholdinghimback.”“He’sgonnabealiability.”“Ifhe’scrazy,”saidPete.“Guys,Ican’tallowit,evenifheismyfriend,”Jimmyinsisted.“I’lltalktohim,”saidMills,“andwe’lltakeitfromthere.”Jimmy’s glare was unmistakable. “Sheriff. This is a bear attack. It’s my
jurisdiction.”Mills didn’t get ruffled. He’d been sheriff—and known Jimmy Clark—too
longforthat.“Jimmy.Wedon’tknowwhatitis,notyet.Let’sseeifwecanbeateamuntilwegetitsortedout.”“There’snothingtosortout!”“Okay,trythis:Anythinghavingtodowiththebear,that’syourjurisdiction.
Anythinghaving todowithbodies, livingordead, that’smine.Canyouworkwiththat?”Jimmysighed throughhisnose,his face still defiant. “I’llworkwith it.For
now.”“That’sright.Youwill.”Millsletthatsettlethematterandmovedon.“Sotell
mewhereyouwanttostarthuntingyourbear.”“Thecabin’sthemostlikelycenterofthebear’sforagingrangerightnow.I’ll
startthere.”“Okay,DaveandI’llgowithyou.Pete,I’dliketwoorthreesearchers.”Petewascountingnoses.“I’vegot’em.”“Andwe’regonnaneedweaponsonbothteams,”saidJimmy.“My regular guys are here, and . . .” He scanned the crowd some more.
“Lookslikewe’vegotafewmoreIhaven’tmetyet.”MillsinstructedPete,“Yourteam’llbelookingforBeck,startingattheScatter
Creekwaterfall.Take thesearchdog.Jimmy, IwantSing tohaveagood look
aroundthatcabinareabeforeanybodycontaminatesit.”Jimmysmirked inSing’sdirectionanddidnotsucceed inkeepinghisvoice
down.“Sonowyou’retryingtomakethisacrimescene?”“Igetthebodies,remember?”Jimmywaveditoff.“Whatever.”ToPete,“Justhurryupwiththedog.”“Don’tworry,”saidPete.“Areweaboutready?”“Pete, one more thing,” said the sheriff, detaining the search manager a
moment.“Forgetanytalesortheoriesyou’veheardthusfar.Youfindwhateveryoufindandletitspeakforitself,yougotit?”Petegaveanodandadjustedhishat.“I’llgetthevolunteersassigned.”The sheriff and Jimmy Clark watched Pete head into the parking lot, his
volunteersgatheringtohimlikeIsraelitestoMoses.“He’srightaboutonething,”saidJimmy.“Therewon’tbemuchlefttofind.”“We’llknowwhenweknow,”saidMills.Theywenttojoinhim.
Pete craned his neck, hands on hips, and looked over the small and willingcrowd. They were his neighbors: a carpenter, a housewife, two firemen, aschoolteacher, amachinist, adental assistant, aheavyequipmentoperator, andseveral others, all away from their jobs, geared up and ready to trek into thewilderness,evensleepthereifnecessary,fornopay.They’dbeentogethermanytimesbefore, inevery season, ineverykindofweather,because someonewaslost or in trouble. If anyonewere to ask themwhy, they’d just say itwas thethingtodo.Pete spoke out, “Okay, everybody, listen up. You all know the situation.
We’vegotathree-wayproblem:apossiblebearattackwithtwopossiblevictimswho need to be found. Anybody working the bear issue, you’re gonna befollowingJimmyClark’slead.Anybodysearchingforthevictims,yougetyourordersfromme.Ifyoucan’tstandmeorJimmy,youcangrousetoSheriffMillshere.Wealltakeourordersfromhim.Now,Sing—whereareyou,Sing?”SingandCapwerejuststeppingoutofthecommandvehicle,freshcomputer-
generatedfactsheetsinhand.Singwavedthepapersintheairforalltosee.“Okay, Sing’s gonna hand out photographs and detailed descriptions of the
missingpersons.Givethesepapersagoodlookingover.”The listeners stood quiet and grim, receiving the quickly compiled
informationsheetsfromSing’shand.MostofthemalreadyknewRandyorBeckorboth.Jimmytookhisturn,hisvoicetrumpetingoverthecrowd,“We’regoingtobe
working two teams from two locations in the Lost Creek drainage.We needpeople who are capable in tracking, hunting, and—don’t miss this, now—recovering human remains. This is a bear attack. It’s serious business.” Thatcausedastir.“Peteknowswhatyourskillsare,sohe’llselecttheteams.Pete,goahead.”PeteHendersonaddressedthecrowdagain.“Youmedicalfolksstickaround,
andlet’ssee,howmanymarksmendowehave?Okay,thetwoofyougowithJimmy;youtwocomewithme.Don,you’llworkwithmeatflank.Tyler,youhere?Okay,Tyler,youbetheotherflanker.”Capstoodontheedgeofthecrowd,hangingoneveryword.“Hithere.”Capwincedatthegreeting.Thiswasnotthetimeforidlechat.Heturnedonly
half his attention to a buzz-cut man somewhere in his thirties, dressed incamouflagelikeahunter—oramarine.Hewascarryingarifle,obviouslyoneofthemarksmen.“Hi,”Capsaid.“SteveThorne.Iunderstandyoufoundoneofthevictims?”Capshookhishand.“MichaelCapella.Yeah.We’refriendsofReedandBeck
Shelton.Thisismywife,Sing.”Themanwhisperedagreetingtoher.Shereturneditwithaquicksmile,trying
tolistentoPete’sorganizing.“I’mreallysorry,”saidThorne.Capsaid,“Thanks,”hiseyesonPete.Thorne didn’t go away but pressedwith another question. “Sowhatwas it
yourfriendsaw?”What kind of a question was that? Cap gave the man a long look, then,
deciding hewas trying to be helpful, said, “I don’t knowwhat he saw.We’retryingtofindthatout.”“Isupposeithadtobeabear.Isthatwhathesaiditwas?”“Idon’tknow.Thewholethinghappenedinthepitchblack,and. . .Idon’t
know.Itwasahorribleexperience,andhe’sstillveryshookupaboutit.”
NowPetewascalling,“Therestofyoufolks,talktoMarsha.She’llgetyouworkingsupportandcommunicationshereatthecommandpost.”“Sohedidn’tseeanything,”theguypressed.Capwastryingnottobeabrupt.“Notthathe’sbeenabletosayforsure.”Thornegavehimagentlepatontheback.“Thanks.Justwondering.”Cap turned his full attention back to PeteHenderson,who caught his look.
“Cap—isthatwhattheycallyou?”“Cap’lldo.”“Nicetomeetyou.Whichteamyouwanttogowith?”“Iwantthewaterfall,”heanswered.“Whowasthatguy?”Singasked.Capshrugged, impatient.“Oneof thehunters.Somethrillseeker, ifyouask
me.”Reedhadyankedoffhisdirtyclothesandpulledafreshshirtandjeansfromhisbackpack—andthenputonthedirtyjeanswiththecleanshirt.Hetookofftheshirt.No,itwasthecleanone.Heputitbackonandtriedtotakeoffthepants—he forgot he’d put on his boots. He unlaced them and pulled them off. Now,wherewerethecleanpants?He’dthrownthemintothepileofdirtyclothes.Hefishedthemoutandputthemon.Nowifhecouldfindhisbelt—Therewasaknockatthedoor.“Reed?”ItwasSheriffMills.“Yeah,comein.”Mills stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. “How you
doing?”Reeddidn’tanswerbecausehedidn’twanttolie.Heonlyhurriedtopullona
bootashesatinoneoftheroom’stwochairs.MillsgrabbedtheotherchairandsetitdowndirectlyoppositeReed,almostin
hiswayashetriedtopullontheotherboot.“Isaid,howyoudoing?”Itfeltlikeaninterrogation.MillspressedintoReed’sspacebigtime,andReed
didn’tlikeit.HemetMills’sgazedeliberately,angrily.“Withallduerespect,sir,that’sastupidquestion.”“Ineedafirmanswer,Reed—”“Areweheadingout?”“—oryoudon’tgo.”
“Arrestme!”Reedsaid.MillswhackedReedonthesideof thehead.Reedfrozeindisbelief,staring
into theeyesofhis superiorofficer,who still held thathandclose tohis face,forbiddingReed’seyestostray.“Youcan thankme later,” saidMills. “In themeantime,you’dbetter listen.
There are more than a dozen trained volunteers out there who just might beriskingtheirlivesonyourbehalf,sobeforeIletyououtthatdoor,you’dbetterdecide what role you’re playing.We need men on this job, not victims. Notbasketcases. Ifyouneed time towork this throughandpullyourself together,I’llgrantyouthat,noquestions,noshame,butIneedtoknow.”Reedgavesome thought tohisattitudeand tried toeasedown.“Suredidn’t
turnoutright.”Millswaslistening.“Itwassupposedtobegoodforher,supposedtogetheroutofthehouse,get
heroutwhereshecouldjust,justlivealittlewithouthavingtotalktoanybody.Outinthosewoods,therearen’tanysocialrules,youknow?Noexpectations.”HelookedMillssquarelyintheeye.“Shewouldhaveacedit.Shewouldhavedonegreat.Iknewshehaditinher.Idon’tthinkpeoplegivehercredit.”Millsnodded.“Shewouldhaveacedit.You’reright.”Reed’seyestearedupagain.Helookedawaytoclearthem,toclearhismind.
“Ijustdidn’twanthertobeafraidanymore.”“Reed,lookatme.”Reedmethiseyes.Thegazecomingfromunder thathatbrimwaskindbut
wouldnotbetrifledwith.“You andBeck signed up for a challenge.Well, now you’ve got one, only
there’snoteacherandthere’snopretend,notrialrun.There’sjustatruckloadofrealtrouble,andBeckdoesn’tneedyoufumblingaroundandgettinginthewaybecauseyou’rewallowinginwhatshouldhavebeen.Sheneedsyoutogetyourmindclearedupandontheproblem.Sheneedsyoutodoyourjob.Wealldo.”Heroseandwentforthedoor.“We’repullingoutofhereinaboutfiveminutes.Letmeknowwhatyoudecide.”Mills stepped out onto the porch, caught a breath, then signaled for Sing’sattention.Shejoinedhimnearthemaindoor.“Don’timagineyouhaveanyofyourgearwithyou?”heasked.
“Iwasonvacation!”“Gotyourcamera,though.”“Yes. And my notepad. I was supposed to be taking survival training this
week.”“Iwantyou tocomealongwithDeputySaundersandme to thecabinarea.
We’lltreatitlikeacrimescene,documenteverythingsowecanfigureoutwhathappenedupthere—andwhatdidn’t.”Hesawthequestioninhereyes.“Reed’sgotawildstory,one thatpeoplewon’twant tobelieve,and thatmeans they’llstartbelievingotherthings.Let’sgetthatdoorclosedrightaway,firstthing.”Reedemerged fromRoom105correctlydressed,hisbackpack slungoveroneshoulder, but walking like a drunk man, his face reddened with emotion, hishandagainstthewalltosteadyhimself.Jimmywas finishing the briefing in the parking lot. His voice carriedwell
enough for Reed to hear the gist of it: “. . . the bear could still be aroundguardingitskill,so,hunters,besuretotakepointpositionandsecurethearea.Preparefortheworst,andbytheway...”Heloweredhisvoice,butReedstillheardhimadmonish, “Let’sbecarefulwhatwe say.Reed’sa little crazy rightnow,andIwouldbetoo.”SeveralfolksnoticedReedandnoddedagreetingorevengavealittlewave.
Somewerejerkingtheirheads,pointing,shiftingtheirgaze,tryingtoletJimmyknowofReed’spresence,butJimmy,withhisbacktowardtheresort,justkeptgoing.“Bearsusuallygoforthesoftorgans,butanyfreshmeatwilldo;they’lleatarmsandlegstoo.Let’sbesuretobringseveralbodybags,becauseshemaynotbeinonepiece.”Reed’s feetwouldn’tmove.All he coulddowas stare at Jimmy’sback and
wonderwhyhecouldn’tfindthestrengthtodecktheguy.Jimmyfinallygotacluefromhislistenersandlookedoverhisshoulder.Jimmy’sfaceflamedwithembarrassment.Toolate.Reedfeltworse.Reedduckedinsidethelobby,clumsilyclosingthedoorbehindhim.Thefloor
reeledasifhewereonashipinastorm.Hestaggeredtothecounter,stomachchurning,as thepackfell forgottenandunnoticedto thefloor.Withelbowsonthecountertopandhisfaceinhishands,hetriedonemoretimetopullhimselftogether,tobethemanBeckneeded,todohisjob.Now even the countertop seemed to bemoving, but at least the roomwas
empty, and he was so thankful for that. He drank in the silence, waiting one
moment,onebreathatatimeforhismindtosettleonsomeworkableschemeofreality,justonesimplepathwaytosortingthiswholethingout.MaybeIamcrazy.Asimpleconclusionofinsanitywasprettytemptingrightnow.Itwouldbeso
much easier. It would explain away everything, and he could dismiss hisnightmarishmemorieslikeanyotheroutlandishdream.But he found no comfort in such thoughts. Even if his mind was creating
nightmarishmemoriesofhellishthingsthatneverhappened,itwasprobablytoreplaceworsememoriesofevenmorehellishthings.Eitherway,herehewaswithonlythecountertokeephimfromcollapsingto
thefloor,anofficialbasketcase.Wasn’tthatwhatSheriffMillssaidtheydidn’tneed?Hebreathedamoment.Heprayed,andhismindclearedjustenoughforhim
torealizehewastoomesseduptobesafeoutthere.Hecouldneversurviveorbe any help to the search teams or to Beck when he couldn’t trust his ownsenses.So,lookslikeIwon’tbegoing,hethought.Herubbedhisface,partlybecauseitexpressedhispainandconfusion,mostly
becausehisfacewasatangiblerealityhecouldbesureof.Itwasstillthere.Hecouldfeelit.Heguessedhestillhadelbowstoo;theywereholdinghimup.Whatelsewasrealaroundhere?Helethiseyesdriftaroundthelobby,taking
in the trophies—themoosehead, theelkhead, thedeerhead, thebigbearskin,themanysetsofantlers.Soitseemedsomebodyknewhiswayaroundoutthereandhadcomebackthewinner,somebodywayoutofReed’sleague.Hiseyesdrifteddownthewallandalmostpassedoverayellowingposter—His gaze returned and parked there. The dark, two-legged creature striding
alongalog-strewnriverbedwasblurryandgrainy,butitwaslookinghisway.AshivercoursedthroughReed’slimbs.Hesawnosilvery-greenretinasglowinginthedark,butsomethingaboutthatimagebroughtbackthesamenerve-jangling,hand-tremblingterror.Hiseyeswenttoaglasscasebelowtheposterandfocusedonaplastercastof
ahugefootprint.Asheleanedclosetotheglass,thesoundafootlikethatcouldmakein thesoftearthof theforestcameback tohim.Suddenly thespeedandmobilityoftheshadowhe’dseendidnotseemimpossible.His heartbeat quickened. His hands trembled. He looked around the lobby,
through the windows at the people gearing up for the search after Jimmy’slectureonhowtohandledismemberedbodiesandfear-crazed,delusionalfamilymembers. Hadn’t any of these people seen this stuff in the glass case or thatpictureon thewall?Had itneveroccurred to themthat itmightnotbeabear,thatitmightbe—Cautiontookhold,andReeddidn’trunanywheretoyellanything.Ofcourse they’d seen it.They’dheardhis story too.He tried tounderstand
whytheirmindswouldonlygoonedirection, lockedononlyoneexplanation,andhecouldsettleononlyoneanswer:theyweren’ttherelastnight.Helookedattheposteragain,tryingtoimaginethatthinginthedark—“Idon’tknowifyououghttobelookingatthat.”ArlenPeak,theowneroftheplace,hadcomeintothelobbyfromthesouvenir
shop.Worryinhiseyes,hestoodbeneaththehuge,clawedbearskin,watchingReed.Reedlookedtowardtheglasscase.“Ineversawonebefore.”“It’shardtofindanybodywhohas,andanybodywhohasusuallywon’ttalk
aboutit.”“Haveyoueverseenone?”Theoldmanshookhishead,almostsadly.“No.”Reedknewitwouldbesafetotellthisman.“IthinkIhave.”Peak approached and spoke gently. “Son, you need to be sure about that. I
don’twantanybodythinkingI’veputideasinyourhead.”Reed gazed at the big footprint. “Do they . . . make a crying sound like a
woman?Notscreaming,but,youknow,wailingandcrying?”Theinnkeeperhalf-smiledandshookhishead.“Howdoyouknow?”“Let’sjustsaynobody’severheardonedothat.”“Dotheysmellbad,liketheworstarmpitintheworld?”Peakhesitatedjustamoment,thenanswered,“Onlywhenthey’refrightened
orupset.It’swhatalotofapesdo.It’sadefensemechanism.”“Dotheyhowlandscreamlike,well,likeapes?”Theoldman’ssilverfillingstwinkledinthewindows’light.“Now, thatI’ve
heard.”
“Do theywhistle?”Reed tried tomimicwhat he’d heard, the long, soaringwhistlewiththelittlewarblesinit.NowPeakactuallystraightened,staringathim.
Outside,theteamswerereadytotrekintothewoods.JimmyClarkandSheriffMills, riflesslungon theirbacks,exchangeda lookwithPeteHenderson, thenglancedtowardthefrontdoor.“Yousawhim,didn’tyou?”Jimmyasked.“Hewassowipedouthe looked
likehewasonsomething.”Sheriff Mills waited only a moment, looked at the folks gathered for the
search, then sighed through his mustache. “Let’s do it.” He shouted, “Okay,everybody,let’sgo!”Thefrontdooropened.Everyonefrozeonthesamecue.Reedsteppedout,alittlepale,justalittlewobbly,butstandingtall,hispack
onhisback,hisdeputysheriff’scaponhishead.HewasreadywithananswerandspokeinstrainedtonestoSheriffMills,“Readywhenyouare,sir.”Beckheardalong,soaringwhistlewithlittlewarblesinit.Thenadeep-throated,disgustinggrunt,likeagiganticoldsowinthemud.Anotherlowgrunt.Anothersoaringwhistle.AndthenBeckwasawareofgookinhermouth—clumpylikegooeyraisins
and tart like wild berries—and someone wearing big leathery gloves shovingmoregookintohermouth.Shegagged,thencoughed,thenspititallout—Andthewholeworldshook.Beckopenedhereyes.Theywerestillslimyfromalongsleep,andhervision
wasblurred.Nothingwasreal,notyet.Someonewasholdingher,cradlingherinasmellybrownblanket.Rescue!I’vebeenrescued!Therecamethatwhistleagain,likeaboilingteakettle.Shmoosh!Moregookyberriesinhermouth,andshecouldfeelsomeofthem
smearedonherface.Shejerkedherheadaway,spit themout,blinkedtoclearhervision.Theworldcameintofocus,andshegatheredshewasn’thome.Allshecould
seewere tangledbranchesandgreen leaves.Thecoolbreeze toldher shewasstill outside, somewhere in the mountains, somewhere in the shelter of thick
bushes.Busheswithberries.Huckleberries?Shelookedup—NO!Herlungspulledinalong,quakinggaspandhelditthereashermouthhung
open and her jaw began to quiver. Though her hands began to shake on theirown, shedarednotmoveor utter a sound.She couldonly lie there, stiffwithterror,andgapeatthedeep,monstrouseyeslookingbackather.Theeyesweredarkamber,withmuddybrownaroundtheiris insteadof the
usual white. They were intense and probing— studying her as if she were aspecimenunderamicroscope—deepsetunderaprominentbrow.Thefacewasreddishbrown,leatherylikeanoldsaddle,borderedbythick,stragglyhair.Beckfelthotbreathpassingbyherfaceinsourlittlepuffs.Thebulginglips
tightenedagainstarowofwhiteteethandthethingwhistledather.ThesamewhistleBeckheard in thedarkwhenglowingeyesbored intoher
andadeadmandangledfromatree.
four
Unthinking, hermind paralyzedby fear,Beck responded as shewas taught torespond tohornets,bees, rattlesnakes,andassortedmonstersofchildhood:shefroze—exceptforthetremblinginherhands,whichshecouldn’thelp.The thing shoved more berries into her mouth with fingers the size of
sausages.Beckforgothermouthwasalreadyopen,andnowsuddenlyitwasfullagain. She closed hermouth, an unconscious reflex, and the berries remainedinside, an unchewed mass. The beastly eyes locked on her, waiting, the facestern under a heavy, furrowed brow. The thing grunted again, then tapped onBeck’smouthwiththick,berry-stainedfingers.Somehow,itoccurredtoBecktochew.Theberriesburstinhermouth,filling
itwith juice,half-sweet,half-tart.Thewizened facewaitedandwatched,hugevolumesofairrushinginandoutthroughthebroad,flatnose.Stillchewing,andjustnowrememberingtobreatheherself,Becklethereyes
dropenoughtoseeanotherhugehandwithdirtyblackfingernailscurledaroundher,pressingheragainstamountainofdark, reddish-brownhair.Thehairwascoarse and oily, the body beneath it warm and moist, with a familiar—andunpleasant—sweaty smell. She could feel the rib cage expanding, pressingagainsther, theneasingawayas themountainbreathed.She’dneverbeen thisclosetoanythingwithlungsthisbig.Oh,please,don’tkillme...Could she run? Where? As near as she could tell, she was in the woods
somewhere.Beyondthetangleofthehuckleberrybushes,shecouldseethethickforest,andthroughitscanopy,abluesky.Apowerful,hairyarmreachedupandgrabbedanotherclusterofberriesfrom
abranch.Whenthehandthatwasbiggerthanherwholeheaddescendedtodeliverthe
berries,Beck didn’t dare argue. She opened up, let the berries tumble in, andstartedchewing.With the tasteof theberriesandherability tochew themcameaconscious
realizationthatshewasstillalive—quitenotable,giventhecircumstances.How
longshewouldremainthatwayshehadnoideaandnoencouragingthoughts.Sheturnedherheadjustenoughtostudyhersituation.Shewasbeingheldby
whatappearedtobeahugeape,similartoagorilla,butnotquiteagorilla.Thecrown of its head extended to a narrow crest like a gorilla’s, and it had aprominentbrowridgeover theeyes,but the jawsdidn’tprotrudeasmuchandthe lips were more flexible and expressive. As near as Beck could tell, thecreature’slegswerefoldedbeneathit,butonelarge,hairyfootjuttedout,withawrinkled, hairless sole and all five toes aligned in a row. By its ample, fur-covered bosom, Beck concluded it was a female. Theywere now sitting in acavitycreatedwhenatreeupended,pullingtherootballoutoftheground.Thickbushes, most of them huckleberries, had sincemoved in and now provided ablindthathidthemfromtheoutsideworld.ThefemaleheldBeckinescapablyinherlapwithherleftarmwhilefeedingBeckwithherright.Another load of berrieswas on theway.Beck couldn’t takemuchmore of
this,butunlessshewantedmoreberriessmearedalloverherface...Sheopenedupandletthebeastdumpthemin.Shechewedbutdidnotmove,
didnotstir,didnotmakeasound.Herhandswerestilltrembling.Suddenlythebigarmloosenedandthecreaturelethergo.Shesliddownthat
bighairybodytotheground.Run!her instincts screamedat her. It didn’tmatterwhichdirection.Runfor
thetrees!Allittookwastheslightestweightonherrightankle.“Oww!”Withashriek
ofagony,shefellinthetangledlimbsandstalks,grabbingherankle,grimacing.Shecheckedforabreak,for—“Awww!”Thepainflashedupherentireleg,red-hot and lingering. She settled backward on a bush, bending and crumplingbranches, gasping. She thought of crawling, pulling herself out of the woodswithtwohandsandonegoodleg.Notgoodenough.ThebeastlungedforwardfasterthanBeckcouldpulltoget
away. ItovershadowedBeck likea rust-red thundercloud,nudgingher,pokingherwithabigfinger,nearlyflippingherbodyover.Terrorincombinationwithher stutter took away Beck’s ability to speak, even to scream. The creaturebackedoff,restingonallfours,andgavehersomespace.Daringtomove,Beckfeltherankleagainunderthecreature’ssentrylikestare.
The ankle wasn’t broken as near as she could tell, but she did have a cruelsouvenirfromhertumbleoverthefalls—abadsprain.Shewouldn’tbewalking,
muchlessrunning,anytimesoon.Beckliftedhereyes to thecreature.Was itpossible tomakepeacewith this
beast?Aclusterofberrieswaswithinreach.ThisbeastseemedtowantBecktoeatthem.Ifitwouldmakeithappy...Daringly,herhandstillquaking,Beckreachedhalfwaytotheberries,hoping
suchpersonalinitiativewouldnotseemthreatening.Therewasnoviolentreaction.Thethingdidn’tgrowlorbiteher.Slowly, inchbytremblinginch,shereachedtherestof thewayandgrabbed
them.Theape-thing lether,making strange,guttural rumblingsandaclickingsoundlikewoodhittingbamboo:Tok!Tok!Tok!Beck placed the berries in her mouth and reached for more, eating them
slowly.Thebeast’sexpressionsoftened.Sheeasedbackontoherhaunchesandwatched.FromthisslightdistanceBeckgotafirstfulllookather.Shewasverymuchlikeagorilla,butwithabodylikeabarrelandanecksobroaditblendedwith her shoulders.Her legs, thick as tree trunks and coveredwith hair,werelongerthanonewouldexpectinanape,butthearmsweredefinitelyapearms,longenoughtoreachBeck’sneckandwringthelifeoutofher.AsBecklaystill,chewingberries,thepaininheranklesubsidedenoughfor
hertonoticeadullacheinherhead.Shetouchedthesideofherforehead,feltabump—Ouch!Anotherspot that hurt!—then found dark, flaking blood on herfingers.Ohhh...dearLord,whathappened?Sherememberedfalling,butafterthat,
nothing. If she was this beat up, what had happened to Reed?Was he lyingsomewhereinworseshapethanshewas?Herbackpackwasmissing.MaybethismonstertriedtoraidtheirbackpacksforfoodandReedhadtriedtoresist,triedtosaveBeck,gottenthebruntofthismonster’srage—Shedarednotthinkit.Butthencamemorebadnews.Afurtherinventoryrevealedalargesmearof
bloodonherleatherjacketwhereshe’dbeenpressedagainstthecreature’sside.Shelookedandfoundacorrespondingdarkstainonthebigape’sshoulderandleftflank.If her fear had ebbed even slightly, now it returned. Shemet the creature’s
eyesandthought,Whathaveyoudone?The monster stiffened, suddenly alert and alarmed. The lips pulled back
slightly, revealing the edges of the teeth—sharp, white incisors between an
imposingsetofcanines.Beckcowered.Ohno,I’vemadeitangry.But the big female wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even looking at her. It was
listening.Thelookonitsface,thepiercingstareofitseyes,itsmotionlessbodyremindedBeck of their dog, Jonah, and how he reactedwhenever he heard adistant coyote or theUPS truck approaching a halfmile away.And therewasthatfoulsmellagain,anew,sickeningwaveofit.IthappenedsofastBeckdidn’thavetimetoobjectorresist.Beforeshecould
even scream, the big hands enfolded her and snatched her from the ground,shakingher insidesandnearlygivingherwhiplash.Limbs, leaves,andberriesblurredpasthereyesandwhippedherheadandshoulders.Shecoveredherface.Therewasaburstofaccelerationsofastthatthewindsweptherhairfromher
face.Sheliftedhereyes.Shewasflying,lungingthroughtheforestatanaltitudeofsixfeet,herbody
heldfastagainstthatabundantbosombytwomusculararms.Treelimbsblurredby like fencepostsona freeway.Shecurledher legsupasherhandsgrabbedfistfulsofredhairinadeathgrip.Beneathher, thecreature’sbigfeetpoundedthegroundassheleapedoverlogsanddodgedthicketsandbrushwithincredibleagility,slowedbynothing.Witha littlewhine,Caesar theGermanshepherdbalkedonlya fewyards intothe trees, turnedback, lookeddown thehill atAgnes, hishandler, tried again,whinedagain,andfinally,atatimidtrot,rantohismasterandcoweredbehindherlegs.Agnes,whosedogshadservedthecountysheriff’sdepartment,thestatepatrol,andlocalpolicedepartmentsforthepasttwelveyears,lookedpuzzledtosaytheleastasshestrokedtheshydog’sneck.“Caesar,whatis it?What’sthematter,boy?”Reed did not find the dog’s behavior one bit surprising. He felt that way
himself—hejustwasn’tgoingtowhineaboutit.Pete Henderson and his team of searchers looked as mystified as Agnes,
gawkingup into thewoods fromasmallclearingon themountainside.ScatterCreek ran through this clearing, cutting across the trail just below them andcascadingovera ten-footwaterfall.Agneshad takenCaesar to thebaseof thewaterfall,thespotsearchteamscallthe“LKP,”theLastKnownPlaceBeckhadbeen, and let himgo.He’dhesitated,whined, followeda scentup to the trail,spunincircles,followeditacrossthetrailanduptheclearing,turnedbackatthe
trees,andthen,withsomegoadingfromAgnes,continuedintothetrees.Afewyardsin,he’dhadenough.Pete’sradiosquawked.“Team1inpositionatthecampsite.”Pete spoke into thehandheld, “Team2 above thewaterfall at theLKP.”He
gazed curiously at the dog. “We’re, uh, working the K-9 right now. Goodhunting.”Heclipped thehandheld tohisbeltand lookeddown toward the trailwhere
Reedandtheotherswaitedforfurtherorders.Reedtriedtokeephisimpatienceincheck.Heknewallthesepeoplewereas
eager and on edge as hewas: the two Search andRescue volunteers, one thedental assistant and the other the heavy equipment operator, both trackingapprentices; the twomarksmen, one of them a newcomer namedThornewholooked like a marine; two medical technicians with emergency kits and astretcher;DonNelson andTyler Jones, experienced trackers,whowould formthe three-man tracking teamwith Pete;AgnesHastings, theK-9 handler; andCapCapella, there because hewas a friend.Allwere dressed for the job andgrimwith thebusinessathand,butanyhastymoveat thispointcoulddestroyimportantsignsandevidence.Petehadtomakethecalls.Petewasobviouslytroubledoverthedog.Heaskedthehandler,“Hasheever
donethisbefore?”ShewasstillpettingCaesar,whorefusedtobudgefromherside.“No.Never.”“Buthehastrackedbearsbefore?”“Ninetimesinthepasttwoyears.”Petegestured toward the trees fromwhichCaesarhad fled.“Well,he found
something.Itturnedhimback,butit’ssomething.”Hereachedforasetofshortaluminumpolesthathungonhistracker’svestandbegantoscrewthemtogetherintoonefive-footlength.Thiswashistrackingstick,arodmarkedinone-inchincrements,withmovable rubberO-rings formarking on the stick the size ofprintsand thestride lengthbetween them.“DonandTyler, I’ll takepoint;youflank.We’ll start where Caesar’s afraid to go. Reed and Cap, you follow theflankmen.Youstepwheretheystepanddon’tdisturbanything.Agnes,IknowJimmy’srealeagertohaveCaesarhelpoutattheotherlocation.Wanttoheadupthere?”The dog handler gave a resigned shrug, putCaesar’s leash on him, and led
himupthetrailtowardthecabin.Caesarwasmorethanhappytogo.
PetetookamomenttofocusonReed.“Reed,buddy,youready?”Reedknewhedidn’tknowwhathewassaying,butheanswered,“I’mready.”Pete toldCap, “You stay close to him.”He directed his attention downhill.
“Joanie andChris, stand by.Whenwe find the trail,we’ll need you to cross-track.Andyouguyswiththeguns,guardourflanks.Everybodykeepquiet.Thatbearcouldstillbearound.Medics,standbyontheradios.”Pete led thewayup thehill.The flankmen tookpositions justbehindhim,
oneonhisleftandoneonhisright,formingatrianglewithPeteatthe“point.”Reedfell inbehind themanon the left,Capbehind themanon the right.Themarksmen, guns ready, eyes and ears alert, followedwide to the sides.WhenPetemoved,theyallmovedasonebody.Peteledthetrainslowly,eyesscanningbackandforthastheyallmovedinto
thetrees,his trackingstickreadyinhishand.Onlyafewstepsin,heusedthesticktopointoutbentgrassandcrushedtwigswhereananimal—orahuman—hadpassedthrough.“Hadalotoftrafficthroughherethismorning,”hesaidinaquiet, stealthy voice, “so the trick is gonna be telling the difference betweeneverybodyelse’ssignandthesignwe’relookingfor.”ReedandCapexchangedalook.Yes,theyandSinghadspentquiteawhile
thrashing through these trees and thickets, leaving their own disturbanceseverywhereandpossiblyobliteratingeverythingPeteneededtofindnow.Reeddidn’tknowwhether to feelsheepishat theblunderor justplainaggravatedatlife’sunfairness.“Bootprintontheright,”saidtherightflankman,pointingwithhisownstick.Petesawit.“It’scomingyourway,Tyler.”The flanker to the left inched forward, carefully checking for more prints.
“Okay.Gotit.”HepointedoutadepressioninthepineneedlesatPete’seleveno’clock.Pete held his tracking stick between the two tracks,measuring the distance
betweenthem,thenstraightenedandasked,“Reed,Cap,eitheroneofyoucomethroughhere?”Reed andCap exchanged a look. Capwagged his head. Reed answered, “I
thinkIdid.”“Letmeseethebottomofyourleftboot.”ReedgrabbedCap’sshouldertosteadyhimselfandstuckuphisfoot.
PetestudiedandmeasuredthebootsolewhileTylerpulledoutapencilandapreprinteddiagramofafootprint.Petedictated,“Okay,three-pointwaffletread,section4, thumbnailpatternon right side,center to lower rightcorner; section10,sliverinlowerrightcorner.”“It’shim,”saidDon,lookingatthetrackontheright.Tylerdrewthewearpatternsonthediagramandlabeledit“ReedShelton.”“Isupposeyouwereinabighurrylastnight?”Peteasked.“Iwas,”Reedadmitted.“Well,it’syou,allright.Thanks.”Theymovedfartherintothetrees,asfarasthedoghadgone.Theycouldsee
his signasPetepointed itout—pawprints,abentpineneedle,a toeandclawmark on a rotting log—a trail left by a very hesitant caninewho didn’t knowwhichwaytoturnnext.Thiswasthespot.WhateverwastroublingCaesarhadtohaveleftsomethinghere.Pete sank carefully to one knee and remained still, as if listening.His eyes
begantosweepacrosstheclutteredforestfloorashestudiedthetwigs,thepinecones, the fallen needles, the scattered pebbles, the blades of grass and tiny,broad-leavedweeds.Reedsawhisjawtense.ThenPetepointedwithhisstick.Tylerreplied,“Yeah,you’vegotit.”Reed peered over Tyler’s shoulder but couldn’t see a thing except the
cluttered,busy,infinitelydetailedforestfloor.Peteremovedhishatandwentdownonhisbelly,thesideofhisheadtothe
ground,hisopeneyenexttotheground,theotherwinkedshut.“Yeah.”Heraiseduponhissideandcarefullypressedhisthumbintothesoil,leaving
asmalloval indentation.Thenhewent inclose,hisnoseonly inchesfromthetinyleavesandgrass.“Yeah,maybehalfadayold.Could’vecomethroughlastnight,easy.”Tylerwhispered toReed,pointingcarefullywithhis trackingstick.“See the
shineonthatleafrightthere?Andthedipintheneedlesunderneath?”Reedlookedalongtime,butfinallyhesawit—hethought.“Rearfoot?”Donasked.“Iwannaseeanotherone,”Peteansweredashemeasuredtheimpressionwith
a tapemeasure. “Got about five . . . and one-half inches across.Whew!Thatmakeshimonefortherecordbooks.
Heavy son of a gun too.” While Don flagged the impression with a pinkribbononaPopsiclestick,Petepivotedthetrackingstickforward,holdingthehandleovertheimpressionandswingingthetipinaslow,carefularc.“C’monnow,letmeseeaheelprint.”Pete—andsothewholegroup—inchedforward.Donpointedwithhisstick.“Gotsomesnappedbranchesatoneo’clock.”Theyalllookedandsawthespindly,mostlydeadbranchesonthelowertrunk
ofapineeitherbentorsnappedinanuphilldirection.“Ehh,bingo,”saidPete,selectingsometweezersfromhispocketandplucking
alongreddishhairfromthejaggedstumpofalimb.Thehairgavehimpause.HehandeditbacktoDon.“Thatlooklikebeartoyou?”Donheldthespecimenuptothelight.“Well,maybe.Kindoflong.”PeteaskedReed,“WhatcolorisBeck’shairthesedays?”ReedexaminedthehairDonheldinthetweezers.“Reddishbrown.”Peteexhaledahalfwhistle.“Hoo,lordy.”DoncarefullyplacedthehairinaZiplocbag.Petestoodstill,probingaheadwithnarrowedeyes.Finally,heletoutaheld
breath.“Okay,”hesaid,pointing.“We’vegotanotherone.”Thebodyoftrackersinchedforwardagain.Thisonewasmorevisible,aroundishimpressioninsomehumus.ToReedit
lookedasthoughsomeonehadkneltthereandleftakneeprint.Petewentonhisbellyagain,eyeingtheprintcarefully,thenmeasuringit.He
straightenedup,stillononeknee.Hewastroubled,eyeingtheareabetweenthetwoprints.“Wherearethefrontfeet?”“We’vemissedsomething,”Donagreedasheflaggedtheprint.“Well, we’ll find ’em,” said Pete. He stretched out his tracking stick to
measurethedistancebetweenthetwotracks,butitwouldn’treach.Hechuckled.“Eitherthat,orthisbearhasoneheckofastride.”Theymovedahead,thistimeaccordingtothelengththey’dfoundbetweenthe
first twotracks.Thethirdone,nothingmorethanascuffonarottinglog,waswhereitshouldhavebeen,thesamedistancefromthesecondasthesecondwasfromthefirst.Theyhadapattern.Singcrouchedinthedoorwayofthesorrowfuloldcabinandtookonelastshot
of the destruction inside. She was amazed. In her line of work, she’dphotographedandreconstructedcrimescenes involvinghoodlumsandvandals,domestic spats, drug-relatedmurders, andmeth lab explosions, but theywerenothinglikethis.Foronething,thebeastthatmadethismesswasfar,faroutsidethehumancategory.Certainly,human scumcould show thiskindofdisregardforproperty,buttosnapsupportpostsliketoothpicksandtearwholewallsopenrequiredaninestimablestrengthshehadneverencountered.Foranotherthing—andthisstillfeltalittleoddtoher—accordingtotherulesouthere,thiswasn’teven a crime scenebutmadeperfect sense: bear gets hungry, bear finds food,bear doeswhat is necessary to get it. Tearing thewindows out of a building,smashing cots and shelves, and splintering a door were shocking, destructiveacts tocivilizedperceptions,but toabear’swayof thinking,nodifferent fromclawingthetermitesoutofanoldstump.Itwasfrighteningandfascinating,andnothardtounderstand.Ifitwasabear.“How’sitgoing?”Jimmy,theconservationofficer,calledfromthebridge.He was obviously impatient, and she couldn’t blame him. Agnes the dog
handlerhadarrivedwithCaesar,andJimmyandthehunterswerereadytomove,sotheonlythingholdingthemupwasSing’sdirectivefromSheriffMills.She’dphotographedReedandBeck’scampsite,theirfoodstash,thelogbridge,andthelittered area around the cabin. She’d paced off distances and made notes.Everything thatwasdirectlyknowable she’d recordedon several pages.She’dworkedexpeditiously,buttheprocesstookprecioustime.Jimmyhadsomehowmanaged to defer to the sheriff on this one, but she could feel him breathingdownherneckwitheachpassingminute.Withgreatreliefshecalledback,“I’mthrough,”andstowedhercameraand
notebookinherbackpack.JimmyimmediatelyturnedhisattentiontoAgnes.“Allright.Let’sgetascent
andtrackthatbaby!”Thehuntingparty,withsniffingCaesarinthelead,nearlystampededoffthebridgeanddownthetrail.They jostled past Sing as if shewere an obstacle. She hurried up the trail,
relievedwitheverystepthatputdistancebetweenthem.Theotherteammemberswerenowcoveringthesurroundingareainwidening
quadrants.Shecouldhearthemcallingtoeachother,maintainingvoicecontactas theyworked theirway among the trees like fleas in a hairbrush.At certain
momentsshespottedsomeofthem,butshehadn’tcaughtsightofSheriffMillstofillhiminon—“Sing!Uphere!”Ah.Hewaswaving to her from the hillside above the trail. She selected a
route up the embankment with sufficient footholds and branches to grab, andworkedherwaytohim.Atthetop,MillsandDeputySaunderswerewaitingforher.Theywere examining the campsite, two sleeping bags on a ground cloth,cloisteredinatightpocketamongsometrees.Itwasn’taninstantfind;asReedhadwarned,itwashardtoseefromthetrail.“Findanythingunusualdownthere?”Millsaskedher.“Besideseverything?”ShelookeddownintothedrawwhereJimmyandhis
huntingparty lurkednear thecabin,waiting forCaesar toshowthemtheway.“Thatbearwasveryhungryorveryangryatbeingsohungry,or...Well,let’sjustsayhewashighlymotivated.”“ButnosignofRandy?”Shehatedtotellhim,“Nosir.”Mills’sexpressionwastroubledashescannedtheforestinwidearcs,hiseyes
landingonthesearchersbelow.“Weneedtofindabody,Sing.”Thedeputysuggested,“Whydon’twegetReedoverheresohecanshowus
wherehesawit?”“Hewon’tleavethesearchforBeck,”Singcautioned.Millsgazedat theroughmapReedhaddrawn.“We’velocatedthecampsite
andthestashoffoodcontainersbetweenthetwotrees...butthistreerighthere,thebigcedartreewherethebodyissupposedtobe...Well,maybeit’stherighttree,maybeitisn’t,butthere’snobody.”ThenJimmycursedsoloudlyitstartledthem.Agnesstartedhollering,“Caesar!Caesar,come,boy!Come,Caesar!”Ofcoursetheyhadtowatch.Fromupheretheviewwasquitegood.Caesarwastryingtorunupthetrailawayfromthecabin,andAgneswashot
onhisheels,leashinhand.Thedogstoppedathercommand,shiedawayagain,answeredhercommandagain, then fidgeted,obviouslywantingnothingbut togetoutofthere.WhenAgnesfinallysnappedtheleashontohiscollar,hetuggedatit,jerkinginlittlecircles,tremblinganddribblingurine.“What’s his problem?” Jimmy demanded, rifle in hand butwith nothing to
shoot.“Isaid,what’shisproblem?”“Idon’tknow!”thehandlershoutedback.“I’mabouttoretirehim!He’sjust
neveractedthisway!”Herlegsweregettingsnarledintheleash.“Well,doeshetrackbearsordoesn’the?”Jimmyasked.“Hetracksbears!Blackbears,grizzlybears,anykindofbears!”“Well, he’s not doing usmuch goodnow, is he?” Jimmy turned toward the
marksmanbehindhim.“Whatdidyousay?”Themarksmanwasnotthekindtobeintimidated.“Isaid,‘Maybethisain’ta
bear.’”NowJimmywas simmering at a temperature evenSingcould feel from the
hill.Hepointedhisfingerattheman.“Excuseme,Janson!Ifyou’regoingtobeon this team, you’re going to handle yourself and your mouth withprofessionalism,yougotthat?”“Yessir,Igotthat.”NowJimmyaddressedallthreepeopleinavoicesuitableforahundred:“This
isaroguebearwe’reafter.It’sseriousbusiness.We’regoingtokeepourmindsclearandstraightaheadsoweget the jobdonewithoutanyonegettinghurt, isthatunderstood?”Jansonnodded,theotherhuntersaidyes,andAgnesjustpettedCaesar.Jimmyleanedinonher.“Agnes,weneedadogthat’lltrackthisbear,andif
yourdogcan’tdothat,weneedanotherdog.Areweclearonthat?”“Clearenough.”Agnessteamedamoment, thenledCaesarbackupthetrail
towardAbney.“C’mon,boy.Wedon’tneedanymoreofthis!”Caesarledher,onlytooeagertogo.Jimmywatched her go, then stomped around a bit, then conferredwith his
hunters,sayingsomethingaboutbaitandbearstands.Theshowwasover.SheriffMills turnedbacktoSingandDeputySaunders.
“We’llgivethesearchersafewmoreminutes,andthenwe’llhavetogetReedandPeteoverhere.”Sing thought it wise to remind him, “Sheriff, every other aspect of Reed’s
accountholdsup.”SheriffMillsregardedthecabinbelow.“Soyoudon’tthinkonemancoulddo
thatkindofdamagetothecabin?”
She almost laughed. “Not even remotely. And if you’ll remember, Reed’scamerarecordedpicturesofthedemolishedcabinbeforeitrecordedpicturesofBeck,aliveandwell.”Mills nodded but asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve spotted any bear prints
anywhere?”Shefelt thestrangesensationof thin iceunderherfeet—andmaybeReed’s.
“Well, it is loose ground around here, lots of rock, lots of humus and pineneedlesthatdon’tregisteraprint,atleasttosomeonewhoisn’tatracker.”“We’llseewhatPetesays.”“Sure.We’llseewhatPetesays.But,sir . . .”Shefeltnervous.“Reednever
saidanythingaboutabear.Heprovidednobearscenario.Iftherewasfoulplay,ifhehadplannedthis—”Millshelduphishand.“Youdon’thavetosellme.”“I’mgladtohearit,sir.”Millsonlyresponded,“Butwe’dbetterpraytheyfindBeck.”
Pete’s teamwaspickingup some speednow that theyknewwhat to look for.They’dworked theirway up the hill another hundred feetwhile two trackers,accompaniedbythemarksmannamedThorne,startedcrisscrossingtheirpathashoutingdistanceaheadofthem,hopingtoencountersignsfartherup.ForReed, itwasall too tedious.Beckcoulddie in thedirt somewhere long
beforetheywouldeverfindher.Capmust’vesensedhismood,becausehekeptwhispering,“Easy,now,we’removingokay;we’llfindher.Gottodoitright.”“What’dthisthingdo,haveitsclawscut?”Petemuttered.Then came a shout from one of the trackers far up the hill. “We’ve got
something!”PetetoldReedandCap,“Betterstayhere.”Heandhismenwentonahead.Timestretchedintoaneternity,butReedhadnohurry left inhim.Hecould
only stand there and take frightened, furtive glances as Pete and his mendisappeared into the forest. For a long time—such a long time—Reed heardthem pushing through the limbs and brush as they spoke in hushed, clippedphrasesandmovedinawidearc.Whentheyfinallycameintosightagain,theywerefaraway,theiroutlinesbrokenbyajitterywebofbranchesandlimbs.Hecould just barely see themapproaching theother teammembers andwhatevertheobjectwas.
Petecircledtheobject,thencalledout,“Comeonup,Reed.”Reeddrewadeepbreathandwipedhiseyesclear.“C’mon,”saidCap,touchinghisarm.Theypressedthroughthepinesandfirs,approximatingthepaththeothershad
taken.Whentheyfinallyemergedfromtheinsistent,aggravating,view-blockingfingersoftheforest,Reedcouldseetheothersgatheredinawidecircleinfrontofahugefallenlog, thetwomarksmenwarilystandingguard.Inthecenterofthecirclewasabluebackpack,not set therebutdropped. Itwasdirtyand theframewasbent—asifithadfallenoverawaterfall.EveryeyefocusedonReed,waitingfortheverdict.
five
Reed’svoicequaveredthoughhetriedtocontrolit.“It’shers.Shepickedoutthecolor.”“Don’t touch it,” saidPete, lookingaround theareaandathis two flankers,
visiblybotheredaboutsomething.HeaskedReed,“Doyouknowifthere’sanyfoodinthere?”“Wepackedsomegranolabars,andshemayhavehadsomeofherlunchleft
over.”Petewentdownonallfoursforacloserlook,studyingthepackonallsides.
“IfIwereacamp-raidingkindofbear,I’dbeinterestedinthat.Thisonewasn’t.Thispackdoesn’thaveamarkonit.”Thenhepulledouthistweezersagainandprobedatoneoftheflaps.“Gotsomemoreofthathairhere, tangledupintheVelcro.Tyler?Let’sget thosemedicsupherewithoneofthose. . .youknow,thosebags.Weneedtobagthewholethingup.”Bodybags,Reedthought.Petewasn’tverycleverattalkingincode.Tylergotonhisradio.“MayIsee thehairs?”Capasked, leaningover thepack.Petepointed them
outandCaplookedatthemclosely.Heevensniffedthem,thensniffedthepack.“Anythoughts?”Reedasked.Capbackedawayasifcaughtinanillegalact.“Ohno,no,nothoughts.Just
curious.”“Gotaprettygoodtoeprinthere,”Donreportedfromnearthelog.“We’reonhimnow,”saidPete,showingahintofexcitementdespitehimself.Capwenttohavealook,handsclaspedbehindhisback,unobtrusive.“Checkthatlog,”Petetoldhisguys.“Seeifhewentoverit.”Thenhesniffed
thepackhimselfandmadeaface.“Reed?Comesmellthis.”Reed approached carefully, dropping to his knees, then all fours, crouching
downtogethisnosecloseenoughtothebluefabric.Itwasadefiningmomenthehadn’texpected:areassuringhorror,adreadful
relief, an encouraging fear. He knew this odor; for him, it was the stench ofBeck’sabduction,thereekofthecreaturethathadchasedthemandtakenher.It
had filled the air the previous night and become a suppressed and forgotteningredientinwhathe’dtakenformadness,acrazedillusionhe’dcometodoubt.But that was then. Now, among friends and objective observers in broaddaylight, itwasreal—horribly,reassuringlyreal!“This iswhatwesmelledlastnight.Thesmellwaseverywhere!”“NowonderCaesarhadaproblem,”Petemused.The flankmenhad reached theother sideof the logandwere checking the
ground.“Gotaheelprintoverhere,deepcompression,”Donreported.Tyler checked the top of the log, his head low, eyeing the aged, crumbling
grain.“Whatdoyousee,Tyler?”Peteurged.Tyler lookedat theheelprintagain, thenat thetopof thelogagain.“Looks
likehejumpedover.”ThatbroughtPete tohis feet.“Over that?Doggone,Tyler, I don’tneedany
moresurprises!”Tyler explained, “We’ve got a deep push-off in that toe print and a deep
compressionontheheeloverhere,andnothingontopofthelog.”Pete examined the toe print, then checked the top of the logwith his light.
“Don,Iwantyoutotellmeyou’vegotsomeclawmarks.”Donkneltandstudiedtheprintfromseveraldirections.“Can’tsayIdo.”“Noclawmarks,”Petemuttered,obviouslyfedup.“Thatthingjumped,”Tylerrepeated.Petelookedback.“Andthat’swhenBecklostherbackpack.”“We’remissingsomething,”Donobjected.“Abearwould’ve torn someprettygoodclawmarks in this loggoingover,
especiallyifitwascarryinga...carryingsomebody.”“Whatareyou talkingabout, ‘carried’?”Tyler said. “Abeardoesn’t carrya
body;itdragsitinitsteeth.”Reedgaveuptryingtocontainhimself.“Itdidn’tdragher.Itcarriedher.Isaw
itliftherofftheground.”Theyallstaredathim,sohethrewbackachallenge.“Haveyoufoundanysignthatsaysdifferent?”Thetrackerslookedateachother,waitingforoneofthemtoanswer.“We’re...we’remissingsomething,”Donsaidagain.
“No,wearen’t,”saidPete,andTyleragreedwithawagofhishead.“Nobodygotdragged.Thesignsayswhatitsays.”“Andwhatisthat?”Reeddemanded.Noanswer.“Tellme!”heshouted.Petewasthinkingwhenhisradiosquawked,“Pete.Pete,thisisMills.”“ThisisPete.Goahead.”“Wecan’tfindabodyuphere.”Petemadeacuriousface.“Sayagain?”Mills came back, speakingwith forced clarity. “We cannot find a body.Do
youcopy?”PetelookedatReed,butReedwasdumbstruck.“Uh,wecopythatyoucannot
findabody.”“WeneedyouandReedtocomeandhelpusoutforafewminutes.”Firstoneblow,thenanother!Reedshookhishead.Petespokeintohisradio,“We’vefoundBeck’sbackpack.Wecouldbeclose.”There was a pause, apparently while Mills thought it over, and thenMills
replied,“Pete,handoff toyour flankmen, letReedstay there,butgivehimaradiosowecantalktohim,andyoucomeup.”PetecheckedvisuallywithDonandTyler.Theywerereadytotakeover.He
reassuredReed,“Youcantrusttheseguys.”“I’dratheryouwerehere,”Reedprotested.Petesighedandspokeintohisradioagain.“Canitwait?”Millscamebackimmediately:“No,itcan’t.”
Beck’sheadthrobbed,herankleshrieked,everythinginbetweenhurt,anditwasgettinghardtobreathewiththosehugearmssqueezingher.She’dbeenhangingontofistfulsoffur,duckingherheadasbranchessweptclose,andprayingforan end to this forwhat seemed hours. The big female had climbed, galloped,strode, reversed course, run, reversed again, and run some more, penetratingmiles of forestland and covering vast stretches ofmountain slope to the pointwhereBeckhadn’tthefoggiestcluewhereontheplanettheywere.Everything—trees,gullies,ridges,boulders—lookedthesame.Shecouldn’tevenbesureshewasstillinIdaho.
But the creature was hurting too. She hobbled and wheezed, swayingunsteadilyasshewalked.Beckhadtheuneasyfeelingshewassittinghighinatreethatwasabouttofallover.Shewasright.Withherlastfeeblesteps,thebigfemalepushedintoascrubbyclumpoftrees,
spunafewdizzyingturns,thencollapsedlikeacondemnedbuildingimploding,her legs giving way beneath her, her nostrils huffing clouds of steam. Shebumpedonherbehind,teeteredthereamoment,andthen,withalong,breathygroan,slumpedontoherside.HerarmswiltedlikedyingplantsandBeckrolledontothemossandunevenrock.Herclothesweredampenedwiththecreature’ssweat,andsheachedineverymuscle,wincingfromthepaininherankle,andamazedshewasstillalive.Herhair-coveredcaptorsoundedlikealocomotiveleavingastation,chugging
andlaboringforeverybreath,holdingherside.Hereyeswerewatery,filledwithpainandunmistakablefear.Beck stared, unable tomake sense of it.Thebeast is afraid?What could a
beastofsuchpowerandsizebeafraidof?Thefemale lookedbackather,neverbreakinghergaze,untilherexpansive
ribcagebegantosettleintoaquieter,morerestfulrhythmandhereyessoftenedfromfeartoakindofresignation.Withadeepsighandaswallow,shepushedherselfintoasittingpositionandbeganpeeringthroughthetreeslikeasoldierina bunker, scanning the expansive landscape below, the deep amber eyessearching,searching,searching.Beck sat up as well and followed the creature’s gaze. The view was
spectacular fromhere.Below themstretchedavastvalleyundera thinveilofbluehaze,andbeyondthat,soclearitseemedonecouldtouchthem,arangeofgranite peaks took a jaggedbite out of the sky. It even soundedvast up here:deadquietexceptfortheall-surroundingwhisperofairmovingthroughthetreesand the trickleofastreamnearby. IfBeckwasn’tsomiserable, fearful forherlife, andoccupiedwith trying to thinkof the“right” thing todo, shecouldbeenjoyingthis.Therightthingtodo?Shewantedtocry.Therightthingwouldhavebeento
stayhomewhereshehadawarmbed,alattemachine,fuzzyslippers,andaniceshowerwithbrasshandles.Thiswasunthinkable!The shadows were long now, the mossy rubble outside their hiding place
almost entirely in shade.Not comforting. She’d learned the hardwaywhat toexpectinthisweird,wildworldatnight,andshedidnotrelishfacingthataloneandlost.She looked at her smelly, unknowable, unpredictable host, who was still
lookingoutoverthevalleyasifexpectinganenemy.Whatwereherplans?HadshecapturedBeckforameal?Beckrememberedsomethingshelearnedatazooonce, somethingaboutgorillasbeingvegetarians.This creature seemed to likeberries.Butsodidbears.Keepthinking,Beck;keepthinking!Okay. What was it going to take to survive? Shelter. Water. Food. In that
order.Sheconsideredshelter.Ifshecouldmove,ifshehadsometools,iftherewas
anythingwithwhichtobuildashelter...Well,whataboutthenextone?Shehadn’thadanywatersincelastnight,and
that streamwas calling to her. She craned her neck but couldn’t seewhere—Whooa!Handswrappedaroundherlikeabigsling,andshewasintheairagain.No freight-train speed this time, though.As the creature ambledwith smooth,bent-kneedstridesthroughthetrees,overrocks,anddownashallowdraw,Beckfeltasensationmuchlikefloatingoverthegroundonaskilift.They found the stream, sparkling and splashing over broken rocks and
formingpoolsfromwhichtodipwater.Thebigfemalesetherdownonalarge,flatstoneandthensquattednexttoher,dippingupbucket-sizedhelpingsinherhands,slurpingthemdown.Beckwatched,wonderingifitwassafetomove,totake a drinkherself.She leanedover thewater, then checkedwith a sidewaysglance.Thecreaturedidn’tseemtomind; itmayhavebeenexpecting it.Beckprayed silently,OhLord, don’t letme get beaver fever—whatever that is, andthenstarteddippinganddrinking.Afteronlya fewgulps, shehearda familiarwhistleand froze to listen.Her
furry captor heard it too and became alert, cocking her head one way, thenanother.Whenthewhistlecameagain,shepressedherlipsagainstherteethandreturnedawhistleofherown.ItspiercingsoundmadeBeckflinch.Thewhistleanswered,closerthistime,andnowBeckheardrustlingandsaw
movementinthebrushontheothersideofthedraw.Shebackedawayfromthestreamononekneeandtwohands,lookingaboutforahidingplace.
The beast reachedwith her inescapably long arm and pulledBeck in, half-draggingher,pressinghercloseagainstherfurry,sweatyside.Beckfelt likeatrophy,aprize,afreshkillabouttobeshared.Playingdeadoccurredtoher,butthebeast’sbigarmwouldn’tletherfalldown.Acrossthestream,fromsomewhereinthetreesandthickbrush,alowwhistle
sounded,andthenapiggrunt.Thebeastwhistledbackandgaveasoftpiggruntofherown.Therewasaninterval,astrangemomentwhennothinghappened—nosound,
nostirrings,nowhistlesorcalls.Becksearchedthebushes,butallshecouldseeacross the creek was a sea of leaves, motionless except for an occasionalflickering in the breeze. She had the distinct feeling she wasn’t just beingwatched—shewasbeingstudied.Then,soslowly,sosilentlythatitalmostescapednotice,agray,hairydome
roselikeadarkmoonoutofthebrush.Becklookeddirectlyatit—Itvanishedasifitwasneverthere.Thebigfemalewhistledagainandthenmadethatstrangegutturalnoisewith
theloudtongueclicking.Tok!Tok!The gray dome rose again, and this time, two steely, amber eyes glared at
Beck,narrowwithsuspicion.Beck could only hang there motionless, expressionless, without the first
thoughtofwhatshecoulddo.With its eyes darting from Beck to the big female and back, the second
creaturemoved forward, only the head and shoulders visible above the brush,untilitemerged,stoopedover,stealing,sneaking,edgingcloser.Becklookeditintheeyeagain.Itleapedbackseveralpaces,almostvanishing
inthebrush,hissingthroughclenchedteeth.Don’tlookitintheeye,Beckthoughttoherself.Itdoesn’tlikethat.She looked down at the water instead and watched the beast’s rippling
reflectionasitrelaxedenoughtoapproachagain.Itcamecloser,onefurtivestepatatime,untilitreachedtheotheredgeofthestream,andthenstoodthere,stillmakinganervous,hissingnoisewitheverybreath.Beckventuredalookatthefeet.Allfivetoeswereupfront,inarow,butthebonestructurewassomehowdifferent from human. The feet had a funny way of flexing in the middle,conformingtothestreambed,curvingovertherocks.
Beck let her eyesmove up a littlemore. The creature was standing nearlyuprightnow,almostsevenfeettallbyBeck’sestimate.Itwasanotherfemale,amassofmusclecovered indarkgray furanda little thinner than the firstone,althoughatthemomentitsfurstoodoutandbristled,makingitappearlargerandanythingbutfriendly.Itutteredsomepiggruntsthatcouldhavebeenaninquiry.Beck’sfemalegave
somepiggrunts that couldhavebeenananswer, thenextendedanopenhand.Theotherfemaleignoredit,eyeingBeckwithvicioussuspicion.Therewasanotherstirringinthebrush,andathirdcreatureappeared.Itwas
steelygrayincolorand,judgingfromitssize,ayoungster.Itsidleduptothebiggray,grippedherleg,andjoinedherinstaringatBeck.Thisoneappearedtobeamale.Beckstoleonequicklittleglanceatitseyes;hewasunflinching.Hestoodatleastfivefeettall.Thefacewaspale,likeababychimp’s,andthehaironitsheadstuckout inwilddirections. If she’dseen this thing inazoo fromasafedistancewithbarsbetweenthem,sheprobablywouldhavethoughtitwascute.Sheventuredonemorelookinitseyes—“Roargghh!”Thelittlebeastexplodedlikeabombgoingoff,leapingintothe
stream,sendingupasprayofwater thatdousedher.Terrified,Becksquirmed,kicked, and tried to get freewhile the juvenile roared from themiddle of thestream,armsflexing,fistsclenched,furonend,teethbaredinaviciousdisplay.Thenhismothergotintoit,roaringandputtingonahorrificshowofanger.ThebigredfemalepulledBeckincloseandturnedherbacktotheonslaught.
Beckwasgladfortheshield,butthefemalewascowering,andBeckcouldfeelhertremble.Withjustoneeyepeeringthroughredfur,Becksawtheotherfemalestanding
hergroundontheoppositebank,teethbaredandgrowling,whiletheyoungster,emboldenedbyhismother,splashedacross thestream,grabbeduppinecones,andthrewthem.Thehurledconesbouncedoffthebigfemale.Beckleanedoutalittle too far and one glanced off her shoulder. It smarted. Another pine conewhizzedbyherearandsheducked.Thebiggraysteppedintothestream.Inonlyafewlongstrides,sheloomed
overthem,eyesburningwithanger—particularlyatBeck.Shakingwithterror,Beckburiedherselfagainsttheredfemale’schest.Thefemaletoppledforward.“Nooo!”Beckcried.
SuddenlyBeckwasburiedunderanavalancheofmuscle,fat,andfur,nearlysmothering in the coarse hair, her back pinned against the rocks, in totaldarkness.Ontopofher,themountaintrembledandquaked,theheartpoundinglikeahugedrum.Beckcouldn’tbreathe.Shecouldn’tmoveeither.ShecriedouttoGod.Thingsgotquiet.Themountain lifted slightly anddaylight trickled inthroughthehair,alongwithbreathableair.Apineconebouncedonthegroundjustoutside,butitlandedlightly,soithadtohavebeentossed,nothurled.Beckheardfeetsloshingbackacrossthestreamasthemountainsatup.She
dared topeek.Theyoungsterandhismotherwerereturningacross thestream.Heclungtoafistfuloffuronherside,andshestrokedhishead.Helookedbackoverhisshoulderastheyleft,baredhisteeth,andhuffedatBeckandherkeeper.Withoneparting,spitefulgrunt,motherandsonhurriedintothebrush, then
barkedonemoreloudinsultbeforetheyvanishedfromsight.Sotherewerethreeofthem.
ReedsatonthebedinRoom105,Beck’sbentandsoiledbackpackinfrontofhim.Carefully,solemnly,heremovedthecontents,handingeacharticletoCap.AsCaparrangedeverythingonthefloor,Singlistedeachinhernotebook:drychanges of clothes, an extra pair of long underwear, rain gear, matches,dehydratedsnacks,a firstaidkit, a toolkit,acompact tube tent,acompass,aSwiss Army knife. Reed wept when he found two rolls of toilet paper and asmall pouch containing makeup, but he kept going. He couldn’t allow hisemotions to keep him from this task. Next came a thermal blanket, somecontainers of food, and—Reed paused to look at it—a crumpled, bent book,Wilderness Survival, by Randy Thompson. Several pages were marked andparagraphshighlighted.“Shereadit,”hemarveled.“Sheactuallyreadallthisstuff.”WithsomuchprecioustimelostandBecknotfound,Reedfeltasifhewere
inatorturouslimbobetweenfaiththattheywouldfindherandcoldreasonthatinsisted she couldn’t be alive. He dared not voice such things, for he wasn’treadytofacethem,notyet.“I’mproudofher,”hesaid,witheredbyemotion.“I’mreallyproudthatshe
tried.Youknowsheneverfinishedapainting?Shedidfinishonenovel,butshewasafraidtosendittoanypublishers.Shewasafraidofwhatthey’dthink.”“Itwas agreat book!”Sing affirmed. “And listen,Reed, for the record, the
survivalvacationwasagreatidea.Sure,Beckneededit,butIthinkweallcould
havegottensomethingoutofit.”“Youdidtherightthing,”Capagreed.Reedgazeddownatthepack.Itwasemptynow.Captookitoffhishandsand
he sat quietly, trying to fathom theday’s disappointments.The two teamshadreturnedforthenight,sometostayattheTallPine,sometocatchafewwinksathome.Whatlittlehopetherewas,wasfading.Reedwonderediftheywouldallreturnthenextmorning.“Theydon’tbelieveme,dothey?”“It’s tough to get a readon someof them,” saidCap. “I thinkPete and the
trackersarewithyou,butasfortheothers,there’ssometalkstartingup.”Sing tried to reassure him, “You have to expect that, Reed. You know this
business.It’sallyoucandotokeepfaithinpeople.”“IsawRandy’sbody.Becksawit.Webothsawit!”Singputoutahandtohaltanymoreofthat.“Reed,let’smoveon.Something
happenedtoit.What—that’sthequestionnow.”“Petedidfindthetree,right?”Singanswered,“Asnearaswecould tell fromyourmapanddirections.He
thinkshefoundyourandBeck’sfootprintsaroundit,andthatbushyousayshefellinto.Thatalllinedup.”“Butnobody.”“Nobody.Anywhere.”“Butnobeartrackseither,right?”“Theremayhavebeentracks—”“Butnotbeartracks!”“Petewouldn’tsayonewayoranother.”“That’sbecausethisisn’tabearandheknowsit!”Capobjected,“Hedoesn’tknowit!”“Hefoundmoreofthesameprintshefoundabovethewaterfall,amIright?”Singtossedupahand.“Hefoundsomeprints.Someofthemcouldhavebeen
Randy’s, and some of themwere just—I’ll tell youwhat I think: I think Petedoes have somedoubts about the bear theory, but he’swaiting before he saysanything.”“Nobodyknowswhattherealstoryishere,”saidCap.“Sowhatwereyousniffingthepackfor?”Reedsaid.
“What?”“Youweresniffingthebackpack!Youwerelookingat thehairs!Whatwere
youthinking?”“Reed, I wasn’t thinking anything.” Reed and Sing locked eyes with him.
“Well,nothingserious!”Singleanedtowardherhusband,emphatic.“Weneedtoidentifythosehairs,
Cap.”Caplookedcornered.“Whylookatme?”“Youhavefriendsattheuniversitywhocandoit.”“They’re not my friends!” They locked eyes with him again. “Well, okay,
someofthemare.Theymightbe.”Sing reached into her backpack and pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag, sealed
withred“evidence”tape.Thehairswereinit.Shetossedittoherhusband.He tossed it back. “I am notgoing back there! I can’t!” He felt their gaze
again.“Allright,givememorereasonandI’llthinkaboutit!”IttookalongmomentofstillnessbeforethebigredfemalerelaxedhergripandBeckcouldmovea little.Beckallowedherselfa smallbitof relief,acalmingbreathortwo,butherheartwasracingandthetremblingwouldn’tgoaway.A hand with the texture of a baseball glove wrapped around her face and
forcedhertolookdirectlyintothecreature’sface,mereinchesaway.Beckcouldn’tevenscream,hersilentthroatbetrayingheryetagain.With long, slimy strokes, abigpink tonguebeganmopping theberry stains
andblood fromBeck’s face.She raisedher hand to push thebigmouth away—lick—but then realized—lick, lick— that this disgusting, smelly, slimy actcouldbe—lick—anactofkindness—lick,lick—andshe’dbetternotmesswithit.The creature licked her some more, then inspected her face like a mother
inspecting her child. Satisfied, she set Beck down andwent to the stream foranotherdrink.Nauseous,Beckwastedno timecrawlingandhobbling to thestream,where
shefloppedonherbellyandsplashedwateronherface.Shecouldfeeltheslimeon her skin, in her hair, on her neck, even in her ears. She kept splashing,frantically washing, longing for some soap and cleansing moisturizer, thatwonderful, good-smelling stuff that came out of the quaint, decorative pump
bottlebyhersinkinhernice,warm,cleanhouse—A string of slime hung from her fingers as she brought them up out of the
water.When she stopped to stare at it, she heard an explosive spitting noiseupstream.Thebigfemalewasdrinking, thenspittinghuge,stringymouthfulsofwater.
Apparentlyshewasn’ttoopleasedwithhowBeck’sfacetasted.Beck stopped, too insulted to continuewashing. How could that disgusting
monsterfindBeckdisgusting?The ladyfinisheddrinking, rolledbackontoherhaunches,andgaveBecka
relentless,studiouslook,agazesounbrokenitputBeck’snervesonedge.Acoldwindwhippedacrossthemountainside,swayingthetreesandleaching
heat from Beck’s body. The sun had dipped behind the mountain and aworrisomechillwasmovingin.Sowhat todo?Wasthereanywhereshecouldcurlupoutofthewind?Whatiftheothertwocreaturescameback?She eyed the big red female and tried to weigh disgust against wisdom. It
seemedthebiggalwasintentonprotectingher,somethingBeckcouldn’tfigureoutbuthadtoconsider.Withnightcomingon,shemightdowelltoreconsiderthatbig,warmbody.Sheimmediatelylookedelsewhere.Therehadtobeanotherway.Thebeastgrabbedheragain.“Noo!”Beckscreeched.ShepulledBeckclose.The smellwas enough tomakeBeckgag, the furwasoily and sweaty, and
therewasstillthatfrightfulstreakofblood.Butthebodywaswarm.Thebeast’sbighandsheldherclose,cuddlingher.Thecoarsefurpokedherin
theeyeandtickledhernose.Thebloodwasturningsour;itgaveoffasmelllikeadeadmouse.ButBeckwaswarm.Thecoldwindwouldnotreachhertonight.Shepushed thecreature’shairoutofhereyes, then tried torelaxand,ofall
things,acceptthesituation—ifshecouldonlybreathe.Reed was right about one thing: the rules were different out here. How
different?Howwouldshelearnthemotherthanonemistakeatatime,andwhatifamistaketurnedouttobefatal?ShewishedReedwereheretohelpher.
Acoldbreezeinterruptedherthoughtsandremindedherthatthereweremoreimmediate things to worry about—like staying alive right now. Cringing, shepressed inclose to theodorous, furrybodyanddrewin thewarmth.Thebeastcradledherwithabigarm.Morewarmth.Not farsouthofAbney, inasmallmeadowabout tenmilesbackona loggingroad,Ted andMelanieBrooks, a couple in their twenties,were “roughing it,”cookingupamealover theopenfire in frontof their two-person tent.Severalbeerbottleslayemptyinthegrass,andtheywereworkingontwomore.Aboomboxkeptthemcompany,preventinganyunwantedquietwiththesteadypulsingofbassanddrumsandtheangrywailingsofaleadguitar.Tedwasfryingupthehamburgers.Inthelightofacamplantern,Melaniewas
chopping up some bananas, apples, andmelons for a fruit salad. Nearbywastheircampcooler,thelidopen,fullofdrinks,fresheggs,andrawbaconforthemorning’sbreakfast.They’deatenlunchintheearlyafternoonandburnedtheirpaperplates,buttheleftoverMcDonald’sFrenchfriesandhalfofaCaesarsaladstillremained,restingonastump,waitingtobepartoftonight’smeal.“Hey,babe,”Tedsaid, turninghisfaceawayfromtheheatof thefire.“You
wanttotakeahikelater?Nothinglikeawalkinthedarkinthewoods.”“I’muptoit ifyouare,”Melanieteasedback,herperfectsmilelightingher
face.Itfeltgoodtogetawayfromthebig-citygrind.TedsangalongwiththeCD
nowplaying,aHendrixtunehe’dsungalongwithfromhisyouth,asheflippedthepattiesinanironfryingpan.“Almost done,” he announced, excessively happy. He reached for another
beer.“Salad’s about ready,” Melanie answered, cutting crookedly as the beer
metabolized.A reflection appeared in the trees at the edgeof themeadow. It glimmered,
moved,thenwinkedout.Tedthoughthesawit.“Whatwasthat?”Melanielookedup.“Whatwaswhat?”Tedtooktheironpanoffthefireandsetitonanearbystumpwherethegrease
and burgers continued to steam and sizzle.Then he stood away from the fire,watchingthedarkness.“IthoughtIsawsomething.”Melaniestoodverystill,thoughalittleunsteady.“IthinkIheardsomething.”Tedhurriedoverandshutofftheboombox.
Thesuddenquietwasjarring,eerie.Exceptforthecrackleofthefireandthesteadybreathofthecamplantern,therewasn’tasound.Thentherewas.Snap!Crunch!MelaniegrabbedTed’sarm,hard.Theybothpeeredintothedarknessbeyondthereachofthelantern,frightened
bytheshadows—eventheirown.Arustlingandanothertwigbreaking.“Something’soutthere,”Tedwhispered.
six
“Didwebringagun?”Melaniewhisperedinfear.“No,nogun,”Tedanswered,eyesfixedonthedarknessbeyondthedimlylit
trees.Somethingwasstillmovingoutthere.Heheardthethumpingoffeetonalog.“Hello?Hey!”heshouted.“Don’tyell.Itmight—”The scream sent a shock through their nerves, jolting theirmuscles, turning
theirstomachs,quakingtheirhands.“It’s...it’sa...there’sawomanoutthere!”Tedblurted,hisvoicehighand
trembling.Themournfulwailwasstillgoing,rising,falling,risingagain.“Whoisit?”Melanieaskednooneinparticular.“Hello?Are you all right?”Ted yelled into the dark, then rebuked himself,
“That’sadumbquestion.”Hesteppedforward.“Whereareyougoing?”Melaniesaid.“I’mgoingtoseewhoitis.”“Don’tgooutthere!”Ted walked cautiously, shakily, toward the sound, just now falling away.
“Hello?You hurt?”He ventured beyond the reach of the light. His formwasdim, broken into segments by the shadows. He stumbled on some fallenbrancheshedidn’tsee.“Ted!Comebackhere!I’mscared!”He turned to look back, his face illumined like a lone planet in the dark of
space.“Canyouseeanything?”hesaid.Shecouldseeonlyhisfaceandhisrightshoulder.Justbeyondhisrightshoulder,twosilvery-greenretinasturnedintothelight.Melaniescreamedthescreamofherlife,backingaway,handstoherface.Tedspunaroundjustintimetotakeablowtohisheadthatnearlysnappedhis
neck.He tumbled like a rag doll out of sight. Branches snapped andMelanieheardhissingthroughtheleaves.“Ted!”
Something big was moving out there. It screamed like a woman beingstabbed.Melaniefoundarockand threwit into theblackness. Itglancedoffatree.“Melanie!”Ted’svoicewasmuffledasifhewasyellingintotheground.Theshadowmovedthatdirection.“Ted,run!Run!”Sheheardhimscreaming,thrashinginthebrush,movingright,fallingagain,
screamingagain.Thewomanscreamedjustabovehim.Melaniegrabbedthehotfryingpanwithapotholderandboltedcrazilyinto
thedark,herownshadowablackdemondancingon the treesbeforeher.ShecaughtaglimpseofTedhigh-stepping,grappling,pushingthroughthewoodsonherright,tryingtomakeittosomelight.“Melanie,it’sbehindyou!”Shespun,swingingthefryingpanlikeabaseballbat.Thepantiltedvertically
andcontactedablack,furrymasswithadullbongandthehissofhotgrease.Thethingscreamedandspunaway.Melaniedroppedthepanandrantoward
thelight.Tedwasaheadofhernow,hisbodyasilhouetteagainstthecamplantern,his
shadow aman-shaped tunnel through the campfire smoke. She ran down thattunnel,stumblingontheunevenground.Thethingwasbehindher,screaminginpainandrage.Tedhadreachedthecar.“Comeon,Melanie,comeon!”Shegotthereashestarteduptheengine.Shedoveinside,slammedthedoor,
thengroped,slappedforthelockbuttonuntilshefounditandpoundeditdown.Tedhitthegasandthecarlurchedforward.Thethingleapedthroughtheheadlights,itscoarse,blackflankabsorbingthe
light,thenglancedofftherightfender.Foraninstant,Melaniesawafaceinherwindow:crazed,glowingeyes,agapingmouth,glisteningfangs.Theyroareddowntheloggingroadsofastthatdebrisfromthepotholesand
rutshitthemlikeflak.Melanie twistedand looked through the rearwindow.The lightof thecamp
lanternwasquicklyreceding,andagainstthatcircleoflight,inabacklithazeof
campfiresmoke,amonstrous,hulkingshadowwasravagingtheircamp.ArlenPeakstabbedtworemainingslabsofbeefbrisket,liftedthemofftheopen-pitgrill,anddroppedthemontoaplatter.“Okay,whentheycooldown,stick’eminthefreezer.”Hiswife, his daughter, andhis twogranddaughterswere cleaningupdishes
and tables after the barbecue buffet, the Tall Pine’s contribution to the searcheffort.Mostofthesearchcrewhadstuckaroundforthefreemeal,butitwasn’tafestive occasion. The meal passed quickly, and now the courtyard and tableswereemptyunderthefloodlights,thehazefromthebarbecuethinningwiththeeveningbreeze.ReedpokedhisheadoutofRoom105andsurveyedthecourtyardandparking
lot.Nottoomanyfolksstillupandaround.Mostofthesearchcrewhadeithergone home or were settling in for the night in the RVs neatly parked at thehookups across the parking lot. Satisfied, he stepped out, an empty plate andsilverwareinhishand.He’deatenbecauseheknewhehadto,buthe’deateninsolitude.Withalittleluck,hecouldreturnhisplateandutensilsandmaybegetsomeairwithoutseeinganyone.I’mactingjustlikeBeck,hethought,wagginghisheadattheirony.Thishad
tobehowshefeltmostofthetime:awkward,staredat,discreditedfornogoodreason.Nowondersheavoidedpeople—ashewasdoingrightnow.He’d often been asked, “How in the world did you ever get to know each
other?” Itwasn’t easy.They first crossed paths in St.Maries, Idaho,when hewas awell-established high-school senior and shewas the newgirl in school.He’d seen her at school but actually met her in church, which, he’d oftenreflected,wasagoodplacetomeetagirl.Shewasashy,awkward,introvertednewcomertotheyouthgroup,devastatedthefirsttimetheyouthpastorcalledonhertoreadascripturealoud,terrifiedofconversation,andslowtomakefriends.Nevertheless, he’d already eliminatedmost of the other girls fromhis field ofinterest, and though he could never explain it, he found her fascinating.Theirfirst datewas amovie—they just watched themovie and didn’t have to talk.Then, after hepromised that talkingwouldn’t be required, she took apleasantafternoon walk with him along the St. Joe River. After that, he took herbicycling,which they enjoyed in silence.Whenhe tookher out todinner, shepointed at what she wanted on the menu and he ordered for them both. Thesilencebetweenthemtookgettingusedto,andheoftencaughthimselfbabblingtofillthedeadspace.Nevertheless,itwasinthosequiettimesthatshecouldbe
amazinglyarticulatewithhereyesandplayful,eventeasing,withthecornersofhermouth.Withoutaword,shehadhimhooked.ItwastheeveningtheyplayedScrabblewithherfolksthathefirstheardher
put an articulate sentence together, word after word, and he was astounded.When shewas at home, in a safe and familiarworld, her speech impedimentnearlyvanished.Shewonthegamethatnight,andafterthatshestartedtalking,inhaltingphrasesatfirst,andlaterinfluidsentences,butonlytohim.Itwaslikestrikingoil,arealgusherofinformation,hersoulinwords.Butshecouldonlyspeakifshewascomfortable,andthatbecametheongoing
problem.Attheirwedding,hermaidofhonorrepeatedhervowsforherandshenoddedinagreement.HisfriendsattheSheriff’sAcademyneversawhiswife,notevenatgraduation.ShemetSingCapellaonlybecauseSingwentoutofherway tomeether, preparedwith things to do and share without a word beingspoken.Thetwowerechatteringwitheachotherwithinaweek,buttalkingwithCaptooklonger.SoCapandSingbecametheirclosestfriends,butBeckstillhadfewfriends,
and thatwas troubling.Cap, Sing, andReed had often had their little talks inBeck’s absence aboutwhat they could or should do to help her. If onlyBeckcouldgetalittleconfidence,they’dsaid.Ifwecouldjusthelphercomeoutofhershellandfacelifehead-on,justalittle...Reedstackedhisplatewiththeothersinthekitchenpass-throughanddropped
hissilverwareintothebigcanofsoapywater.Arlen’sgranddaughterlookedathim,smiledabit,andkeptonstackingthedishesinthedishwasher.Hepassedtwosearchvolunteersonhiswaytotheparkinglot,buttheydidn’tbotherhim;theydidn’tevenlookhimintheeye.CapandSinghadalreadysaidtheirgoodnights.SheriffMillshadlefttocatch
up on loose ends at the department. PeteHenderson had gone home to crash,planningtostartfreshatfirstlight.AndJimmyClarkwas...well,Reeddidn’tmuchcarewhereJimmywassolongashewaselsewhere,atleastforthenight.AllReedwantedrightnowwasalittlespace,alittleair,alittletimetothink
—ornotthink,whichwouldbeevenbetter.Awalkaroundthetownmightfeelgood—HeheardvoicesfromtheothersideoftheRVs,overinthepicnicarea.“Butdidyouseethatcabin?Oneguycouldn’thavedonethat.”
“Oneguywithagood-sizedhammer—”“Oh,getreal!”Reed turned and drew closer, not sneaking, but not making his presence
knowneither.Fromtheshadowsamongthetrees,herecognizedtwoSearchandRescue volunteers sitting at a table, conversingwith anothermanwho leanedagainstatree.ThetwoatthetablehadworkedwithTeam1atthecabinthatday;theguystanding,withhairinaponytailandsoblonditwasnearlywhite,wasanewcomerReedhadn’tseenbefore.“I’vedonesearchandrescueafterabearattackbefore,upinGlacier,”saidthe
newcomer, “and letme tell you two things: number one, the victim isn’t drugveryfar,so itdoesn’t take that long tofindhim,andnumber two, thevictim’sdead.Heisn’twanderingoff.”“That’showit’sgonnaturnout,”saidthebaldguy.“That’showitshouldhaveturnedout,butitdidn’t.We’restillhere.”“Well, Jimmy’s settingoutbait tomorrow.We’llbag thebear, and that’ll be
theendofit.”“Hey,wait aminute!” said the youngerman in theMariners cap. “What if
Thompson and Shelton’s wife staged the whole thing so they could run offtogether?”“You’veseenwaytoomuchTV!”saidthebaldone.Theywerelaughing.Thenewcomerwasn’tlaughingwhenhesaid,“WhatifSheltonturnsupwith
anotherwoman?”Reed’shandsballedintofists.Theothertwoquitlaughing.“Youserious?”thebaldguyasked.“Whynot?”Thenewcomertookadragonacigarette,theorangetipglowing
inthedark.“LikethatcopinSpokanewhoshothiswifeandblamedsomeblackguythatdidn’texist.Thesethingshappen.”“Butwhataboutthecabin?YouthinkSheltontoreitallup?”“WhatifabearwreckedthecabinandSheltonsawanopportunity?Tookout
hiswifeandRandyThompsonbecauseThompsoncouldhavebeenawitness?”Thetwoweresilentastheythoughtaboutit.
“I guess Shelton’swifewas a little strange, kind of a retard,” said the baldone.“Yeah,”theyoungoneagreed.“Ifhe’sgotanotherbabesomewhere...”“Sowhat’dhedowiththebodies?”“Put ’emwherewe’ll never find ’em,” said thenewcomer.He tookanother
dragandthesmokepuffedoutwithhiswords.“Thatwaynobodywillfindouthowtheyreallydied.”“You’resick,youknowthat?”thebaldonereplied.“Thinkwhatyouwant.Mymoney’sonShelton.”Reed wanted to meet this guy, introduce himself, share a few words of
understanding, and put himon the ground.Maybehe could even acquaint themanwith the natural taste and crispy texture of pine cones stuffed in that bigmouth.Hetookastepforward—“Reed!”ItwasCap,holleringfromtheinn.“Reed!”Good old Cap. Reed hurried back across the parking lot with eyes and
thoughtsforward.Capwasontheporchinteeshirtandjeans.Hisbootswerestilluntied.“Reed,
there’sbeenanotherattack!”Shock.Relief.Horror.I-told-you-so.“Where?”Reedbreathed.Singburstoutthefrontdoorinblouseandjeans,barefoot,herhairunbraided
andbillowingdownherback,ahandheldradioclosetoherear.“Twocamperswere attacked anhour and a half ago, sixmiles upServiceRoad19, north ofKamayah.”“Kamayah.That’s—what?—abouttenmilessoutheastofhere?”Reedsaid.“Tenmilessoutheast,”Singconfirmed,“thensixmilesnorthup thatservice
road...it’dbewithinfourtosixmilesofthefirstattack.”Capfinishedtyinghisboots.“Thatthing’smoving.”“DoesSheriffMillsknow?”“HeandJimmyareontheirwaynow,”Singanswered.“WhataboutPete?”Singtradedherradioforhercellphone.“I’mgoingtorousehimoutofbed.”Reedspunaround,countingvehiclesandRVs,tryingtoguessthenumberof
availablebodiesstillaround.“Wecan’tgiveupthesearchhere!”
“Wewon’t.”Cap was insistent, excited. “We’ve got to see this. It could explain
everything!”Reed looked directly, boldly, at the three men having their little whodunit
discussionaroundthepicnictable.“Itsurecould.”Flash! Sing, inwarm coat and cap, photographed the empty frying pan lyingfacedownwhere thewoods bordered themeadow.Capwas her lightman; heheldastrongfloodlightsoSingcouldseewhatshewasdoing. Itwasclose tomidnight.Groundfogandcampfiresmokehungalongthegroundandshroudedthetreesinaghostlyhaze.Jimmywasshininghisflashlightaroundthedevastatedcampsiteandcounting
theemptybeerbottlesscatteredinthegrass.Fromthebreathanddemeanorofthetwocampershuddledbytherevivedfire,therewasnoquestioninhismindwhereallthesudshadgone.“Guessyou’vehadafewbeers,huh?”Jimmysaid.Apparently,Tedbecameobstinateandeasilyoffendedwhendrunk.“Sowhat?
Weweren’tdriving!”“Youdroveoutofhere,didn’tyou?”Melanie, when drunk, became gushy and emotional. “Well, wouldn’t you?
Wouldn’tyouwannagetawayifsomebigmonsterwascomingafteryou?”Flash!Singcapturedthebeerbottles,ashatteredcamplantern,andabroken
campcooler.Jimmyswepttheedgeof thewoodswithhis light.“That thefryingpanyou
hithimwith?”“That’sit!”saidMelanie.“Hegotthemessage!”“Ithinkheatethehamburgers,”saidTed.“Lookslikeheatealotofthings,”Jimmyobserved.“Youhadfruitsaladlying
out,hamburgersfrying,eggsandbacon...”Hewalkedtowheretheremainsofapaperplatelayinthegrassalongsidescatteredremnantsoflettuceandtomato.“Whatwasthis,asalad?”“Mydinnersalad,”Melaniereplied.“WithFrenchfries.”Flash!Singtookashottoshowthelocationoftheravagedsaladinrelationto
thecampsite.Jimmydrewabreath,asifgatheringpatience.“Folks,youshouldknowbetter
than tohavefood like this lyingaroundyourcamp.Friedfoods,greasyfoods,
garbagelikethisputtingoutallthatsmell,it’sawonderyoudidn’tattracteverybearwithinfiftymiles!”“This-swasn’tabear!”Tedcountered,hisvoiceslurredandunsteady.“Itwas
abig,hairything!ItwaslikeK-kingKongor...something!”Singwentblindinthedark.“Cap.Thelight.”“Oh.Sorry.”Flash!Shecapturedafieldofdebris:ajacket,apaperbacknovel,apunctured
thermos,shreddedfoodpackaging.“What else have you had tonight?” Jimmy asked the two campers. “Any
mushrooms,bychance?”“Hey,whaddayatryingto—”“Justbecarefulwhatyousay.Youdon’twanttogetintroublewiththelaw.”SheriffMillspickedupanedgeof theflattened tentand lookedunderneath,
probingwithhis light.Twosleepingbagswerespreadout;ahotrodmagazineandagardeningmagazinewereundisturbed.Therewerenomushrooms.Flash!Asthesheriffheldthefallententup,Singcapturedthetent’sinterior.
Reed tried to keep his voice calm as he questioned Ted andMelanie Brooks.“Diditmakeasoundlikeawomanscreaming?”Their eyes got wide with the recollection. “Yeah,” said Ted. “Scared us to
death!”“Wethoughtitwassomebodyintrouble!”saidMelanie.“Diditwalkupright?”“Surelookedlikeit!”Jimmyasked,“Wasitabouttwentyfeettall?”TedandMelanielookedateachother,andthenTedanswered,“Couldabeen!”“Bighairyhands?”“Isawitusingitshands,yeah!Theywererealhairy,”saidMelanie.Jimmynoddedtohimself, thencalledtowardsomeflashlightssweepingand
winkingonlya foot from thegroundnear theedgeof themeadow,“Pete,yougotanything?”“Notyet,”camePete’svoicethroughthemurk.“Sing,didyougetashotofthiscoolerhere?”
“Gotit,”shereplied,workingherwaytowardthewoods.Millsmetherwiththepuncturedthermosinhishand.“Betterbagthis.”The
thermoshadbeennearlybitteninhalf, thetoothmarksformingajagged,saw-toothedrift.Sing pulled a Ziploc bag from her pocket and dropped the thermos inside.
“Mr.Teethagain,justlikethecanofbeansIfoundatthecabin.”Sheplacedthebaggedthermosinhershoulderbag.Millscalled,“Jimmy!Pete!”“Yeah?”“We’reraisingthecautionlevel.Searchersgooutintwosfromnowon,with
atleastonerifleorasidearmbetweenthem.”“Understood,”saidPete,hisvoicemuffledbyhisnearnesstotheground.“Yougotit,”saidJimmy,havingafurtherlookaround.“Goodidea.”ReedtookholdofJimmy’sarmtogethisattention.“Jimmy,youheard’em,
right?Theysawthesamethingwedid!”“Reed,” Jimmy said, “didn’t you hear the questions you were asking? You
wereleadingthewitnesses.Givemeabreak!”“Jimmy!What’sitgonnataketo—”Jimmy put his hand on Reed just to hold him steady—and quiet. “Reed,
listen,” he whispered, “you don’t want to get lumped in with those people.They’redrunk,theymightbeondrugs—”“Butthey—”“Reed! They’re bad for you. They’re two fruitcakes who did everything a
stupidcampercandotoattractabear!”“Butitwasn’tabear!”“Shh!Don’t!”Jimmy looked around, clearly afraid that someonemay have
heardthat.“Reed.Lookatme.I’mtalkingasyourfriend.Thiscouldbearealbreak.Thishastobethesamebear,whichmeanswehaveafreshtrail.WemightevenbeabletobacktrackfromhereandgetsomekindofleadonBeck.Now...”HeputhisfingerinReed’sfacetoholdhimincheck.“Reed,I’mtellingyou—don’truinit.We’vegotplentyofvolunteersreadytoworkwithusaslongasthey’regoodandclearonwhatitisthey’redoing.Ifthere’sabeartobetrackeddownandkilled,they’rewithus.Butifyoustartgoingonaboutsomebig,hairy...”Helookedaroundagain.“They’retalkingalready.Someofthemarehaving
some real doubts aboutwhatwe’re doing and about you, and you don’twantthat.Youwantthemonyourside.”Headlightsilluminedthecampasatruckpulledup.JimmysearchedReed’sfaceamoment.“Reed,amIgettingthrough?”Reedwhisperedhurriedly,“Youdon’tbelieveme,doyou?”“WhatdifferencedoesitmakeaslongaswefindBeck?”Theblindingheadlightsobliteratedanythingandeverythingbehindthemuntil
theenginequit,thelightswinkedout,andfourmenwalkedintothedullorangeglowofthecampfire.Allfourwerearmedwithrifles.ThefirsttwowereSteveThorne,thebuzz-cut“marine,”andaclosepartnerReedrecognizedrightaway,themanwith the near-white hair, whose “moneywas on Shelton.”Ol’WhiteHairhadoneofhispicnic-tablebuddieswithhim,thekidintheMarinerscap,SamMarlowe.ThefourthwasthehunternamedJanson.“Hey,guys,”saidJimmy.“Probablywon’tneedyoutillwegetsomelight.”“Couldn’t wait,” saidWhite Hair. “We brought the overnight gear.We can
campouthere’tilmorning.”Reedeyedhimsteadilybutdidnotofferhishand.“I’mReedShelton.”Themanjusteyedhimbackwithawrysmileonhisface.“WileyKane,from
Missoula.Gladtobealong.”Reed shot a glance at Jimmy, then engaged Wiley Kane one more time.
“Lookslikeit’shappenedagain.”Kanenoddedemphatically.“Oh,yeah.It’saroguebearallright.I’veseenthis
kindofthingbefore.”“Yeah.Right.Abear.”ReedstoleonemorelookatJimmy,whoreturnedhis
lookapprovingly.“Reed?”ItwasSing’svoice,comingfrombehindCap’slightneartheedgeof
thewoods.“Canweseeyouasecond?”“Excuseme.”Hewasmorethangladtobesomewhereelse.Hemadehisway
through thegrass towhereSingandCapawaitedhim,darkshapesagainst thewhite,wigglingbackgroundofflashlightbeamsinthefog.“Comeon,”saidSing,“andstepwherewestep.”Hefollowedthem,hisflashlightontheirfeet,astheymovedthroughthegrass
inasinglefiletowardPeteHendersonandthemanhelpinghim.Immediatelytotheirleft,peekingthroughthecreepingfogandsmoke,atrailofbent-overgrass
skirtedtheedgeofthewoodsandthenbrokeintoclearground.Petewasonhiskneesandbentover,measuringaprintwhilehisassistantheld
a light at a low angle along the ground, bringing out the shadows. Withoutlookingup,hesaid,“Reed,Ithinkit’syourcritter.”They encircled a patch of bare ground next to a dry streambed, flooding it
with their flashlightbeams.When thestreamranduring therainymonths, thispatchofgroundwasashalloweddyofstandingwater,thebottomlinedwithathick layerof silt.Thewaterhad receded for the summer, leaving the silt inasmooth,moiststate,perfectforregisteringafootprint—whichithaddone.“This is big medicine,” said the assistant, holding his light steady as Pete
measuredandsketchedinhispocketnotebook.Petelookedup.“ReedShelton,thisisMartyElkhorn.Herunsthestoredown
inKamayah.Thecampersusedhisphonetocallus.”Reedofferedhishand.“HaveyoumetCapandSing?”Elkhornnodded,hisfacegrim,hiswrinklesdeepin thebouninglightof the
flashlights.HelookedupatSing.“Petetellsmeyou’reCoeurd’Alene.”Shenodded.“Shoshone,”hereplied.Hegazedattheprintthatwasstarklylitlikeafeature
onthemoon.“Soyoumustknowthewarnings,thethingsourfatherstaughtus.”Sing gazed over Pete’s shoulder at the print, her face eerily cold and
statuesqueintheweaklight.“Tsiatko?”Elkhornnodded,thefearinhiseyeschilling.“Thewildmen.”Petelookedupfromhiswork.“Marty,Idoappreciateyourtraditions,butthis
isananimal.”“No!Don’tthinkthat!TheIndiansdidn’tmakeupthetsiatko.Theywerehere
beforewewere!Weknewaboutthembeforethewhitemancame,andtheyhavealwaysbeenwithus!Everytribehasitsownnameforthem.Oh-Mah,thehairygiants.Skookum,theevilwood-spirits.”Singoffered,“AndIbelievetheSalishwordissess-ketch.”Elkhornnodded.“Whenthewhitemancame,hepronouncedithisownway:
Sasquatch.”Themistcrawledon their skinand thedarknessclosed inon themasevery
eye focused on the print, deeply impressed in the black silt. The heel wasdistinct,withcleardermalridges,buttheforwardhalfofthefoothadshiftedin
thetrack,leavingasmearedimpression.Reedwasjustasmesmerizedastheothersbuthadtobesure,atlonglast,that
hecouldaccepthisownmemories.“Pete,whatintheworldisit?”Petefinishedjottingdownhismeasurements.“Fifteenincheslong,sixwide.
It’s not a perfectmatchwith the other printswe found, but those printswerenowhere as clear as this one, sowemight allow for that.”He pointed. “Fourcleartoeimpressions,andthisdipheremustbethefifth.Noclaws.I’mgonnafigurehewasatthecabinlastnight,andatthewaterfall.”Heglancedtowardthewrecked campwhere Jimmyand the hunterswere combing through themess.“Thisol’boy’stemperissureamatch.”Elkhornwasgettingmore agitated themore they talked about it.He finally
rosetohisfeet.“Wecan’tstayhere.Thisisbigmedicine.Tsiatkohastakenthisground.”“Ithasmywife!”Reedobjected.“Ofcourseitdoes!That’swhattsiatkodoeswhenitfindsmenonhisground.”
Helookedattheothers,thenpointedattheprint.“Andyouthinkthisistheonlyone?There aremore.They’ve come to thesewoods, and youwon’t see themeither,notbeforetheycomeinthenightandtakeyou!”Singtriedtoexplaintotheothers,“Manyofourparentsraisedustobelieve
that,ifweweren’tgood,thegiantswouldcomeandtakeusaway.”Sheadded,as politely as possible, “For some of us, these traditions are ingrained in ourthinking.”Elkhorn,allthemoreresoluteandfearful,stoodeyetoeye,nosetonosewith
Reed.“Ithasyourwife.WhatmoredoIneedtosay?”Suddenly,inwhatseemedanactofmadness,Elkhorndroppedtheflashlight,threwupbothhishands,andshouted to the forest in a shrill voice, “Elkhorn is leaving! Do you hearme?Elkhornwill never set foot on this land again!Hiswife and his childrenwillneversetfoothere!Doyouhearme?”Nowthecampers,hunters,Jimmy,andSheriffMillswerelooking.Elkhornboltedandranacrossthemeadow,throughthetatteredcampsite,and
tohisoldcar.Heopenedthedriver’sdoorbutstoodtoshoutonemoretime,hisarmupraised,“Elkhornisgone,doyouhear?Hewillnevercomehereagain!”Then,withhisengineroaringandhiswheelsspewinggravel,hegotoutofthere.JimmyholleredtoPete,“Where’dyougethim?”“CrazyInjun,”saidKane.
“Pete!Whatareyoulookingatoverthere?”“Prints,”Peteanswered.“Okay,”Jimmysaid.“Thisbear’saregularcampraider.Tomorrowweputup
somebearstandsandputoutsomebait.”“Goodidea,”saidthewhite-hairedKane.“I’lltakethefirstshift.”“I’llbackyouup,”saidThorne.Jimmyrubbedhishands togetherbriskly.“Okay,youtwoguyssetupat the
cabin.JansonandSam,youtakethissite.We’llhavebothlocationscovered.It’llbeashootinggallery.”Petewaited,butJimmy’sattentionwaselsewhere.“Won’tevenlookat’em,”
Petemuttered.“Reed,maybeyoucanholdthelight.”Reedpickeduptheflashlightandstoopeddown,onceagainilluminatingthe
printinthesilt.“Pete,whatisit?”Petehadtoconsideramomentbeforeanswering.“CouldIpleasenothaveto
answer that—at least ’til an answer comes to me? I’ve been tracking in andaroundthiscountyforfifteenyears,andI’veneverseenatracklikethisone.Noquestion,though:whateveritis,it’sonemeancritterandwe’vegottafindit.”Singsnappedsomephotosandthensaidinanasidetoherhusband,“Cap...”“What?” Then he wagged his head. “No, no, I’m not jumping to any
conclusions—andneithershouldyou.”“Conclusionsaboutwhat?”Reedasked,impatient.“I’ve seen how it works,” Cap said. “People believe what they want to
believe,andiftheywanttobelievesomethingbadlyenough,theycanseethingsthataren’tthereornotseethingsthatare.”“Sowhatareyousaying?”“I’m saying . . .” Reed could tell that Cap was trying to be careful. “I’m
sayingwereally,reallywantBecktobealive.It’sthedrivingforceinourmindsrightnow;it’sdominatingouremotions.”“So?”“So...whatifwejustdon’twantittobeabear?”NowReedstoodtofacehim.“NowyouthinkI’mseeingthings,isthatit?”“Reed,maybeweallarebecausewewantto.Iadmit,Ireallywanttobelieve
that something justpickedBeckupandcarriedheroff,because thatopensup
limitlesspossibilities,evenfantasiesthatareawholeloteasiertohandlethan—”Hissentencehitawall.“See?Ican’tevensayit.”Petebrokein,hishandoutstretched.“Reed,Ineedthatlight.”StilllookingtestilyatCap,ReedslappedtheflashlightintoPete’shand.Singintervened.“Cap,unlessI’mwrong,youhaveitbackward.”Helooked
asthoughhewouldhavecomebackwithsomethingifhehadsomething.“Youbelieve it,Cap, andnotbecauseyouwant to; youdon’twant to!You’ve beenarguingwithyourselfeversincethiswholethingstarted.”“NowIknowitwasn’tabear,”saidPete.Heshonehis flashlightfartherup
thedry streambed, illuminating a strange, lumpypile.He approached the newdiscovery and they semicircled around him like a nature class, flashlightscenteredonapileoffreshdroppings—lobedlumpslooselyconnectedinachainbystrandsofleaves,grass,rodenthair,andpaperfoodpackaging.“It’sonlyafewhoursold,”saidPete.“Butnobearleavesscatlikethis.”Sing lookedatCapand said softly, “Does it look familiar at all?”Shegave
himtimetoponderwhilesheaimedhercameraandtooksomemorepictures.Capstudiedthedroppings.Fromthelookonhisface,thenewswasbad,and
thelongerhelooked,theworseitseemedtoget.Theothersfellsilent,waitingforhisanswer.Finally,afterafleetingglimpseatSing,heaskedPete,“CanIgetasample?”“Takethewholething,”saidPete.SingwasalreadypullingoutaZiplocbag.Thedroppingsweresoft,loose,and
messy;itwasdifficulttopreservetheiroriginalshapeasshespoonedthemup.“I’llgetyou thosehairsaswell.And I’vegota thermoshereyoushould takealong.Saliva.”“LetmegetsomesleepandI’llleaveforSpokanetomorrow—orisittoday?”“It’stoday,”saidSing.Reedwas speechless for amoment, but finallyhemetCap’s eyes and said,
“You’retheone,Cap.Anyhelpyoucangiveus...”Capmadesurethebagwasproperlysealedashereplied,“Well,it’sachance
tosleepinmyownbedagain.Butthisisalongshot.Theymaynotevenletmeinthedoor.”“Trytheback,”saidSing.Capweighedthatamoment.“Iftheycatchme,I’lltellthemyousaiditwas
okay.”“Youdothat.”Shewinkedathim.“SowhatdowetellJimmy?”Reedasked.“Aw,”saidPete,rubbinghis tiredeyes,“just lethimandhisboyshunt their
doggonebear.Cap’sright;peoplebelievewhattheywant—butit’sgonnabetheweirdestbearthey’veeverseen.”Heshovedhisnotebookbackinhispocket.“Igottacrawlintomytruckandgetsomesleep.Don’tletanybodymessupthesetracks.And,Reed?”“Yeah?”“You’renotcrazy,sogettowork.”“Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”“Do...copstuff.Findapatternorsomething,oneofthosewhatchamacallits
...anMO.Anyinformation’suseful.”Petetrudgedonby.“It’stimesomebodyelsedidsomeoftheworkaroundhere.”ReedwatchedPetedisappearintothedarknessandfog,andthenmettheeyes
ofCapandSing.Cap looked away amoment, taking in the trashed campsite, themysterious
footprint,andtheplasticbaginhishand,thenmetReed’seyesagain.“Thereisachanceyou’renotcrazy.”“Farfromit,”saidSing.SuddenlyReedhadonlyavaguememoryoffeelinghelplessanddespondent
in another time, another place.He could recall feeling like a liar even thoughhe’dnever lied,butnowhehad friendswhobelieved.Hismindbegan to turnoverlikeanoldcaroutofmothballs.“So...wereallydohavetwooccurrences,in two different places—No! Three attacks: Randy on Monday—we need toverifyfromArlenPeakjustwhenRandywentupthere.Didsomebodyaskhimthatalready?ThenBeckonMondaynight—andIcanplacethatatabout11:30.Nowwehavethisone,TedandMelanie...?”“Brooks,”saidSing.“Brooks.Okay,you’vegottheircontactinformation?”“Gotit.”“Cap,you’llstayintouch,right?”“I’llhavemycellphone,”heanswered,“oryoucan just leaveamessageat
thehouse.”
“Ifwe all stay in regular contact,we can swap any new information. Sing,whataboutyourmobilelab?Thinkwecanuseit?”“We’llheadhomeandIcanbringitinthemorning,”shereplied.Reed was actually thinking, and it felt good. “Load it up. We need your
computer,allyourforensicstuff,andlet’sgetabatchofGPStransceiverswithpeer-to-peerpositioning,oneforeachofus.”Singraisedaneyebrow.“WithsatellitefeedtoamasterconsoleonaPC?”Reedlikedthat.“That’llwork.”Singwroteitdown.Reedbegantofidgetandpace.“Theremightbeapatternhere,somethingwe
can extrapolate both directions, past and future.We’ve seen three attacks, buttherecouldhavebeenmore.”Hestoppedabruptly,afraidhewasgettingaheadofhimself.“Doesthatmakesense?”Capsmiled.“Justkeepgoing,Reed.You’redoingfine.”Heneededthat.“Okay.I’llgetonit.”Hetookoffforthecars.“Canyoudrop
mebytheCaveLaketrailheadtogetmycar?”SingandCapexchangedanarchedlookandfollowedcloseonhisheels.“You
gotit,”saidCap.“SheriffMills!”Reedsaid.Millswasfinishingup,tossinggarbagebagsintothetrunkofhiscar.“Yeah?”“Istheofficeopen?Ineedthecomputer.”Mills didn’t ask why. Something in Reed’s manner and tone must have
answered that question.He just smiled the faintest hint of a smile, dug in hispocket,andtossedReedthekey.
seven
Beckcouldn’tsleep.Lyingagainstthebeast’simmensebodyprovidedplentyofheat, but Beck’s slender rib cage, shoulders, and hips—not to mention herconstantlycomplainingankle—couldonlyendurethebumpy,rockygroundforaminute or two before she had towriggle, reposition, roll, curl, and search forsome otherway to get comfortable. The beastmust have been uncomfortabletoo.ShewassquirmingandrollingasmuchasBeckwas,whichgaveBeckonemoreconcerntokeepherawake:makingsurethebigfemaledidn’trollontopofher.Finally,onebriefmomentofsleepcamewhenthefemalelayonherback,her
forearmoverhereyes,andBeckfoundawaytolieagainstthatbigstomachwithherheadonthefemale’sbreast.Now,thatworked—Untilthebeastrolledandsatup,dumpingBeckontothegroundagain.“Oww!” A rock jabbed Beck in her rump, her elbow took a gouge from
anotherhard spot, and,ofcourse,heranklegavehera sharp reminder.Sittingthereontherocks,inthecoldlightofahalf-moon,Beckwhimpered.Anywhereelseitmayhaveseemedchildish,butouthere,whowouldfaulther?Certainlynottheape,whoseemedtobeignoringheranyway,lumberingovertoagroveof young firs and inspecting them, first one, then another, then another. Shetuggedattheirbranches,sniffedthem,yankedthemhardenoughtomaketheirbranchesquakeandtheirtopswhipabout.Shefoundaten-footersheliked.Withonehandandonelazy,apishmove,she
tore itoutof theground, lookedaround foragoodspot, and flopped itdown.Shethenprobedandpokedaroundinthegrovelikeawomanatayardsaleuntilshefoundanotheronesheliked.Withnoapparentstrain,shepluckeditupandlaid it next to the first. Starting at one end, she moved along, removing thebrancheswithdeft little twistsofherhands,andlaid thebranchessidebysideacrossthetwotreetrunks.Beck watched in amazement—this big ape was actually building a nest to
sleepon.Beckwonderedwhyithadtakenherhalfanightofsleepingonrockstothinkofit.Nowthebeastwasgatheringleafylimbsfromsurroundingundergrowthand
layingthemontopoftheframeworkshe’dmade,mashingthemdownwithher
hands. She was quite absorbed in her work, which presented Beck anopportunity sheknewwouldnot last long.Of course, judging from theurgentsignalsshewasgettingfromherbladderandbowels,shewouldnotneedlong.Thesquashedrollof toiletpaperBeckfoundinhercoatpocketwasnothing
short of manna from heaven. The two smooth logs, with a comfortable gapbetween them, lying inanenclosureofmapleand syringabushes,were likeatabernacleinthewilderness.Itwentwell.Itwasworthstayinguphalfthenightfor.Never,everinherlife
did she imagine herself doing such a thing, but now, as she began to unroll alengthoftoiletpaper,shebreathedaprayerofthanks.Theleavesrustledandshelookedup.Thebigfemalewaswatchingher,headcockedinfascination.Differentrules,Beckremindedherself.Differentrules!Thefemalecamerightin,pushingthroughthelimbsandleavesandsettlingin
frontofBecktoseehowthewholeprocessworked.Thetoiletpaperheldspecialfascinationforher.Shereachedouttentativelytotouchit.Beck tore off one little piece and gave it to her. She sniffed it, then put a
corneronhertongue.Unimpressed,shetriedtospititout.Itstucktohertongue,so she tried again, then finally rolled it off against her upper lip and blew itaway.Having completed her task, Beck quickly pocketed the roll, reassembled
herself,androsegingerly.Shehobbledoutoftheenclosure,hand-over-handingalongthelogs,expectingthefemalewouldfollowher.Butthefemaledidn’tfollowher.Beck turned,curious, justas thebushesopposite theenclosurequaked, then
parted,andthebiggrayfemaleandhersonburstheadlongintotheclearinglikechildrenaftertossedcandy.How?She’dhadnoideatheywerethere,noindication,and—AndapparentlyBeck’sfemalehadnotbeentheonlyonewatching!Beckwas
mortified,andevenmoresotoseehowfascinatedthesecreatureswerewithhermost recent accomplishment. They probed and sniffed. They were almostfightingoverit.SinceBeckwasontheirturf,andeventheyoungapeoutweighedheratleast
threetoone,shebackedoffandgavethemallthespacetheyneeded.Hopefully
theywouldlikewhateveritwastheywerelearning.Thenthejuvenile’seyesdartedelsewhere,hisattentioncutshortbyaneerie,
faraway whistle. The two females became alert and silent, heads erect, eyesshifting.Beckwasmorethanalert;sofar,whistleshadnotbroughtgoodnews.Fromsomewhereinthedark,farbeyondtheenclosure,ananimalwascalling,
firstinalowwhistleandtheninalow,gutturalrumblelikeboulderstumbling.Thegrayfemaleansweredinawhistleandthenalow-pitched,subduedmoan,
chinjutting,lipspursedinatightlittleO.Whenarumblingreplycameback,thethreeapeshuddled,grudgesapparentlyputonhold,eyessearchingbeyondtheenclosure,anticipatingsomethingastheygruntedandsnuffedateachother.For Beck, dread had become normal, changing only in degree. She peered
throughthetrees,side-glancingat theothersforanycluesaboutwhichwaytolook.Partofher,likeahopefulchild,wonderedifitmightbeateamofrescuerscometotakeherback,buttherestofherknewbetter.Theforestonthemountainsidewasbrokenintosmaller,strugglingclumpsof
stuntedfirsandpines:black,saw-toothedconesagainstamoon-washedsky.Asoft, distant rustling directed Beck’s attention to a black mass of trees thatswelledsidewaysuntilonetreeseparatedfromtheothers,walking,spreadinginsize as it approached.Beck perceived the shape of this new shadow from thestarsandskyvanishingbehindit:broad,lumberingshoulders;thickneck;high,crestedhead;hugearms,withhairlikeSpanishmoss.Likelittlekidscaughtinmischief,thefemalesandthejuvenilescurriedoutof
Beck’s makeshift outhouse, looking over their shoulders and panting littleexclamationstoeachother.Beck’sfemale,withtypicalsurprisingspeed,sweptBeckupinherarms,andBeck,intypicalfashion,rodealong,likeitornot.Theydoveintothestandofyoungfirsandsatonthefemale’snestasifthey’dallbuiltit, the other female overtly fascinated with her own fingernails; the juvenilecuddling up against his mother; and Beck’s female doting on Beck, firstdroppingheronto thenestas ifshecouldhandlebeingdropped, thennudgingher this way and that way as if to make Beck comfortable. Beck did notappreciatethepokingandprodding.Therewassomuchofit,itwassuretodrawthebigmale’sattention.The big newcomer sensed—most likely smelled—something outside of
normal before he even got there.He had beenmoving swiftly, silently, like aspirit through the broken forest and over the rocks, but now, just outside thegrove of firs, he moved one careful, exploratory step at a time, sniffing and
huffingsuspiciously,lookingaboutforwhateverwaswrong.Thishadtobethedaddy,alleightfeetofhim.Hewascoveredincoarseblack
hair;his facewasonebig scowl ina leatherymask, andBeckhadnever seensuchpiercingeyes, eachcornea reflecting themoon inadiamondof light.Hecarried a slain deer in his left arm, its head dangling on a broken neck.Preoccupied,hedroppedit.Beckknewwhatwaswrong—shewaswrong—butshehadn’tacluewhatto
doaboutit.Allshecoulddowascowerbehindtheredfemale’sbigframeand—That option vanished. Abruptly, the other female dropped facedown to the
ground,bowingonallfourswithherheadlow,rumblingandclickinghertongueinhomage.Beck’s female, as if remindedof hermanners, dove to thegroundanddidthesame.Theyoungone,becausehewasamale,orbecausehewasstilla juvenileandnotexpectedtoknowanybetter,didnotparticipateintheritualbutsatwherehewas,glancinginBeck’sdirectionasiftoguidethealphamaletothepropertarget.Beck,nowonopendisplay,hadneverfeltsocaught-and-in-troubleinherlife.
Her hand went unconsciously to her neck, as the images of both RandyThompsonandthedeaddeerflashedthroughhermind.And shewas in trouble. Themale leaped backward in shock, eyeswide, a
raspy huff gushing from his throat and his hair bristling on end.With steamybreath rushing through his nostrils, he glared at Beck and then at the twofemales,musclestense,teethbared.HethinksI’mathreat!Learning—fast—fromtheothertwofemales,Beckfloppedtothegroundand
bowed.Thethingdidn’tmove.Afterthreeorfourseconds,Beckwasstillalive.The other female moved aside and enfolded her son, leaving the big red
femaletoexplain.Beck’sfemalerosetoherkneesandreachedforBeck—Themaleshotforward, tookthefemalebythescruffof theneck,andthrew
herintoarowofyoungfirs,bendingthemoverlikefieldgrass.Shescreamed,armscoveringherface,whiteteethglintinginthemoonlight,asshesliddownthebenttrunks—Hegrabbedherbeforeshereachedthegroundandthrewheragain,thistime
into a larger tree that shuddered as she bounced off its furrowed trunk and
thuddedtotheground.Shecriedinpain.Beckdidn’thavetothinklongorhard.Therewasabsolutelynosafetyhere,
nohopeofliving.Shepushedherselffromthegroundandhobbledandhoppedoutofthegrove,draggingonefootwhileshejumpedwiththeother,fleeingfromonebranchtoanother,stumblingfromtrunktotrunk,gropingforanythingthatwould bear her up and keep her moving. She could still hear the femalescreamingandthealphamaleroaring;sheheardtheblowsandfelt thegroundshake. Itdidn’tmatter thatshehadno ideawhereshewas; theonly thing thatmatteredwas being elsewhere, anywhere but here. She pulled herself, pushedherself,countingtheinches,desperatefordistance.The screaming stopped. Beck could easily imagine the big female’s head
nearly twisted off, her tongue hanging, her eyes rolling. So much for Beck’sprotector. Their strange, unnatural interlude was over, leaving Beck lost andunwelcome in a scratching, entangling, tripping darkness with nowhere to gothatwasanywhere.She fell against a tree—she didn’t find it; it found her, and it hurt. She
remainedstill,justbreathing,waitingforthepaininherankletosubsideenoughforhertotakeonemorestep.Now that shewas quiet, she realized that thewoodswere not. Somewhere
behindhercameacrashing,acrackling,andthethuddingofheavyfootfalls.“N-n-n-no . . . no . . .” She forced herself onward, tripped over a log, and
rolledamongfallenbranches,clenchingherteethtostifleascream.Shereached,groped, tried to sit up and get her legs under her. Her good leg moved. Thesprained one was stuck and punished her severely for pulling. She pulledanywayandcouldn’thelpawhimperofpain.Shewasfree.The thingwas coming closer,moving through the tanglewith unbelievable
speed.RandyThompson.Thiswashowitwasforhim!She tried to climb the tree but found no handholds. She lunged forward,
leapingonheronegoodleg,gropingforanybranch,anytreetrunk—Huge hairy arms grabbed her around her middle and jerked her backward,
knocking thewind out of her. She screamed, she kicked, she tried towrigglefree.Thearmswerelikeiron.
Willard,Idaho,wasalooselyarranged,quietlittletownofredbrickstorefronts,
older farmhouses on hillsides, and scatteredmodular homes onweedy lots. Itwas likemany in Idaho, built in a daywhen timber andminingwere sure tomakemoneyandfolksthoughttherewouldbesomepointinlivingthere.Todayit survived as the Whitcomb County seat with a proud, pillared courthouse.Down this old building’s tight corridors and behind its many doors with thefrostedwindowswereall theentities thatheld thecounty together: thedistrictcourt and judge, the prosecuting attorney, the county commissioners, PlanningandZoning,DisasterServices,CountyAssessor,SocialServices,andonandon,enoughtofillthebuildingdirectoryonthewalljustinsidethefrontdoor.If someonewished to find the county sheriff, the directorywould send that
personnextdoortothenewerbuildingmeanttoserveasanexpansionoftheoldone. This building was white concrete block, one story, plain and practical,intendedforaspecificpurpose,whichwas tohouse thecountysheriff’sofficeand the county jail. Inside the front doorwas a reception counter; behind thatwerefourdesks,afairlyneatoneforthesecretaryandthreegenerallyclutteredones for the deputies; to the rightwas Sheriff PatrickMills’s private office, aseparate room with a door he usually kept open. To the left and through anarchway was the examining station for driver’s licenses, complete with twotestingbooths,aneyechart,acamera,and twogreenfootprintspaintedon thefloortoshowtheapplicantwheretostandforhisorherphoto.In a corner behind the counter and past the four desks was the computer
station. There were other computers in the building, but this was the“department”computer,theonestrictlydevotedtolawenforcement,availabletoanymemberof the staff for theperformanceofhis orherduty.Somemonthsago,aflightsimulatorandacommandogamehadcroppedupinacodedfolderon the computer’s desktop, but these were not openly discussed and onlydiscreetlyused.Rightnow,witheveryonegonebutthenightjailerandallcallsforwardedto
thecentraldispatcher,Reedsatatthecomputerinthelightofasingledesklamp,theblueglow from themonitoronhis face, anoverlappedclutterofwindowsand boxes on the screen. He was tapping and clicking his way through themultiple levels and links of the National Center for the Analysis of ViolentCrime, a networking tool used by law-enforcement agencies all around thecountryintrackingcriminalsandsharinginvestigativeinformation.Theprogramhadsubgroupsfordifferentcategoriesofcrime,regionsofthecountry,andtypesof criminals, with subgroups under those, and side links from those. Sifting
downwardthroughallthelevelscouldhavebeentoughforsomeonewhohadn’tslept in more than twenty-four hours, but Reed knew what he was after andpushedawaysleepashepushedthroughtheprogram.MaybeJimmyandtheothers—includingbigmouthKanefromMissoula—did
knowthewoodsandhadgoodreasonfortheiropinions.TheywereoutdoorsmenandReedwasacop;somaybeReedwasalittleoutofhisrealmofcompetence.He tapped the keys, hammered the backspace and tried again, clicking the
mouse.Butthenagain,maybetheydidn’tknoweverything,andmaybehedidknow
something.Juststandingaroundandlettingthemtellhimwhat to thinkwasn’tgoingtoresolvethequestion,norwasitgoingtoexpeditetheprocess.Enoughof that.Reedhadabrainandskillsofhisown.Hewasgoing todocopstuff,whateverittooktofindBeck.Was there a pattern?Whatever this beast was, had it attacked anyone else,
anywhere else? If so,when?Where had it come from, andwhichwaywas itgoing?Wasthereanythingmoretheycouldfindoutaboutit?Reedfinallyclickedhiswayintoasubgroupthatlinkedandcomparedknown
homicideswithunexplaineddeaths,aprogramintendedtohelplawenforcementdetect homicides that may not have been recognized as such. In a few moremouseclicks,henarrowedthetimeframedowntothelasttwoweeks,andtheregiontohisownandthethreeneighboringcounties.Thepickingswereslim:ahit-and-runoutsidea tavern,anda loggingaccident.The tavernwas far to thewest,inanothercounty,andtookplaceaweekago.Theloggingaccident...Reed read the entry again, carefully noted the location, and then checked a
map.Ooookayyy. He clicked, nearly banged, the “print” command and then
fidgeted while the paper slowly rolled out of the printer. By the time it hadfinished,hehadhiscoaton.Withtheprintoutinhishand,heturnedoffthelampandgotoutofthere.Withaslightlygentlerdropthanthelasttime,Becklandedbackonthenestinthegrove, limpanddespondent.She’dgivenup trying tounderstand.Thebigredfemale,movingstifflyfromherownbruises,hadbroughtherbackandnowhunchedoverher,nudging,stroking,fussing.Beckgruntedandpushedherhandaway.I’mgoingtodieanyway,thanksto
you.What’slefttofussabout?Hereyewasonthealphamaleashesharedthedeaddeerwiththeothertwo
justoutside thegrove.Heslurpedblood, ripped flesh fromhide, tore themeatwithhisteethandhands,andchewed,hismouthandchinbloodied.Helookedher way only once as he chewed, just long and intensely enough to send amessageofloathing,makingsuresheknewshedidn’tbelong.Afterthat,foraslongasBeckwatchedhim,hepaidhernomind;hejustkepteating.Becklookedaway.Maybethatwastheendofit.Maybefornow,hercaptor
“mother”hadgottenherwayandthemalehadrelented—grudgingly,ofcourse.Buthe’dsenthismessageloudandclear.Allthingsconsidered,thisshouldbebearable.Itbeatbeingthrownagainsta
treeorhavingherheadrippedoff.Beckglancedatherachingfeetandtherecentscratchesonherhandsfromallthosedry,pricklybranchesinthedark.Thiswastheworstthathadhappenedtoher.Shewasaliveforonemoremoment,maybeonemorenight.Sheshouldbeglad.Shebrokedownandcried.Thebigfemalesankontothenestbesideherwithaquietgroanandpulledher
in close, an act of affection that onlyworsenedBeck’s despair. Beckwas tooupsettosayit;shecouldonlythinkit:Whycan’tyoujustletmego?Thebeastgotamessage—thewrongmessage.Sheimmediatelyextendedher
handtowardtheothersandpiggrunted.Theyignoredher,soshegruntedmoreinsistently,rockingbackandforth.Themale finally looked herway as if doing her onemore additional, very
troublesomefavor,thenregardedwhatwasleftofthedeer.Withindifference,hetookholdof theheadinonehandandtheshoulder intheother,andwrenchedthe head and neck from the body.When the female grunted imploringly onemoretime,hetossedittoher.Itfloppedatherfeet,throwingblood.Shepickeditup,obviouslygladtoget
it.Withslow,lazy-fingereddeliberation,sheturneditoverandover,sniffingandstudyingasifshe’dneverseenonebefore,andthen,breakingthejawopen,sheyankedoutthetongueandbittheendoff.Beck looked the other way, feeling sick. How could God create such
creatures?Andevenworse,howcouldHe throwher inwith them?Sheneveraskedforthis.Shewouldn’thavebeenabletoconceivesuchahorrortoaskfor.Thefemalegruntedandnudgedher.Shewincedandwouldnotturnherhead.
Thefemalenudgedheragain,grunting,andBeckventuredatimidlookwithoneeye.Theapewasofferingherastringofmeat.Beckcouldn’t recognizewhere it
had come from, which was a good thing. She shook her head, her mouthclampedshut.The ladydangled themeat infrontofherfaceandwiggled itso it thumped
against her lips. It remindedBeckofwhen she tried to feedworms to a babyrobin.Therobinwouldn’teatandsoondied.Thump! The meat hit her face again. Beck reached up and took it as the
femaleintensely,relentlesslywatched.It’sastripofbacon,Becktoldherself.It’slikesushi.It’srackoflambwithout
therack,reallyrare.It’ssteakontheplatterrightbeforethebarbecue.Buildinguptothemoment,Beckputtheslightesttipofthemeatbetweenher
teeth and nipped it off. As she pressed it against her tongue, the flavor camethrough,andreally,itwasn’thalfbad.Itwasrawandtastedalittle“wild,”butitwasmeat.Alittlesaltwouldhavehelped,shesupposed,but...Shebitoffanotherpieceandcheweditslowlyononesideofhermouthand
then theother.Sheswallowed it,and then,ofall things,shewondered if theremightbemore.Shewashungry.Herfemalecaptorwasstillworkingonthetonguebutfoundanicestripfrom
thebackoftheneckandbititofftogivetoher.I’meating,Beckthought.Thatwasnothingunusualinitself,butittaxedher
sanity to think she was taking part in this meal, in this setting, with thesecreatures. They were bloody, fearsome carnivores who were sharing a deer’sheadwithher,butshewaseatingit.Theyhadbloodandgreaseontheirfingers,but so did she. They were disgusting to watch, but she was gaining anappreciationforhowhungercouldsupplantpoliteness;shecouldrelate—sortof.The female handed her another strip of flesh, and Beck received it gladly,
chewing it down. That seemed to please the beast. She reached down andfingeredthefringesonBeck’sbrownbuckskincoat.Thenwithherindexfinger,shehookedandtwirledastrandofBeck’sreddish-brownhair.Beckdaredtotakeholdofthehandandgiveitafurtivestroke,anactionshe
knewworkedondogs,cats,andhorses.Itcommunicated.Theladygaveagrunt,thenanother.Thetonewasn’tangry,
butseemedcomforting.
Beckcouldn’tspeakit,butthebigredlady—andherhot-temperedgrayrival—reminded Beck of Rachel and Leah, Jacob’s two wives in the Bible. Leahcouldbearchildren,butRachelcouldnot.Beckdidn’tknowifthatwasthecasehere,butshefeltsorryfortheredladyanyway.Shegavethehandalittlepatandlookedupintothatquizzical,leatheryface.“R-roo-Rachel.”“Hmmph,”Rachelreplied,rotatingthedeer’sheadinsearchofanotherbite.Beckwatched the otherswhowere still eating,wolfing down the heart and
liver and gnawing on the ribs. She’dmade their acquaintance, she realized—they’d sniffed and studied her excreta and she’d eaten from their deer’s head.Namingthemwouldbeappropriate.Theotherfemale’snamewouldhavetobeLeah,thebiblicalRachel’srivalforthefavorandattentionof...Jacob.Andthebrat?Well,thebiblicalJacob’sfirstbornsonwasnamedReuben.Itwasdifficulttogiveanameshelikedtoacreatureshedidn’tlike,butitwouldhavetodo.Asforwhatthesecreatureswere,thetimehadcometosettleonthataswell.
Likemost anyone else, Beck had heard some snippets of the Bigfoot legend;she’dheard someof the stories, seenaposter for aSasquatchmonstermovie,even recalled seeing Bigfoot as a cartoon character. In close-up reality, thesecreatureswere so different from their legend that itwas difficult to relate thetwo,butlegendandmythweren’tdifficulttodiscardwhensharingamealwiththerealthing.ThesewereSasquatches—realones.BeckacceptedanotherstringofvenisonfromRachel’shandandchewedonit
thoughtfully, feeling just a little more oriented now that she’d named andidentifiedeverybody.Thegroupalmostfeltlikeabig,hairyfamily,notentirelydysfunctional,buthavingsomeissues,tobesure,andBeckwasoneofthem.Hadshebeenobservingall this fromherownlittleworldathome, itwould
havebeenentirelytoobizarre.Wednesdaymorning, JimmyClark stoodbeside the sorry, splinteredcabinandtooka360-degreelookaroundtheravine,noddingtohimself.“Yeah.He’soutthere,andwe’regonnabringhimin.”Heunknottedthetopoftheblackplasticgarbage bag he’d brought all the way up the trail from Abney and let thecontents—fourdozenday-olddoughnuts—rumbleand tumble into thebottomofasawed-offsteeldrum.“Okay,let’smixinthescraps.”ThatwasSteveThorne’s job.He, Jimmy, andWileyKanehad tossed coins
that morning, and Steve was the odd man. That gave him the privilege ofpacking in the bacon grease, kitchen scraps, and dish scrapings from ArlenPeak’s café, sealed inside a five-gallonplasticpicklebucket.Stevepoured themixtureinwiththedoughnuts.Jimmyspoketotheforest,“Okay,bigguy,comeandgetit!”“Sowhatnow?”KaneaskedwhileStevetrottedinsearchofbreathableair.Jimmypointedup thehill to a spotnot far fromwhereReedandBeckhad
campedthatfirsthorriblenight.“Aslongastheair’smovingupthedraw,youtakethatledge.It’llmakeagoodblind,andtheangleoughttogiveyouaclearshotthroughtheheartandlungs.Whennightcomesandthingscooldown...”Hepointedtoanotherhighspotdowntheravinefromthecabin.“I’dsetupinthereandbreakoutthenightscope.”Thorneasked,“Aren’twegonnagetrelieved?”Jimmywasn’thappyabouthisanswer.“Someof theguyshavegonehome.
I’vegotfourhunters left tomanthebearstands,andthesheriffhaswhoever’sleftgoingwiththetrackers.”Kaneventured,“Itwouldn’thaveanything todowithall that ‘Bigfoot’ talk,
wouldit?”“Whatdoyouthink?Nomanwithbetterthingstodowantstobeouthereday
andnightonasnipehunt,andsomeofthemthinkthat’swhatthisis.”“Shouldhavebroughtabooktoread,”Thornemuttered.“Well,theothertwoarenobetteroff—no,they’reworseoff.Thatcampsite’s
onlevelground,sotheyhavetositupinatreealldayandallnight,justthetwoofthem.”“Well,allthemorebearforusfour,”saidKane.“Ifthesearchcrewsdon’tscarethethingoff.”Jimmyshookhishead.“Well,
that’snoneofyourconcern.Taketurnsrelievingeachotherandsleepwhenyoucan.You’vegotyourradios.Checkineveryeven-numberedhour.”Peteandhiswhittled-downcrewworkedtheirwayslowlyupthedrainagefromthesiteoflastnight’scampraid,somewhatrefreshedfromashortnight’ssleepbutnotencouragedbytoday’sprogress.They did have a plan: Joanie and Chris, with two armed searchers, were
workingtheareaabovewheretheyfoundthebackpack,hopingtopickupatrailagain.Peteandhiscrewweretrackingbackwardsfromthecampsite,hopingto
meetupwiththemcomingtheotherway.Ifitworked,thetwoteamswouldhavecoveredthecreature’strailfromthefirstlocationtothesecond.ItwasalongthattrailthattheyhopedtofindwhateverremainedofBeckShelton.Buttheplanwasn’tcomingtogether.Someofthehuntershadbowedout—for
no good reason, as far as Pete was concerned— and because of the apparentdanger and SheriffMills’s order to carry firearms, the searchers whoweren’tcomfortablewithweaponshadtostanddown.Don,oneofhiskeyflankers,hadcalledearlythatmorningtoexpresshisdisinterestintracking“Indianlegends”andtotellPetethathewasstayinghome.Medicalpersonnelwereonstandby.That leftTyler tohelpwith the tracking,onesearcher—Benny—tokeepan
eye out for any signs of Beck, and only one designated hunter, the bald guynamedMax Johnson. Both Pete and Tyler had to carry rifles on their backs,which were becoming a real nuisance during the bending, crawling, andcrouchingthattrackingrequired.Ontopofallthat,thetrailofthiscreature,whateveritwas,wasunpredictable
andrambling,cuttingthroughthickserviceberry,syringa,andbrackenfernthatcluttered and confused everything.Sometimes the trail joinedwith establishedgame trails,where itbecameobliteratedbyelkanddeerprints.Unlikehoofedanimals,thiscreaturemovedaboutonsoft,paddedfeetthatleftlittledisturbanceandnoclawmarks.Anoccasional impression insoftsoilhelped,but trying tofindthenexttrack,andthenthenext,andthenthenext,inconstantlychangingenvironments,wasexhausting.Thesearcherswerefeelingittoo.Petecouldtellbytheirconversationinthe
treesjustafewyardsdownhill.“Can’ttheymakethishillanysteeper?”Bennyasked,puffingalittle.“Ihopewedon’thavetogocleartothetop,”saidMax.“Imean,justbetween
youandme,we’renevergoingtofindher.She’stablescrapsbynow.”“Sowhataboutthebear?HowareFishandGamegoingtobagthatthingif
we’reupherechasingitoff?”Petewaswearingout from the trackingandwearing thin from thewhining.
“Gentlemen,let’skeepthenoisetoaminimum,shallwe?”Beckdidn’trealizeshewasasleepuntilRachelstirred,rolled,andwokeherup.At first Beck groped for that same comfortable spot onRachel’s belly so shecould rest her head there, but daylight hit her eyes and she realized it wasmidmorning.SheandRachelhadsleptquiteawhile,consideringtheywereon
thegroundagainandhavingtocopewithrocks,bumps,andalimitedmenuofnot-quite-comfortablepositions.Afewfeetaway,therestofthefamilylayfastasleeponRachel’snest,awkwardlyentangledbutclearlycomfortable,enjoyingthefruitsofherlabor.Rachelrolledagain,thensatup,alert,silent,sniffingtheairandlistening.From the hairy, leggy mass on the nest, Jacob raised his head, eyes stern,
nostrils flaring as he sampled the air. Whatever was bothering Rachel wasbotheringhim.Maxsaidsomethingfunny,andBennystartedlaughing.Petestraightenedup,notwantingtobeababysitter.“Tyler,perhapsyoucan
cluetheseguysin?”Tylerfadedbacktohaveawordwiththem.
Jacob rolled off the nest with liquid grace, his hands and feet contacting treetrunks,branches,andthegroundwithasilent,cushionedsureness,bearinghimthroughspaceasifheweighednothing.Remainingcrouchedintheshadowsofthegrove,hepeereddowntheslope,nostrilsstillsampling.Rachelhad foundherown littlewindowthrough the firs to theoutside.She
crouched in that spot, riveted towhateverwas happening below.Beck copiedher,findinganothergapinthebranches.Was that a voice she heard in the valley? It could have been a coyote, or
maybeabird.Ormaybeahuman.
Bennyslippedonasmoothlogandfellover,holleringashewentdown.Whoosh!Uptheslope,adozenfinchesflutteredoutofatree.
Becksawbirdsflyingjustabovethetreesinthevalleybelow.Sothat’swhatitwas.Unlesssomethingelsehadscaredthem.Jacobdidn’tmakeasound,nordidhemovefromwherehewascrouching;he
only turned and,with long and powerful arms, reached and yankedLeah andReuben off the nest and slapped the sleep out of them. Leah muttered andReubenwhined,buttheirfirstfocusedlookatJacob’sfacestungthemsilent.Leah squatted, andReuben leaped upon her back. She rose to her feet and
followedJacobstealthily,hurriedly,outofthegrove.Beckwasn’treadyto leave,notatall.Shepushedforwardthroughthe trees
forabetterviewofthevalley.Rachel, seeing shewas left behind,was so alarmed she couldn’t remember
how topickBeckup.With a sudden lurch that knockedBeck’swindout, shegrabbedBeckfrombehindandsnatchedheroutofthetrees.Beckwantedtoscreambutstruggledtobreathefirst.Rachelhadheraround
thehipsinsteadofhertorso,andBeck,despiteafranticefforttoremainupright,flipped over, head down, her legs kicking in Rachel’s face. Rachel let go ofBeck’ships tograbonekicking leg, fumbled that leg inher effort tograb theother,andfinallydroppedBeckaltogether.BecklandedinRachel’snestandrolledrightsideup,herstomachreelingasif
someonehadpunchedit.Shadowsofablackoutcloudedhervision.Rachel,youklutz!Rachelbegantowhine,rotatingandstampinginoneplace,flustered.Beck finally found a precious breath, then another. Not wanting to die of
manhandling, she waited until Rachel turned her back toward her, then shegrabbedonto fistfulsofhairandpulledherselfup,pushingwithhergood leg,untilshecouldgetherarmsaroundRachel’sneckasshe’dseenReubendo.Rachelfinallyquitstampingandturningandboltedoutofthegrove,racingto
catchupwiththeothers.HadBeckheardahumanvoiceinthevalley?Wonderingaboutitwoulddrive
hercrazy.By now, Pete’s crew hadmade enough noise to alert every creature on the
mountainside.Petepausedtobreathe,torestandcalmhimself.Tyleroffered,“Well,it’snotlikewe’reactuallyhunting...”Peteresponded,“Nottoday,wearen’t.”
WhenSingreturnedwithhermobilelab—athirty-footmotorhomeoutfittedforremoteforensicandcrime-scenework—shedidn’tdrivetoAbney.ReedcaughtheronhercellphonewhileshewasstillenroutefromSpokaneandgaveheranew place to rendezvous: behind the Chapel of Peace funeral home in ThreeRivers,alumbertownaboutthirtymilesofwindinghighwaytothenorthwestofAbney,justoutsidethenationalforest.Thesidetriptookheranextrahourandahalf.ShearrivedinThreeRiversjustasthewhistleatthesawmillsignaledtheend
of lunchbreak.Shedrovepast the big yardwhere sprinklers sprayed acres ofstacked logs,and thesweetsmellofsawdustcame through theRV’sairvents.
ThefuneralhomewasrightwhereReedsaiditwouldbe,onthemaindrag,oneblock down from the grade school and kitty-corner from the Three RiversGroceryandLaundromat.Itwasanattractive,cedar-sidedstructurewithashakeroof,stained-glasswindows,tallfirsallaround,andadecorativetotempoleoutfront,obviouslycarvedbyawhiteman.“Turn inwhereyousee thebrownhearse,”Reedhad toldher.Sheswunga
wide,easyturnintotheparkinglot,coastedpastthehearse,andcametoastopattheendofalongrowmarkedontheblacktopwithwhitepaint:FAMILY.Hadtherebeenafuneral,shewouldhavebeenfirstintheprocession.WhensheswungtheRVdooropen,Reedwasstandingrighttherewaitingfor
her, farmoreawake thanheshouldhavebeen.Shecouldn’t imagine thathe’dsleptmuch,buthehadobviouslyshowered,shaved,andgottenintohisuniform.HecarriedaForestServicemapinhishandandsomebig,excitingnotioninhiseyes.“Sing!You’vegottotakealookatthisguy!”Shelookedaround.“Whatguy?”Reedwasalreadywalking.Singassumedshewassupposedtofollow,andshe
did.Theywereheadingfortherearentrance.“AllenArnold.Hewasaloggingforemanworkingaclear-cutupRoad27offHighway9.”ReedunfoldedthemapandstoppedsoabruptlySingalmostranintohim.“Lookatthis.”Shelookedashepointed.“Okay. Here’s Three Rivers. Now here’s Abney, right in themiddle of the
nationalforest,aboutthirty,thirty-fivemilessoutheastofhere.Here’stheAbneytrail up to the cabin, here’s Lost Creek, and here’s about where the cabin is.Now:Here’sKamayah,andhere’sthelocationoftheyoungcouple’scampsite.”Sing easily followed the marks Reed had made on the map. “Right. The
campsiteisaboutsixmilessoutheastofAbney.”“Socheckthisout.”Reedtracedalinewithhisfinger,movingnorthwestfrom
thecampsiteattack, through thecabinattack, and toanXhe’dmarkednearasquiggly, dashed line labeled 27. “Start at the campsite above Kamayah, gonorthwest ten miles, and you’ve got the cabin at Lost Creek. From there, goanothereightmilesnorthwestandyou’vegottheloggingoperationwhereAllenArnoldwasfounddead—Mondaymorning.”Singstudiedthemap,tracingthelinetheotherdirection.“Mondaymorning,”
Sing said, “Allen Arnold the logger is found dead . . . about sixteen milessoutheast of here.Monday afternoon, by our best guess, Randy Thompson is
killed at the cabin on Lost Creek, about twenty-four miles southeast of here.Mondaynightinthesameplace,Beckisattacked...”Reed jumped in, “Tuesday night, the campers get raided another ten miles
southeast.Whatdoyouthink?”Sing cocked an eyebrow and nodded, impressed. “IsMr. Arnold inside the
funeralhome?”“Heis.”“ThenIthinkwe’dbetterseehim.”
Cap watched, smiling but impatient, as the brown capuchin— commonlyrecognized as an “organ grinder’s monkey”—ran after the rubber baton andbroughtitbacktoNickClaybuckle,thetrainer,orrather,theresearcher.“Good boy,”Nick exclaimed in a pet lover’s tone of voice, handing him a
grapethroughthebarsofthecage.“That’smySparky!”Thelittlemonkeygobbledthegrapedown,shootinglittlesideglancesathis
cagemate,amaleofsimilarsize,age,andappearance.“Nowwatchthis,”NicksaidoverhisshouldertoCap.Hesaidtothesecondcapuchin,“Okay,Cyrus,gogetit!Gogetit!”Hetossed
thebatontothefarendofthecage.Cyrus satonhishaunches,hiseyes shiftingunhappily fromNick toSparky
andbackagain.Nickheldoutasliceofcucumberasan incentive.“Bringme thebatonand
yougetacucumber!”Cyrusturned,walkedaway,andsatagainstthewall,pouting.Nick looked at Cap, sharing the landmark moment. “Do you see that, Dr.
Capella? Inequityaversion,pureand simple!”He straightened,beamingat theresults,andgrabbedhisclipboardtojotsomenotes.“Youknowhowit iswithcapuchins. Cucumbers are, ehhh, okay, but grapes, wow, they’re to die for!Cyrus’lltradethebatonforacucumberifSparkygetsacucumber,butifSparkygetsagrape,hey,Nofair.I’mnotplaying!”Nick,rotundandbespectacled,wouldhavemadeagreatnerdinhighschool.
Cometothinkofit,hemadeagreatnerdasagraduatestudent.Capsmiledandhinted,“ShouldIhavebroughtagrape?”“Huh?”Hecaughton.“Oh,sorry.Iwasjust,youknow,theexperiment,Iwas
reallyintoit.Yeah,Iturnedinyoursamples.”
“And?”Nickcasuallyscannedtheroom,hisfingersdrumminghisclipboard.Halfway
down the row of cages, within earshot, a young female undergraduate wasobservinghowacapuchinreactedtoitsreflectioninamirror.Nickwhispered, “Um, that’sCarol. She’s doing a perception analysis—you
know,cognitiveprocessingofnontypicalsensoryinputs.”Capwhispered,“So?”“Doessheknowyou?”Capstoleanotherlook.“Idon’tbelieveso.”“Eh,let’swalkaroundanyway.”TheyturnedandwalkedcasuallyoutofPrimateLab1,wentonedoordown
the hall, and peeked into PrimateLab 2.This roomwas like the other—long,clean, andwell lit,with a bankof cages along each side.These cages housedrhesus monkeys, some playing, some sleeping, some just staring through thebars.Therewerenohumansintheroomatthetime,soNicksteppedinsideandCapfollowed.When thedoorclickedshut,Nick tookaCDfromhispocketandhanded it
over.“Thebottomlineistheresultscamebackinconclusive.”Capwinced.“Thatwasquick.”“No, no, I think the lab really did the sequencing, but the sample was
contaminated.”“Oh,comeon!Ibroughtawholetruckloadofhairsamples.Therewouldhave
beenmorethanenoughDNApresent—nottomentionthePCRamplification.”“Hey,I’mabehaviorist.AllIknowiswhattheytoldme.”“Well,canIgetthesamplesback?”“Theytossed’em.”Capwasincredulous.“Hey,Dr.Capella,comeon, that’s
whattheydo!”“I told you I wanted the surplus returned. Don’t you ever listen? No. You
don’t.That’swhyIalmostflunkedyou.”“Hey,IwashavingproblemswithMaribethbackthen.Yourememberthat.”“Soisthatyourproblemnow,yourlovelife?”Nickbrightened at thevery thought of it. “Aw,no, it’s just great. It’sSusie
Barton,rememberher?She—”
“Didyoutellthemthesamplescamefromme?”Nickhadtoreturntothisworld.“Well,yeah—”“Nick!”“Theyaskedme.WhatwasIsupposedtodo,lie?”ThatcooledCap’sjets.“No.No,don’tstartdoingthat.There’senoughofthat
aroundhere.”Nick’s faceheld that same imploring lookCapused to see inbiologyclass,
rightaroundmidterms.“Listen,Dr.Capella,itwasprimatepoop.Noquestion.Ioughttoknow.Igotmybachelor’scleaningoutthemonkeycages.Iknowmypoop.”“That’squiteadistinction,Nick.”“Proudofit.”Capsoftened,smiled,andpattedhimonthearm.“Ioweyouone.”“Eh, you did a lot for me, Doc. I wouldn’t have gotten into the graduate
programwithoutyou.Hey.Thedroppingswerediarrhetic.Didyounoticethat?”“Yes.”“Yourapewastickedoffaboutsomething.”“Hehasabitofatemper.”“Whatareyouworkingon,anyway?”Cappattedhimontheshoulder.“Ineedyoutohelpmefindout.”Heturnedto
leave.“AreyouspyingonBurkhardt?”ThatmadeCapstopandturn.“ShouldIbe?”“Well,somebodyoughttodosomething.Idon’tlikehavingtocutbackwhen
he’s—”Heshruggeditoff—poorly.“Aw,nevermind.”“Nevermindwhat?”Nickbackedawaywithaheadshakeofregret.“Nothing.Really.Imean,with
allduerespect,sir,ifyou’regoingtomakeabunchofwavesagain,Idon’twanttogetsuckedintoit.I’vegotanicejobhere.”Capcracked thedoorand looked tobesureno formerassociateswouldsee
him.“Well,Ican’ttellalieeither,andyoudeservetoknow:therearegoingtobesomewaves.”
eight
“Mr. Arnold was well respected in the community, and certainly he had noenemies. I had no reason to suspect any foul play, but of course I had to becurious.”MiltonTidewaterwasanamiable,oldergentleman,soft-spoken,highlycordial,wellsuited tohisprofession.Amanofproperprocedure,he’dalreadyput on his green apron and surgical gloves before opening the cold, walk-instoragelocker.ThefirstthingReedandSingsawwerethesolesofMr.Arnold’sfeet,jutting
fromunderawhitesheetonawheeledworktable.“Oh,dear,”saidTidewater,readjustingthesheet,“Iamsorry,Mr.Arnold.”He
saidtoReed,“Couldyoutakethatside?”ReedgaveTidewaterahandrollingthetableoutintotheworkroom.“Mrs.Capella,youmayhelpyourself toMrs.Tidewater’sapronandgloves,
rightoverthere.”Singtookasecondgreenapronfromawallhookandputiton.Shefounda
boxofsurgicalgloves,sizesmall,exactlyoneinchfrom,andparallelto,aboxofgloves,sizelarge,ontheshelfabovetheworkcounter.Tidewatercarefully,respectfullyremovedthesheetfromMr.Arnold,foldby
neatfold,revealingtheremains.“Now,youunderstandthatI’vealreadybegunsomerestoration,soyou’llhavetoallowforthat.Justimaginewhatheusedtolooklike,rightaftertheaccident.”Reeddidn’thave todoa lotof imagining. Itwasagood thing thisguywas
goingtobewearingasuitandtie.“How’dthishappen?”“Astackoflogsrolledontopofhim,justpiledontopofhimlikejackstraws.
Ittookhiscrewseveralhourstouncoverhim.Ofcourse,hewaslongdead.”Singspokequietly,commentingassheobserved.“Puncturesand lacerations
allalong the frontof thebody.Bitsofbarkandpineneedlesembedded in theskin.”Shetookholdoftheleftarmandlifteditgently.Theupperarmbentasifitweremadeofrubber.“Fractureofthehumerus.”“You’llfindplentyoffractures,”saidTidewater.Sing rotated thearm for a closerviewof somepuncturewounds. “Whatdo
youthinkcausedthese?”“Sharp rocks on the ground?Perhaps the jagged stumps of branches on the
logs.”“Uh-huh.Anyevidenceofbleeding?”“Ohyes.Certainly.”“What about these other injuries, these lacerations from the logs? Any
evidenceofbleedingbeforeyoucleanedthemup?”Tidewaterwasstruckbyhisownanswer.“Um,nowthatyouask,no,Idon’t
thinkso.Thebloodwascongealedforthemostpart.”Sing looked closely at a gouge on the left chest. “I don’t see any bruising
either.”“No,it’salittlesurprising.”“Whataboutthelividityonhisfrontside?”“Hmm?”“Well,theinjuriestellmehewasfaceupwhenthelogsfellonhim.Wasthat
thecase?”Tidewaterfumbled.“Um...Ibelievehewasfaceup,yes.”Singgrabbedhercamera.“Isitokayifwe...?”“Oh,certainly,”saidTidewater.ShehandedthecameratoReed,whostartedsnappingpictures,followingSing
as sheworked herway around the body.His first shotswere of the puncturewoundsontheleftarm.Singpresseddownontheribcagewithbothhands.Itsankeasilybeneaththe
pressure.“Ribcageisflailed.”Shepressedonthehipsandmadeapainfulface.“Iliacwingsareentirelymobile!Thepelvisiscrushed!”Tidewaterwaggedhishead.“Oh,youdon’tknowthehalfofit.Ittookhours
toreshapehim,andtherigormortiscertainlydidn’thelp.Thesuitwillcoveralot of it, of course. But the neck—that hasme a little puzzled, especially thebruising.Whatdoyoumakeofit?”SingstoodattheheadofthetableandgentlycradledMr.Arnold’sheadinher
hands.She tilted thehead thiswayand that, observing theneck.Shepulled alittle,andtheneckstretched.Sherotatedtheheadtoonesideandtheneckdidn’tresist;itjustwentsquish.“Iseewhatyoumean.”
“I’veseensomebrokennecks,butnothinglikethis.”Sing felt along the neck, pinching, pressing, twisting. “No. It’s a severe
subluxation,aseparationatthefirstandsecondcervicalvertebrae.Iwouldguessthis hemorrhaging all around the neck is due to the vertebral arteries beingsevered.”Herprofessionaldemeanorweakenedasfearcreptintohereyes.Reedwonderedwhat itmeant.Sheblinked the expression awayand continued, “Ofcourse,thespinalcordwouldhavetobeseveredaswell.“Diffuse,circumferentialecchymosisaroundtheneck.”Sheheldtheheadin
anawkward,twistedpositionwhileReedgotsomeshotsofthebruisingontheneck,thenshebackedaway,sotroubledshecouldn’thideit.ShesaidtoReed,“LikeRandyThompson?”Reedswallowed.“That’sabouthowhelooked.”ShecarefullyreturnedMr.Arnold’sheadtoasnearanaturalpositionas the
damagewouldallow.“Mr.Tidewater,”shesaid,“thisiswhatkilledhim,notthelogs. The hemorrhaging and bruising around the neck are well spread. ThatmeansMr.Arnoldwasalivewhenithappened.Hestillhadabeatingheartandbloodpressure.Thelacerations,thetears,andthepuncturesfromthefallinglogsshownobleedingorbruising,whichmeans therewasnobloodpressurewhentheyoccurred.Mr.Arnoldwasalreadydead.“Tomakemattersworse. . .”Shepointedoutlargedarkenedregionsonthe
man’s chest and belly. “This discoloration you see is fixed lividity. When apersonisdead,thebloodsettlesbygravitytowhicheversideorpartofthebodyis lowest. In this case, the lividity tells us that Mr. Arnold was lying on hisstomachafterhedied,notonhisback,thewayhewasfound.Thefactthatthelividityisfixed—seehere?WhenIpressonit,itdoesn’tdisplace;thebloodhascongealed—thatmeanshewasdeadatleasteighttotwelvehoursbeforehewasmoved.”“SohediedSundaynight,”saidReed.Singnodded.“AndthelogsfellonhimMondaymorning.”Tidewater stood there,mouthhalfopen,nonplussed.“Iunderstand,but then
again,Idon’t.”ReedandSingdidnotdiscussMr.Arnolduntiltheywerealoneatapicnictablenearaplaygroundontheedgeoftown.Even though they were well out of earshot of anyone, Sing still spoke in
loweredtones.“Thosepuncturesontheleftarmhavethesamearrangementand
spacingasthepuncturesinthatthermosfromthecampsite.Thisthinghasteeth,anditisn’tafraidtousethem.”“Itdoesn’tmindwringingneckseither.”“No. In fact, I think it prefers it.Thebruiseson thehead andneckweren’t
from teeth or claws, but fingers,” Sing reviewed. “Somebody or somethingwrungthatman’sneck,justwrenchedit,andthenleftthebodyfacedown.”“Andthensomeoneelsemovedthebody.”“Andleftitonitsback,notonitsstomach.”“Anddumpedthelogsonhimtomakeitlooklikeanaccident.”Singshiveredatthethought.“Whichdoesn’tbodewellforCap.”“Excuseme?”Shewaveditoff.“Oh,justthinkingoutloud.”“But we have some patterns now, don’t we? A line of attacks running
southeast,twodeadguyskilledthesameway,onehiddenunderlogs,one...”Reed’svoicetrailedoff.“Hidden.Wejusthaven’tfoundhimyet.”Reednodded.“SoI’dbettergetuptothatloggingsiteandseeformyself.You
tookpicturesofthatcabin,right?”“Tookplenty.”“SodidI.Iwanttoseethem.Allofthem,rightnexttoeachother.”Singcheckedherwatch.“MeetyoubackinAbney?”Reedrosefromthetable.“Let’sroll.”
AsRachelplungedintothewoods,barreledthroughpineandfirboughs,leapedoverlogs,andsnappedoffdry,obstinatebranches,Beckfoundthatridingonherback was a definite improvement over hanging, clinging, and dangling everywhichwayinherarms.Rachelseemedperfectlysuitedtotakingthebruntofthebranchesandlimbsthatwhippedpast.Ridingherwasmuchlikeridinga lean,well-bredhorse.SoSasquatchesdidhaveapracticalandefficientwaytotransporttheiryoung.
Racheljustneededsomeonetoremindher.Rachel and Beckwere dropping down themountainside into a shady draw
wherethetrunksofancientcedarsandcottonwoodssupportedtheforestcanopylikepillarsinadarkcathedral.Beckhadnoideawheretheyweregeographically
butguessedfromtheoccasionalflashesofsunlightthattheywerestillheadingsouth.Astheyenteredaboggybottomlandamongthecottonwoods,Rachelslowed
toacautious,furtivewalk,paddingquietlyovertheblack,rottingleaves,turninginquicklittlecircles,lookingthiswayandthat,sniffingandlistening.Thefearwas thereagain;Beckcouldsense it inRachel’sdemeanor, inhereyes, inhermovements, and in the fear odor that intensifiedwhenRachelwas alarmed. ItmadeBeckwary, and she began rubbernecking in all directions, not knowingwhattolookforbutwantingtobesureitwasn’tthere.Rachelletoutasoftwhistle.Anotherwhistlecamebackimmediately,andRachelboltedforward,through
the grove, through a stand of young cedars, and into a small meadow wheresunlightshowcasedwildflowersandcattailsgrewintallclumpsattheedgeofapond.Rachel sank to her haunches, disappearing up to her waist in the meadow
grass.Beckalightedonthegroundbesideher.Takingonedeep,calmingbreath,Rachelfingeredtheleavesofadandelion,thenpluckedthemupandputtheminhermouth,hereyesscanningcasuallyasshechewed.Shegrunted,“Hmph!”“Hmph!” came a reply among the cattails as a gray shadow came alive,
movingbutstillhiding.Becksawonecoffee-and-ambereyegazingather,thentheothereye,thenthefirstagainasthebreezeopenedandclosedthegapsintheleaves.Leah’sgazewasicyandsuspicious.Rachelroselazily,strodetothecattails,andwithLeah’sgrudgingindulgence,
began fingering through them like awoman shopping for a blouse.When shefoundonesheliked,sheyankeditout,rootsandall,andsetitinthegrass.Shepluckedup another, nibbledon it, plucked still another, nibbledon it, decidedshepreferredthefirstone,andputthesecondoneback.Rachel returnedwithherarms full and satdown, setting theplantsbetween
her and Beck, enough to get sick on. From past experience, Beck knew herfuture:shewasgoingtohavetobiteoff,taste,chew,andforcedowneveryraw,chewy,stringybitwhileRachelwatched.Andwatched.Andwatched.Rachel had already grabbed a cattail and was making quick work of it,
chomping down the brown, cylindrical head as if it were a soft carrot andmakingitlookdelicious.SheeyedBeck,waitingforhertodothesame.
Beckfollowedherexampleandreachedforone,wonderingwheresheshouldstartbitingintoit.Awhistle!Leahwas the first to reply, emerging frombehind the cattails andwhistling
back.ThenReubenpoppedupoutofthepond,streakedwithslimeandexcited,mud flying fromhis feet.EvenRachelpausedwitha cattailhanging fromhermouthandgazedtowardtheoldcottonwoods.Jacobemerged,lookingtiredfromalongtrekbutstillawesomeinthelightof
day,hisblackhairgleaming,hissagittalcrestapriestlymiteratophishead.Hishandsandarmscradledsomethingagainsthisbelly.Beckactuallyfeltgladtoseehim—hewascarryingfruit!Applesandpears!
Realfood!Peoplefood!Nothingeverlookedsowonderful!LeahandReubenwerethereinaninstant,bowedlowwithhandsoutstretched,
grovelinglikebeggarsbeforeanoble,catchingthelusciousfruitasitfellfromJacob’shands.Rachelstaredandfidgeted,whining,clearlywantingtobeinvitedtotheparty
buttootimidtoask.Hey,comeon!Don’tjustsitthere!“Roo-r-Rachel!”Beckpointedatthefruit
withonehand,pokedatRachelwiththeother,andgaveaplaintivecry,asnearasshecouldgettoanapelike“Ooh!Ooohh!”Thesoundmadeherthroathurt.LeahandReubenbotheredtosendherascowlandwentbacktoconsuming
thefruit—anapple,apear,anotherapple,notslowing,slammingthemintotheirmouths,makingthemdisappearwithalarmingspeed.Beck bounced up and down for emphasis, reaching toward the fruit and
makingwhateverapelikesoundsshethoughtwouldregister.Shefeltridiculous,butshewashungry.RachelliftedalazyfingertowardJacobandgrunted.Jacobglancedherwayandtookseveralprecioussecondstothinkitover.He
lookeddownatanappleheheldinonehandandapearheheldintheother.LeahandReubenhadtheireyesonthepearandappletoo,theirgreedyhands
outstretched.Jacobreachedadecisionsomewhatgrudginglyandall tooslowlytookthree
steps toward Rachel. He tossed the pear and apple the rest of the distance.Rachelcaughtthepearwiththeskillofanoutfielder.Theapplebouncedonthe
groundandBeckgrabbeditup.Rachelchompedandmashedthepearlikeafruitgrinderuntilitwasgone.Becktookabitefromherapple—And thenstaredat it.Waitaminute.Anapple.Adomestic fruit froma tree
someonehadplanted.SheliftedhereyestoJacob,whowassettlingdowninthegrassforamuch-
needed rest.ThenBeck scanned all around as if shemight catch a glimpse, aclue,ahintofwhereJacobhadbeen.Whereverhe’dbeen,peoplehad tohavebeennearby. Ithad tohavebeena
farm,ahomestead,anorchard, somethingownedandoperatedbypeoplewithroads,houses,andtelephones.Sheexaminedtheappleagain.Whatkindwasit?Wasthiskindofappleripe
inJuly,ordidsomeonebuythisatagrocerystore?Wheredid—Shedidn’thearorseeReubencominguntilhisbig,filthyfistappearedover
hershoulderandgrabbedtheapple.“Nooo!” Instinctively, in desperation, Beck clamped her hands around the
apple,clutcheditclosetoherbody,andheldonforsheersurvival.Reuben’s grip was like an iron vise, and Beck’s body was a feather as he
flippedheronherbackand tried topry theapple fromherhands.Screaming,hopingforhelp,wonderingwhereintheworldRachelwas,sheslippedfromhismuddygrip, thenwriggled and squirmeduntil shewasonher belly, the appleunderher.Through the blades of grass, she sawRachel come running, screaming and
displaying,untilLeah,growlingandshowingherteeth,tackledhertothegroundandpummeledher.Reubenclearlyfeltnoqualms.HetookBeckbythehairandyankedheroff
the ground. Shewas twisting, dangling by her scalp,which brought a roar ofpainfromwhereshe’dhitherhead,butshedidn’tletgo.Reubengropedfortheapple,andBeckturned,holdingitfromhim.Shesawanopportunityandkickedhimin thestomachwithhergoodfoot.Thestomachdidn’tevengive.Reubendroppedher,thengrabbedattheapplewithbothhands.Becktriedtorun.Onestepandheranklepunishedher.Shescreamedinpain,nearlyfell, then
recoveredherbalance—Sosuddenlyshescarcelysawithappening,theapplewasgone.Sheyelpedat
the sight of her empty hands, and her eyes went immediately to the ground,searching,searching,dartingeverywhere.
ButReubenhadlefther,andshecouldeasilyseewhy.Hewalkedawaywithatriumphant, head-highgait, his hand to hismouth.Sheheard the apple’s fleshsnappingandcrunchingdeliciouslybetweenhisteeth.LeahpunishedRachelwithonemoreslapacrosshershoulders,andthenshe
retreated,gatheringupherthievingson.OhGod,whereareyou?Beckcried.Howcouldyouleavemelikethis?Shecollapsedtotheground,whimpering.Itjustwasn’tfair!Sheheardafamiliarpiggruntaboveher,andforamomentahugesilhouette
blocked the sun. Rachel sat beside her, sniffing, panting, and moaning littlesounds of comfort. Leaning so closeBeck could smell her breath—a scent ofpearstilllingered—shegentlygroomedthehairthatfellacrossBeck’sfaceandthen,leaningback,offeredBecktheonlyconsolationshehad:acattail.Onechainsawwasnoisy.Fourchainsawswereverynoisy.Fourchainsaws,abulldozer, and an occasionally falling tree were more than enough to makeconversationdifficult.Theclear-cutonRoad27wasgoingtobeanoisyplace,atleastuntilthesix-mancrewquitfortheday.Reed,wearingtherequiredhardhat,feltalittlesillyyellingatthemanwhostoodonlyafewfeetaway,butthenewforeman,abeer-belliedmaninhisforties,yelledasifhewasusedtoyelling,soyellinghadtobeokay.“Sowherewasthetruck?”Reedasked.Ahugefircamedownrightontopofhisquestion,andtheforemanshouted,
“What?”“Thetruck!Wherewasthetruckparked?”The foreman turned his head to look toward the clearing, and that’s where
mostofhisanswerwent.“Oh,Itheeniwasritovthersupplace!”Hewaspointingto the center of the clearing, now a field of stumps, slash, dozer ruts, andsawdust.Reedpointedtowherethebulldozerwaspilingupafreshbatchoflogs.“Was
thatwhereyoufoundhim?”The foreman pointed at the pile and hollered something. Reed caught the
words“Found...underthere...morning...flatlikeabug.”“Uh-huh.”“Duzmegabittasense.”Theforemanfinally turnedandshoutedinhisface.
“Those logs don’t dump over that way, not without some real help. But you
oughtathinkaboutthis:thatdozerhadanextratenthofanhouronitwhenwegothere.”Another tree camedown likeanavalanche, sendinga cloudofdust, pollen,
andneedlesintotheair.Reedwaitedforthingstosettlebeforeasking,“Anothertenth?Uh,couldyouexplainthat?”Theforemanturnedhisheadtolookandpointatthebulldozerasitcameby,
the stack rumbling, the treads rattling and shrieking. “ . . . ev daywe ridownthours...”Reedhurriedaroundtoyellintohisface.“Youkeeptrackofthehoursonthe
bulldozer?”The foreman looked at him as if he were dense. “Yeah, that’s what I said.
Clocked it out when we left Friday night, and when we came backMondaymorning,Alwas squished and the dozer had an extra tenth of an hour on theclock.”“Sohowdoyouexplainthat?”Theforemanshookhishead.“Can’t—’cept,ifIwantedtodumpoverapileof
logs,I’dneedabulldozertodoit.”“Youmeansomebodycouldhavepurposelydumpedthelogsonhim?”“Idunno.Noneofusdo.”“Well,iftheydid,how’dtheygethimtoholdstill?”The foremanarchedan eyebrowunderhishardhat. “Sonow the police are
interested, is that it?”HesignaledReed to followandwalked toward the roadwherethecrew’svehicleswereparked.Reed came alongside him, relieved to get farther from the noise.When the
foremanreachedhisoldpickup,hereachedthroughthewindowandbroughtoutajaggedmetalobject.Itwasathermos,crushedandbearingafamiliarpatternofteethmarks.“Foundthatbehindastumpnearthetruck,nottoofarfromAllen’shardhat.
AllenalwayslikedtocomeuponSundaynightandstandbyhis truck,havealittlecoffee,planouttheweek.Andhealwaysworehishardhat.Whatevergothim,gothimoverthere.Hewasn’tanywherenearthelogs.”Singwasonlyhalfhercalmself.“Wewerelookingforapatternintheanimal’sbehavior,butweweren’texpectingthis!”Capwaslisteningoverhiscellphonewhileseatedatacomputerstationinthe
UniversityResearchLibrary.Fromthisspot in the library’s InternetCenter,hecouldseemostofthemainfloor;ifheslouchedenough,thecomputer’sscreenhidmost of his face. “Whywould the perp dump all those logs but leave thethermosforsomebodytofind?”“Hedidn’tseeit.Itwasthrownbehindastump.”“Whataboutfingerprintsonthedozer?”“Obliterated. The dozer was handled and operated for two days after the
incident.”“Soundstomelikeyou’dbetterbecareful.”“You’dbetterbecareful!”Singsaid.Hesmiledwryly.“Hey,I’mataninstituteofhigher learning,surroundedby
knowledge’selite.What’stobeafraidof?”“That’snotfunny.”“It’sincisiveandsatirical.”Shechuckled.“We’llbothbecareful,won’twe?”“Wewill.”He said good-bye and folded his cell phone, feeling careful. Discreetly, he
rotatedhisheadandgotavisualonwhomightbeworking—orlurking—attheother computer stations, and then eyed the flow of patrons on themain floor.Absolutely nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and he’d worked on thiscampuslongenoughtorecognizeordinarywhenhesawit.TheUniversityResearchLibrarywas amodern, inexhaustibledepositoryof
knowledge,sixfloors,milesofstacks,andmillionsofboundvolumes.Itwasthehaunt, the second home, of graduate students and doctoral candidates whocreated theirownoffices in thestudyboothsalong thewallsandmaintainedasteadyflowoftrafficintheelevators.Itwasaquiet,somberplacewheregreatmindscouldmeetandchallengenewfrontiers—aslongastheydiditquietlyandbroughtinnofoodordrinks.Therehadn’tbeenanymurdersherelately—maybeaflasherortwoupinthestacks,butcertainlynospiesorkillers.Caprelaxedandsmiledtohimself.Okay,hethought,I’vebeencareful.Hedirectedhisattentionbacktothecomputerscreen,tryingtosortout,make
senseof,andinterpretthe“inconclusive”findingsNickhadbroughtbackfromthe Judy Lab—the campus nickname for the Judith Fairfax DNA SequencingCoreFacility.ThefilesontheCDNickhadgivenhimwereburgeonedwithrow
upon row of the same four letters—A, C, T, and G—in a myriad ofcombinations,allrepresentingspecificstrandsofDNAfromthehair,stool,andsaliva samples. Thesewere the clues, the indicators that would tell himwhatcreature the samples came from, if the specific strandscouldbematchedwiththoseofaknowncreature.Fortunately,DNAsequencinghadreachedsuchalevelofsophisticationthat,
usingInternetresourcessuchasGenBankandthecalculatingpowerofahigh-speed computer, Cap could access vast archives of known strands, requestcomparisons,andfindamatch.Atleast,thatwasthewayitwassupposedtowork.Sofarhe’dfoundplenty
ofmatchesbutplentyofconfusionaswell.Tomostanyone,includingthefolksattheJudyLab,thedatawouldhavetoberuledinconclusive;Cap’ssampleshadtohavebeencontaminated.Contamination was the classic “wrench in the works” as far as DNA
sequencing was concerned. Even though much of the sequencing was nowautomated, eliminating most of the usual errors, contamination was onedeterminedlittlegremlin,constantlywaitingforachancetomessthingsup.Thefield was full of stories of misidentification due to foreign DNA somehowgettingintothemix.DNAfromatriceratopswasoncefoundtobe100percentidenticaltoDNAfromaturkey,buttheresearcherscouldneverbesurewhetherthedinosaurwasreallyidenticaltoturkeysorwhethersomeoneeatingaturkeysandwichduringthesequencingcontaminatedthesample.Tomostanyone,Cap’ssamplesindicatedthatkindofcontamination,foreign
DNAsomehowmixedinwithknownDNA.Tomostanyone,thatwastheendofthematter.ForCap, itdidn’tend there.Ofcourse,hewished that itdid. Itwouldhave
beensomuchbetter thanhaving todealwithanotherpossibleexplanationandwhatthatcouldmean.Capleanedbackinhischair,handsinterlockedinhislap,ashestaredatthe
screen.Whatnow?Well. A paunchy man in a sagging wool sweater walked into the library’s
comfortable,chair-and-sofastudylounge.Dr.MortEisenbaum,justthemanCapneededtosee.Eisenbaumwas an unmarried, socially inept geniuswho preferred huddling
andcommuningwithorganicmolecules,aminoacids,andproteins to living in
the complicatedworld of people. He andCapweren’t close, but they’d oftenconsultedonprojectsandcomparednotesonparticularstudents.ThismanwasapioneerinDNAsequencingandusuallylikedbeingconsultedaboutit.Caphadall the data laid out systematically on the computer. Itwouldn’t takemuch ofEisenbaum’stime.Capventuredoutofhidingandintothestudylounge.Eisenbaumhadsettled
into a favorite spot at a large oak table and was leafing through a stack ofresearchvolumes,obviouslyonthetrailofsomething.“Excuseme.Mort?”Eisenbaumlookedupoverhisreadingglasses.Acloudfelloverhisface.“Dr.
Capella.Howareyou?”“Prettygood,prettygood.IwasworkingonsomethingwhenIsawyoucome
in.It’sgotmealittlebaffled.”Eisenbaumclosedthevolumehewasreading,stackeditontopoftheothers,
androsefromhischair.“I’mafraidIcan’thelpyou.”CapgropedforsomewordsasEisenbaumbrushedpasthim.“Um,well, it’s
justoverhereonthecomputer.Itwouldonlytakeamoment,I’msure.”Eisenbaumkeptwalking,notlookingback.“Well,whatabout—wedon’thavetomeethere.Whatifwewentsomeplace
private,had somecoffeeor something?”Cap followedhim, tryingnot to lookdesperate.“Theagreementdoesn’tsaywecan’ttalktoeachother,justoutsiders—”Hestopped.Iamanoutsider.EisenbaumwentoutthedoorasifheandCaphadnevermet.Capwasdisappointed.Eisenbaumhadalwaysstruckhimasaloneeccentric,
notaffectedthatmuchbydepartmentpolitics.Backtosquareone.Capreturnedtohiscomputerstationandslouchedinhis
chair, staringat thecomputer screen incaseGodmight senda revelation.Didtheseresultsreallymakesenseintheirownbizarreway?Many of the sequences from the stool, hair, and saliva samples matched
chimpanzeeDNA,buttherewerejustasmanysequencesthatmatchedupwithhumanDNA.At firstglance,onewould think thateither thechimpDNAwascontaminatedwithhumanDNA,ortheotherwayaround—exceptforanentirelydistinctthirdgroupthatseemedtobeanoddhybridofboth.Itcloselymatchedchimp, and where it didn’t match chimp, it closely matched human.Contaminationcouldn’thavecausedthat.
Tomakematters worse, mixed in through it all were weird sequences thatdidn’t match up with anything; they were “junk” DNA, unidentifiedcontaminantswithnoexplanationforhowtheygotthere.Unless...Cap saved all his findings to a fresh CD and tucked the disk away in his
pocket with the CD he’d gotten from Nick. He had a hunch, but he neededsomeonetotestitandhopefullytellhimhewaswrong.Heneededsomeonewholoved to tell himhowwronghewas aboutvirtually everything, someonewhowouldpullnopunches.He immediately thoughtof just theperson. Judging from the cold reception
Cap got from Eisenbaum, it might be tough getting through to him, but nomatter.Capwasdesperateenough.Petesetdownhisrifle,shedhistrackinggear,anddroppedontoabenchontheporchoftheTallPinewithadeep,tiredsigh.Heremovedhishat,ranhisfingersoverhisscalp,andallowedhimselfamomentofstaringattheplankfloorwithhismindablank.Tylerhad sethisgeardownnear theporch rail.For some reason theyoung
flank man still had enough energy to remain standing. “You guys wantsomethingtodrink?”“Coffee,”saidMax,lyingonhisbackonthefloor.“Nothinginit.”“I’lltakeaCoke,”saidBenny,ploppingdownnexttoPete.Tylerwaited,butPetesaidnothing.“Pete?”Petereturnedtothisworldlongenoughtoanswer,“Justsomewater.Thanks,
Tyler.”Tylerwentafterthedrinks.Therewasaboutathree-secondmomentofsilence,whichwasapparentlyall
Bennycouldstand.“Well,wemadeitback.Stillgotaboutanhourofdaylightleft.”Petecouldnotbecheered.“Therewasn’tmuchlefttodoanyway.”JimmyClarkwalkedover.Helookedfreshenough.Hisclothesweren’teven
dirty.“Everybodydown?”Benny answered, “Yeah,we’re calling it quits. Joanie andChris have gone
homealready.They’rethesmartones.”Pete tookhis turn afterBenny—he’dbeendoing it all day. “Thewoods are
clear.Yourguyscanhaveatit,andIreallydowishyouthebest.”“Thanks,Pete,Iappreciateit.”Pete rubbedhis tired eyes. “Iwantedout of there anyway. I don’twantmy
crewsupthereinthedarkwhenthatcritterhasalltheadvantage.”“It’llallbeoverbytonight.I’vegotafeeling.”“Yeah,you’dbetterhopeso,”saidBenny.“Notallofusarehappyhowthings
aregoing.”Avoicecalledfromacrosstheparkinglot.“Pete!”“Speakofthedevil,”saidBenny.ItwasReed, inuniform,comingfromabigmotorhomePete recognizedas
Sing’smobilecrimelab.Petegaveaweaksmile.Theyoungmanwasbrewingupsomething,hecouldtell.“Sowhere’veyoubeen?”askedBenny.“OutchasingBigfoot?”“Benny!”Pete’svoicewasstrained.Hethensaidquietly,“Ithinkit’stimefor
youtogohome.”“Well,I’djustliketoknowwhathe’sbeenuptowhilewe’vebeenbustingour
buttsuptherelookingforhiswife.”HechallengedReed,“Youdohaveawife,don’tyou,orwouldyourathernotdiscussthat?”Reedsmiledathim.“Iappreciateallyourhardwork,butIthinkPete’sright—
youneedtogo.”“Well,there’smoregoingonherethanmeetstheeye,I’llbetonthat!”Petebarked,“Gohome,Benny!”BennyglaredatPete,thenatReed,thengrabbeduphisgear.“I’mnotcoming
back.”“Iwon’texpectyou,”Petesaid.Bennystompedacross theparking lot tohis truck,mutteringhowheshould
havebeenpaid,butnoamountofmoneywasworthitanyway.Reedwatchedhimgo,strangelycalm,thenlookedatPete,thequestioninhis
eyes.Peteanswered,“Wedidn’tfindher.Didn’tfindathing.”Tylerreturnedwithdrinksinacardboardholder.“Where’sBenny?”MaxtookhiscoffeeandPetetookhiswater.PetesaidtoReed,“Helpyourself
toaCoke.”Reedtookit.“SingandIwouldlikeameetingwithyouoverintherig.”
PetewasalreadyinterestedbeforeReedevensaidanything.“Yougotit.”Thesunwaslowandtheravinewasinshadow.Theforlorn,dismemberedcabinwas fading, becoming indistinct in a premature dusk. Thewhite-hairedWileyKaneandSteveThorne,themarine,hadmovedtothedownwindlocationabovetheravine, thankful forachange in theviewand the tedium.They’dspent theafternoonboredoutoftheirminds,whisperingjokestoeachother,expectingnoactionuntildarknesscame.Now,darknessapproached,andasthelightfaded,theirinterestrevived.Each
checkedhisrifleonelasttime,sightingthroughthescopeanddrawingabeadonthathalfdrumofdoughnuts andgreasygoo.Soon theywouldneed thenight-visiongoggles.WileyKane,whowouldhavethefirstshift,triedhisout.Sam Marlowe, the young Mariners fan, checked his watch. He hadn’t sleptmuch, but he’d gotten some reading done, and now itwas time to relieve hispartner.Herosequietly,rifleonhisback,andmovedout.Jansoncarefullyclimbeddownfromthebearstandthatwashiddenamongthe
limbs.Theysaidnothingtoeachother.MarlowesimplygaveJansonapatontheshoulderandstartedclimbing,limbbylimb.The bear stand was a device suitable only for the durable and patient. A
precarious-lookingplatformclamped to the trunkof the treeabout twenty feetoff the ground, the bear standwas notmuchmore than a foldable chair withfootrests to keep the hunter’s legs fromdangling and a safety harness to keephim from killing himself should he doze off. Marlowe eased himself off thelimbsandonto theplatformandstrappedhimself in.ThecampsiteofTedandMelanieBrooks lay justbelow,deserted,but tantalizinglybaited. JimmyClarkhadcalledfortheoldstandby,ahalfdrumfullofdoughnutsandbacongrease,butMarlowe and Janson had added their own enticements based onwhat thecampers had been eating: a paper plate with a wilting salad and three friedhamburgerpattiesonasmallcardtable.Comeon,fella,Marlowethoughtashepreparedhisnightgoggles.Let’sgetit
overwith.Sing’smobilelabwascramped,tightlyfurnishedwithtwolabbenches,drawersand shelves, flasks, test tubes, pipettes, cameras and tripods, a microscope,charts andmaps, rulers and tapemeasures, a laser level, a drawing table, andnowtheradioandGPSgearReedhadordered.Singsatathercompactcomputerstation,clickingandopeningdigitalphotosonherlaptopwhileReedandPete,squeezedintotwofoldingchairs,lookedoverhershoulder.
“Checkthisout,”saidReed,finishinghisCoke.“Exhibit1.ItookthispicturewhenBeckandIfirstgottothecabin.”Singopenedthewindowonthecomputerscreen.Itwasashotof thecabin interior, tornapart, shelvesbroken,withshredded
packagingthrowneverywhereandawhitedustingofflouroneverything.“Huh,”saidPete.“Notracks.”“IwasshootingtheareainfrontofmebeforeIsteppedonit,”saidReed.“Andnote this,”Sing said, selecting and enlarging a detailwith themouse.
“Theshovelonthefloorneartheupperleftcorner.”“Allright,”saidPete.“AndnowExhibit2,”saidReed.“I took thisone thenextday.”Shebroughtupanotherphotoandpositioned
thetwophotosbesideeachother.“Okay,right,”saidPete.“That’showitlookedwhenIwasthere.”Thesecond
photoshowedthesamecabininterior,thistimewithseveralbootprintsclearlyvisible in the flour, and another difference Pete saw immediately. “Hm. Noshovel.”“Andnotethebootprints,”Reedadded.Petenodded.“Right.Twosets.”Hepulledsomefootprintdiagramcardsfrom
his pocket and studied them one by one. “I recorded three different prints upthere.”He pointed at the tracks on the screen. “These are Reed’s. Same size,same sole, same wear patterns. But these others, up in the corner where theshovelwas...IthoughttheybelongedtoRandy.”Heleanedback,strokingthebackofhisneck.“Buttheysuredon’t.”ReedspokewhatPetehadtobethinking.“Bythetimethoseotherprintswere
made, Randy was dead and Beck and I were . . . having our trouble. Ourcampsitewashiddenup in those trees.Whoever itwasmusthave thoughtmyprintswereRandy’s—untilhefoundRandydead.”“OurguessisourthirdpersonburiedRandy’sbody,hopingnoonewouldfind
it,”saidSing.“So we have two men killed the same way,” said Reed, “and both deaths
concealed.First,AllenArnoldwasburiedunderapileoflogs,andthenRandyThompsonwasburiedsomewherewiththeshovelfromthecabin.”“Theshovelwasdiscarded,maybehiddenwiththebodysotherewouldn’tbe
anyfingerprintsorclues—outofsight,outofmind,”Singadded.“Thisisallaneducatedtheory,ofcourse.”“Whatdoyouthink?”ReedaskedPete.“Doyouthinkwecouldberight?”Pete leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “If you ever find
Randy’sbody,you’llknowforsure.DoesSheriffMillsknowaboutthis?”“Hewillwhenhegetsheretomorrowmorning,”saidReed.“I’mhopinghe’ll
eitherbuyourideaorcomeupwithabetterone,butdosomethingeitherway.”Reeddrewabreath,hisemotionsclosetothesurface.“NoneofthissaysBeckisalive,butI’mstillbelieving.”“Andwe’re ready fornew ideas, that’s for sure,” saidPete. “Sowhat about
Jimmy?Yougonnalethiminonthis?”“I’llleavethatuptoSheriffMills.JimmystillthinksI’mcrazy.”Petestaredatthecomputerscreen.Heranahandacrosshisforehead.“Asif
thatfoolcritterwasn’tenough,nowhe’sgothelpers!”Therewassomethingaboutthecomingofnightthatchangedthings.Asthesunturnedbloodyred,thenwinkedoutbehindadistantridge;astheskyfadedfrombluetoblack;asthenightvoicesoftheforestbegantomourn,click,yelp,andchatter,Beck feltanotherfear returning likea slow-workingpotion, spreadingthroughherinperfectcadencewiththedeepeningofthenight.ThoughsheandReedhadtriedtotalkthemselvesoutofitthatfirstnightabovethecabinonLostCreek,shenowhadanameforit—NightFear—andbelievedinit,eventrustedit.Itnevercameinvited,butitwasthereforareason:therewassomethingouttheretobeafraidof.Strangely, chillingly, the Sasquatches seemed to feel it too. These wild
animals, clearly capable of traveling and foraging at night, were afraid. Beckcouldsenseitinthenervousdartingoftheireyes,theovercautionoftheirgait,their strange, stealthy silence, and, of course, the fear scent that thickened asdarknesscame.Theyweremovingagain,fleeingbythelooksofit,windinganddodgingthroughold-growthforestonasteepmountainside,stumblingandtired,shortonsleepandhungry,drivenbysomethingoutthere.They broke out of the cover of the forest to cross a vast field—acres—of
broken, angular rocks. The sky was open above them, and directly ahead,SagittariusandScorpiustwinkledclosetothehorizon.Theyweregoingsouth.Theapes’ soft, flexible feet conformedandgripped the rocks.With speed andsilence,theymadeitacrossandbackintothetrees.
Theclashinthetreeswaslikeabombgoingoff—sudden,deafening,jolting.Becklurched,grippedRachel’sneck,triedtoseewhatwashappening.Itwastoodarktotellexactly,butLeahhadrunintosomething,haddisturbedsomething,orwasbeingattackedbysomething.Therewasaterriblethrashinginthebrushandbranches.Leahscreamed;Reubenbawled;Jacobroared.Rachel,tryingtolookineverydirectionforwhattheproblemmightbe,spun
sofastshethrewBeckfromherback.Becklandedononefoot,hoppedtofavortheother,andstumbledbackwardintoathicket.Sherolled,wrestled,triedtogetup.Branches, leaves,vines,and twigsentangledher.Shecouldn’tgether legsunderher.The groundwas quivering. Jacobwas still roaring. Reubenwas screaming.
Rachelwashuffing,terrified.LostCreek.Foramoment,Beckwasbackat theforlornlittlecabin,hearing
thesamesounds,madwiththesameterror.Sheletoutacryasherarmsflailedinthethicket,tryingtofindahandhold.Leahhadencounteredsomethingbig,powerful,andfast,butapparentlyshe’d
scaredit.Itwasnowsmashingandcrashingthroughthetangletogetawayfromher—and coming Beck’s way.When the thing raced through a shaft of light,Becksawanimmenseroundbodygallopingtowardher, leapingover logsandpushingthroughlimbs.Sheknewimmediatelyitwasabear.Shealsoknewthatinjustasecondortwo,itwasgoingtorunrightoverher.Shestruggledtogetup.Sheslipped,thentrippedandgotnowhere.Shescreamed.WasthatRachel?Justaboveher,somethingletoutaroarsodeepandloudshe
felt it inherchest.Shewriggledandlookedupjust in timetoseeRachel leapoverherandlanddirectlyinthebear’spath.Rachel’shairbristledlikeabrush,enlargingheroutline.The two huge bodies collided like a thunderclap, then rolled and grappled,
impactingtreetrunks,shatteringlimbs, throwingleavesanddirt,poundingandgougingtheground.BeckhearditandonlypartiallysawituntilRachelstoodinashaftofghostlymoonlight,heftingthehugeblackmassasitkickedandflailed.Withskill,quickness,andastonishingpower,Racheltookthebear’sheadinbothhandsandwhippeditsmassivebodyaboutuntiltheneckbonescrackledandthebearwentlimp.Shewhippedthebodyagain.Ithunglikeasackofleadfromherhands,motionless.Sheshookittobesure,thendashedittotheground,heavy,contorted,anddead.
Reubenwas still bawling.Leahwasmoaningandclickingathim,nodoubttryingtocalmhimdown.Jacobhuffedfromsomewhereclose,pushingtowardthemthroughtheundergrowth.Rachelwas still angry, her hair bristling, her nostrils steaming, her canines
flashinginthedimlight.Shereacheddown,grabbedtwohandfulsofbearhide,heftedthebearoverherhead,anddashedit tothegroundagain.ThegutstoreloosewithamashingsoundthatmadeBeckwince.Beckventuredonlyonelook.Shecouldn’tseethebear’seyes,onlyitstongue
protrudingfromitsmouthandglisteninginthedimlight,arowofwhiteteeth—andtheheadgrotesquelytwistedanddangling,nearlysevered.RachelbreathedheavilyasshecametowardBeck,handsextendedtogather
herup.Beckcowered,shiedaway.Don’t.Don’ttouchme.She’d heard terrible screams before and been terrified. She’d seen Randy
Thompson’sbrutallymurderedbodyandwonderedwhathideousmonstercouldhavedonesuchathing.Now,lookingupintoRachel’sdarkandwrinkledface,sheknew.
nine
Thecoldof thenightwascreeping intoSamMarlowe’s feet,butsincehewasstrappedintothebearstandonthesideofatree,therewasn’tmuchhecoulddootherthanwigglehistoesandflexhisankles.Theriflewascoldandheavy.Dewformedonthebarrel,andhishandscomplained,threateningtocramp.Heheldthe rifle in one hand while he flexed the other, then traded hands and flexedagain.Thewoodswerealive;thenightshiftwasonduty.Leopardfrogsinthenearby
streambedcalledeachotheratregularintervals;acrowdofcoyoteshowledandyapped in their usual, ghostly fashion, never there as much as out theresomewhere.Everyfewseconds,abatflickeredlikeagiant,ghostlymothacrossthefieldofhisnightgoggles.Belowhim, thehalfdrumof rotting refuse sentup its stench,but so far,no
visitors.WileyKane almost dozedoff, but one tiny snore brought a quick elbow fromSteveThorne,theonlyoneallowedtosleepatthemoment.Kaneliftedhisnightgoggleslongenoughtorubhiseyes,thenwentbacktoscanningthewoods.Movement down by the cabin caught his eye immediately, but he was
disappointed. The half drum of grease and doughnuts had attracted its firstvisitor:askunk.Well.Somebodywasboundtoshowup.
Beck held on, her arms aroundRachel’s thick neck, her legswrapped aroundRachel’smiddle,asRachelhurriedonceagainthroughtheforest,floatinginherstrange,bent-kneedgait,backslightlystooped,longarmsgently,silentlymovingtree limbsasideas theypassed through.Leahstrodeabout thirty feetaheadofthemwithReubenonherback,avague,cloudyshapeinthedarkthatmeltedinandoutof theshadowsandhardlymadeasound.Somewherein theenfoldingwebofforestandthicketaheadofLeah,Jacobwasleading,andsomehow,Leahcouldseehim.Wheretheyweregoing,onlyJacobknew.They broke out of the forest and followed a dry streambed awash in cold,
silver-blue moonlight. The path was littered with deadwood and crisscrossedwith the weather-checked remnants of fallen trees. Mountain slopes formed
blackwallsoneitherside,anddirectlyabove,LyratwinkledbeneaththeMilkyWay.NowBeckcouldseeJacobfarahead,asilhouetteinlightbutinvisibleinshadows. He strode across the river rocks and leaped over fallen logs,maintainingademandingpacethetwofemaleswereexpectedtokeepupwith,evenwithheavychildrenontheirbacks.Theimagewashauntinglyfamiliar.Men.Alwaysshowingoff.Shecouldhave
namedJacobReedinstead.Oh,Beck,such thoughts!Jacobwasabloodthirsty, flesh-tearingbeast;Reed
was aman, andwhat shewouldn’t give tobehomewith thatman right now!Sure,hewasone-uppingandoffendingherateveryturninthetrail,butthatwasjust his clumsy,maleway of helping her grow.He’d pushed himself and herbefore,andshe’dbeenoffendedbefore,butitwashisway.Hewasamanwhorelishedstrengthandyouth,butstillaboytrippingoverhimselftryingtogrowup.Hemeantwell,andsometimes,likerightnow,shecouldseeitthatway.ShelaidherheadonRachel’sshoulder.ShemissedReed,achedforhim.Rachel’s pace, once steady, now slowed. Beck glanced ahead. Jacob had
stolen to theopposite sideof the streambedandbecomeadarkextensionofadeadsnag’sshadow.HeremainedstillasLeahandRachel, trudgingand tired,caught up. Leahmoved silently to where a tall hemlock and a hollow stumpstood side by side and became one of them, standing still, dark, andmassive.Reuben dropped silently fromhismother’s back and became a stump.Rachellocatedherselfinathicketandbecameabush,blendingherownoutlinewiththeshapesaroundher.BecksettledintothebushesbesideRachelandremainedstill,satisfiedthattheleaveswouldhideher.Now only the forest made sounds—the barely noticeable whisper of the
breeze, the occasional squeaking of a tiny creature under a rock, the farawayscreechofanowl.Asfarastheforestknew,evenasnearasBeckcouldtell,theSasquatchesweren’tthere.Sowhatwashappening?Whatwasthisallabout?TheonlyinformationBeck
couldgleancamefromRachel,whopeeredintentlytowardaclearingbesidethestreambed.Becksearchedtheclearing,shiftingasstealthilyasshecouldtopeerthroughtheleavesandbranches.Herheartquickenedat thesametimehermindbalkedwithuncertainty.Just
beyondthetopsofsomeobscuringgrasses,shesawapatchofbareground,andinthemiddleofthatground,anincongruouspileofroundishobjects.
Itwasfruit.Apples,pears,evensomebananas.SothiswaswhereJacobwastakingthem.Hehadtohavebeenherebefore.But fruit meant humans, so what was this really? It was hard to imagine
someonehadplacedallthefruittherejusttobenicetoanimals.Ithadtobebait,and if so, for what purpose? Were hunters in the trees, waiting for someunsuspectinganimaltowalkintotheirgunsights?TheSasquatchesmusthavebeenwondering the same thing.They remained
still,watching,listening,sniffing,wantingtoknowalltherewastoknowaboutthisplace.IfJacobhadbeenherebefore,ithadn’tlessenedhiscaution.ShouldIcallout?ShouldImakesomenoise?She thoughtbetterof it.Silenceandstealthwere the rulenow,andshewas
freshly aware that violating the rules could get her killed. Fear had become agiven,nevergone,seldomlessened,butshecouldn’t let itcontrolherormakeherdosomethingstupid.Shehadtothink,plan,learn,andwait.Therewouldbeanotherway,sometime,somewhere.Afteranotherlongmomentofsilentwatching,listening,andsmelling,Jacob
finally broke off from his concealing shadow and moved forward into theclearing. Leah followed next, and behind her, like a half-sized copy, cameReuben.Rachelsighedasifwithreliefandroseslowlyfromthethicket.Shetookone
morelookandlisten,thenslippedintotheclearing.Beckfollowedclosebehindher,limpingbutstandingonherown,tryingtostepwhereRachelsteppedandbejustasquietaboutit.The others reached the fruit first and wasted no time grabbing it up and
gobbling itdown.Rachelhesitatedat theedgeof thebareground, then tookastep. When she didn’t get growled at or clobbered, she took another. Jacobtossed an apple herway,which she immediately grabbed up, but thatwas theonlytossshegot.Shedrewcloser.Hungry as shewas,Beckwas stillmore interested in the surroundings.She
wasunable toseeanythingamiss in theblackwallof theforest.Sheheardnogun bolts sliding, no camera shutters clicking. She saw no blinking red lightsfromcamcorders.Evenso,thiswholethinghadtobeasetup.Domestic,store-boughtfruitdidn’tappearinthemiddleofthewildernesswithoutsomehumanwithaplan.Thensherealizedthegroundunderherfeetfeltdifferent.Peeringdown,she
sawthatitlookeddifferenttoo.Shereacheddowntotouchit;herfingersanktothesecondjointinloosesoil.Thegroundhadbeentilledandraked,muchlikeagardenpreparedforplanting.Herbootssankin,makingimpressions.Ithither.Footprints. She and the beastswere leaving them everywhere—whichwas
preciselytheidea.Rachelnudgedher,butBeckpaidnomind.Footprints!ShesawthisonceonaTVnatureshow,andnowhereitwasfor
real.Somenatureloverswerehopingtocapturethefootprintsofwildanimals.They’dprepared this sitewith loose soil andbait, andwhether theywereherenoworwouldreturnlater,theywerekeepinganeyeonit!Becklookedforatrailsomewhere,somepaththehumanshadusedtogethere.Shehadtofinditandrememberit.Rachelnudgedheragain,andBecktookapearfromherhand.Footprints.Beckstartedsteppingandlimpingaroundthesiteinanyloosesoil
shecouldfind.Gottoleavesomefootprints!Rachel followed her, offering her a banana and obliterating every footprint
Beckleft.Shetookthebananaandretracedhersteps,tryingtoputherfootprintsback,
but they were much shallower this time. Rachel kept following her, curious,flatteningtheimpressionsunderherbig,softfeet.“Rachel,don’t!”“Mmm.”Beck stopped to eat the banana just so Rachel wouldn’t follow. Rachel
stoppedandateherapple.Whilehurriedlyeatingthebanana,Beckspottedsomeunstompedsoilnearthe
edgeofthetilledcircle.Withtheemptybananapeelinherhand,shelimpedtotheplace.Rachelfollowed,protectiveandfascinated.Withherfinger,Beckbeganscratchingnumbersintheground.2.0.8...Rachel squatted beside her and watched in the same way she watched
everythingBeckdid,withutmost,unbrokenattention.Shereacheddownherselfandranherfingeralongtheground,leavingonefurrow,thenanother,captivatedbytheactivity.BeckcouldonlyhopeRachelwouldremaindistractedsoshecouldcomplete
thenumber.9.6.Sheheardtheothersstirringbehindher,risingtoleave.Please,justtwomore
seconds!9.2—Jacobhuffed.Thepartywasover.Thebananapeel tumbled to theground.Beck’s fingerwas still extended to
writeasshe lurched into theairandfloppedoverRachel’sshoulder—Rachel’sbestattemptsofaratloadingupherkid.“Nooo!L-l-l-leh...”Letmefinish!Rachel was already trotting out of the clearing, following the others. Beck
hungon,gripping,grappling,tryingtogetrightsideup.ShefinallygotonehandaroundRachel’sneck,thentheother,andthenherlegsastrideRachel’smiddle,restingonthehips,asthewholefamilyvanishedintothewoodsagain.Hope.Beckhadn’tgainedasmuchasshewanted,butatleastshehadastart
onit.Thegorillawasdoingaclumsylinedancewithoutaline,thetopsofitsrunningshoesplainlyvisibleaboveitsphony,slip-onfeet.Itcarriedaplacardthatread“ApesHaveRights,”andfromundertheplasticape-facedmask,ayoungman’svoicechantedinamonotonouscadence,“Freedomforourbrothers;freedomfortheapes!Freedomforourbrothers;freedomfortheapes!”HewasoneofaboutadozenchantingprotestorsgatheredfortheirThursday
morning demonstration outside theYork PrimateCenter, an old but renovatedbrick structure on theCorzineUniversity campus. The gorilla suitwas a newfeatureCaphadn’tseenbefore.On theotherhand,Cap, ina loud, tropical shirt, strawhat,Bermudashorts,
and sunglasses,wasa sight theprotestorshadn’t seenbefore.Not thathewasthatunusual;theprotestors,mostofthemstudentswithtoofewcausesandtoomuch time, liked to dress in outrageous ways to draw attention. Besides thegorilla, there was a cheap, K-Mart version of the orangutan from Disney’sJungleBook,anoverweightTarzaninaloinclothandfrightwig,andascientistinawhitelabcoatspatteredwithredpaint.WhenCapjoinedthemandtookuptheirchant,theywerehappyenoughtocounthimasoneoftheirown.Itwasmostlyduringthesummermonthsthatthesefolksdisplayedthemselves
at the Primate Center’s gated parking entrance, waiting for the “ape killers,torturers,andexploiters”toventureinorout.Anycararrivingorleavingwouldhavetorunthegauntletandendurethelatestchantofoutrage.Caphaddriven
thisgauntletonmanyaThursdayhimself.Someone had given Cap a sign to wave: “Where Have All The Primates
Gone?”Heheldithigh,utilizedafewdancestepsofhisown,andtriedtoblendinasthechantbrokeapartandabatedinthelullbetweencars.“Hey! You’re new here.” He was being addressed by the group’s leader, a
brassy-voiced youngwomanwith garish purple hair and enoughmetal in herfacetosetoffanairportalarm.“Notreally.Iusedtoworkhere.”“AtthePrimateCenter?”“Yeah,alittlebit,butmostlyinBioscience.Itaughtbiology.”Tarzanquittalkingtothegorillaandtheyturnedtolisten.“Whydon’tyouworkhereanymore?”theleadersaid.“Iwasfired.”“Cool,”saidTarzan.“Howcome?”askedthegorilla.“IkeptfindingproblemswithDarwinism,”saidCap.The response was predictable: the little gasps, the incredulity, the wagging
heads,thesideglancesandsnickers.“You’rekidding!”theyoungwomaninthelabcoatcried.“Ithoughtyouwere
abiologyprof!”“Mm-hm,molecularbiology.”“HowcanabiologyprofhaveaproblemwithDarwinism?”“HowcanaDarwinisthaveaproblemwithanything?”“Sowhatareyoudoinghere?”Shesoundedjustalittlesuspicious.“Doyou
careaboutourbrothers?”“Youmeantheapes?”“Yeah,theapes!They’reourbrothers,ourclosestrelatives!”Thegorillaadded,“We’re98percentchimpanzee.”Captriednottosneer.“Wetaughtyouthat.”“Sotheyhaverightsjustlikewedo,”saidthewoman,“andwe’regonnastay
hereuntilthoserightsarerecognized!”Thatwasaprompt.Theothersallcheered,“Yeah!”
“Rightsforthechimps!”“Set’emfree!”Cap countered, “Have you ever been in there? The primates aren’t being
abused.This is noninvasive research, strictly behavioral.Theworst they do isgivetheprimatescucumbersinsteadofgrapes.”Somemoaned,otherswaggedtheirheads,somerolledtheireyes.Tarzaneven
gothostile:“Hey,don’tlietous,man!”“They’rebeingheldincages,aren’tthey?”saidtheorangutan.ThewomangotrightinCap’sface.“That’swhattheywantustothink!Sure,
maybe the apes here on campus aren’t being abused, butwhat about the onestheytakeoffcampus?”“Offcampus?”Capasked.“Howdoyou—?”Agirldeckedoutlikeatreewithatoychimpinoneofherbranches—herarm
—shouted,“Carcoming!”They scrambled into lines on either side of the driveway and took up the
chant,wavingtheirsigns.“Freedomforourbrothers;freedomfortheapes!”Thegorillabroke intohis linedance;Tarzanyodeledayell; theorangutan spun incircles,wavinghisarms;andthelittletreeswayedinthewindasthegateliftedandacarrolledthrough.Cap bolted from the curb and stood in front of the car. “Hey! Hey,
Baumgartner!”Thedriverbrakedabruptly,thenhonked.“You’regonnagetarrested!”thelittletreecriedouttoCap.Capraisedhissunglassesasheleanedoverthehoodofthecar.“Baumgartner!
It’sme,Capella!”Thedriverquithonkingandstaredthroughthewindshield.Captookoffhisstrawhat.“Cap!MichaelCapella!”Thedriverrolleddownhiswindowandstuckouthis
head.“Cap!Areyoucrazy?”Cap handed his sign to the gorilla and ran around to the passenger’s side,
shoutingthroughtheclosedwindow.“We’vegottatalk!”Baumgartneranguishedamoment,thenreachedoverandopenedthedoor.Capsettledintothepassenger’sseatandclosedthedoorbehindhim,blocking
outthedinofthechants.“Sorryforthegetup,buttheywouldn’tletmeintoseeyou.”Dr.EmileBaumgartnerhitthegas.“Well,let’sgetoutofherebeforeanybody
seesyou.”FlemingCryncovich,twenty-three-year-old,unemployedsonofanunemployedminer, stood there and stared, his head wiggling back and forth in tiny,unconscious expressions of awe and amazement. His spidery hands shook,awaiting orders for an appropriate gesture from his stupefied brain. Wordswouldn’tcometohislips,onlylittlegaspsandOhhhhs.It was early morning. The shadows were still long, which brought out the
footprintsinstarkrelief.He’dbeenhopingforyearstocapturejustoneBigfootprint, pressing on and wasting bait while the world laughed and his parentsshooktheirheads.Sometimesinceyesterdaymorning,itallbecameworthit.Hishandsshooksobadlyhehadtroublepullinghiscamerafromitscase.He
forgotforamomenthowtoturniton.Henearlydroppedittryingtofocus.Click!Heshotfromoneside.Click!Heshotfromtheother.Click!Fromhighabove.ClickClick!Close-ups.ClickClickClick!Amontagehewouldpastetogetheronhiscomputer.Click.Ahumanprint.Hisfingerfrozeontheshutterbutton.Hestaredoverthetopofhiscamera.There wasn’t just one, but several boot prints, some stepped on by a big
Sasquatchfoot,someontopoftheSasquatchprints,somebythemselves.Itwasasmallprint,perhapsthatofawoman.He’dreadaboutthis,somethingaboutamissingwomanupnearAbney.Arlen.HehadtocallArlen!Flemingraninacircle,excited,nervous.Numbers.Thosewerenumbersscratchedinthedirt!He yanked out his pen, dropped it, picked it up, wrote the numbers on his
hand.Thenhe ranup the trail, jamminghis cameraback into its case.Heneeded
castingplastertoo,andaruler,andhehadtocallArlen!“Wejustneedanotherday!”Jimmywasadamant.
“It’smoving.It’sgone,”saidPete.“Doesn’tmatterhowlongyourguys—”“Listen!You’vehadyourpeopletrampingthroughthewoods,stirringthings
up and making noise and leaving their scent everywhere. It’s no wonder wedidn’tbagthisbear!”“Ican’tcallthesearchoff,”saidSheriffMills.“Not’tilwe—”“You’vecoveredalleightzones.Whereareyougoingtosearchnext,therest
oftheworld?”Pete,SheriffMills, and Jimmystoodnose tonoseon the frontporchof the
TallPine,refreshedfromsomesleepandreadytolockhorns.Pete held up his hand, hoping to keep the floor for at least one complete
sentence.“Whateverthat thingis, it’smovingsouth.Itdoesn’tcareaboutyourbearstandsandyourdoughnuts.”“Youdon’tknowthat!”“Well,Reed’sworkedupaprettygoodtheory—”Jimmyrolledhiseyes.“Soyou’relisteningtohimnow?”“He’sgotagoodcaseifyou’djustlisten!”“I’dliketohearit,”saidSheriffMills.“You’ll lose credibility!” Jimmy warned. “You’re losing people already, or
haven’tyounoticed?”Kane andMax stood to the side, having slept little and accomplished less.
Theyweren’t invited tobepart of thediscussion, butKane spokeup anyway,“Sheriff,pardonme,butalotofusneedtoknowwe’renotwastingourtime.Dowehaveagood,clearmissionordon’twe?”Maxpipedin,“Arewestillsearchingforsomebody,orarewehuntingabear,
orBigfoot,orwhat?”Jimmy jumped on him. “We’re not huntingBigfoot!”He returned toMills.
“See?That right there is thekindof fire I’mconstantlyhaving toputout,andI’mgettingsickofit!”“Justtelluswhatthemissionis,onceandforall,”saidKane.ThesherifflookedatPete.“Maybeyou’dbettertellmewhat’shappening.”Petehadtoadmit,“It’sbeentoughholdingthecrewtogether.JoanieandChris
casheditin.Don’sout.IhadtoletBennygo.Themedicalfolksaren’twaitingbythephone,weallknowthat.”
Kaneoffered,“NobodytruststhisSheltonfellow,that’stheproblem.Howdoweknowhedidn’toffhiswifeandhe’sjustmakingeverythingelseup?”Petebristled.“Kane,whydon’tyoujustshutup?”“Well,I’mnottheonlyonewhothinksso!”“Shutupanyway,”saidSheriffMills.“Sheriff,”Jimmysaidwithasigh,“thesearchisover.BeckSheltonisdead,
andso’sRandyThompson.Weneedtodealwiththehazardthat’sstilloutthere—weneedtogetthatbear.Itwon’thappenwitheveryonetraipsingaround.”ThesherifflookedatPeteasiftryingtoreadhim.Petewas struggling.“Sheriff, there ismore to this.Youhaven’t seenall the
cardsyet.Youjusthavetotrustme.”“Whataboutthesearch?Arewedone?”Petelookeddownattheground.“Iknowsomefolksdon’tseemuchpointin
goingoutthereagain,andmaybethey’reright.I’mgoingbackoutthere,evenifI’malone.”Jimmysighed.“Pete,weallfeelthatway.”“Dowe?”Millsasked.“Patrick—Sheriff. You know the score here. I don’t have to tell you the
chancesoffindingBeckorRandyalive.”“SonowIsupposeyouwantsomebigdecisionfromme.”Millsdrewadeepbreathandtookamomenttoweighhiswords.Whenhehad
all fourof themby theeyes,heanswered,“It’seasyenough to tellme—heck,eventellyourselves—thatBeckSheltonisdead.ButwhichoneofyouwantstotellReed?”Hedidn’twait long forananswer;he justkeptgoing.“WhenyoucanlookReedSheltonintheeyeandtellhimhiswifeisdeadeventhoughyoucan’tproveit;whenyou’rereadytowatchhishopelierightdownanddie;ifanyofyoucancomeawayfrombreakingtheheartofafriendandstillcallhimyourfriend...”Nowitwashisturntostruggle.“Then,allright.I’llacceptthatandsaywedidourbest.”Theyweresilentandwouldnolongermeethiseye.“SheriffMills!”ItwasReed,inhuntinggarb,burstingfromhisroom.Millsshotawarningglareateveryoneofthem,andthenhewaited.Reedstrodeup,papersinhishand:maps,charts,someblown-upphotographs.
“Good morning, sir. I have something to show you—” He noted the group.“What?”“Reed...”MillsmetReed’seyes,thendirectedhisattentiontowardPeteand
Jimmy.Reedlookedatthem.Jimmydrewabreath—“Sheriff!Sheriff!”ArlenPeakburstout the frontdoorof the inn,ascrapof
paperinhishand.“Somebody’sfoundher!”Reedwasalloverthat.“Where?Where!Isshealive?”“No.Imean...Idon’tmeanno;Imean,no,hedoesn’tknow.AmImaking
anysense?”SheriffMills looked about ready to grab the innkeeper by the scruff of the
neck,buthistonewasenough.“We’relistening,Arlen!”Arlen referred to his scribbled notes and tried to recap things in a logical
order.Hegotacallfromafriendofhis—“Who?”Millsdemanded.“What’shisname?”“Uh,FlemCryncovich.”“Comeagain?”saidJimmy.Arlenrepeatedthenameandtoldhowhe’dcometoknowthekid,thenwent
ontoexplainthebaitingsite,thefruit,thesoftground—“Thisisn’tanothernutcase,isit?”Jimmybarked.“Willyoulethimtalk?”Reedscolded.Thefootprintsinthesoftground,the—“Bigfoot?”Jimmyasked.Hefoldedhisarmsoverhischest.Arlenranahandthroughhishair.“Uh,well,yes,ifyoureallymustknow!”Jimmycursedandturnedaway.“Iknewit!”“But there were other prints!” Arlen went on. “Boot prints, uh, you know,
peopleprints,asmallsize,likeawoman’s!”Jimmy’sfacecompletedthetransitionfrompalewithshocktoredwithrage.
“Thatis themost insidious,mostdespicable,most insultingpileofcrapIhaveeverheard!”“Jimmy,”Millscautioned.“It’sahoax!Thisguy’sreadthepapers!He’snothingbutasadisticwacko!”
“No!”Arleninsisted.“No,he’s...he’salittledifferent,buthe’snowacko.He’shonest.Hetellsthetruth.”ReedwasabouttograbthepaperfromArlen’shand.“I’mwaiting,Arlen!”ArlenshowedhimthenumbersFleminghadgivenhim.“Whatarethese?”“Theywerescratchedinthedirtrightnexttotheprints.”Reedreadthem,thenhalfcried,halflaughed.“Whatisit?”SheriffMillsdemanded.TearsfilledReed’seyes.“That’s...It’smycellphonenumber!Theareacode
andthefirstfourdigits!”TheygatheredaroundasReedheldthepaperupforthemtosee.“Beck’s running aroundwith Sasquatches and leaving her phone number?”
Jimmysaid,disdaininhistone.“Guys,comeon!”Millshad tocover thequestion:“Is thereanyway thisFlemingWhat’s-his-
namecouldhavehadyourcellnumber?”Reedwastrembling.“Areyoukidding?”Peteasked,“Whereisthisplace?”Arlen answered, tapping the paper. “Whitetail, up one of the gulches. I can
takeyouthere.”Petenodded.“Whitetail.That’sfarthersouth,Reed.It’ssouthofKamayah.”Reedcaughthismeaning.“South!I’mouttahere.”“Whoa,waitaminute!”JimmystoodinReed’spath.“Reed,listen—”“Jimmy!”Mills’sbigindexfingerfilledJimmy’svision.“Nowyoushutup.”
He followed that upwith an arch of his eyebrow, and Jimmy held his peace.“Thesearchcrewspickupwheretheyleftoff,andifthey’vecoveredthezones,they’ll start over again at the first ones. Pete, give ’em their assignments, putTyleronthetracking,andthengrabyourgear.Jimmy,ifyouwanttocomealongonthis—”“Nothanks.I’vegotabear,arealbear—”“Huntyourbear,anywayyouwant.Pete,weneedafourthman.”PetelookedatMax,whoshotaquicksneerinKane’sdirectionandsaid,“I’m
in.”Pete tapped Reed. “Hey, maybe Sing oughta bring her mobile lab—” He
haltedwhenhesawthehopeinReed’seyes.“What?”Reedasked.Pete wished he could answer, but he had neither the words nor the time.
“Nothing.Let’sgohavealook.”“Cap,it’simpossible.”Dr.EmileBaumgartner,jacketandtieremovedandshirtcollaropen,sippedfromhiscoffeecup,thensmiledwithamusement.“Oh,it’sallveryintriguing.Itwouldmakeagreatstory,butit’simpossible.”Baumgartner had driven them to his home, a comfortable Victorian on the
south side of Spokane. They were seated at a wrought iron table onBaumgartner’spatio,enjoyingalattewhileatimedsprinklerchit-chit-chittedinrainbowed arcs across the lawn. Cap’s notebook computer rested on the tablebetween them, its screen filled with the data from the Judith Fairfax DNASequencingCoreFacility.“Impossible?” Cap loved hearing that word coming from an evolutionist;
especiallyBaumgartner,anesteemedanthropologistandresearchassociateattheYorkCenter.Overtheyears,he’dbeenCap’skindestopponentintheevolutiondebate.They’dhadmanydiscussionsinmanyplaces,someprivate,somepublic,atvariousvolume levels,butstill theymanaged tostay friends.“Areyousureyouwanttosaythatword?”Baumgartnerlaughed.“I’mnotafraidofit.Ithinkitallthetime.”Cap laughed along, out of courtesy. “And thenyou leave it to poor stooges
likemetosayit—orwriteit.”“That was your choice. But that’s what amazes me now—that you, of all
people,wouldthinkitpossiblewhenyou’vebasicallyendedyourcareerarguingthatitisn’t.”“Burkhardtthoughthecouldproveit,”Capsaid.Baumgartner rolled his eyes and snickered. “Still does, soMerrill thinks he
candoitbecauseBurkhardtsaysso,butI’msureyou’llagree,blinddevotiontoatheorysometimessupplantsrealscience.”“Merrill’sbackinghim?”Baumgartnerheldupahand.“Ah,tut-tut-tut.Theagreement,remember.We
gonofurtheronthat.”“Allright.”“Sufficeittosay,Burkhardtmaybepitifullymyopicinhisareaofexpertise,
but far-reaching in his ability to work the system. He has the respect of thescientificcommunity;hehasfriendswithmoney;he’spublishedsomeamazingtheories.Theuniversitybrassdoteonhimas ifhe’s thenextWatsonorCrick,and he may well be—if he ever, ever succeeds in proving anything he’sproposed.”“Jealous?”Capsaid.Baumgartnersniffedachuckle.“Ofcourse.Buthe’sstartingwithanentirely
faultypremise,asyoupointedout.”“Really?You’resayingIwasright?”Baumgartner laughed. “Oh, come on! You’re not always wrong, no matter
whatI’vesaid!”“ButwhereamIright?”“Youwanttohearitfromme!”“YoubetIdo!”“Allright,allright.”Baumgartnertookanothersipofcoffeeandsetthecup
down, pensively watching the lawn sprinkler. “When you argued that anorganism ismuchmore than the sumof itsDNAsequences,youwere right. Iagreewithyouonthat.”“So you also agree that we can’t find specific genes that govern particular
behaviorslikeswingingfromtreesorpreferringgrapestocucumbers.”“Or that make Homo sapiens walk upright or even read Shakespeare.
Agreed.”“ButBurkhardtseemstothinkyoucan.”“He’swasting a lot ofmoney.”The anthropologist caught himself again. “I
didn’tsaythat.”Hecontinued,“AnyonecanlayhumanDNAbesidechimpDNAandsortoutthesimilaritiesanddifferences,evenquantifythem.”“Asin,‘We’re98percentchimpanzee’?”“Youcan’tembarrassme,Cap.Ididn’tcointhatphrase,thoughI’dbearicher
man if I did. But as you pointed out—and I agree with you—we can findpatterns in the DNA.We can even ascertain what creature or plant the DNAcamefrom,butwecan’tcreatethecodeinthefirstplace,norcanwerewriteit.It’sfar,fartoocomplex.”CapwassurprisedtofindBaumgartnersofullofconcessions.“Waitaminute.
Noargumentinfavorofsite-directedmutagenesis?”
Baumgartnerlaughed.“DoIdetectsarcasm?”“You’vearguedforit,remember?”“In reverse, Cap. Reversemutations. If we can identify the mutation that
knockedoutahealthygene,wecanusesite-directedmutagenesistorestoretheoriginalgeneandrescuethemutant,returningittonormal.You’veseenthatforyourself.”“Okay.That’soneforyou.”“Thankyou.For thatyouget abonus.”He loweredhisvoice as if enemies
might be listening. “However: In all the years of mutating, we have neveractuallyimprovedanything.Wehaveneverproducedanindividualmorefitthantheoriginal.”“Anotherconcession?”“Deliveredinprivate,inconfidence.”“Well, given that,what about the argument that insectsmutate and develop
resistancetoinsecticides?”Baumgartner glared at him in mock anger. “So this is how you return my
generosity!”Capliftedaneyebrow.“You’veusedthatargumentonmeinpublic.Nowthat
we’reofftherecord...”Baumgartner tookaprolonged sipofhis latte, apparently trying tobuildup
thewillingness to say it. “You’re right about that too.As long as the toxin ispresent,thenofcourseselectivepressureisgoingtofavorthosemutantsthatareresistant,atwhichpointit’stemptingtocutshortallobservationandconcludeabeneficial mutation. But all you have to do is remove the toxin and keepobserving, and you’ll find that the resistant mutant has so many otherweaknesses that it can’tcompetewith thenormal insectsand itdiesout. It’sabad trade, like someonewith sickle-cell anemia being immune tomalaria butdying from theanemia.There’sno realbenefit.”He floppedback inhischair,smarting from his ownwords. “If youwere still the least bit respected in thescientificcommunity,Iwouldneverhavegivenyouthat.Butsincenoonewilllistentoyou...”“I’vealwaysappreciatedyourhonesty.”Baumgartnerrelaxed, theworstover, thenhesaid,“TamperingwithDNAis
likeachildtryingtofixahigh-techcomputerwithatoyhammer.It’salwaysaninjury,neveranimprovement,andwehaveboxcarloadsofdead,mutatedfruit
fliesandlabmicetoproveit.”Cap paused and watched the sprinklers for a moment himself. “You
understandwhatyou’resaying?”Baumgartnernodded.“SomethingIwouldneverattempttopublish.”“Thatmutationsarenotbeneficial?”“No, thatwould be plagiarizing yourwork. I’m only saying that tampering
withDNAwouldbeinjurious.Ifyoutrytoalterthegeneticcodeofachimp,forexample, you would get one of three results: a normal, unchanged chimp; adeformed,retardedchimp;oradeadchimp.”Capwasstartled.“Whywouldyouconcedethat?”“Becauseweachievedall three.”Hesipped fromhis coffeecup, effectively
hidingbehindit.ForCap,thatwasnews.“YoutriedtoalterchimpanzeeDNA?”Baumgartner squirmedas ifhe’doverstepped. “We tried it;we learned; and
we abandoned the project. For professional and legal reasons, there’s nothingmoretobesaidaboutthat.”“WhataboutBurkhardt?”“Iwon’tgothereeither.”“Isuspecthedidn’tabandontheproject,”Capoffered.Baumgartnershothimacorrectinglook.“Okay.Okay.”Capliftedhishandsintheair.Baumgartner finishedhis coffee. “By the same token, Ihavenothing to say
aboutyourDNAresults,excepttorepeatmyposition:whatyou’resuggestingisimpossible—andIthinkwe’veprovedthat,atgreatcost.”“SowouldyoucaretocommentonthescuttlebuttIgotfromtheprotestors—”
Baumgartner laughedderisively.“Well, theysaidthatsomechimpswerebeingtakenoffcampus,awayfromtheCenter—”“Cap.Wecanpretendthatyouneverhadaclueastohowthingsarerunon
thatcampus.Wecanpretendthatyouhungyourselfintotalinnocence,thatyoudidn’tknow thedamageyoucoulddo to science.Wecanpretendyouhaven’tnoticedthatyouarenow,forall intentsandpurposes,unemployable,but,Cap,makenomistake:Ihavenoticed.Allyourformercolleagueshavenoticed,andthereis,ofcourse,theconfidentialityagreement.Ican’thelpyouanyfurther.”
Captooktheblow,thennodded.“It’samatterofsurvival,Isuppose.”Baumgartner agreed with Cap one last time. “I suppose.” Then he looked
away,seeminglyinterestedintherestoftheworldbeyondtheirconversation—hiswayofsignalingthattheconversationwasover.“I’m just trying to find outwhymybest friend’swife ismissing . . .”Cap
shrugged.Heknewitwasalowblow,butitwasthebesthehad.Hereachedtoclosedownhiscomputer.Baumgartner put out a hand and stopped him. “However, I might pose a
rhetoricalquestion—anditisonlythat,aquestion.”Capleftthecomputerturnedon.“Poseaway.”Baumgartnerlookedawayagain,asifheweretalkingtosomeoneelse.“What
if you were Burkhardt, and you had Merrill breathing down your neckdemanding results, because he had big backers breathing down his neckdemandingresults?AndwhatifacertainDr.Capella’spublishedcontentionthat‘evolutionistshavenoultimatebasisforbeinghonest’isinfacttrue?”Cap didn’t know quite how to answer. If Baumgartner was cutting him a
break,hedidn’twanttoruinit.“Couldyou,uh,expoundonyourquestionjustalittle?”Baumgartner would not look at him—apparently his way of having the
conversationwithout really having it. “Well, just for the sakeof discussion, ifyou were expected to, say, bridge that 2 percent gap between humans andchimpanzees to demonstrate how we originally diverged from a commonancestor throughmutations, howmany base pairs would you have to change,rearrange, correct, or mutate, in precisely the right order, using site-directedmutagenesisalone?”Capalreadyknewtheanswer.HeandBaumgartnerhadpubliclydebatedthis
topicseveraltimes.“Thehumangenomecontainssomethreebillionbasepairs.Twopercentofthatwouldbesixtymillion.”Baumgartner nodded quietly, seemingly amused by the numbers. “Sixty
million.Thatwouldbealotofchangestomakeevenifyouhadthefourmillionyearsweallthinkwehad,andofcourseeverysinglechangewouldhavetobebeneficial. Imagine how daunting that job would be to an ambitiousanthropologistinhismidforties.”Baumgartner finally turnedhis eyes to the computer screen as if to confirm
something.“Givenallthis,ifyouwereBurkhardt,wouldyouattempttocheat?
Wouldyou, perhaps, entertain thepossibility ofmovingwholesale amounts ofDNA,evenwholegenes,thequickestwaypossible?”SuddenlyCapknewwhereBaumgartnerwasgoing,anditwassoobviousit
was embarrassing. He leaned toward the computer and began to see in thosemyriad,confusinglinesapatternhehadn’tputtogetherbefore.“Viraltransfers.”Baumgartner pointedout someof the lines himself. “Your ‘junkDNA’may
notbe the junkyou thought itwas.”He leanedback inhis chair again, actingaloof.“Thenagain,maybeitis.Huge,horizontaltransferscangetmessy.You’reneverquitesurewherethenewinformationisgoingtolandorhowtheorganismisgoingtoturnout.”Capgrabbeduphiscomputer.“Emile,you justmightbea realscientistone
day,youknowthat?”Hewaveditoff.“Iwasonlyposingaquestion!”
ten
Foronefleetingmoment,Beckfeltasweethappiness.ShewashomewithReedandtheyweretalkingandlaughingwitheachotherinwholesentences.Sunlightstreamed into their living room throughanopen frontdoor, and strangely, shefeltnourgetocloseit.WhethersomeonewascomingtovisitorsheandReedweregoingtoventureoutforawalk,eitherprospectwasjustfine,maybeforthefirsttimeinherlife.Butthatfleetingmomentwasinadream,andwhenshejerkedawakeundera
dark canopy of serviceberry, the dream slipped from her, image, by imagethoughshestruggledtokeepit,untilnothingremainedbutasadsenseofloss.Itwasmorningagain.Shecouldn’trememberwhatdayitwasorhowmany
daysshe’dbeenlostinthisplace,whereverthisplacewas.Butassheshookoffsleep, one thing felt different, enough to make her look around the thicket,searchingforoldandfamiliarcompany.Itseemedshewasalone.She looked about discreetly, stealthily. She listened. Were they gone? Had
theylefther?She felt her ankle, then put someweight on it.With a crutch, or perhaps a
braceofsomekind,shecouldwalkonit—forawhile.Shewasonamountainslope.Theyhadn’ttraveledveryfarsinceleavingtheirfootprintsatthatbaitingsite.Ifshecouldmakeherwaydownthemountainandfindthatdrystreambed,itmightleadhertothebaitingsiteandfromthere,topeople.Itwasnowornever.She crawled quietly, pressing through the fine and brittle branches, looking
about,hopeful.Sofar,theforestwassilent,asif—“Hmph,” came through the tangle to her right as the ground heaved into a
reddishmoundobscuredbyneedlesandleaves.Beck stopped crawling, closed her eyes, and sighed, her head dropping. So
muchforthatlittlehope.Ican’toutrunher.Aquiet stirring beyond the thicket drewher eye, and she saw Jacob sitting
withhisbackagainstapinetree,eyeshalf-open.Helookedrathersmug.Leahwascombingandpickingmeticulously through thehaironhisheadandneck,
pullingoutpineneedles,leaffragments,andanoccasionalbug,whichsheate,atipforthebeautician.Withnoescapinginherimmediatefuture,Beckthoughtofherownhair.Just
tryingtorunherfingersthroughittoldheritwasamess.Shepushedfreeoftheentanglingundergrowthandsettleddownonthesofthumus,takingthefoldinghairbrush from her jacket pocket. She brushed slowly, finding snags, tangles,twigs,andneedles,butitfeltgreat,almostspiritual.Itwassomethingshecoulddoforherselfbecauseshewantedto,awaytorestoreasmallmeasureofordertoherridiculousworld—anditwassomethinghumanforachange.Havingbrushedoutthelasttangle,shepitchedherheadforwardtogatherher
hairintoonestrandanddeftlytiedherhairintoaneatknotontopofherhead.There!Neat,brushed,andoutoftheway.ShethoughtsheheardRachelgasp.Anape,gasping?Shelookedtowardthe
bushes.Rachelstaredatherasifshewereastrangerwithtwoheads,antennae,andonebigeyeinthecenterofeachforehead.Beck’shandwenttoherhead.“Hmmm?”What’sthematter?It’sjustme.Not good enough. Rachel approached in a cautious, sideways gait, head
cockedwithcuriosityandalarmasifshecouldn’tbelievewhatshewasseeing.Gently,butwiththefirmnessofacorrectivemother,RacheltookholdofBeck’shead—Beckscreamedand foughtback, squirming,kicking, swatting, trying to free
herself,strugglingforherlife.Racheldidn’tkillher.SheexaminedBeck’sheadandthen,withagentlebut
irresistible cradling embrace, pulledBeck in close, sitting her down, like it ornot,scoldingherwithpiggrunts.Stillalive,withheadandneckintact,Beckputherscreamsandkicksonhold,
but she couldn’t control her trembling. In scurrying thoughts she remindedherselfthatRachelhadneveryetharmedher.Maybeifshewentlimpandplayeddead, Rachel would be satisfied.Maybe if she remained calm, Rachel wouldcalmdownaswell.Maybeif—WithBeckproperlypositionedinfrontofher,Rachelwenttowork,poking,
pulling,andyankingtheknotontopofBeck’shead.Ithurt.“Oww!”Beckdaredtoreachup.Rachelhuffedandbattedherhandsaway.Beck reached up again. Rachel batted her hands away more sternly, then
pickedherupandsatherdownwithabumpasiftosay,Yousitstill,younglady!TherewasnothingtodobutgrimaceuntilRachelundidtheknot.Beck’shair
tumbledtohershoulders.Withtheissueresolved,Beck’sterrifyingbrushwithdeathwasover.Rachel
gaveBeck’shairseveralgentlecombingswithherfingersandlethergo.Beckhobbled away, hair untangled, groomed, and free in the breeze. She sat in thegrass,tryingtocalmherself.Itwasn’t easy.Whatwas the big problem? IfRachelwas so obsessedwith
appearances, she could certainly give a little more attention to her ownappearance!Becktookaslow,deliberatebreathandtriedtoremindherselfthatthesewere
animals,andanimalsjustdidwhattheydid.RachellikedBeck’shairthewayitwas, and as for the reason— Beck snickered bitterly—did Rachel even needone? Was she even aware of one? Maybe appearances were important toSasquatches;maybetheywereunsettledbychange;maybeBeckwasprojectingherownfeelingsintotheseanimalsandwastotallywrongabouteverything.Feelinggrumpy,Becktookoutherhairbrush.Ifshecouldn’twearherhairup,
at least shecouldbrush itagain,herwayofhaving the lastword.She ranherbrush throughherhairwithstrong,anger-drivenstrokes,purposely turninghereyesawayfromRachelanddevotingherattentiontoLeahandJacob.Leah seemed in no hurry as she combed Jacobwith her fingers. She deftly
scoopedoutbugswithherfingernailsandneatlyarrangedhiscoatonesectionata time, all the while stealing an occasional side glance to see if Rachel waswatching.BeckmarveledatLeah’sexpression.Sheremindedherselfagainthatthesewere animals, but themore shewatched, themore shehad towonder—Wasitpossibleforanapetobecatty?A movement from Rachel drew her attention—and held it. Beck stopped
brushing,thebrushpoisedinherhairatthetopofastroke.Inherslow,lazyway,andwithhereyesfocusedonBeck’srighthand,Rachel
wasstrokingtheleftsideofherheadwithherbigfingers.Beckswitchedandbrushedthehaironherleftside.Rachelclumsilystrokedtherightsideofherheadwithherrighthand,ahairy
mirrorimage.BeckfeltLeah looking theirwayandshotaglanceback.Leah immediately
wenttoworkasifshehadn’tbeenwatchingathing.
Now, thiswas intriguing.Beck looked down at the brush in her hand.WasRachelmimicking,orwassheasking?Sherosecarefully,tentatively.WhilegentlytouchingRachel’schesttosoothe
her,sheplacedthebrushagainstRachel’sheadandpasseditlightlythroughthetangledhair.Rachelsighedandrelaxed.Shewasallforit,likeadoggettingpetted.Beckbrushedalittlemore,andRachelleanedintoit.Well.Okay,then.Beckkeptgoing,brushingoutthetangles,combingwithherfingers,cleaning
Rachel’s coarse, oily coat.When she stopped to pull twigs, bugs, leaves, andloosehairsfromthebrush,Rachelnudgedher tocontinue.Shereturnedtoherwork,partingRachel’shairneatlydownthemiddle,coifingthesidesandteasingthehairtogiveitbody,blendingtheheadandneckhairwiththehaironRachel’sback. She had to pause frequently to clean debris from the brush, but Rachelfinally accepted that part of the process once Beck gave her first choice ofanythingthebrushfound.BeforeBeckrealizedit,shewashavingfun.Shestartedhummingtoherself,
notuneinparticular.Rachel stared off into space and made a deep-toned noise of her own.
“Hmmmmhmmmmhmmm.”Beck smiled and kept humming, working on Rachel’s right shoulder.
Grooming the whole body was going to be a big job, like brushing down averticalhorse,butthehairwasmostlycooperative,sortingitselfoutandfallingintoplaceasthebrushpassedthrough.Rachel watched, obviously pleased, as Beck brushed her right arm.
“Hmmmmmhmmm.”Beckstartedwhistlingjusttoseewhatwouldhappen.Rachelcockedherhead,apparentlysurprised.“Woo-w-whistle!”Becksaid,anddidit.Rachelhadtothinkaboutitandthentightenedherlipsagainstherteethand
madeherplayfulteakettlesound.Becklaughedandwhistledwithher.Itwasjustlikegetting theirdog, Jonah, to“sing”bymakinghigh,howlingsounds.Beckwhistled, Rachel whistled; Beck whistled, Rachel whistled. Now for that leftshoulder—
“Rooarr!”RachelflinchedsoviolentlyshesentBecktumbling.Beck righted herself, poised to run, expecting to die, thoroughly, shakingly
terrified.I’vebrokentherules!But Rachel wasn’t angry. She looked down at her left shoulder, gingerly
touchingtheplaceBeckhadtriedtobrush.Still trembling, andmaking sure shehadRachel’s permission for each step,
Beckdaredtocomeback.Nowthatthecakedbloodwasbrokenupbythebrushing,Beckcouldseefor
thefirsttimewherethebloodhadcomefrom.Thewoundswererecentandjustbeginningtoheal—twolargetearsnearthetopoftheshoulderwithsmallercutsbetween andon either side.The curvedpattern suggested the obvious:Rachelhadbeenviciouslyattackedandbitten.Beckbackedaway,thebrushatherside,andstoleafearfulglanceinJacob’s
direction.Hewasstillsittingagainstthetree,baskinginalltheattentionhewasgettingfromLeah.Hemethereyesonlyonce,thenlookedstraightaheadasifhedidn’tcaretodiscussit.Cap, inbilledcapandbluecoverallsheborrowedfromthecaretaker’sgarage,carriedabagofgarbageononeshouldertoobscurehisfaceashewalkeddownan alley to check out the rear of a particular building. During the summerquarter,manyofthelabsandclassroomswerenotinconstantuse,meaningthelabheneededmightbeempty.Atleastthealleywasempty.HetossedthebagintoaDumpster,lookedaroundascasuallyashecould,thenwalkedbrisklyupthealleytoabackdoor.ThiswasCorzineUniversity’sBiosciencebuilding,hisoldstompingground,
a modern, three-story structure with lots of glass, state-of-the-art labs andclassrooms,andwhatusedtobehisoffice.Accessthroughthefrontdoorwouldmeansigninginandmakinghispresenceknown,whichwouldbringquestionsandpermissiondenial, thingshecouldn’tafford.Thisdoor in theback,knownonlytomaintenancestaffandprofessorstryingtoavoidsquabbleswithstudentprotestors,requiredonlyakey.Hepulledakeyfromhispocket,theonehe’dunknowinglyleftinanotherpair
ofpantswhentheadministratortoldhimtoturninallhiskeys.He’dplannedtobringitbackormaybejustmail it. If thingsdidn’tgowell today, they’dget itanyway.Thekeyworked.Thedooropened.Heduckedinside.
He was in the combination office and locker room of the maintenancedepartment.Againstonewallwasarowoflockers;oppositethelockerswerethedesk and cot of the head custodian, Louis. The desk calendarwas filledwithLouis’susualnotesandreminders inblue felt-tippen.Good.Thingswerestillthesame.Hopefully,Louiskeptthesameschedule.Healwaysarrivedforworkateightintheevening,aftereveryoneelsehadgonehome—exceptforintenselyoccupiedmolecular biologistswho had a habit ofworking late.He andLouishadgottentoknoweachotherprettywell.Capevenknewwhich lockerwasLouis’s, and thatLouisneverbothered to
lockit.Inside,hefoundthecustodian’scoverallsand,mostimportant,anaccesscardthatoperatedthedoorsintherestofthebuilding.Louislostthatcardonce,andanothertimehisyoungestdaughterhaduseditformakingmotorsoundsinthe spokes of her bicycle. Ever since, Louis kept it in his locker, strung on alanyard.Caphungtheaccesscardaroundhisneck.Hecheckedhiswatch.Mostofthe
staffandstudentswereprobablyatlunchrightnow.Thiswasgoingtobetight,butdoable.Hehurriedintothenextroom,wheresupplyshelvesreachedtotheceilingand
thecleaningcartswereparkedevenlyspacedinastraightrow.Thetrashcansonboardwereemptiedandrelined,cleaningsolutionsreplenished,cleandustclothsinplace,mopsbeatenandreadytogoagain.Hepickedacart,addedtwomoredustmopswithbigheadstothecart’sbroomrack—incaseheneededtohidehisface—andwheeledthecartuptothemetal-cladfiredoorthatstoodbetweenhimandtherestofthebuilding.Without waiting to rethink this or bolster his courage, he swiped the card
throughtheslotofthekeypad.Thelockclickedopen,andhepushedthrough.Itfeltoddsneakingintoaplacewherehefeltsomuchathome.He’dbeenup
and down these clean, off-white halls and through these department doors somany times he almost knew this place better than his own house. He hurrieddownthehall,avoidedtheeyesofafewstudentswhopassedby,cametoaT—Amanwithperfectlycoifedhairandwearingatailoredsuitstoodattheend
ofthehalltotheright;hewasstraighteningafewpagesthathadgonecrookedinanotebookhecarried.ItwasDr.PhilipMerrill,formerlythedepartmentchairofMolecularBiology,
recentlypromoted todeanof theCollegeofSciences.Hewasmore thanwellentrenchedinthesystem—hepracticallywasthesystem—andheandCaphad
neverbeenongoodterms.Cap turneddown thehall to the left,duckingaround to the frontofhiscart
andpullingitbehindhim,keepinghisbacktoMerrillandthecartwiththebigmopsbetweenthem.Herolledpastaninformalloungeareawithchairs,acouch,andsomeScience,
Nature,andCellmagazines,andthenthroughsomeheavydoubledoorsmarkedAuthorizedPersonnelOnlyBeyondThisPoint.Immediatelytotherightwasadoorwithalargeglasswindow.Aplacardon
thewalltotheleftreadMolecularBiologyResearchCenter,andunderthatwasablankspacewherehisnameusedtobe.CapswipedLouis’scardthroughthekeypad,andonceagain,thelockclickedopen.Insidewas awondrousplace, his formerworld.Hismicropipettes andPCR
thermalcyclerwaitedfaithfullyonthebenchwherehepreferredthem,althoughtheelectrophoresisgelboxesandpowersupplyhadbeenrearrangedtosomeoneelse’sliking.Thereagentsinsidetheglassstoragecabinetswereexactlyashe’dleft them, so they would be available if he needed them. Joy of all joys, thefluorescentmicroscopewasstill inplaceandoperational, itsvideocamerastillinterfacedwithacomputer.Therewasnotimetowaste.Capparkedthecartagainstthedoor,adjustingthe
mop heads to block the window. Then he pulled the blinds on the outsidewindows.He reached insidehis coveralls for a paperbag, and from thepaperbaghepulledthreeplasticbags—onecontainingtherestofthehairsamples,onecontaining the rest of the stool samples, and one containing the squashedthermosthatstillhelddriedsaliva.ThefolksattheJudyLabweregoodpeople,butCapknewtheyalsohadprofessionalconsiderations,especiallywhereformerbiologyprofessorswereconcerned.Holdingbackaportionof thesamplesandkeepingthemsafelytuckedawaywasaplannedprecaution.He’dalreadymadea tripbackto theInternet,askedtherightquestions,and
gottenapositiveIDonthat“junk”DNA.Nowheknewwhattolookfor,andhehad a very good ideawhere to find it. The procedurewould only take a fewhours,andhecoulddoitalone.IfBaumgartner’snot-so-subtlehintwascorrect,hewouldsoonknow.As long as Beck was slow and careful, Rachel let her brush out the blood-encrustedhairaroundthewoundsandevenhelpedbylickingtheareawithhertongue. Itwas tediouswork, sometimeshairbyhair—Beckdidn’twant togetdecked again—but they made it through the task together. The perilous area
groomed,Becksteppedbacktocleanherbrush,admireherwork,andenjoythefeeling.Rachelgrunted,reachingforthehairbrush.Becklethertakeit tosniff itfor
treats while Beck removed her jacket. Rachel sniffed the brush and probed itwithher fingers,butbetter treatscouldeasilybe foundfor lesswork.She lostinterest.“Hmm?”Beckprompted,herhandextended.Rachelgavethebrushback.BeckworkedherwaydownRachel’s expansiveback and aroundherwaist,
nudgingthatbigbodyonewayandthentheothersoshecouldreacheveryside.Rachelwaslookinggood,thedandiestSasquatchintheforest.She sent looks Leah’s direction.Hey, Leah! I’m getting groomed!What do
youthinkaboutthat?Jacob abandonedLeah, disappearing into the forest in his usual,mysterious
way.Withnosourceofglory,Leahsankagainsta treeandmoodilyexaminedherfingernails.Racheljuttedoutherjawandwiggleditathercompetitor.Apparently, Leah reached some kind of limit. A plaintive expression came
overherface;sheactuallyfussedalittleandthenstartedtoriseasifshewouldcometheirway.Rachellurchedandbarkedather,teethbared,adisplaysoabruptandloudit
madeBeckjump.Leahsatbackdown,hereyesaverted.Beckwasn’tsureshecouldbelievewhatshesaw.“M-my,my!”RachelsnuffedinLeah’sdirection,anassertivepostscript,thenheavedadeep
sighandrelaxed,lookinglovely.“Woo-w-well! It’s about time!”Beck touched the side ofRachel’s face and
lookedherintheeye,somethingonlysafebetweenfriends.“See?You’renotsobad.”Aclusterofmountainbluebellsgrewwithinreach.Beckpluckedthemup,twisted them together, and stuck them inRachel’s hair. “The ugly duckling isnowaprincess!”Rachelpulledthebluebellsfromherhair,sniffedthem,andatethem.Ohwell.WhenBeckheardasickening,rippingsound,sheknewwhatitwas—andwho
wasresponsible—beforesheleapedlopsidedlytoherfeettolook.
“No,noo!”She’dwonderedwhereReubenwas,andofcourse,allittooktobringhimout
of hiding were Beck’s eyes averted and her jacket unguarded. He had herbuckskinjacketinhisteeth;hebitandyankedpiecesofleatherasifitwerebeefjerky.Asleevewasalreadytornoffandlyingonthegroundbyitself.Becklimpedtowardhim,yelling,screaming,wavingherarms.HefoundapocketandpulledoutBeck’spreciousrolloftoiletpaper.“N-n-noo!P-p-p-!”Please!She took one step too many toward Leah’s child. Leah exploded from the
groundandbecameafearsomewallbetweenthem,teethbared,handsreadytobreakBeckinhalf.Becklurchedawaytosaveherlife,andRachelcaughther,growling,butmovingtotheirsafezone.Reubendiscoveredthatthetoiletpapercouldunroll.Beck wailed in anguish and disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. God
wouldn’tletathinglikethishappen.Thiswasworsethanlosingthejacket.WhenReubenpulledonthestreameroftoiletpaper,thedwindlingrolldanced
andtumbled.Heleapedwithdelightandpulleditagain,gettinganotherloopofstreamerasareward.Beck sank to her knees, defeated, insulted, and violated, watching the last
vestigeofhercherishedworldunravelinthehandsofasavagebeast.With his body draped and looped in white streamers, Reuben grabbed the
jacket again and, like a dog slinking away to chew on a treat, bolted into thewoodsandoutofsight.God,didYoumakehimdothat?Youcouldn’tallowmejustonelittlecomfort?Andjustwhenshewasfeelingbetter.She’devenspokenafewsentences.Itwasn’tfair.
It was unbelievable, but the evidence was clear, recent, and right in front ofthem, not more than an hour’s hike from Whitetail. The roughly twelve-by-twelvepatchoftilledandrakedearthnowaboundedintracksunlikeanythey’deverseenbefore.“Neverinmylife,”saidArlenPeak,intotalawe.Fleming Cryncovich, still burdened with heavy bags of casting plaster and
clanging mixing bowls, was the sort whose excitement went straight to hismouth. “Hey, forget Bluff Creek and the Skookum Cast, I mean, this is
something,thisisreallysomething,thisisfourof’emallatonce!Thisoughtachangesomeminds,don’tyouthink?Mymomanddad,youknow,theydon’tbelieveinBigfoot,butIalwaysknew...It’spatience,right?Patienceiswhatittakes.Let’scast’em,man,beforetheyerode.”Sheriff Mills, unabashedly staring, visibly shaken, put up his hand. “Slow.
Slowdown.Andstayback,please.Wehaveno ideawhatwe’vegothere,noteventhehalfofit.”Fleming backed up a few steps, his impatience showing.Max Johnson and
Arlen Peak stayed close to make sure Fleming wouldn’t be a problem. Thatdidn’tmeantheycouldkeephimquiet.“I’vetriedtostickwithlocalfruits,thekindthatgrowaroundhere.ButIguesssomebodylikedthebananastoo.Listen,there’sarunningcreekrightoverthere.Icanbringwaterfortheplaster;it’dbeeasy.”Pete,withReed at his shoulder, hadworked hisway around the perimeter,
measuringbootprintsneartheedgeandcomparingthemtoadrawinghe’dmadeneartheLostCreekcabin.Heplacedhistapemeasureinhispocketandlookedonemoretimeathisdrawing.Finally,hereported,“It’sher.”Reedexhaledaheldbreathandlockedhiskneestokeepfromcollapsing.He
couldn’tholdbackhistears,butheresolvedhewouldremainstanding,whateverittook.Pete pointed as he spoke. “Same boot sole, same wear pattern. See there?
She’s favoring her right foot, putting most of her weight on the left. She’sinjured,butshe’saliveandwalking.Can’texplainit;can’texplainanyofthis,butthat’showitis.”“Well,” Fleming piped in, “Bigfoot are not known for violence against
humans,exceptmaybetheApeCanyonincident,butthat’sgrownintoalegendbynow—buttherehavebeenreportsthattheydon’tlikedogsverymuch...”Sing kneeled on the opposite side of the tilled area, glasses perched on her
nose,magnifyingglasshoveringoverthelargestprint.“It’sexplainingitself, ifwecanbelieveit.”Sherestedback,sittingonthegrassattheedge,moreshakenthanReed had ever seen her. She brushed some hair away from her face andlooked atArlen. “This footprint has a scar on the ball of the foot. It’s an oldinjury that’s healed, with the dermal ridges turned inward.” She sighed,overcome. “Arlen, you know that casting you have back at the inn? Thatfootprintandthisoneweremadebythesameanimal.”
Arlenwasstunned,thenbeaming.HeandFleminghigh-fivedeachother.Petenodded.“Mostlikelyamale.”HeturnedtoReedandMills,“Thealpha
male,ifthat’showtheseanimalsoperate.We’vegotfourof’em:onebigmale,twosmalleradultsthatareprobablyfemales,andonejuvenile,can’tguesswhatsexitis.”“AndBeck,”saidReed.“AndBeck,”Peteagreed.Singwasstilllookingatthebigprint.“Thisprint’safulleighteenincheslong,
and—Pete,whatdoyoumakeofthis?”Petecircledaround,alongwithReedandMills,andkneltclose.“Yeah,lookie
there.See theoutsideedgeof theprint?”Hepointed itout toReedandMills.“The dermal ridges—you know, the crinkles in the skin like fingerprints—they’rerunningalongthelengthofthefoot,notacrossit,likehumanprints.”“Sotellmewhatwe’relookingat,”saidthesheriff.Alleyeswent toPete.Hescanned theprintsonemore time.“Imayaswell
admit the obvious.” He paused and gave a deep sigh. “I’d say we’ve gotourselvesaBigfoot.”Hecastaquestioningglanceateachofthem.Reedhadthoughtsoallalong,andnowhelethisfaceshowit.Singnodded
acceptance.Millsstaredback,sternasarock.“WhichonehasBeck?”Reedasked.“Notthecampraider.”Petepointedtooneofthemidsizedprints.“I’dsaythis
onehere.It’stheclosestmatchwiththesizewefoundabovethewaterfall,andlookatthatpressureridgeinthemiddleoftheprint.”Singwasstillamazedabout it.“Rightbehind themidtarsal joint.Thesefeet
flexinthemiddle.”“That’showshe fooledme.Shepushesoff fromthewhole fronthalfof the
foot.Wecouldn’ttellwhatintheworldweweretracking.Butlookthere;figurethatoneout.”HedirectedtheirattentiontowherethefirstdigitsofReed’scellphone number were scratched in the dirt—two sets of prints seemed to beplayingtagwitheachother.“WhenBecktriedtocarveoutyourphonenumber,thatbiggalwasfollowingher.”Hesniffedachuckle.“Lookslikesheeventriedtowriteherself.”Singgrabbedthecamerafromherbackpackandsnappedpictures.Amongher
shotsof the footprints, shealsocaptureda fewgroup shots, careful to include
closeshotsofFlemingCryncovich,ArlenPeak,andMaxJohnson.SheandReedwerecompilingarecordofeveryname,everyface,noexceptions.“Howfresharethesetracks?”Millsasked.Flemingblurtedproudly,“Irakedthisareaearlyyesterday.Foundthetracks
thismorning.”Pete nodded. Apparently, what he saw matched that scenario. Still on one
knee, his gaze sweeping slowly, he scanned the trail of tracks leading backacrossthecoarsesandandintothestreambed.“CouldIhaveeverybodystayput,and no noise, please?”He got to his feet and followed the tracks, taking onecarefullychosenstepatatime,stayingwelltotheside.Astheotherswaitedandwatched, the tracks took him clear across the smooth, dry river rocks of thestreambedandtoanarrowstandofrivergrassontheotherside.Justbeyondthegrass, the forest began and themountainside rose sharply, the trees rising onebehind the other, tree above tree above tree, until the greenmat of the forestendedabruptlyagainstajaggedandnear-verticalrockface.Hestoodverystillinthegrass, reading the sign, looking, listening,maybe even smelling for all theothersknew.Fleming piped up, his whisper loud and grating, “Can we do the casting
now?”Millspickeduphisrifleasheanswered,“WhenPetegivestheokay.”“Ibroughtsomemoreplaster,”saidArlen,“butIdon’tthinkit’llbeenough.”“Ibroughtsometoo,”saidSing.“We’lltrytostretchit.”Mills lookedat thefieldoffootprintsandgavehisheadabarelydiscernible
wag.“Nobody’severgonnabelievethis.”WhenPetefinallyreturned,hiswalkwasbrisk.Hedidn’tspeakuntilhewas
closeenoughtodoitquietly.“Theydidn’tfollowthestreambed.”Hepointedasthe others gathered around. “They cut straight across and headed up themountain.Ifthey’restillupthereandwecanpushthemupagainstthatrockface...”Millsnoddedandwhispered,“Wecanhemthemin.”Reedgotagriponhisapprehensionbysheerforceofwill.Hisstomachwas
tighttothepointofnausea,andevenhiswhisperquaked:“WhatifBeck’swiththem?”Theyallexchangednervouslooks.
“IfBeck’swith them,” the sheriff finally answered, “thenwecan’t let themleave.”Maxsightedthroughhisriflescopealittletoocalmly,asifhewasn’tbuying
anyofthis.Pete walked to his backpack and dug out some small plastic spray bottles.
“Betterspraythison.Theair’smovingupthatslopelikeabrushfire.”Hetossedabottle toeachhunter. Itwasscentshield,ratherunpleasantstuff thatcovereduphumanscent.Theysprayeditontheirclothingandboots,thensmeareditontheirhandsandfaces.“There’reonlyfourofus,butmaybe that’sbetter,”Petesaid.“Nodogs,nomobs,noracket.Iwanttogetclosethistime.”Hepulledhisshirtopenandsprayedhisarmpits.Theothersdidthesame.“Canwecasttheprintsnow?”Flemingnagged.“Youmay,”saidPete.HestudiedthemountainsideasheaddressedMills.“If
we push ’em, they’re gonna break left or right. If I can get you andReed tohandletheleftandrightflanks,MaxandIcansewupthemiddle.”Maxseemedunconvinced.“Sohowdoweevenknowthey’reupthere?”“Right now it’s a good guess,” said Pete. “But we’re gonna find out real
quick.”ThebigmetaldoorswungopenandCapcamethrough,shovingthecleaningcartaheadof him, brooms swaying, bottles sloshing.He checkedhiswatch.Louiswouldn’tbearrivingforseveralhours.Sofar,sogood.Hepushedthedoorshutandwheeledthecleaningcartbackintoitsparkingplace.Now.Whichmopsdidheadd?Hepulledoneout—Akeyrattledinthebackdoor.I’mdead!Heneverdancedsoquicklyinhislifeashespunandswivel-necked,tryingto
spotaplacetohide.Behindthecarts.Itwashisonlychoice.Heyanked thecartoutof itsparkingplace,dove into thespacebehind,and
pulledthecartinafterhim.Itdidn’tfitallthewayin,butmaybeLouiswouldn’tnotice.Thebackdooropenedandsomebodybigcamein,workshoesthuddingand
shuffling heavily on the floor. It was Louis, all right. Cap knew that familiarwhistle.Thetunewas“Georgia.”LouiswasabigRayCharlesfan.
Andhewasever-so-inconvenientlyearly!CaplookeddownandnoticedhestillhadLouis’saccesscardaroundhisneck.
Oh,please,Louis,don’tgotoyourlocker.He heard the locker door open and the rustle of Louis’s coveralls as Louis
pulledthemon.Thenthewhistlingstopped.Louiswasrummagingaroundinthelocker.The
bigfootfallswenttothedesk.Papersshuffled.Adraweropenedandshutagain.Thehugefootstepscameintothesupplyroomandstopped.Louiswaslooking
around.Thesilencesuggestedhewasbeingcautious.I’mdeader thandead.Louishad toweigh270,280pounds,andhewasall
muscle. If hewanted to detainCap—and thatwas putting it nicely—itwouldhappen,absolutely.Capprayed,hisheartpounding.DearLord,don’tlethimworryaboutoneof
hiscartsbeingcrooked—Louiscamestraighttothecartandpulleditout.The light streamed inonCap, cowering likea frightenedmouseagainst the
backwall.Louis,atoweringAfricanAmericanwithalineman’sbodyandashavedhead,
gawkedatCapforaprotractedmoment.Capconsidered trying toexplain,butthisridiculoussituationandthesightofthishugemanstruckhimstupidandhecouldn’tfindthefirstword.Thebigman sighed throughhis nose, rubbedhis lips together thoughtfully,
andfinallyasked,“ShouldIcomebacklater?”Capstruggledtohisfeet,neverbreakingeyecontactandtryingtosmile.“Uh,
no. I’mall through.”Onceonhis feet,he still had to lookup tomeetLouis’sgaze.LouisreachedandwithonefingergavethecardhangingfromCap’snecka
littlejiggle.Captookitoffhurriedlyandhandedittohim.Louislookeditoverasifcheckingfordamage,thenputitaroundhisownneck.“Youbettergetoutofhere,”hesaid.“Igotsomecrewcomin’in,andIdon’t
wannabestuckexplainin’you.”Capinchedaroundthebigman’sframeandmadeabeelineforthebackdoor.
“Louis,uh,thanks.”Louisfollowedhimatadistance,watchinghim.“Yougetwhatyouneeded?”
Cappaused at the door, considering the question and the data printout he’dstuffedinhispocket.“I’mafraidso.”Hegotoutofthere.
Reedworked hisway carefully up the incline, searching and selecting a firm,hopefullysilentplacetoplanteachstep,weavinganddodgingfromtreetotree,his pulse pounding, his rifle slick in his sweating hands. The GPS receiverstrapped to his left forearm showed him he’d come halfway up the slope; thefournumberedblipsonthemovingmapindicatedhewasmaintainingformationwiththeothers.Theyweremovingupthehillinasemicirculararrangement,likethebottomhalfofaclock:Reedwasatthreeo’clock;PetewasdownhillandtoReed’sleftatfiveo’clock;MaxwascomingupthemiddletoPete’sleftatseveno’clock;SheriffMillswasdirectlyoppositeReedatnineo’clock.Therockfacewasdirectlyabovethem.The GPS doubled as a two-way radio, and now Pete’s voice whispered in
Reed’s earpiece, “The tracks are veering south a little. Let’s add another tendegrees.”Reed spotted a big fir about fifty yards up the bank and ten degrees to his
right.Heheadedforit.Theblipsonhismapmadethesamecorrection.Thehalfcircle warped, lagged, caught up, overtightened, then loosened again as eachmanstruggledwiththeterrain,butsofartheywereholdingthedragnettogether.Reedheldhisrifleinonehandwhilehedriedtheotheronhispantleg,then
switched hands and dried again. Part of him—the part with the weak knees,poundingpulse,andsweatypalms—couldn’thelpdwellingon theflawsin theplan.Therewereonlyfourhuntersformingthissemicircle,andtheywerespreadoutoverhalfamile.Anycreaturebraveandwilyenoughcouldslipthroughthehugegapsbetweenthemandbelonggonebeforetheyknewit.ThesuccessofPete’splanrestedontheseanimalsbeingeitherveryshyorverydeadly.Iftheywere shy, theywouldback awayuntil thehunters could tighten the circle andhem them in against the rocks; if they were deadly, then at least one of thehunterswasbound toencounter themsooneror later.Petedidn’tmentionhowevenshyanimalscouldbecomedeadlyifcornered,butitdidoccurtoReedthat,givenwhat theywereattempting, theyweregoing tobedealingwithadeadlywildanimaleitherway.Pete’sonlyadmonitionforwheneverthathappenedwas“Don’tletthemgetpastyou.”Right.Noproblem. Those eighteen-inch footprints had givenReed awhole
new way of looking at shadowy trees, obscured stumps, and breeze-rippled
bushes.He’dalreadychamberedaround.Thesafetywasoff.ThinkingofBeckwas theonly thing thatkepthimpushing into thismadness.Petehad said shewasinjured, limpingmost likely.Reedhopeditwasn’tmoreserious.Howhadshemanagedtosurvivethislongwhentwostrongmenhaddiedatthehandsofthesebeasts?Thatwasthequestionnoonehadasked,andyetitbotheredReed.Wasshelivinginaterrorthatfaroutpacedthehellhe’dbeenlivingin?Therewereonly threeblipsonhisGPSscreen.“SheriffMills? Idon’thave
youon-screen.”“...I’m...onthe...here,”Millscameback,hisvoicebreakingup.
Singhadreturnedtohermobilelab,parkednexttoatrailer-turned-tavernintheobscure,almost-townofWhitetail.Shecouldseeallfourblipsonhercomputerscreenviathesatellitedishonherroof.“Thesatellite’spickingupeverybody,”she reported over her headset. “It’s the peer-to-peer radio signal between theunits.Sometimesterrainanddistancecanblockit.”“Yeah,I’mdowninahollow,”Millsreported.“Ithappens.Max?Betteraddanothertendegrees;you’redriftingleft.”“Tenmoredegrees,”Maxreplied.“Everybody,Icopyyouaboutaquartermilebelowtherocks.”Theblipskeptmoving,inchbyinch.“Whoa!”Maxwhispered.Peteradioed,“Holdup!”Theradioswentsilent.Theblipsonthescreenstoppedmoving.
Reedmergedwithanelderlyhemlock,nothingmovingbuthiseyes,andthen,asslowlyasthesweephandonaclock,hishead.Theforestaroundhimwasthickenoughtohideanything.Apartfromthechirpingofabirdsomewhere,heheardnothing.Nomovement.Notwigssnapping,norustling.Hewaited.Pete came on the radio, his whisper barely audible. “Max, I heard some
movementyourdirection.”Maxreportedinatense,hushedvoice,“Yeah.There’ssomethingupthere,my
eleveno’clock.”Petereplied,“Anyvisual?”“No.”
Singleanedtowardhercomputermonitor,herhandpressingherearpieceagainst
her ear, hermind leaping into themap she sawon the screen.Theblipsweremotionless,stillinaroughsemicircleonsteepterrain.“Sheriff?”camePete’svoice.“Iheardit.Mytwoo’clock.”
Reedscannedtheforesttohisleft,insidethesemicircle.Hisgazelockedontoabrownmassbehindsomeelderberry.Itdidn’tmove.Afterablink,alookaway,andareturn,hesawthatitwasastump.Hecarefullystoleastep,thenanother,thenfourupthehillwherehemerged
withanotherhemlock.“Yeah,”camethesheriff’smuffledvoice.“Thereitwasagain,twoo’clock.”Pete replied, “Sheriff, move up toward the rocks. Max, fill in. I’m up the
middle.Reed,moveleft,closein,quickandquiet.”Reed separated from thehemlockandmoved left, his eyeson the trees, the
tangledbrush,theferns,theobscuringbroadleaves.Hestoppedshortatthesightofashadowbehindsomedevil’sclub.Whenhewassureitwasanupturnedrootball, he stepped again, carefully placing his foot on soft earth or solid log,anythingsilent.“I’mgettingcloser,”saidMills.“Icanhearitmoving,stilltomyright.”“Movein,everybody,”saidPete.“Movein.Tightenthecircle.”Reed checked the screen on hisGPS.All four numbered blipswere visible
now,but thesemicircledidn’t lookmuchtighter thanbefore.Hetriedtomovefaster.Hefroze.Hisfingerwrappedaroundthetrigger.Something uphill, to his right, caught his eye. Somethingwhite, flickering,
waving.Awhitetaildeer?No.Itwasn’tmovingfromthatspot.“Didyouhearthat?”Millsasked.“Yeah,”Maxreplied.Reed checked his GPS. Mills was moving in, tightening the top of the
semicircle.MaxandPetemovedupthehill,flatteningthepattern.Hecouldseehisblipstilllingeringoutontherightflank.The strange white thing was there, moving in the slight breeze. Reed
quickened his pace, eyes alert, as he closed the distance. It appeared to be aribbonofsomekind,butwhatsurveyorwouldhavebeenclearuphere?
“Headsup,headsup,”Millswhispered.“It’scomingdownthehill.”“Max,eyesopen!”saidPete.A quick run across the open grass, and Reed came to an elderberry bush
sportingthewhiteornament.Itlookedlike—Hereachedit,eventouchedit.Astringoftoiletpaper.“IthinkIsawit!”saidMills.“Huh.Ithinkit’sabear.It’sblack.”Reeddidnotremovethetoiletpaperfromthebushbutstoodbyit,surveying
inalldirectionsforanyothersign.There!Onlyfifteenfeetaway,asmallscrapof white lay like a fallen leaf on a patch of brown pine needles. Nervously,quickly,keepinganeyeopen for anythingapproaching,he enteredhispresentlocationasawaypointontheGPS.Hewasabouttoreportwhen—“Idon’thaveit,”saidMax.“Idon’teither,”saidMills.“It’squitmoving.”“Pete,Reed,whereareyou?”Singresponded,“Pete’sonhisway,aboutathousandfeetatyourfiveo’clock.
Reed,how’reyoudoing?”“I’vefoundsomething,”hesaid.Forsomesillyreasonhedidn’twanttosay
he’dfoundtoiletpaper.“I’mgoingto—”Heheardit,andtimestopped.Histhoughts,hisbreath,maybeevenhisheart,
stopped.Thatghostlikecryofanguish, thoughechoinganddistant, chilledhisbloodevenmorethanwhenhe’dfirsthearditinthedarknearthecabinonLostCreek.Beck barely had time to flinch beforeRachel grabbed her up and dove into asheltering clump of elderberry and maple, huffing in alarm. Clamped againstRachel’s chest, Beck looked backward over Rachel’s shoulder and saw Leahcrouchingintheopen,callingforReubenwithfaint,high-pitchedyelps,untiltheleavesclosedinandshesawnothing.Shedidn’thaveto.Withthejoltingsurpriseoverandthebrushsettlingback
tostillness,sheheard thedistantsound thatsoalarmedhercaptors.HerhandsbecametremblingfistsassheclampedontoRachel’sfur.Reedwasabouttocall,butMillsspokefirst.“It’sher!”saidMills.“Reed,IcanhearBeck!”No.No!“Soundslikeshe’shurting,”saidMax.
Reedtriedtocontrolhisvoiceasheradioed,“It’snotBeck!Repeat,itisnotBeck.Doyoucopy?”“Reed,you’rebreakingup,”saidPete.Faintinthedistance,SheriffMillswasshouting,“Beck!BeckShelton!”Reedbroke into a run, ducking andveering around trees, thrashing through
thickbrush.Heradioedasheran,“Mills,getoutofthere!”“Max,let’smove!”Peteordered.TheblipsonReed’sGPScrawled steadily towardeachother, tightening the
pattern.“I’vegotit,”saidMills.“It’sa—”Adrawnbreath.Thesqueakofleather,the
rattleofmetal.Thesheriffwas fumblingwithhis rifle.“Man,ohman, Idon’tbelieveit!”Hissignalcutout.Arifleshot!“Mills!Mills!”Reedcried.Millscamebackontheair,breathingheavilyasifrunning.“Getuphere;you
hearme?Getuphere!”Anotherrifleshot.Petedemanded,“Sheriff,areyouallright?”“Godhelpme,thatthing’swalking!”
eleven
For amicrosecond, Reed forced himself to stop against every raging need toplungeforward.Hegrippedhis riflehigh, ready tosightdown thebarrelat somuchasasquirrelifitdaredtomove.Betweengaspsforair,helistenedforanysound,nomatterhow insignificant.WhateverMillshadencountered, itwasn’ttheonlyone.Petewasyelling,hisvoicedistortedintheearpiece,“Mills!Justshoot.Drawa
beadandshoot.”“Ican’tseehim!”Thencameascreamofalarm.Anothershot.Reedwasmovingagain,eyeswideopen,rifleready.Hecametoaclearing,
sweptitvisually,anddashedacross.“Mills?”Petecalled.“Mills!Max,doyouseehim?”Maxdidn’tanswer.ReedcheckedhisGPSasheplungedintothetreesagain.
Mills was moving north, obviously running. Max’s blip had stalled. “Max,SheriffMillsisnortheastofyou.Movenortheast.”Maxfinallyanswered,“Ican’tgettherefromhere.I’vegottogoaround—”Theyheardascream,firstpiercing,thengarbled,thenmuffled—Thencutshort.Silent.Asecondscreamfollowed: thewoman—thatsameinvisiblebansheeofLost
Creek—screamedasifshe’dbeencutopen,theechoesofhervoicelayeringoneupontheotherasthebarrenrockssentthesoundbackandforth,backandforth,backandforthacrossthevalley.Reedfrozeinterror,hisbackagainstatree,hiseyesdarting,hishandsnearlydroppingtherifle.Thenightmarehadreturned indaylight.Fromout there,a legionofdemons
answered thewoman from their haunts andhidingplaces, their guttural howlslong and mournful like ghostly sirens following one upon the other, rising,fading,notesclashing,echoing,echoing,echoing.The radios were silent as every man went speechless. Reed was petrified,
wishinghecouldmeld into the treeathisback.Thesewerenostrangers;he’dheardthiseeriedirgebefore,anditwasnolessterrifyingnow.Beck clamped her hands over her ears and cowered, unable to squirm out ofRachel’sirongraspastheSasquatch,headraisedandjawsagape,howledwith
thepowerofaship’shorn.Rachelwastrembling,stinking.Hereyessweptaboutthebrushcanopyasifdeathhoveredovertheirheads.I heard shots, Beck thought. But still the woman screamed. What’s
happening?Justoutsidetheirhidingplaceinthebrush,Leahcrouchedintheundergrowth
andhowledjustasloudly,stillanxiouslylookingforherson.Reuben came bounding out of the trees, tattered shreds of toilet paper
streamingbehindhim.Leahscoopedhimup;heclungtoher,afrightenedchild,and Leah immediately plunged into the elderberry thicket, nearly tramplingRachelandBeckinherhaste.Petecalled,“Mills?SheriffMills,canyouhearme?”Noanswer.ReedcheckedhisGPS.MaxandPeteweremovingagain.Maxwouldreach
Millsfirst.ButMills’sblipwasn’tmoving.Reedcalled,“Sing,areyougettinganythingfromSheriffMills?”Sing’svoicewastightwithemotion.“HisGPSisstillworkingandI’mgetting
hisradiosignal,butheisn’tmoving.Heisn’tresponding.”Reedcheckedhisbearings,driedhishandsonhisjacket,andplungedahead,
kneesweak.“Hello,thisisReed.Somebodyouttheretalktome.”Petecameback,“We’reclosingonMills.Watchyourself.Thatcritter’s still
outhere.”Reed was watching, all right. These woods were full of shadows and dark
placestohide.Hisriflebarrelwentanywherehiseyeswent.Aravenflewfromadeadbranchabovehimandhealmostshotit.Singcameontheradio.“Max?Areyouallright?Canyoutalktome?”Max didn’t answer. Reed checked his screen.Maxwasmoving, so hewas
alive.HewasgettingclosetoMills’slocation.Singaskedagain,“Max?”Reed kept moving, pushing through the brush, clambering over rocks and
logs,eyesdarting,dreadclosingoverhimlikeacloud.Peteradioed,“IhaveMax.He’sokay.”Movement.Branchessnapping.Pete’s
laboringbreathandfootstepscameovertheradio.“Max?I’mcomingupbehind
you.”Pete’svoicebecamestrangelyquiet,cautious.“Max,Idon’tseeyourrifle.Point it in the air forme,will you, bud?Okay.Good.Now just keep it there,okay?I’mcomingupbehindyou.Youseeme?Max?Justlookoveryourrightshoulder.It’sokay;it’sme.”NowReedheardmovementaheadofhim.“Pete?I’mcomingyourwayfrom
slightlyuphill.”“Ihearyou,Reed.”“What’sthestory?”“Standby.I’mgonnacheckonMax.He’s—”Silence.Reeddidn’tlikesilence,notnow.“Pete?”“Uh...”Reed could see a small break in the forest canopy aheadof him.Lightwas
penetratingtotheforestfloor.AfewmorestepsthroughtheundergrowthandhesawPete,lookinghisway.Petewavedathim,weaklyatfirst,butthenurgently.“Getoutofthosetrees,
Reed.We’vegotacasualty.”Those were the words none of them wanted to hear. Reed carefully chose
someshortleapsdownthegradeandbrokeintotheclearing.Maxwassittingawkwardlyontheground,teeteringasifhe’dcollapsedthere,
hisfacepale,hisbodyquiveringandpalsiedwithshock,hiseyesstaring, thenaverting,thenstaringagain.Reedthoughthewasinjured,evenshot.PetestoodbyMax,alert,riflefollowinghiseyesashecontinuouslyscanned
the forestonall sides.Hegestured forReed toclose in.Reedcrossedquicklyandstoodbyhim,guardingPete’sbackasPeteguardedhis.ThequestionhadonlyformedinReed’smindwhentheanswerassaultedhim
from across the clearing. He lurched, looking away, flooded with shock andrevulsion.“Sorry,”saidPeteinahoarsewhisper.“Should’vewarnedyou.”Reedforcedhimselftolookagain.Sheriff Mills’s body had been hurled against a tree and now lay wrapped
aroundthetrunk,crumpledandcontortedlikeabrokendoll.Theearpiecelayinthegrass,stillconnectedbywiretotheGPSonhisleftarm.Mills’sriflelayinthegrass,thestockbrokenoff.Exceptforafewremainingsinewsanddripping
arteries,theheadwasallbutseparatedfromthebody.Reed’s mind was paralyzed, but only for a moment. Without a conscious
thought,hepositionedhis rifleand turnedhis full attention to the surroundingforest.For several seconds, with tendons tightened to their limit, sweat dripping
down their faces, and every breath controlled, Reed and Pete rotated slowlyabout a common center, back to back, eyes, ears, and rifles on the dark,concealingforestthatencircledthem.Attheirfeet,Maxslumpedtotheground,vomitingandmoaning.“Max,shh,”Petewhispered.Maxtriedtofinishassilentlyashecould.Singcameovertheradio.Hervoicewasfrantic.“Pete?Reed?Pleasereport.”Withouttakinghiseyesofftheforestorhishandawayfromthetrigger,Reed
spokequietly,slowly,anddeliberately,thewaySheriffMillswouldhave.“Sing,get hold of yourself. SheriffMills is dead, same as Allen Arnold and RandyThompson.”Hethoughtheheardafaint“Ohno,”butafterthat,nothing.“Sing?Acknowledge.”Hervoicewascontrolled.“I’mhere.SheriffMillsisdead.”“CallDeputySaunders.Tellhimtoevacuateall thesearch teams,every last
oneofthem.AndhavehimcontacttheForestService.Nociviliansgointothewoods, not campers, hikers, anybody— and that’s by order of . . . well, me.GuessI’mthecountysherifffornow.”“Whatareyougoingtodo?”Reedkept his voice steady. “Iwant you to get hold of Jimmy.Tell himwe
needhimandallofhishuntersuphere,andifhecanscareupanymorefromtheForestService,wecanusethemtoo.”“Reed,areyousecureuntiltheyarrive?”“Getusthemedicalcrew,somebodytotakeSheriffMillsoutofhere.”“Reed!”Hegotfirm.“Sing,areyoucopyingthisdown?”
Shewas trying to. Her hand shook so badly her writing was nearly illegible.“DaveSaunders,evacuatethesearchparties.JimmyClark,relocatethehunters.Getthemedicsheretotakeout...”Emotionovercameher.
Reed’svoicewassosteadyitwasalmostmechanical.“Remainwhereyouaresoyoucanmeet them.I’ll leaveSheriffMills’sGPSwithhisbodysoyoucanguidethemin.”“Got it.” She listened to several seconds of radio silence and finally asked,
“Reed.Whatareyourintentions?”Reed exchanged a lookwith Pete, who gave him a slight but definite nod.
“Thisisascloseaswe’veeverbeentofindinghersinceLostCreek.”“We’llbeallright,”Peteconcurred.Singasked,“WhataboutMax?”Max lay on the ground, still recovering from shock and nausea.Discreetly,
whileMaxwasn’tlooking,PetecrouchedtoexaminethesolesofMax’sboots,quickly referring to thebluecards inhisvestpocket.Withaquick lookandabarely discernible head shake in Reed’s direction, he radioed Sing, “Max cancomewithusifhe’suptoit.”Max pushed himself off the ground and breathed amoment. He nodded at
PeteandReed,thenslowlystruggledtohisfeet.“I’min.”Hewasstillshaking,andhekepthisbacktowardMills’sbody.Reed andMax stood guard as Pete quickly found signs: scuffed earth, bent
grass, broken twigs, one impression, and a few drops of blood. “He took offsouthagain,uphill. Ifwecankeephimupagainst thoserocks,we’llhavehalfthebattle.”Reedradioed,“Sing,yougotusonyourscreen?”“Goodtogo,”shereplied.“Pete, I’ll check this out,” Reed said. He showed Pete the waypoint he’d
enteredandtoldhimaboutthetoiletpaper.Peteshookhisheadinwonder.“EitherBeckwasthereorsomethingshehada
run-in with. It’d be a good place to start; you’re right about that.” He thensuggested,“IfIwereyou,I’dduckdownhilltothatopencountrywhereyoucanmakebetter timeandget southof there.Thenyou can climbuphill again andclose in from the south,maybe head ’em off.Max, youwork yourway fromhere,paralleltothoserocks,anddowhateverittakestokeep’emupthere.”Petenodded towardMills’sgrotesque form.“Itonly tookoneof ’em todo this, sodon’twaittoshoot.I’lltrytoputthecorkinthebottle,comeinfromthenorth.And,Reed...”Reed knew what Pete was going to say. Pete eyed the mountains above.
“Thosefootprintsdownbelowtoldastory,andIthoughtwehaditright.Butthis. . .”Helooked—unwillingly—atMills’s twistedbody.“This is therealstory.There’snomistakingthis.”Reedwasmoredirect.“You’resayingBeckisdead?”Pete glanced away amoment,waiting forwords. “Thismight bemore of a
huntthanasearch.”Reedweighedthat,thenreplied,“Sodon’tletthemgetpastyou.”Peteanswered,“Youneither.”Thatwasenoughfornow.
Capwas considering, only considering, his nextmove, when Sing called andtoldhimofSheriffMills’sdeath.Herlastwordsbefore“Iloveyou”were,“Cap,wereallyneedtoknowwhatthisis.Please.”That lockedhisdecisionandhis resolve.After aquick triphome tochange
into presentable clothing—black slacks, a plain almond shirt, conservative tie,navysportscoat—Capdroveback to theCorzinecampusandwent straight tothe Bioscience building. He used the front door this time and walked boldlydown the hall to the cherry-paneled office of Dr. Philip Merrill, dean of theCollege of Sciences, former department chair of Molecular Biology, an icesculptureinasuit—andCap’sformerboss.“DoyouhaveanappointmentwithDr.Merrill?”hissecretaryasked.CapglareddownatJudyWayne,thesameladyCaphadsaidgoodmorningto
andmoocheddoughnuts fromfor theentire sixyearsheworked there. “Judy?YouknowIdon’tneedanappointment.IneedtotalktoPhil.”She tilted her head condescendingly. “If it’s about your severance package,
youneedtotalktoaccounting.”“WhatifItoldyouit’samatteroflifeanddeath?”“Iwouldn’tbelieveyou.”“Ishehere?”“I’msurehe’sbusy.”“Youcantellhimyoutriedtostopme.”Heskirtedaroundherdeskandwent
toMerrill’sdoor.Sheranafterhim,ofcourse,protesting,citingpolicy,afraidforherjob.Heknockedgently,thenturnedthebigbrassknobandopenedthedoor.
Merrillwas stillMerrill: hair combed straightback and inplace, suit jacketneatly hung on a wood valet in the corner, necktie conservative and tightlyknottedunderhisAdam’sapple.Hisdeskwasasqueaky-cleanbattleship,andhewastheadmiral.Hewasonthephone,whichwasactuallyagoodthingbecauseitforcedhimtowatchhislanguagewhenhesawwhobargedin.Hiseyeswentfrostycold,butheheldhisdemeanor,puttinghishandoverthereceiver.“Cap,youmustknowthismeetingisn’tgoingtohappen!”“Itriedtostophim!”Judysqueaked.Caphelduptwofingers.“Twominutes.Please.”Merrillglaredathimforalongmoment,thenspoketothephone,“Uh,gota
snafuhereattheoffice.CanIcallyouback?”Hehungup.“ShallIcallsecurity?”Judyasked.CapgawkedatherindisbeliefbuttoldMerrill,“Phil,thisconcernsyou,not
me.It’sinyourinterest.”Merrillprocessedthat,thenwavedJudyaway.“Holdoffonthat.Just,uh,just
leaveusalone—fortwominutes.”Judywalkedout.“Andclosethedoor.”Sheclosedthedoor.Merrillleanedbackinhischairandsilentlygestured,Well?Capexpendedafewprecioussecondstakingaseatonthefancyleathercouch.
Thiswasn’tgoingtobeeasy,butwhattheheck,hewasalreadyfired.“Ithoughtyou’dwanttoknowthattheWhitcombCountysheriffwasjustfoundupinthenationalforestwithmostofhisbonesbrokenandhisheadnearlytornoff, justlikealoggingforemanfromThreeRiverswhodiedinexactlythesamewayonMondaymorning.”Merrillshowednoreaction.Hesimplysaid,“AndwhywouldIneedtoknow
that?”“There’sa trailguidemissing,and then there’salsoawomanmissing,agal
who’smarriedtoafriendofmine—adeputysheriff.SingandIhavebeentryingtohelpout,tryingtotrackdowntheanimalresponsible.”Merrillsteepledhisfingersunderhischin.“I thoughtyousaidthisconcerns
me.”“I ranaFluorescent InSituHybridizationon stool, saliva, andhair samples
fromthething.IfoundchimpanzeeDNAwithhumanDNApresent.”“Hm.Contamination.Toobad.”“ThehumanDNAwasjuxtaposedwithadenovirus.”Merrillprocessedalittlemoreandthentriednottolaugh.“Youcan’tbegoing
whereIthinkyou’regoing.”“Ijustthoughtyou’dbeinterested.”“Andyouwerehopingtogetareaction,Isuppose.”“ConsideringwhatAdamBurkhardt’sbeenworkingonalltheseyears,and—
hey,youknowwhat?Heisn’tevenaround.Icheckedathisofficeandhe’sonsabbatical . . . again.Howcanhepossiblymakeanymoney for theuniversitywhenhe’sneverhere?”Merrill’s gaze was mocking. “By producing results, Cap. He produces
results.”Cap nodded. “And that’s why the department gets all that funding, all that
money from those big corporations . . . uh, Euro-Atlantic Oil, the CarlisleFoundation—”“Soyou’vedonesomehomework.”“AmericanGeographic andPublicBroadcasting’s got their fingers in it too.
He’sworthalotofmoneytoyou,isn’the?Cometothinkofit,youmightowehimadebtofthanksforyourpromotion.”“Jealous?”“Bothered,forthesameoldreasons:it’snotresultsthatgetthefunding—it’s
correctresults.Give’emwhat theywantand they’llsend themoney.Questionwhattheywantand—”“Whattheywantisscience,Cap.Icouldnevergetyoutounderstandthat.”“Butsciencepridesitselfonbeingself-correcting.”Merrilllookedathiswatch.“I’mwaitingforyoutomakeyourpoint!”Cap leaned forward. “What if somethingwentwrong?What if Burkhardt’s
resultsweren’t‘correct’?Whatifpeoplegothurt?Whatifpeoplegotkilled?”“I must warn you, if you are in any way considering a violation of your
confidentialityagreement—”“Whatdoyousupposewouldhappentothefunding—orevenyourjob?”Thathithome—finally.Anold,coldlookreturnedtoMerrill’seyes.“Asyou
mayexpect,Iwillnotabidewhatyou’resuggesting,norwillIdignifyitwitharesponse.”Capknewthisman;hewasfamiliarwithMerrill’sstyleoflying.Herosefrom
the fancy couch and leaned closely overMerrill’s desk. “Self-correcting. I’vebroughtyoudataofgreatinterest,I’msure—ifyou’reascientist.”Caphadwhathecamefor.Hewalkedout,leavingthedoorwideopen.Merrillfollowedjustafewsecondsbehindandwatchedhimgodownthehall
towardthefrontdoor.Thedeanwasnotquiteaspoisedasbefore.Judylookedupfromherdesk.“Everythingokay?”“He’sleaving.”Merrill returned to his office, circled behind his expansive desk,
unconsciouslycheckedhishair, thenconsciouslycheckedhisdesk,hiswayofassuring himself that his world was still stable, predictable, and under hiscontrol.His eye was immediately drawn to a void in the fastidious arrangement of
calendar, telephone, desk caddy, and pen set on his desktop. An allotment ofdeskspacewasnowemptywhereheusuallykept—Heburstfromhisoffice.“Callsecurity!”Judygotonthephone.Merrillwastremblingwithindignity,lookingupanddownthehallway.“That
weaseljuststolemymasterkeys!”Sheriff Patrick Mills’s lifeless eyes gawked at the sky one last time as aparamedicplacedMills’scowboyhatonhischestandzippedtheblackbodybagshut.JimmyClarkrespectfullyremovedhisownhatastwoparamedicscarriedthe
body out of the clearing.Wiley Kane did the same, exposing his long whitemane. Steve Thorne, looking tough and military as ever, watched grimly,camouflagecapinplace.YoungMarinersfanSamMarlowetriedtoconcentrateonfamiliarizinghimselfwithaGPSunit.Janson—nooneeveraskedJansonhisfirst name—chosenot towatch at all.Notoneman set downhis rifle for anyreason.JimmyhadalreadystrappedMills’sGPStohisarm—amostregrettabletask,
but it had to be done. He carefully washed the blood off the earpiece with ahandkerchief andwater fromhis canteen, then put the earpiece in his ear and
pressedthetalkbutton.“Sing,thisisJimmy.Howdoyouread?”“Loudandclear.”Singwasathercomputerinthemobilelab,watchingthesameGPSblipsina
new arrangement: Reed was south of his toilet paper waypoint and doublingback;Pete lingered to thenorth,waiting tohear fromReed.Maxwas roughlyhalfwaybetweenthemandaquartermilebelowthestonefaceofthemountain.Theyformedaverylargetriangle,andeachmanlookedpitifully,frighteninglyalone out there. Jimmy, now represented byMills’s old blip, was still in theclearingwhereMillshaddied,butthatwouldchange—soon,shehoped.The hamlet of Whitetail had gotten busy. Two Forest Service vehicles,
Jimmy’sFishandGamerig,amedicalemergencyvehicle,andtwoprivatecarswerenowclusteredaroundSing’smobilelab.Alotoffirepowerhadgoneintothewoods,meaningtherewasamajorchancesomethingwasgoingtocomeoutdead.Singwasfeelinghopeandfearinequalproportions.AnotherblipappearedonherscreenrightnexttoJimmy’s.Avoicecrackled
inherheadset:“Sing,thisisThorne.”Abouttime!“Ihaveyouon-screen,voiceisloudandclear.”
SteveThornewassatisfiedhe’dfiguredthingsout.HepositionedtheGPSontheundersideofhisleftforearmsohecouldreaditwhileholdinghisrifle,andhewasready.SamMarlowe just didwhat Thorne did and hewas ready in half the time.
“Sing?ThisisSamMarlowe.”“Okay,”shecameback.“You’renumber6,on-screen,loudandclear.”Jimmygreetedthefourarmedforestrangerswhohadjustarrived,thencalled
viahisearpiece,“Reed?Pete?We’rereadydownhere.”Reedhurriedupthehillthroughthickwoods,hominginonhiswaypoint,eyesandearswary.Underthecircumstances,hewasgladtohearJimmy’svoice.Peteradioed,“Let’sfill in thecircle,guys,quickasyoucan.I thinkwecan
workwithinaquarter-mileradius;we’rethatclose.”Withall thegrimnessofaplatoon leader leadinghismen intocombat, Jimmydividedhishuntersintothreeteamsheadedbyhimself,SteveThorne,andSamMarlowe.“Sam,youandyourguysfillinaroundPete’sposition;Steve,spreadyourguysalongthatwestsideandhelpMax.Myteam’lltakethesouthendand
dowhatwecantohelpReed.Wedon’thaveGPSunitsforeverybody,sotherestofyoustaywithinearshotofyourteamleader.Let’sgo.”Astheydispersedintothewoods,heradioed,“Sing,we’removing.”Becktriedmovingonce,justraisingherheadenoughtopeeroutofthethicket,butRachelheldherbackwithafirmhand,clampingherlikeachildagainstherbosom and holding her still. Beck settled—for themoment—and became likeRachel,Leah,andReuben:ashadow,adark,indistinctareawithintheelderberrythicket, obscured by a web of stalks, branches, limbs, and leaves. This washidingasBeckhadneverexperiencedit—asananimal:motionless,silent,partof the darkness. Like ogres in a dim, odorous underworld, they’d become asdeadthingswhiletheforestlived,stirred,andchatteredabovethem.Iheardshots.Movingonlyhereyes,Becktriedtomeettheirs.Nonewouldlookback,but
she could tell they knew what was happening: something terrible, somethingfrightening—tothem.Andhopeful—forher.MaybeJacobwasinthemiddleofanothergrislykillingwhenheencountered
something he wasn’t expecting: Hunters. Humans. Big burly guys incamouflage,lookingforalostwomanofherdescription,totingriflesandreadytoblowawayanyhairymonstersthatgavethemguff.Maybe someone found her footprints and made some sense of Reed’s cell
phone number.MaybeReedwas still alive and leading the search.Maybe, atlonglast,theruleswerechanginginherfavor!Shehadtoknow.Fighting back a rising quiver of excitement, she tried to be still, like her
captors, and hear what they might be hearing. The forest above was stillspeaking in its everyday way, in a language she didn’t know.Were the birdsconcernedaboutsomething,orjustgossiping?Wasthatquietrustlingapassingcreature,thewindinthebranches,orahunter?Then she noticed—and felt—something, only because it changed. Rachel’s
heartand theslow, steamyflowofair throughhernostrilshadquickened.Forthe first time, Rachel’s head turned. The other heads turned. Beck turned herhead.The birds took flight, sounding alarms. Footfalls approached through the
undergrowth—two feet, not four. There was a soft, rumbling grunt as they
passedbyandcontinuedon.Abruptly,andsotypically,Rachelrosetoherfeetwithoutwarningandburst
out of the thicket, heavingBeckover her shoulder.Leah,withReubenonherback,followeddirectlybehind.BeckhookedanarmaroundRachel’sneckandswungdownintoamanageablestraddle,butshewaslookingback,tothesides,anywhereelseshecouldcatchaviewoftheforest.Weretherehuntersoutthere?Rachel andLeah ran south in a nearly straight line as if they knew exactly
where theywere going, and then, so quickly Beckmissedwhen it happened,Jacobwaswiththem,leadingtheway.Hisgaitwashurriedandcautious,hishairbristling.Hisfearscenttrailedbehindhimlikesmokefromanoldlocomotive,andhekeptglancingoverhisshoulder,notatallthehaughtykingpinhe’dbeenbefore.Beck was afraid to assume too much, to hope too much, but from all
appearances,theywerebeingchased.Jacobwasleadingagetaway.Capknewhewouldn’t havemuch time andwasted noneof it getting down aflightofsteelstairsandintothesubterraneanworldunderBioscience.Themainhallwaywasnarrow,itsceilingclutteredwithconduit,plumbing,andductwork.Thewallswereamonotonousgray,undecoratedexceptforfrequentredsignsonimposing doors that shouted, Danger: High Voltage, This Door to RemainClosedatAllTimes,andAuthorizedPersonnelOnly.HecametoasignthatreadBlueClearanceOnlyBeyondThisPoint.Hekeptgoing,his shoesclickingonthe bare concrete. He’d been stripped of his blue clearance badge alongwitheverything else, but maybe no one would notice—if he even encounteredanyone.Sofar,thewholefloorseemedstrangelydeserted.Hedidfeelapangofconscience,asifhewereaspyorevenaburglar,buthe
kepttellinghimselfhewasdownherebecause(a)hewasascientist,(b)hehadatheory, and (c) a scientist tested his theories through experimentation andobservation.Following up on Baumgartner’s “question” and that second trip to the
Internet,he’dusedafluorescenttaggingmethodtocheckthehumanDNAinthesamples foradenovirus sequences,andbingo!Knowingwhat to look for,he’dfoundthemeverywhere.Adenoviruswasatoolcommonlyusedingenesplicingbecause,beingavirus,
itnaturallyspliceditsownDNAintotheDNAofacellitinfected,makingitanidealdeliverysystem.ItwasamatterofusinganenzymetocutaDNAsequencefromadonorcell, splicing that sequence into thevirus, and then infecting the
recipient cell with the virus. Once in the recipient cell, the virus spliced thedonor DNA into the recipient’s DNA alongwith its own,making the desiredadditionbutalsoleavingitsowndetectablesequence.InthecaseoftheDNAfromthestoolandthesaliva,meticulousrearranging
of base pairs through site-directed mutagenesis— SDM—was clearly evidentbut, predictably, too slow for the genetic engineer’s schedule.Whoever itwasresorted to viral transfer, using adenovirus to transfer, splice, andmix humanwith chimpanzee DNAwhole sequences at a time, amuch faster process buthaphazard.InSDM,thegeneticengineercontrolledwhatbasepairswerebeingchanged, switched, andmoved. In viral transfer, the virusdecided, potentiallydoingmoreharmthangood.So Cap had a theory to explain the strange sequences the Judy Lab had
revealed: chimpanzee, human, and hybrid all in the same animal, laced withsequencesfromtheadenovirusthatdidmostofthesplicing.Itwasnoaccident,andtherewasnocontamination.ThepresenceofhumanDNAwasintentional.Butofcourse,itwasstillatheory,andincompleteatthat.Hehadthewhatand
thehow;butheneededtoconfirmthewho,andwhilethepossibleanswerwasano-brainer as far as he was concerned, it was necessary to test that answerthroughobservation.Thatobservationwasgoingtobeginontheothersideofaplaindoormarked
withnothingbutanumber:102.Hepulledasmallcedarboxfromhis jacketpocket,anicekeepsakeMerrill
had received from the American Geographic Society in recognition of hiscontribution to the field of evolutionary biology. It bore his name and thesociety’slogo,laser-etchedonthelid.CapflippeditopenandtookoutMerrill’smasterkeystothedepartment’slabsandclassrooms.ThethirdkeyCaptriedopenedthedoor.Withaquickglanceupanddownthe
hall—sofar,hewasstilltheonlyonehere—heslippedinside,closingthedoorbehindhim.Heknewwheretofindthelightswitchbecauseheknewthisplacewell.This
was the labofDr.AdamBurkhardt, theunsungand secretivepioneer—posterchild,Caphadoften thoughtderisively—ofmolecular anthropology. InCap’searly years at the university, and at the very strong suggestion of Merrill,Baumgartner,andotherdepartmentcolleagues,CaphadspentmanyhoursinthisroomworkingsidebysidewithBurkhardt,supposedlytorestoreCap’sfaithinbeneficialmutationsandkeephimontherightpathasaprofessorofbiology.If
anyonecouldprovethatmutationsreallyworkedasthemechanismforevolvingnew species, it had to beBurkhardt.He’d spent hiswhole life trying—and asCapkeptpointingout, failing.That,ofcourse,wasn’t theconclusionCapwassupposed to reach. After two years of working together, their respectivepositions became so polarized that they parted company, Burkhardt to hissecretive,high-priorityresearch,andCaptohisroleastheoutspoken,question-askingdepartmentpariah.ButCaphadnotimetodwellonunpleasantmemories.Rightnowhehadto
dealwiththefactthathewascarryingstolenkeys,wouldsoonbecaughtifhedidn’t move quickly, and was standing in a lab that was, by all appearances,vacant. The workbenches, once cluttered with a dozen different projects invariousstages,werenowclearandunusedexceptforafewcardboardboxesthatwerelinedupnearthedoor.Thebiologypostersweregonefromthewalls,thespecimen jars were gone from the shelves, the lab mice were gone from thecages.Burkhardt’solddeskwasbare.Capsetdowntheboxofkeysandpulledout
the drawers; theywere all empty.Thebulletin board above the desk carried acalendar still flipped to January even though it was July, announcements ofeventsthathadlongpassed,andafewsnapshotsheldinplacewithpushpins:aprettygradstudentholdingalabratassheinjectedit;ratswithmottledcolorsintheir fur; four male students grinning as they held a trophy they’d won at aregional collegiate science fair. Burkhardt’s PhD diploma had been removedfromthewall,butthesquareofunfadedpaintstillmarkedwhereitoncehung.A“Teacher of theYear” plaque remained, dusty and forgotten.Cap rememberedBurkhardt losing interest in teaching over the years, and now it seemedBurkhardtdidn’tcaremuchforthememorieseither,norfortheyoungliveshe’dinfluenced,consideringhe’dlefttheirpicturesbehind.Capwenttothecardboardboxesandfoldedbackthetopflapsofthefirst.Ah,
herewasatleastonevestigeofBurkhardt’spresence.Inside,wrappedinseverallayersofnewspaper toprotect frombreakage,were someofBurkhardt’sglassspecimen jars. Burkhardt always prided himself on his vast collection ofevolutionaryiconsinformaldehyde,adisplaythatoncetookupseveralshelvesalongthefrontoftheroomandcaughttheeyeofanyonewhodroppedin.He’dbought,borrowed,andswappedwithotherbiologistsaroundtheworldtocollectGalapagos finches with different-sized beaks, pepperedmoths both white andgray, coelacanths that were regarded as living fossils, bats whosewing bones
bore a homologous similarity to the human hand, lizards that had supposedlyevolved from snakes, and a boa constrictor that had supposedly evolved fromlizards,allpartofBurkhardt’ssideshowofthedead.Theseremainingjarsmusthavebeenthelastonespacked,stillwaitingtomakethemove,whereveritwastheyweregoing.Cappulledoutoneofthejarsandcarefullyremovedthenewspaperwrapping.
He’dnodoubtseenthisspecimenbefore—No. He hadn’t. This one was new, and from its appearance, Cap decided,
Burkhardthadn’tboughtortradedforit—Burkhardthadproducedthisone.Itwasalabratfloatinginamberpreservative,apitifulanimalwithatwisted
spineand—Capcountedthemtwicetobesure—sixlegs.Hepulledoutandunwrapped thesecondjar. Itwasanother labrat, thisone
withmottledfurandnoeyes.Thethirdjarcontainedaratwithnolegsatall.Capfelthisfaceflushandhisstomachgrowqueasy.Herewrappedandplaced
the jars back in their box, not looking at the contents, trying to sell himself afoolish,vainhopethatBurkhardthadgottenthemessageandstoppedwithrats—orattheveryworst,chimpanzees.Burkhardtwasascientist,afterall.Surelyheknewhowtoreadtheindicationsofthedata,especiallyatsuchahighlevel—Atthefarendoftheroom,asolitaryanimalcagecaughtCap’sattention.He
pausedinwrappingthelastjarandstaredatthecageamoment,frozenintime,onehandonthejarandtheotherholdingtheboxlidopen.He couldn’t be seeingwhat he thought hewas seeing.Hewasn’t ready for
thingstogetworse.Heloweredthelastjarintothebox,thenhurrieddowntheaislebetweenthe
workbenchesforacloserlook.Thecagewassimilartoalargepetcarrier,arectangularboxoftoughplastic
with a swinging, barred gate at one end. It had come on tough times. Theopeningallaroundthegatehadbeenchewedasifbyanenormousrattryingtoescape.Theslotforthelatchwasnearlygougedout.Thegatewastoothmarkedandbulgedoutwardasifpushedwithincrediblestrengthfromtheinside.WhateverBurkhardthadkeptinthiscage,itwasbiggerthanarat;apparently
—hopefully—Burkhardthadfoundabigger,toughercage.“Dr.Capella!”
He’dstayedtoolong.Turning,hesawMerrillcomeintotheroom,flankedbytwocampuspoliceingrayuniforms,theuniversity’sbestandbiggest.Merrillwasstrongandconfidentbetweenhistwo-manarmy.Heextendedhis
palm.“Mykeys?”CapnoddedtowardBurkhardt’semptydesk.“They’reonthedesk.”Merrill retrieved them. “Cap, you have a choice: leave this campus
immediatelyanddonot comeback,ever, orbeplacedunderarrest righthere,rightnow.”Capwalkedslowlyforward,handshalf-raisedinsurrender.“Hi,Tim.”Thefirstcop,lankyandbespectacled,said,“Hi.”“Kenny,how’sitgoing?”Thesecondcop,armscrossedoverhisbarrelchest,noddedandreplied,“It’s
goingallright.”Cap addressed Merrill. “Looks like more than a sabbatical. Looks like
Burkhardt’spulledupandmovedaltogether.”“Whichisnoconcernofyours.”Cap nodded at the damaged cage. “What happened? Did things get a little
toughtocontain?”Merrill smirked. “A word to the wise, Dr. Capella—if that term means
anythingtoyou:weareallscientistshere,andthatmeanswedealinfacts.Youare acreationist, andnowhave the added liability of being a trespasser and aburglar.Beforeyousayanythingtoanyone,pleasegivecarefulregardtowhichofushasthecredibility—andthepowertodestroytheother.”Creationist.Merrillusedthatwordasaninsult.Caphadseenthispowertrip
before,andhewasfedupwithit.“IsthisascientistIheartalking?”Merrillsmiled.“Ineveryway,Dr.Capella;intheeyesofmypeersand,most
ofall,intheeyesofthepublic.Ihavemyresponsibilities,foremostamongthem,notallowingsciencetobeunderminedbydetractorslikeyou.”“Science?Wouldn’titbemoreaccuratetocallit‘theonlygameintown’?”Merrillturnedtohiscops.“Gethimoutofhere.”
Rachelwasinafullrun,herlegsblurringinashock-free,fluidstride,herweightforward, her arms swinging inwide arcs.Beck hung on, head down, cringingclosetoRachel’sbodyandwincingastreetrunksandbranchesmissedthembyinches.Shelookedoverhershoulderbutsawnohunters,nofriends,onlyrapidly
retreating forest and distance building by powerful leaps. No hunter on footcouldhopetocatchthem.Though it terrified her, she looked down at Rachel’s blurred feet, then the
huge tree trunks that racedby, and tried to envisionherself lettinggo, leapingintospace,landingandrollingsafelyenoughtoliveandlimpaway.Whatifshecould drop into that clump of young firs?Would they soften her fall?WouldRachelrealizeshewasgone?Whatif—Suddenly, shockingly,Rachel dug in and lurched to a stop, nearly throwing
Beckoff.Jacob burst out of the brush, stinking and huffing, so close he and Rachel
almost collided.Leah followed,more frightened thanBeck had ever seen her,carrying a whimpering Reuben on her back. The train was turning around.Rachelspunandmovedintoarunagain,lastinline.Theywereheadingnorth,thewaythey’dcome.Becklookedbehindandsawnothingbutforest,butshe’dreadJacob’sface;
somethingwasbackthere—orsomeone.Jacob turneddown the slope,LeahandRachel followed, andRachel’s fluid
stride became a rocking, heaving lope as she leaped and landed, leaped andlanded herway down themountain.Beck’s stomach reacted immediately, andhergripbegantoweaken.Shestartedsizinguplandingspotsagain.Rachel stumbled! Landing after a leap, she was trying to stop, heeling in,
staggering,grabbingandsnappingoffbranches.Shedancedseveralyardsfartherdowntheslope,finallygrippedatreetrunkwithonehand,andwhippedaroundtoaquickhalt.Beckcouldn’thaveheldonifshewantedto.Shesailedbackward,floatingas
the ground dropped away, then landing cleanly, tumbling through a strugglingpatchofOregongrapeuntilshefoundastumptograb.Itoccurredtohernottostop,tokeepgoingdownhill.Sheletgoofthestumpandletherselfrolluntilherfeetcameunderherandshestood,bracingherselfagainstasmallpine.Downhilland toher right,Leahclamberedbackup thehillwithReubenon
the ground beside her, four-wheeling up the rocks.Beck veered left and half-limpeddowntothenexttree,buyingjustalittletime,alittlemoredistancefromRachel.NowshesawJacobgropinghiswayupthehill;helookedpanicked,drooling
andslowwithexhaustion.Somethinghadturnedhimbackagain.
AshockwentthroughBecklikeelectricity.Shecaughtonlyaglimpse,onlyafleetingimagethroughagapinthetreesfarbelow,butsheknewwhatitwas.Aman’scamouflagecap.Haditnotbeenmoving,andhadshenotseenone
before,shewouldhavemissedit,buttherewasnomistakingit.“Ohhh!”escapedher,acryofhopeanddisbelief.Rachelpoundeddownthehilltowardher,snappingoffbranchesandupsetting
looserock.Beckhobbleddownhilltothenexttreeandcriedoutagain,notbotheringwith
consonantsorpronunciationbutjustmakinganoise,anynoiseshecould.Aman’svoiceansweredfromfarbelow,“Hello?Somebodyupthere?”BeckhadjustopenedhermouthtoanswerwhenRachelcaughtherinmidair,
jarringher,stealingherbreath,mufflinghercry.Beckwriggled,squirmed,triedtogetfree.Shescreamed—She saw nothing but fiery eyes, bristling black hair, flaring nostrils, and
glistening teeth. Jacob never came this close to anything except to kill it.Histhroatyroarerasedherbrain;hisfoulbreathparalyzedherwill.“Hello!”themancalled.Beckdidn’tanswer.
ReedwasclosinginonhiswaypointwellaheadofJimmy’steam,whenSteveThorne’s voice crackled in his earpiece, “I’ve got something above me! It’sheadingbackupthehill!”“Anyvisual?”heheardJimmyask.“No,butIheardawomanscream.”“Max’steam,tightenup!”Peteordered.“Giveusawalldownthere!”ReedlookedathisGPS.HecouldseeMaxandThornetighteningformation
andinchinguphill.Petewasmovingsouthalongthestoneface,withSamaboutfivehundredfeetbelowhim.Theothertwoguyswerefillinginbetween.Reed got on the radio. “Heads up, everybody!Don’t let the screaming fool
you.That’snotawoman!That’sthetarget!”Hedidn’tlikethesilencehegotinresponse.“Jimmy,I’vegotyouandSambehindandbelow.”“Yeah,that’sus,”Jimmyreplied.“Canyougetamanaboveme,betweenmeandtherocks?”“Givehimafewminutes.”
“Dideverybodyhearmyheads-upaboutthescreamingsound?”Severalansweredthattheyhad.SteveThorneradioed,“You’resurethat’snot
yourwife?”No,hewasn’tsureanditwaskillinghim.“Didshesayanything?”“No,shejustscreamed.”A hunt, and not a search.Reed fought down his fear. “Don’t let that thing
suckeryouin.That’swhathappenedtoMills.”“Whattheheckarewehunting,anyway?”Thorneasked.Jimmycutin,“Itoldyounottoask.”Reedpausedtobreathedeeplyandgatherhimself.HeglancedathisGPS.He
was close now, only forty yards or so. The circle of hunters was closing in.Somethinginsidethatcirclewasgoingtobereallytickedoff.Beck’sworldwasacruelkaleidoscopeofblurredimages—powerful,grapplingarms,brushand tree limbswhippingpast, herownarmsand legskickingandflailing, the total, choking darkness of Rachel’s bosom. In quick, intermittentflashesbetweengrabs,holds,slaps,andkicks,shesawJacobleading,ascendingtheslope,hisflexiblefeetgrabbingthegroundandhislegspushingrelentlesslyupward.Rachelwas just too strong, andBeck’s ribs, arms, legs, and sprained ankle
were sending her warnings: Much more of this, and you’re going to breaksomething.Withawhimpermuffled inRachel’shairybody,Beckgaveup thestruggle,ifonlytoliveonemomentlonger.The climb continued. Beck pushed herself up just far enough to look
backwardoverRachel’sshoulder.Moreforest,thicket,andimpenetrabletangle.Howthesebeastscouldpasssoeasilythroughthatstuff,shecouldn’tfathom.Nohuntercouldevergetthroughthere.Ahead, she caught a glimpse of Jacob as he plunged into a tangle of
honeysuckleandelderberrythathadformeda livingdomeoverafallenaspen.LeahandReubenfollowed,droppingthroughthetangledwebofleavesandintoahollowbeneath.Withoutslowing,Rachelloweredherheadandshouldersandstormedthrough.Itwaslikefallingthrougharoofintoadarkcellar,butthelandingwassoft—
therewere three hot, hairy bodies to cushion their fall.One of them, possiblyLeah,gaveapainfulgruntonimpact.
The hollow was tight and confining, stabbed through with limbs from thefallen aspen, obscured on all sides by vines and brush, packed solid withsteaming apes. It got hot right away. Jacob’s scent glands were workingovertime.They were hiding again, motionless, eyes intense, breathing in quiet puffs.
Listening. Peering through the myriad tiny gaps in the leaves, vines, andbranches.ItmadeBeckafraid,as if themonsterwere lurkingoutsideandnotonboth
sidesofher.She could see through the curtain, a slot here, a chink there, tinywindows
blurrily framing puzzle pieces of the forest outside. Other than the troubledforestchatter,sheheardnothing.Somethingmoved,andshegaspedbeforeshecould catchherself.She leaned closer to the tangle, peering throughaverticalholebetweentwistingvines.Somethingwhitedangledfromanearbyelderberrybush,movinglazilyinthebreeze.Theyhadcomefullcircle.Obnoxious,raidingReubenhadalreadybeenhere.Ofcourse,Reuben’sescapadewithhertoiletpaperwasnotgoingtohelpthe
Sasquatches’ cause. A streamer of white toilet paper would stand out like asurveyor’sribbon.Oneofthehunterswassuretospotit.Reed tookamoment to listenandwatchbefore takinganotherstep toward thewhiteribbon.Hehadhisbearingsnow.Herecognizedeverything.Hewhisperedviahisearpiece,“Pete,Iseethetoiletpaper.”“We’reclosingonyou,”Petereplied.“Stillmovinguphill,”saidMax.“I’vegotamanaboveyou,”Jimmysaid.Reeddidn’tmove.MaybePeteHendersonwasrubbingoffonhim,ormaybe
he’dbeeninthesewoodssolonghewasgrowingawholenewsetofsenses,buthefeltsomething.Steadyinghis riflewithhis righthand,he flexedandstretchedhis left, then
reversed theprocedure, flexinghis right.A search or a hunt?He checked theprogressof theotherhuntersonhisGPS. Itwasasearchrightnowbutwoulddefinitelybeahuntinamatterofminutes.Asone,Beckandhercaptorsalerted, theirmuscles tensing, theireyesshiftingabout.When they heard a second step, their heads turned the same direction,toward the south, the broken bits of light painting speckles on their faces,
glimmers on their eyes. Beck peered through an opening, saw nothing butleaves,peeredthroughanother,sawonlyforest,peeredthroughathird—Atthesightofherhusband,herdiaphragminvoluntarilyleapedandasqueal
escapedherthroat.Rachel’sarmnearlycollapsedherribcage;Jacobshotheraglance and a warning hiss; Leah’s glaring eyes cut through the dark. Beckclappedherhandoverhermouth.Reed took another step toward them. Beck craned her neck to steal a tiny,
partial view of him through a gap in the leaves, her hand squeezing over hermouthevermoretightlyasheremotionsdefiedrestraint.Reedstole forward,onestepata time,duckingbranches, steppingover twigs,handsweldedtohisrifle.Heremovedtheearpiecefromhisear,puttingasidetheothervoices.Heonlywantedtohearwhatwasaroundhim,righthere,rightnow.Twomore steps, and he reached hiswaypoint. Hewas standing by thewhitetoiletpaperstreamer.HewassoclosethatBeckcouldseeonlyhislegs.Rachel’sbodyhadturnedtoiron.Herhairwasbristling,stabbingBeckinthe
faceandarms.Jacobbreathedslowlybutdeeply,buildingstrengthinsilence,hishaironend,ruthlessmurderinhiseyes.Beck put her other hand over her mouth but could not steady the quaking
breathrushinginandoutofhernostrils.They’recornered.Theyhaveyoung:Reuben—andme.IfImakeasound...If
Reedcomesanycloser...Reedstoodstillagainandscannedaroundhim,occupiedfirstandforemostwithstayingalive,butdrivenbyone irrepressible longing: to seeBeck, tohearhervoice, toknow,at long last, that shewas alive.Maybe itwas the longing thatgavehimthe feeling;somehow—maybeitwas thatstupid toiletpaper—buthefeltshewasclose.Herememberedseeinganotherscrapoftoiletpaperthelasttimehewashere,
withinsightof—There! Fifteen feet away, the scrap of white lay on a patch of brown pine
needles,rightbelowahugehoneysucklethatgrewoverafallenaspen.Hetooktwosmall,carefulsteps.Aleafcrackledunderhisbootandhefroze.Steadynow.Onemorestep.Freeze.Listen.Onemorestep.
A scent from an old nightmare reached his nostrils and his blood ran cold.Suddenly he wasn’t just remembering that first horrible night; he felt he wasthere,hearingBeckscreamandfeelinghelpless,sohelpless.Thethingwastheretoo.Thoughhecouldn’tseeit,hecouldfeelithiding,watchinghim.Beck.Hecouldthinkonlyofherandtookonemoresteptowardtheterror.It was one step farther than he’d ever gone before. One step ago, he was
terrified.Now hewas as good as dead, but he didn’t care.His hands becamesteady.Hehadnourgetostepback.Thiswashisdestination,exactlywherehewantedtobe,notjustclose,butthere.“Beck,”hewhispered.“I’mhere,babe.I’mrighthere.”He could smell the thing. If he wasn’t imagining that slow, steady, hissing
sound,hecouldhearittoo.Asearchorahunt?He’dcometodoboth.Heswunghisrifleabout,daring
thatthingtomove.Reedstoodjustabovethehollow.Beckheardahisscracklingthroughsaliva
and teeth. Jacob’s teethwere bared, his canines gleaming. Hewas crouching,poised,planning.Reed,getoutofhere!Hedidn’tleave.Hetookanothersteptowardthem.They’regoingtokillhim.HonesttoGod,they’regoingtokillhim!
twelve
Singsawthecircletightening,closinginfromthewest,north,andsouthagainstthestonecliffsabove.Insidethecircle,towardthesouthend,Reed’sblipwasn’tmoving.Hewasn’tansweringhisradio.“Reed!Reed,talktome!Jimmy,canyouseehim?”“Negative,”Jimmywhispered.“It’sprettythickinhere.”“Doyouhavehimonyourscreen?”“Gothim.”“Thenwhatareyouwaitingfor?”Petecameontheradio.“Steady,everybody.Let’snotgetourselveskilled.”
Reedcouldhearcommotionfromhisearpiece.Hereplacedit,pressed the talkbutton, and spoke quietly, “This isReed. I’m at thewaypoint. I don’t see thetarget,butIcansmellit.”“Reed,fallback!”Singcried.“Waitfortheothers.”“Negative.I’mnotlettingthatthinggetawayagain.”“Reed!”Heremovedtheearpiece.
Goaway,Reed,Beckbeggedinhermind.Iloveyou.Pleasedon’tletthemkillyou.Goaway.Jacob was waiting, ready to explode from the hollow. Beck couldn’t even
guess what would trigger him, but she knew the attack would only last aninstant.Reedmovedslowlypastthemoundofvines,mentallymappingthearea,lookingfor hiding places. An upended stump just below him could have hiddensomething. The fallen aspen looked suspicious, but could anything fit underthere?Anotherstepandhespottedanopenspace,justalittlebreathingroomtohisleft.Itmightgivehimahalfsecondmoretoreactifanythingchargedhim.Hetriedtocatchthatscent,triedto—The sight made him jump. He calmed himself, looked around for danger,
confirmedhisgriponhisrifle.Brownleather.
At first he thought it was an animal, obscured by the wild grass andknapweed;thenhethoughtitwasadeadanimal.Itwasbloody,torn,ripped.Double-checking every direction, he carefully approached whatever it was,
knowingwhatitwasbutnotwantingtoknow.Jacob eased back just a little,which easedBeck just a little, enough to think,WhatcanIdo,whatcanIdo?Noanswerscame.ShecouldseeReedthroughanothergapintheovergrowth,movingintoview
inasmallclearing.Apparentlyhe’dfoundsomething,thoughforamomentshecouldn’timaginewhatitcouldbe.Wait. Her jacket? She and the group had come full circle, back to where
Reubenhadraidedhertoiletpaper.Itmightbeherjacket.Nowherheartquickenedwithone sparkofhope. IfReed foundher jacket,
he’dknowshehad tobe aroundhere somewhere. Itwouldkeephim looking,keephimhoping.Itwouldbelikeasignal,aflare,amessageinabottle—Itwasherjacket,oratleastapieceofit.Reedpickeditup,turneditoverin
hishands.Reubenhaddonequiteajobonit,worsethanapupwithachewtoy.Itwaschewed,shredded—Aforebodinghitherlikeablowtothestomach;thefear—no,thecertaintyof
deathcoursedthroughherlikeanelectricshock.Therewasbloodonthatjacket,Rachel’sbloodfromdaysago.Itwastornintopieces.Itlookedlike—Aquaking,nearlydyingbreathpassedthroughherlipsasthewordsformed,
“R-r-reed.”Don’tthinkthat,Reed.Don’tthinkit.It’snotmyblood.Thebloodonthe leatherwasdaysoldbynow,flakingandbrown.Theleatherwas tattered, toothmarked,andonlya fragmentofBeck’s jacket, a sidepanelandhalfofasleeve.ItspoketoReed;ittoldhimeverything.Hesanktohisknees,unawareoftheforest,thesearch,thehunt,andeventhe
danger.Hisrifledroppedtothegrass.Hegazedattheshreddedgarmentandranhisthumboverthesmearofblood.Ashadowcreptintohismindlikeblackinkpermeatingaparchment,spreading,pushingawaylightandhope,strippingawayeverythoughtbutone:Beck.He raisedhis eyes.Allhecould seewasBeckchewingonacold sandwich
andmakinga teasing face, acrooked, stuffed-cheek,half smile,whilehe tookher picture. It was the last smile he could remember, and even as he tried todwell on it, it faded, lost in the darkness of a night that would last forever.Though he tried to hear her laugh again, or even say his name, only silence
answered.Ifshescreamed,hewoulddie.ShecouldonlyliepilloriedinRachel’sarmsandwatch in silent agonyasReed rose from theground,weakas anoldman, thetatteredremnantofherjacketinhishand.Hedidn’tthinktopickuphisrifle,butinsteadfumbledwithanearpiece,hishandtrembling,untilhe’dreplaceditinhisear.Sheheardonlythewords,“...pullingout...”andthenhestartedbackthewayhe’dcome.Jacobtensedagain.Reedwouldbepassingbyclose.Reedstopped,wentbackforhisrifle,thenpassedbyquickly,clumsily.I’mnotdead.Onelastimagethroughthevines:atrudging,woundedman,nolongeralertor
careful,innohurry,steppingoveralog,pushingasidealeafybranch...I’MNOTDEAD!Hewentoutofsight.Aquietrustlefollowed,thenthesnapofatwig,thena
verydistantcrunching.Thentherewasnosoundatall.
Singthrewopenthedooronhermobilelabandstoodonthesteps,grippingthehandrail,watching the trail thatclimbed into thewoodsfromtheparkingarea.For the past forty minutes she had been not a human being but a stone,forbidding herself to feel, care, or cherish. There were hunters in the woods.Someone had to maintain contact and be their link to the outside world.Someone had to help them close up the circle in case the positioning signalswinked out on their mobile units. She had to think of them, even while shewatchedonebliponherscreenslowlymakeitswaydownthemountain,acrossthecreekbed,past thesitewhereFlemingCryncovichfoundall thefootprints,andbackdownthetrailtoWhitetail.Nowthatthebliponhercomputerscreenhadreachedtheendofitsjourney,
she expected to seeReed and Jimmy drawing near.When she did, shewouldreleaseherheart.Shewouldbecomeahumanbeingagain.Buthowshewouldeverbearthepainandloss,shedidn’tknow.Janson’svoicecrackledthroughherheadset.“Hey,Ineedsomehelpclosing
upthesouthend.Aguycoulddriveatruckthroughhere.”Sheshotaquickglanceathercomputerscreenandreplied,“Max?Steve?Do
youhaveJanson’sposition?”
“No,I’velosthim,”saidThorne.“He’sbearing135,about800feet.He’susingJimmy’sGPS.”“Onethirty-five,Roger.”“Janson,you’regood.Staywhereyouareuntiltheypickyouupagain.”Jansonacknowledgedgrumpily.AndthenshesawReedandJimmyemergefromthewoodsliketiredsoldiers
returningfrombattle,eyesvacant,shouldersslumped,legstrudging,riflesslungon their shoulders. Jimmy stayed close to Reed, lending strength, as Reedmanagedtoputonefootinfrontoftheother.Reedcaughthereye,buthisfacewashardtodiscern.Hecarriedabloodiedpieceofleatherinbothhands.NowSing’sheartwasfreetogrieve.Herhandwenttohermouthasherbody
begantoquake.They met in the parking lot, embracing. Sing wept with no words. Reed
seemedstrangelyempty,likeabodywithoutaspirit.Heheldherbutdidnotcry.“I’ll,uh,I’llhandletheradio,”saidJimmy.Sing watched him go to the motor home, recover the headset she’d left
danglingbythedoor,andgoinside.When Jimmy’s voice cameover the radio, Pete had to turn downhis volume.“Okay, guys, this is Jimmy. Just to let you know, SheriffMills and I had anagreement:aslongasitwasasearch,thesheriffwasincharge.Whenitbecameahunt,FishandGamewouldbeincharge.Well,guys,likeyou’veallheard,thesearch isover.We’vegotourselvesa full-blownhuntnow,and thatmakesmethebigkahuna.ThorneandMax,ReedandIareoutofthegamefornow,sopullyour line south and sew up the net before the big one gets away. Let’s getourselvesabear!”PetelosthalfhiswilltogoonwhenheheardthatReedhadpulledout.Now
that it was clear there would be no finding Beck, he lost the rest of it. HecheckedhisGPS.Thenorthendwaspretty tightnow.SamMarlowewasonlyninetyyardsdown theslope,withWileyKaneanda forest ranger inbetween.They’dbeabletocarryonwellenoughwithouthim.Hegotabearingfromhiscompassandstarteddown.Sing checked on Reed one last time. He’d shed his jacket and boots and leftthem on the floor by the bed, but he wouldn’t part with the piece of Beck’sjacket.Heclutchedittightlyashelayonthebedinthebackofthemotorhome,hisfacetothewall.
“I’llcallCapandlethimknow,”shetoldhim.“I’vegotsomesoupIcanheatup.Youneedtohavesome.”Hedidn’tanswer.Hedidn’tmove.“I’llberighthere,”shesaid.Satisfiedthathewascomfortable—hewouldneverbeokay—sheclosedthe
doorquietlyandlefthimalone.In the main room, Jimmy was at her computer, wearing her headset, still
runningthings.“Pete,youneedtomoveupthebank;you’reslippingdowntoofar.Sayagain?”He rolledhiseyes.“Sam,headup thehill andpush theotherguysaheadofyou.Closeitup.”HelookedoverhisshoulderatSing.“How’shedoing?”“He’sbreathing.That’sallIcantellyou.”He stared at the rear bedroomdoor. “Wewere fools to let it go this long. I
triedtotellhim.ItriedtotellMills.”“Butnobodyeverlistenstoyou.”Hersarcasmwassubtlebutintentional.“Thisisn’tthetime.”Shepickeduphercellphone.“No,itisn’t.”“HaveyoucalledDaveSaunders?”“I’monit.”Jimmyturnedtothecomputerscreen,buryinghimselfinthehunt.“Pete,can
you hand off your GPS toWiley on your way down? Thanks, guy, and hey,listen,weallunderstand.”Singsteppedoutofthevehicle,closedthedoorbehindher,andpunchedina
number.Itwasquietouthere—awayfromJimmy.ShegotDeputyDaveSaunders.“Hello,Dave?This isSingCapella.Reed’s
callingoffthesearch.Everybodycanstanddown.”Shelistenedtohisquestionandfoughtbacktearsinordertoanswer.“No.Justapieceofhercoat.”Whilehedealtwiththenews,Singpulledherselftogether—forthemoment.
“Dave, are you there?” He was, full of condolences, wanting to help. “Reedwould like you to contact the Forest Service; we have to close the woods tociviliansuntilwehuntdownthe . . .untilweget theproblemclearedup.But,Dave, there’s onemore thing: the hunters have cleared out of the Lost Creekarea, so you won’t be in their way anymore. We still need to find RandyThompson—I’msurewe’redealingwithabody,orremains.Ifyoucouldgeta
fewdeputiesupthere...Yeah,Iknow,butwehavetotryagain,andthistime,bringsomemetaldetectors.You’regoingtobelookingforashovel.”PetefoundWileyKanewithinminutes.Allhehadtodowasfollowthecigarettesmoke.“So,”Kanesaidwithabitofaleer,“you’vehadenough,huh?”Pete removed his GPS and handed it to him. “I was in this for Beck, not
Jimmy.”Wileydroppedhiscigaretteandcrusheditoutinthedirt.HetooktheGPSand
marveledatit.“Woo!Sothishasgotallofusonthere?”Pete pointed out a few details: the available screens, the moving map, the
zoomfeature,andthevariouspeer-to-peerblips.“You’regonnabemenow,thisdotrighthere.ThisonehereisSam,downthehillfromyou.Youjustput thisearpieceinyourearandpressthisbuttontotalk.”“Man,thetoysthesedays!”“Sometimestheterraingetsinthewayandyouwinkout,butusually,aslong
as your unit’s turned on, the other team leaders can see you and you can seethem.”“Okay,myturn!”Wileystrappeditonhisarmashe’dseentheothersdo.“Justrunthatwireuptheinsideofyourjacket.That’llkeepitoutoftheway.”Wiley removed his jacket and started fiddling with the earpiece, trying to
figureoutwheretoroutethewire.Petestayedathisback,actingasifhewashelping,butallthewhiletakinga
goodlookatWiley’sbootprintwherehe’dstampedoutthecigarette.Theprintdidn’tmatch Pete’s sketch from Lost Creek, but then again,WileyKanewaswearingabrand-newpairofboots.“Cap?”“I’mhere.”Nofurtherwordswouldcometohim,butatthemoment,hedidn’t
care. It was enough for him to accept the news, bear the pain, and nurse thewoundashesatglumandaloneintheirlivingroominSpokane,thephonetohisear.Thenewsdidn’tcomeasashock,butmorelikethefinal,awaitedoutcomeof a tragic story. From the outset, Cap and Sing knew it could end this way.Puttingasidedenial,ahappyendingwouldhavebeenmoresurprising.“Whatareyoufeeling?”sheasked.Herestedhisforeheadonhisfingertipsandclosedhiseyes.Hewasfeelingso
manythings.“Youmean,besidesthesorrow?Theloss?”“I’mnotsurewhattodonext.”“IgotcaughtsneakingintoBurkhardt’slabtoday.Merrillhadmebootedoff
thecampus.”Nowtherewasasilenceonherend.Finally,“Isthatit,then?”He thought a moment, then answered, “Anger. I’m feeling anger; a close
friendisdeadandsomebody’sgettingawaywithit.”“Dowehaveanythingsolid?”“Sofarit’sallcircumstantial—andsomeofitcouldbeimaginary.Whatabout
thosephotos?”“I’vephotographedeverybodywithincamerarange.Itooksomemoretoday
whenallthehunterscamethrough.”“Whydon’tyoue-mailthosetome?”“Willdo.”“I’vegotonemoreleadI’mgoingtoharassalittle,andifthatdoesn’tpanout
...MaybeIshouldjustgetoverthereand,youknow,bethere.”“Reedcoulduseyourightnow.”“Ishethere?”“He’ssleeping.”“Oh.Well,givehimmylove,andgetmethosepictures,and...I’lltakeone
morecrackatit,forBeck’smemoryiffornothingelse.”“Youbecareful.”“Oh,Ithinktheworstisover—forme.”
Singclosedhercellphoneandclimbedbackinsidethemotorhome.ShefoundJimmystillgluedtothecomputerscreen,notsayingmuchandlookingantsy.Henervouslyflexedhisanklewithhistoeplanted,makinghiskneewiggleupanddownlikeajackhammer.Itwasagoodsignhewouldn’tbeabletositstillmuchlonger.Shedecidedtoletthetensionbuildanotherfewminutesbeforeshesaidanything.In thoseminutes, sheused a second computer togoonline throughher cell
phone, selected the folder containing her photos—some posed, some candid,some downright sneaky—of anyone and everyone who’d had anything to dowiththesearchorthehunt.Withafewquicktapsonthecomputer’stouchpad,
thephotoswereontheirwaytoCap.“How’severybodydoing?”sheaskedJimmy.“Nothingsofar.”Hisvoicewastense.“Thatsouthendwasopenalongtime.
Thebearmayhavegivenustheslip.”“Icantakeoverifyouwanttoheadupthereagain.”Thatturnedhisheadfromthescreen.“You’resure?”“Hey.Youwanttobestuckdownherewhilesomebodyelsebagsthatbear?”Herippedtheheadsetfromhishead,grabbedhiscoatandrifle,andwentout
thedoor,jammingtheearpiecefromReed’sGPSinhisear.“You’rewelcome,”shesaid,settlinginfrontofthecomputer.ThefirstthingSingnoticedwasSteveThorneandJanson’sGPSblipscoming
perilouslyclosetoReed’swaypoint,theplacewherehe’dfoundpartofBeck’sjacket.Jimmy’s voice crackled in the earpieces, “Talk to me, Janson. What’shappening?”“We’reatthelocation,”Jansonwhisperedback,“soeverybodypipedown.”Janson stood guard while Thorne went first, keeping an eye out for any
movement, any stirring. The streamer of white toilet paper was still there,hangingontheelderberrybush.Itmovedlightlyinthebreeze—asobviousandtemptingasbaitforatrap.Jansondidn’tlikethisplace;therewasjustsomethingaboutit.Thornemovedslowly,carefullyplantingeachstep,sightingdownhisrifleas
hecheckedoutadarkstumpamidaclumpofyoungfirs,alogwithinathicket,ashadow under an upturned root ball. Hewasmindful that thiswaswhere theSheltonwomangotchewedup,andhe’dseenfirsthandwhathappenedtoSheriffMills. He drew a sample of air through his nose. Didn’t Reed Shelton saysomethingaboutsmellingthetarget?Theredidseemtobeacertainodorabouttheplace.Asamatteroffact, theodorcouldhavebeencomingfromadomeofvines
thatgrewoverafallenaspenjustafewyardsaway.“Headsup,”Thornewhispered,gesturingtowardthedome.Jansonleveledhisrifleatthemound.HenoddedtoThorne.Ready.Thorneapproachedslowly.Theodorwasgettingstronger.
Sing watched intently. Thorne’s GPS blip was dead centered on Reed’swaypoint,apparentlymotionless,butprobablystalking, sneaking.Shecouldn’timaginethatthatthingwouldstillbethereafterallthistime,butthenagain...Thorne was close to the fallen aspen, and now he could tell that the tangledovergrowthhadbeendisturbed,thrownopenlikeacurtainandlefttosettlebackinplace.HeshotaglanceatJanson,noddedtowardthetangleddome,heldhisrifle ready inhis righthand, reachedout slowlywithhis left, tookholdof thevines,drewabreath,yankedthevinesopen—Underneaththethickmatofvines,leaves,andbrancheswasadarkhollow.A
foulstenchwashedoverhim,makinghimflinch.Histriggerfingertightened.Herelaxed.Jansonallowedhimselftobreatheagain.Thehollowwasempty.
Therunning,running,runningfinallycametoanendinasecluded,soft-flooredgrove of pines and hemlocks somewhere in Idaho—or Montana, or maybeCanadaforallBeckknew.Notthatshecaredanymore.WhentheadultsfinallystoppedtorestandRachelletBeckrolloffontotheground,Beckfloppedandlay where she landed, face half buried in the moss and pine needles, toodespondenttothinkaboutit.ReedthinksI’mdead.Theimageofhimfinding that tatteredpieceof jacketkeptplaying,playing,
andreplayinginhermind.Itwouldn’tfade;itwouldn’tturnoff.Itgavehernorest.I’maliveandIcan’ttellhim.HethinksI’mdeadandthathecan’tsaveme.Imayaswellbedead!“Oooohhh!”Shemoanedandwrithedfromthepainandfrustration,hervoice
muffledintheground.ImayaswellliehereuntilIrot,untiltreesstartgrowingoutofme.Godhatesme.Yeah.Godhatedher.Hehadto.WhyelsewouldHekeepslappingherwith
nothingbutlousyluck?Whoelseunderstoodfairnessenoughtomakesureshenever got any good breaks?Who else couldmake her dead to theworld andeveryone she loved, and yet leave her alive to agonize in it? It was all tooperfect.Ithadtobeplanned.Arisingangergaveherjustenoughstrengthtorolloverontoherback,point
herfingertowardtheconvergingtreetops,andwhineatGod,“Y-y-yooo...”Oh, right! She forgot.God gave her a stutter so she couldn’t tellHim how
tickedoffshewas!SheslappedthegroundandgrowledatHim.Thenshesatupandscreamedat
Him.ThatupsetRachel,who’dbeenlyingonherbackinsomemaplebushes.She
raisedherheadandlookedoverherbelly.“Hmm.”Leahwashalfvisibleinanotherclumpofmaples,staringatBeckasshetore
offthebroadleavesandmunchedonthem.Beck just growled at them, waving them off. I’m all right, don’t trouble
yourselves,don’tgetup,justleavemealone!Rachel’s head sank to the ground again and she let out a tired sigh. Leah
regurgitated a wad of chewed leaves into her palm and started eating them asecondtime.Beck stared at the ground, angrily flicking tufts ofmosswith her fingertip.
WhatamIgoing todo?Everybody thinks I’mdead.They’renotgoing to lookformeanymore.They’regoingtogettogetherandhaveamemorialservice,andthenthey’regoingtoeatchickenandpotatosaladandgohome.Reed’sgoingtocryformeeverynight,andI’mgoingtocryforhim,andtheonlyfriendsIhaveleftarethese...these...“Ooooohh!” Seething, she growled at Leah, who ignored her, and Rachel,
snoringsomewherebeyondthosebigfeetandthatroundbelly.Shecouldn’tseeJacob or Reuben, but she growled at them anyway, wherever they were: Allright,soyouhateme!Well,Ihateyoutoo!Ifyoueatme,Ihopeyoubarf!Then shewatchedLeah, lickingandnibblinghervomitedwadas if itwere
coleslaw.Thesemonstersenjoyedbarfing!Godthoughtofeverything.WhatamIgoingtodo?Shesniffedderisivelyatherownthoughts.Whydoanything?Godwillonly
ruinit.Shedugherhairbrushoutofherpocketandbeganrunningitthroughherhair
onlybecauseitmadeherfeelbetter.MaybeGodwouldn’tnoticeandmakeallherhairfallout.“Hmph.”SheheardagruntfromLeah.Thebiggrayfemalewasjustfinishing
uphermaple-leafcoleslawandlookingather.
Becklookedback,angryenoughtomeetandmatchthegazefromthosedeep-seteyes.DirectstaringwasneverpoliteinSasquatchcircles,andBeckcouldtellLeah didn’t like it, but she stared anyway and kept brushing, not caringwhatLeahliked,disliked,thought,orwanted.Leah swallowed the last of her greenwad, licked her palm clean, and gave
Beck’shairbrushher earnest,undividedattention.Then sheextendedherhandandgruntedagain.“Hmmph.”Beckquitbrushing.Shelookeddownatherhairbrush,thenatLeah,andthe
strangest and most unexpected thought came to her: I have something shedoesn’t.It was uncanny. Had God thought of this yet? This huge, intimidating,
massivelystronganimalcouldbreakBeckinhalfwithnoeffortatall—butonlyBeckknewhowtouseahairbrush,andLeahseemedtoknowit.Leah’seyesglancedveryquicklyat thesleepingRachel, thenbackatBeck,
takingonanimploringexpression,likeadogbegging.Thisisgoingtogowrong.Somehow,God’sgoingtofoulitup.Thenagain,itcouldhavebeenHisidea.Shelookedtowardthesky,didn’tget
ananswer,andventuredaguess:MaybeI’dbettertryit.Shegotupslowly,keepinghereyeonLeah,whosattherenexttothemaple
bush,eyeingher.NowshecouldseeRachel’sface.“Mom”wasasleep.Whilethecat’saway,themicewillplay,isthatit?“Hmmph.”Leahextendedherhandagain.LookingaroundforReubenandnotseeinghim,Beckstoleforward,keeping
the brush visible in her hand. She was about to enter Leah’s space, so shehummedquietly,notuneinparticular,anddivertedhereyesfromLeah’stobepolite.Leahsure lookedbigsitting thereonherhaunches,and thosearmswereall
muscle,lotsofit.Beckcamewithina fewfeet—closeenough tohaveherheadswattedoff—
andthoughtofasafetytip:WhenapproachingaSasquatch,bowandtrytomakethatlow,guttural,rumblingnoise.Theyseemtolikethat.Shebowed,kneesbending,herhandsalmost touching theground,and tried
herbesttomakeherthroatrumble.Leahlookedpuzzled.
Oh.Apparently,bowswith rumbledgreetingswereonly for thealphamale.Beckmadeamentalnote.“Hmmph,”Leahgrunted,leaningforward.Beck reached out with the brush and touched Leah’s head. Leah shuffled
closer.Beckstartedbrushing,stealingglancesatthesleepingRachelandfeelinglikeaturncoat.But she was doing Leah a service, maybe even gaining acceptance from
Rachel’s rival, and that seemed a smart thing to do. She continued, workingmore systematically, fromLeah’s head down to her neck and shoulders. Leahburpedagreenvegetationburpandsatstill,lookingpleased.Idon’tknowwherethisisgoing,butitjustmightkeepmealive.Afterall, if
Beckcouldbepartof thegroup,maybe thegroupwouldn’teather.Beckkeptbrushing,workingherwaydownLeah’sback,andLeahallowedher,lettingoutoccasionalhumsofpleasure.Hergrayhairwassensational,sosoftandsmooth,and once Beck got it all lying in the same direction, it became prismatic,reflectingarainbowsheen.Sogross,andyetsolovely.After thatunfortunatedeath-flinchblunderwithRachel,Beckwascareful to
lookbeforeshebrushed,anditwasagoodthingshedid.HalfwaydownLeah’sback,Beckspottedanotheranomalyandstoppedbrushingjustintime.Leah immediately noticed the pause and turned her head, grunting over her
shoulder.Beckhummedbackatherpleasantly,findingasafeplacetobrushwhileshe
hadacloserlook.Again,itwasblood.Carefullypartingthehairs,Beckrecognizedanotherbite
wound,notassevereasRachel’sbutjustasrecent.Beckgavealow,rumblinghumasiftoask,Whatonearthhappened?DidJacobdothis?Leahsighed,seeminglyresignedtowhatevertheunfortunatesituationwas.Beckkeptbrushing,carefullychecking,thengroomingLeah’sribs.Shefound
ashallowgashunder therightarm,possiblyabite thatdidn’tquite land.LeahflinchedwhenBeckbrushedaroundit,butshedidn’tgetmad.AsBeckthoughtaboutit,itdidn’tmakesensethatJacobwoulddothis.When
Jacob punished Rachel the first night he saw Beck, he was brutal andunforgivablyabusive,butheneverusedhis teeth.Besides,Leahseemed tobethe“alpha’spet”inthisgroup;shecoulddonowrong.MaybeBeckwasseeing
theaftermathofafull-blowncatfightbetweenLeahandRachel,withLeahthewinner and Rachel the cast-down loser. Either that, or . . . she just couldn’timagine.Ashapemovedthroughthepines,andBecklookeduptoseeMr.BadNews
himself,Reuben,approachinginawide,tentativearc,headcockedinsuspicion.Hegrowledatherasiftosay,Whatareyoudoingwithmymother?Becklookedhimintheeyeandkeptbrushing.He stepped closer, then started sidestepping, left and right, left and right,
makinglittlewaving,threateninggestureswithhisarmsashegrowled.Leahpig-gruntedathim,which sethimback slightly,buthe stillwanted to
fightaboutitandstareddaggersatBeck.Beck came to the brink of being frightened. She could feel her stomach
starting to tense, her hands starting to tremble, her speech faculties starting tojumble—butstrangely,surprisinglyeventoher,shewentonlytothebrinkandno further. Standing by Reuben’smotherwith her permission could have hadsomething todowith it,but therewassomethingelse: for the first time inherlife,herpenchantforbeingafraidhadwornthin.Afterseveraldaysofterroranddread,terrorandloathing,terroranddespair,shewastiredofit.Andbesides that, shewas just plainmad.She’d lost herhusband in amost
enragingdilemma;she’dbeenadoormattothissnotty-nosedthrowrugfromtheday they met; even God was picking on her and wouldn’t give her a break.“Aaargh!”shegrowled.She met Reuben’s stare, held her eyes steady, and didn’t turn away. She
growled again and even huffed through her nose at him. Listen, kid, I’msomebodytoo!Leahgruntedmoreloudlyathim,herdispleasureobvious.Becksecondedthatwithanangrybark,herweightforward.Reuben bought it. He backed off, gave her a look that was half dirty, half
perplexed,andshuffledsulkinglyintothepinestomindhisownbusiness.Well!ToBeck’samazement,thingsseemedtobegoingtherightdirection.Leahnudgedher,wantingmore.Beck returned toherbrushingandenjoyed
everysquareinchofit,rightdowntoLeah’stoes.Shefinishedwithasofthumandaflourish,thenbackedawaypassively,eyesdiverted,honoringthecustomwithconfidence.
Backinherownpersonalspaceamidthepines,shesettledtothegroundbyherselfwithnoonebotheringher,feelingstrangelyunafraid.Andstrangelyalive.
“She’snotdead.”SingandPetelookedupfromthediningtableatamannotquiterisenfrom
the dead. Reed stood, his frame filling the rear bedroom door, but he didn’tappearwellrested,toputitmildly.Hewasstillclutchingthebloodiedpieceofjacket.Singrosefromthetable.“CanIfixyouanything?Ihavesomesoup.”Reedstoodthereasifhehadn’theardthequestion,aweird,catatoniclookon
hisface.“Uh,yeah.Please.Andhowaboutasandwichorsomething?”Singrummagedinthetightrefrigerator.“I’vegotpastramiandturkeybreast.”“Okay.Please.”He sat at the computer and lookedat the screen,nowdark.
“Sowhathappened?”Pete answered, his fingers curled around a coffee cup, “Hunters are back
downforthenight.They’llregroupinthemorning,gobacktousingbearstandsandmaybe somedogs.They foundplentyof sign that somethinghadbeenupthere,butit’sgonenow.”Reedbrokeintoadeliriousgrinandchuckled.“Sotheydidn’tgettheirbear.”
He chuckled somemore, enjoying a demented laugh at a sorry situation. Petestaredintohiscoffee,andSingslicedbreaduntilhe’dfinished.“I’m sorry, Reed,” said Pete. “I wish to God things could’ve turned out
different.”Reedgavehimacuriouslook.“Wedon’tknowhowtheyturnedout.”PetelookedatSing,whoonlylookeddownattheopensandwich.Petefoundwordsfirst.“Reed.YouknowIhavethedeepestrespectforyour
feelingsonthis,butwe’vegottofaceit.Threeviolentdeathsinarowdon’tlineupwithBeck just taggingalongwithabunchof creatures, aliveandwell andleaving footprints. Now that piece of her jacket, that’s consistent with whatwe’veseen.Thattalks.”“Soyou’rewithJimmy?”Petewinced.“Oh,man,don’tputmeinJimmy’scamp...”“He thought the Cryncovich footprints were a hoax. He thought Beck was
deadalongtimeago.Isthatwhatyouthink?”
“We’vebeentalkingaboutthat,”saidSing.“We’vebeengoingaroundandaroundaboutit,”saidPete.Singstillhada touchoffire inhereyes.“I’d like toknowhowthoseprints
could be so accurately formed, and just what creatures were doing all thathowlingwhenMillswaskilled.”Reedfocusedonthetiredtracker.“Doyouhaveanotherexplanation?”Petecouldonlygiveaslightthrow-up-his-handsgesture.“LikeIwastelling
her, Idon’tknow,butwhat ifFlemingCryncovich isasnuttyashe looksandjustwantsattention?He’saSasquatchfanatic;hewould’veknownhowtofakefootprints.AndasfarasBeck’sbootprints,hecould’vefoundasize6bootwithamatchingsole.Abootisaboot.”Singjumpedonthat.“WiththesametreadpatternyounotedatLostCreek?
Youdidsketchitalloutononeofyourbluecards,didn’tyou?”Reedadded,“Withthesamewearpattern?”“Andwhataboutthecellphonenumberscratchedinthedirt?”Petecountered,“Idon’thaveitallfiguredout.I’mjusttryingtoseethisthing
fromallsides,that’sall.Reed,isn’titpossiblethatArlenPeakcouldhavegottenyourcellphonenumber?”Reedsawhispoint.“Yeah.”“Andhe’saBigfootnuttoo,isn’the?AndheandCryncovicharefriends?”Sing’s temper was starting to show. “You know what you’re saying about
Arlen?”Petedrilledherwithhiseyes.“Why’dyoutakehispicturethen?”Singgotflustered.“Just. . . there’sthiswholecover-upthing.Wecan’trule
outanypossiblesuspect—”“Well,theremightbeacover-upandtheremightnotbe.”Singwasreadytograppleonthatone.“AllenArnoldwasmoved.”“AndRandy—washemoved?”“Possibly.”“Butyoudon’tknowthat.”“Notreally.”“Andthat’smypoint.”Reedasked,“So,whathasCapfoundout?”
Sing’sdiscouragementwasobvious.“Nothingsolid.It’sallconjecture.”Pete let his hand come down forcefully on the table. “There! Thank you!
That’s theword I’vebeen lookingfor.Conjecture! Iconject, thenyouconject,and that’s all Cap has is conjecture. Reed, we’ve been at this all afternoon,talkingaboutwhetherBeck’sdeadoralive,orsomebody’sfoolingus,orwe’rejustfoolingourselves,orwhethertherereallyareSasquatchesupthere...”Reedansweredquietly,“AndwhetherSasquatchesarekillers,andwhetherit’s
abearlikeJimmysays,andwhyintheworldsomebodywouldwanttoprotectthosemonsterswithacover-up—iftherereallyaremonstersandtherereallyisacover-up.”Thatgavethempause.“Ithoughtyouweresleeping,”saidSing.“Iwasuntilyoutwostartedinoneachother.ButI’vebeenthinkingtoo.”“Sohelpusout,”saidPete.ReedlightlystrokedtheremainsofBeck’sjacketashespokeinaquiet,tired
voice: “Considering howmuch we don’t know, it might be early to say howthingsturnedout.”Petelookedoutthewindowtomullitover.Singbusiedherselfwithlettuce,
meat,pickles,andtomatoes.“It’s kind of funny, isn’t it, howmuch this whole thing’s been about what
peoplethinktheyknow:it’sabear,it’saBigfoot;I’mawife-killer,I’macrazyvictim;Beck’sdead,Beck’salive;itwasacover-up,itwasanaccident.”Singfinishedmakingthesandwich,put itonaplate,andhandedit toReed.
“Stillwantthatsoup?”“That’dbegreat.Thanks.”Hesetthesandwichonthecomputerbench,truly
hungrybutneedingtospeak.“IjustkeepthinkingofBeckandmeclimbingupthattrailbeforethisallstarted,andhowmuchIthoughtIknew,andhowmuchIreallydidn’t.HereIwas,tellingBeckherworldwastoosmallandifshedidn’tgetoutandstretchabit,she’dquitlearningandgrowing,andallalong,Ididn’tknowhowsmallmyworldwas.It’sbeenonetoughlesson.”He considered the tattered piece of leather in his lap, looking it over as he
spoke, “Anyway, I guess it’s never a bad idea to let yourworld get stretchedonceinawhile,tojusthumbledownandadmittheremightbesomethingrightin front of you that you haven’t thought of before. So on the one hand, Pete,you’rerightaboutBeck’sjacket.Ittalks.”
He held it up for them to see, tooth marks, bloodstain, and all. “Thisbloodstainisseveraldaysold,isn’tthatright,Sing?”Silently,sheexaminedthestain,andthenshenodded,knowingwhatitmeant.Reedspokewhat theothers realized:“ItmeansBeckdiedseveraldaysago,
probablythatveryfirstnight.”Hefoldedtheleathercarefully,solemnly,andsetitonthediningtableinthemidstofthem.“There’snowayshecouldhavemadethosefootprints.”SingandPetestaredatthattatteredremnant.Itdidspeak,withoutwords.Singfinallysaid,“Itstilldoesn’tanswereverything.”Petetriedtosayitcalmly.“Itanswersenough.Therestofit...Maybewe’ll
neverknow.”Reed replied, “So that’s one thing we can agree on, that we don’t really
know.”PeteandSingsilentlycheckedwitheachother,thennodded.“But on the other hand,maybe it’s okay to believe a little? Instead of just
acceptingthewaythingslook,maybethere’sstillroomtostretchwhatwe’resosureofjustonemoreinch.”Heleanedforward,confrontingPeteeyetoeye.“Pete,youeverhadafeeling
youcouldn’texplain?”Peteunderstood.Henodded.ReedlookedatSing.“Howaboutyou?”“Allthetime,”shesaid.“WhenIwasup thereat thewaypointandI found this”—henoddedat the
remnant on the table— “everything I saw told me that I’d finally gotten theanswer,thatIfinallyknew.Buttherewasapartofmethatfeltsomething, likeshewas talking tome. I had every reason in theworld to think—maybe evenknow—thatshewasdead,butstill...Therewassomepartofmethatwouldn’tletgo, thatstillbelieved.”He leanedback,eyeing theremnanton the table.“IcouldsayIknowBeckisdead,butIdon’t,notreally.Andaslongaswedon’tknowforsure,Icanbelieveshe’sstilloutthere.”Thenheadded,“AndIbelievethere’sonelastthingwehaven’ttried.”“No,no,nowlisten,IsaidIdidn’twanttogetsuckedintoit!”Nick Claybuckle was enjoying a relaxing jog around Manitow Park. He
passed the big duck pond and the geometric rose gardens, pounded over the
beautifulstonebridgeandunderthespreadingmapletrees—Untilhewasovertakenbyanotherjoggerwhocouldoutrunhim.“Youheard
me,kid!Pullover!”“Doc,somebody’sgonnaseeustalking!”“Notifyougetofftheroad,”saidCap.Hepointed.“Howaboutinthere?Nice
benches,lotsofhedges,niceandprivate.”Nickwashuffingandpuffinganyway,carrying toomuchextrapoundage to
get away. He hung a right and they ducked into a pleasant grove, sending abrownsquirreldartingupa tree.Nickcollapsedontoanornateconcretebenchwithabrassplaquecommemorating thedonor.Hewassoakedwithsweatandhisglasseswerefoggy.Capsatdownnexttohim,notevenbreathinghard.“Nick,myneedsarevery
simple,”Capbegan. “We all knowBurkhardt’s been shiftinghis operationoffcampus foryears, andnowhe’smovedoff campusaltogether. I need toknowwherehewent.Ineedtofindhimandhislab.”Nickgaspedafewbreathsandthenanswered,“Dr.Capella,you’reoneofthe
mainreasonshemoved!”“Nick...”“They’regoingtoknowItoldyou!”Capnudgedhim.“Yousaidyourdepartment’shavingtocutback.Where’sthe
moneygoing?”“Now,howwouldIknowthat?”CaphookedafingerunderNick’schinandforcedhimtomeethiseyes.“Let
me tell you about my ape. Remember him, the one who’s ticked off aboutsomething? He’s been killing people, Nick. He’s been breaking their necks.”Nick tried to lookaway.Capusedhiswholehand toholdhis attention. “He’skilleda trailguide,a logger, theWhitcombCountysheriff,andnow. . .”Capcamecloser,nosetonose.“He’skilledBeckShelton,aclosefriendofmine—lotsofbites,lotsofblood,ripping,tearing,thewholenineyards.So,Nick,youhavetounderstand,nowIamtickedoff.Iamnotapatientman!”Nick’s face went white; he was paying attention now. Cap let him go. A
questionbegantoform—Cap intercepted it. “Chimpanzees,Nick,maybe asmany as four, spliced so
full ofhumanDNA they’re apatchworkquilt.Now,howdoyou suppose that
happened?”“TheJudyLabsaiditwascontamination—”“Itwasputthereusingviraltransfers.Thatmeanshumanintervention,which
means somebody’s responsible, which means somebody’s going to be in bigtroublewhenthelawsortsthisallout.Sowhoareyoumoreafraidof?”Nickstared,strugglingtoprocessitall.“Where’sthemoneygoing?IsMerrilldivertingfunds?”Nickthoughtitoveronemoresecond,thengavein,noddingyes.“Ichecked
on it. The college budget’s gone up the last ten years, not down, but all thedepartments arebeing cut back, including theYorkCenter.Merrill’s got somekindofpetprojectgoing.”“With Burkhardt?” Nick hesitated and Cap nudged him again. “With
Burkhardt?”“That’sthetalkontheinside.Merrill’shopingforabigpayofftomakeitall
legit. Imean,youwouldn’tbelieve thebigpeoplehoveringaroundwithgrantmoney—”“LikeEuro-AtlanticOilandtheCarlisleFoundation.”“Yeah.AndMortFernan.”Caphadn’tseenthatnameinhisresearch.“TheguywhoownstheEvolution
Channel?”“Makesperfect sense,doesn’t it?WhateverBurkhardt’sworkingon,Fernan
wants first dibs to put it onTV.”He sniffed a bitter chuckle. “Must be prettysexystuff,awholelotmoreexcitingthaninequityaversionincapuchins.Butit’sagamble.Theinvestorsareholdingbackuntiltheyseeresults.”Capnodded tohimself.Results.Therewas thatword again. “No results, no
money.”“AndMerrillwillhavesomeexplainingtodo.”“Incorrectresults,nomoney,”Capmused.“Samething.”“So what about the chimpanzees being shipped off campus? Any truth to
that?”Nicknodded. “TheYorkCenter’s turning away research proposals—which
means we’re turning away money—because we don’t have new chimps. We
havetheoldstandbys,butthey’regettingtooaggressivetobeuseful,andwe’reshortonyoungermales.”“Whataboutthefemales?”“They’re getting old too, andwe don’t have younger ones to replace them.
Theyoungonesgetshippedoutassoonasthey’reoldenoughtobreed.OrdersfromMerrill’soffice.”“Wheredotheygo?”“SomewhereinIdaho.AplacecalledThreeRivers.”ThatturnedCap’shead.“Sayagain?”
Singkept raking, looseningup the sandby thecreekbank, cleaningout rocksandtwigsthatcouldpreventaclearfootprint.Reedbroughtagunnysackintothecenterofthetilledareaandbegansettingapples,pears,andbananasonashort,sun-bleachedlog.Peteremainedoutsidethecircle,studyingamapintheebbinglight.“It’stherightplace,”Reedassuredhim.“Only if they come here,” Pete answered, orienting the map to the
surroundings.“They’vegotplentyofchoiceswhichwaytogo.”“But thefoodishere,”saidReed,“alongsidethesamecreekbed,andjusta
littlefarthersouth.Ifnothingelse,Jimmy’shunterswilldrivethemthisway.”“Wemayhavebeendrivingthemthiswayallalong.”“That’s what I’ve been thinking. If they were living in the forest around
Abneyallthistime,whyelsewouldtheymove?”“Thenagain,iftheywerelivingaroundAbneyallthistime,whyhaven’tthey
attackedanyonebefore?”Singlookedupfromherraking.“Ikeephearingtheword‘they.’”Petegrabbedupasecondrakeanddirectedabuddy’slookatReed.“It’llbe
‘they’aslongasReedwantsittobe.”SingsmiledhergratitudeatPete.“Itwon’tbeverylong,”saidReed,settingafewlastitemsonthelog.“Iknow
thiswholeidea’sridiculous,butit’stheonlyoneI’vegot.”“Maybejusthalfridiculous,”Peterepliedthoughtfully.“Lookat it thisway:
ArlenandFlemingdon’tevenknowwe’redoingthis,soifwegetsomethingthistime...”Hecouldonlyshakehisheadafterthat.
“It’seitherthisorgiveup,”saidSing.“Soifyoudon’tgothroughwithit,Iwill.”“YouwriteBeckanote?”Peteaskedtomakesure.“Iexplainedeverything,”Reedanswered,takinglongstridesoutofthecircle,
leavingaminimumoffootprintsforPetetorakeout.Peterakedthemallout,andthentheystoodthere,gazingacrossasmallcircle
of clear, carefully raked sand at what Reed had designated the Last-DitchAttempt. Itwouldbedarkbefore they couldmake it back toPete’s truck, buttheyfoundithardtoleave.“And I toldher I lovedher,”Reedadded.Hisgazemovedbetweenhis two
friends.“Wouldyouguysmind.. .prayingwithme?Itwouldputmymindatease.”SingandPetebothnodded their consent.Reedputhis armsaroundhis two
friends’shouldersandspokesoftly.“God,whereverBeckis,weknowshe’s inYourhands.Holdhertightforme,willyou?Keephersafeandbringherhomesoon.And...that’saboutit.Amen.”“We’dbestgetback,”saidPete,andtheygrabbeduptheirgear.
thirteen
DeputyDaveSaundershadspentThursdayeveningonthephone,recallinganySearchandRescuevolunteershecouldfind—fourwereready,willing,available,andarmed.Thenhe’dhuntedaroundformetaldetectors—twoheborrowedfromsomehobbyistfriends,oneherented,andoneheboughtwithhisownmoney.AtfirstlightFridaymorning,heandhiscrewwereatthecabinonLostCreek.Theywould test Sing’s theory by searching for something that was not necessarilytheretobefound.“Ifyousee,hear,orsmellanybelligerentcreatureinthearea,Idon’tcareif
it’sabearoraBigfootoraraccoononsteroids,yougetoutofthere,”hetoldthefaithfulfour.“Ifyoufindtheshovel,thengetontheradioandwe’llallconvergeonthearea.Ifthere’sashovel,thenchancesarethere’sagrave,andthat’swhatwe’reafter.Anyquestions?”Thehousewife,thefireman,theheavyequipmentoperator,andthemachinist
alllookedbackathim,silent.“Okay, then, youknowyour quadrants.We’ll take a snackbreak about ten.
Let’sgo.”CapdroveeastfromSpokane.HeplannedtocutthroughCoeurd’Alene,Idaho,and then south into the timberlands.Ahighwaymap restedon the seat besidehim,hisdestinationrepresentedbyasmallopendot.“ThreeRivers,”hesaidintohiscellphone.“Iaboutfelloff thebenchwhen
Nicksaidthat.That’sclosetowhereAllenArnoldwaskilled,amIright?”Singreplied,“Cap,Ithinkyou’reheadingintotrouble.”“IrememberBurkhardttalkingaboutavacationcabininIdaho,andnowNick
says the chimps are being sent to Three Rivers, right where all this troublebegan,ifthepatternmeansanything.”“That’sexactlywhatImean.I’dsaycallthepolice,but...”“Butwhatwouldwetellthem?”“Well,getsomethingtotellthemandthentellthem!”“Exactlymyintentions.”“Buttellmefirst—andbecareful.”
“SayhitoReed.”Sing closed her cell phone and redirected her attention to the dozencamouflaged,rifle-totinghuntersnowgatheredbesidethemobilelab,planning,discussing, debating. Max Johnson, Steve Thorne, and Sam Marlowe weretellingstoriesandexpressingopinionsabouttoday’splanofaction;WileyKanewashavingasmoke;Jansonwasrepackingabackpack.Jimmy and some forest rangers huddled around a map, pointing and
muttering: “Set out bait here and here, but you can’t have human presencepressuringfromabove,”Jimmysaid.“Howabouta triangle?Justkeep theseguys ina triangleandmakeonebig
sweep,”oneoffered.“Dogs’lltakecareofthat,really,ifyouwanttowait,”saidasecond.Sing reached inside the motor home and brought out some briefcase-sized
storagecases.“HerearetheGPSunits.”Jimmy was elated. “All right. I’ll hand them out.Want to take the central
command like yesterday?”He opened the first case and pulled out one of theunits.“I’llbehere.”“Great.NowIneedtoknowwhereReedandPeteare.”Singpressedthroughthehuddlesoshecouldseethemap.Shefoundthesite
oftheLast-DitchAttempt,alongthesamecreekbedastheFlemingCryncovichsite,twomilessouth.“They’rehikingbackintheretolookforanysign.”“Bigfootprints,Isuppose?”Jimmyteased.Sheonlysmiled.“We’lltakeanythingwecanget.”He gave her an encouraging pat on the back. Sing received it as such and
steppedupintothemotorhome,settlinginfrontofthecomputer.“Okay, guys,” she heard Jimmy saying, “here’s the plan.Max and Janson,
we’ll startyouguysupwhereReed found that shredof jacket.You’llbait thearea and thenwait; you know the drill.Wiley andThorne, Iwant you farthersouth,andtakealookatthemaphere:HendersonandSheltonareinthatarea,so let’smakesurewemakecontactwith themanddon’tcrosspurposes;catchmydrift?”Jimmy’s banter faded from Sing’s awareness as she studied the computer
screen,scrollingitsouthtorevealtheterrainaroundtheLast-DitchAttempt.The
mapwasclean—noactivity.“Hey,Sing?”Jimmycalled.“We’reshortaGPS.”Shecalledoutthedoor,“ReedandPetetookit.”
ReedandPetewerearmedandcautious,workingtheirwayintotheforestalongagametrailthatonlythedeerandelkused.Therewerenohumantrailshere,nohikers,notrailsidelatrines,justthick,leafyforestandsun-starvedundergrowththatswishedandcrackleddespitetheirbesteffortstokeepquiet.Peteledtheway,settinghisownpace,thinking,watching,movingstealthily,
likeananimal.Reed’swatchtoldhimitwastimetocallin.Heputasmallhandheldradioto
hisjawandwhispered,“Sing,we’rehalfwayin.”Hervoicecameback,“Rogerthat.Jimmy’sguysaremovingin.Thorneand
Kanearetakingthesouthflank.Theyknowwhereyou’llbe.”LeahsatonherhaunchesamidtheRockyMountainMaplesandwildroses,eyeshalfopenasifshecaredlittleaboutanythingbeyondherimmediate,sweetlittleworld,moaningandhummingasongofpleasure.Immediately behind her, Rachel hummed and grunted, busily, meticulously
runningherfingersthroughLeah’shair,makingSasquatchimprovementsinthegroomingBeckhadperformedjustthedaybefore.ImmediatelybehindRachel,Beckguidedherbrushcarefully,maintainingthe
beautyofRachel’sfull-bodycoiffureandhummingquietly,constantlygauginghowherbehaviorwasbeingreceivedandpassedon.The arrangement had fallen together spontaneously, like the revival of a
forgotten routine.Rachel, as if desiring reconciliation, offered to groomLeah.Leah,havingbeengroomedbythelowestmemberofthegroup,nowseemedtofindgroomingfromaslightlyhighermemberacceptable,andallowedit.Beck,seeing a chance for just one more measure of acceptance—and possibleinfluence—joinedtheparty,andsoithappened.Shewasn’thummingoutofjoyorpleasure,buttokeepthingscalmandtokeepappeasementflowing.Thiswasa whole new social development, as precarious as a cease-fire between twomortalenemies,andshefearedonewrongmovecouldbreakthespell.Eitherthat,oronejealouslittleSasquatch,obsessedwithanape’sversionof
sibling rivalry. As Beck brushed, she kept a watchful eye on Reuben, fullyexpectinghimtodosomething;shedidn’tknowwhat.Rightnowhewassittingat a distance, his shoulder against a tree, contemplating his fingernails—a
behavior he may have learned from his mother in a similar situation. Beckcouldn’t be sure just what it meant. He might be pouting or trying to actindifferent.Then again, he could be acting indifferentwhile plotting a viciousandwickedact.Hewasawildcardinthisgame.He looked up, met Beck’s eyes, and held the gaze—in this context, a
challenge.Leah gave a quiet, corrective grunt, and he looked down at his fingernails
again.Okay,Beckthought.Ijusthavetokeephismommaonmyside.AsforJacob,Beckdidn’texpecthimtowarmtoher.Hewasaprotectorand
provider,buteverybitabeast,acoldandsavageruler.Eventhegentlesideshemay have seenwhenLeah groomed him seemed a thin facade in light of thebeatinghegaveRachelandthebrutalbitemarksonhis twowomen.TheonlyreasonBeckwasapartofthisgroomingchainwasbecausehewasn’taroundtorenderanopinionaboutit.Ifandwhenheevershowedup—Suddenlythebushesquaked.Jacobwasreturning.Beckboltedawayfromthe
twofemalesandhobbledtoherspotinthepinegrove,pocketingthehairbrushandploppingdown,tryingtoappearpassive.Reubenwasonhisfeetinstantly,likeadogwhosemasterhadreturned.The two females rose at the same time, looked into the forest, and then
floppeddowntotheirhandsandkneesinformalgreeting.Beck got on her hands and knees as well, not wanting to challenge the
patienceofthekingwhonowemergedthroughthetrees,lightandshadow,lightand shadow blinking on his face and chest as he walked. He was clutchingsomethingagainsthisstomachwithhishandsandarms.Beckknewrightawaythathe’dfoundmorefruit,whichbroughtavolleyof
questionstomind:Wasitafarm,anorchard,oranotherbaitingsite?Weretherehumansaround?Lastly,WillIgetanytoeat?Jacob came to a small gap in the trees, sank to his knees, and let the fruit
tumbletotheground.Theselectionwassuspiciouslyfamiliar:apples,pears,andbananas.Anotherbaitingsite,Beckthought.
Reedkneltinthesand,staring,atalossforwordsexcepttosay,“Idon’tknowwhattofeel.”
Petewasbesidehim,studyingthehugefootprintsandneedingalittletimetobecomeabeliever again. “I’vehadmyhead turnedaround somany times it’sabouttocomeunscrewed.”Thesimilaritytorecenthorrorsstruckhim.“Sorry.”“It’shim,isn’tit?”Petestudiedthetrackswheretheyapproachedandthenreturnedinabeeline
acrossthecreekbed.“It’shim.Oldalphamale,Mr.Scarfoot.He’sstilloutthere,likeitornot.”“SoFleming’sfootprintsweren’tahoaxafterall.”Petedidn’tanswerthatbutstood,scanningthearea.“Hetookthebait,every
pieceofit.”Reed searched carefully around the perimeter of the raked ground. “Every
piece?”Beck held back, waiting to see what the rules might be this time around.Surprisingly,LeahandRachelapproached the fruitalmost together,Leahfirst,butRachelonlyafewstepsbehind.WhileJacobsatbackandwatchedwithoutcomment, Leah took an apple and allowed Rachel to take one after her. Shedidn’tseemtomindRachelsharinginthefruitaslongasLeahchosefirst.Reubensidleduptohismotherinhisusualwayandhelpedhimself.Myturn?Beckwondered.Shewaited,watchingJacob.Hedidnotlookather,whichcouldhavemeanta
lingering hatred, prideful rejection, or total indifference. She tried to read hisbodylanguageforanycluesastowhichitwas,butshecouldn’tbesure.ShewaitedforRacheltoinviteher,andafterRachelhaddownedtwoapples
withthegroup’sindulgence,shelookedatBeckandpiggruntedacalltosupper.Beckapproachedslowly,bracedforsomekindofreaction.Jacobeyedher,hisbrowsinkingslightlyoverhiseyes,sendingawarning,but
justawarning.Shedroppedhereyesandbowedslightly,tryingtolooksmallandsubmissive.Heglancedattheground,scoopedupalumpofhisowndung,andpoppedit
intohismouth,enjoyingafruitsaladthesecondtimearound.BeckcameupbehindRachel,whomovedovertogiveherroom.Beckspotted
apearandleanedintopickitup—Therewassomethinglyingnexttoit,anditwasnotapieceoffruit.
Reed found a crumpled shred of white paper snagged in a stunted pine. Hecarefullyworkeditloose.Ithadbeenchewedandwasslimywithsaliva,buthepeeledthefoldsopenenoughtoreadwhatwasleftofhisownwriting:thelastlineofsomeinstructionsaboutbatteries,thewords“Iloveyou,”andhisname.“IhadthiswrappedaroundtheGPSwitharubberband.”Petecombedthesurroundinggroundwithhiseyes.“Well,obviously,itwasn’t
Beckwhopickeditup.”Heobservedthechewedconditionofthenote.“Doesn’tlookgoodfortheGPS,doesit?”Beckknewrightawaywhatitwas.Reed,alwaysthegadgetnut,hadshownheroneinasportinggoodsstore.She’dmanagedtotalkhimoutofbuyingit,butofcoursethatreprieveonlylastedamonthbeforehebroughthometwo.Aftertheyspentsomequalitytimetogetherlearninghowthegadgetsworked,heputhisinhiscarandsheputhersbackinitsbox.But that was then. She felt no cynicism now, not the slightest tendency to
brushitoffasa“guything.”Thathand-sizeddeviceofyellowplasticwiththeLCDscreenwasnothing less than life itself. It spoke—no, ityelled—ofReed!Thiswassotypicalofhim;hewouldhavethoughtofthis!He’sreachingforme!Hehasn’tgivenup!Herhandtrembledasshereachedforit,reachedforhim—Leahpickeditupandsniffedit.“Oh!”Beckstifledthesquealofalarmassoonasitescaped,herhandoverher
mouth.Leahshotatestyglance.Beckloweredhereyes—Careful,careful,don’tchallenge her!Now Jacob was watching, his piercing eyes focused on everydetail,lookingfortrouble.Becktriedtoshowinterestinanapple,herhandsshaking.LeahwentbacktosniffingtheGPS.Shestuckouthertongueandtastedit.Beckbitintotheapple,tryingnottolookalarmedorinterested,justlettingher
eyespassoverLeahwithoutreallylooking.Oh,please,Leah,pleasedon’teatit!ReedandPetesteppedcarefully,walkingasquarepatternaroundthebaitingsite,tenpacestoaside,thentwelve,thenfourteen,probingandcombingthroughtherivergrass, the flood-bentwillows, and theknee-highpines,needing toknow:Wasithere?Didthebeastpickitupanddropit?Eatit?Chewitandspititout?Theyneededtoknow.
TheGPSfelltotheground,andLeahpickedupapearinstead.
Beckreached—Rachelwascuriousandpickeditup.Beckjammedhertongueagainsttheroofofhermouth,blockingacryonits
wayout.EyecontactwithRachelwasallowed.Shetriedit,hereyesimploring.Rachel didn’t notice; she was too fascinated with the strange object. She
sniffedit,turneditoverafewtimes,andthenpoppeditintohermouth.ThistimeBecktooktheriskandmadeasound,extendingherhand.Snap!TheplasticcrackedbetweenRachel’steeth.“Noo!”BecktookholdofRachel’sarmandgothalfherattention.Rachelspititout,flippingitofftheendofhertongue.Beckcaughtitbeforeithittheground,hoping,prayingitwouldstillwork.It
was slimy now, slippery like a wet bar of soap, but she hung on, clutched itagainstherheart.Thecasewascracked,butmaybe—OhdearGod—maybe theelectronics were still intact. She looked for the on button as shewiped slimeawayfromthekeypad—AhairyhandflashedoverhershoulderandtheGPSshotskyward.Withashriekandwithoutthinking,BecktookholdofReuben’sarm,reaching
andgrabbingwithherfreehand.Hisarmwasimpervioustoherweight, likeathicktreebranch,andashestoodheliftedher torsooff thegroundsothatherfeetweredragging.Shegropedforafoothold.Hetwisted,whippingherabout.Shehungon,fightingtowrestthedevicefromhisfist.Wordswereimpossible;sheshrieked,sheyelled,shegrowled,shehithimonhisarm.Thefemaleswereon their feet,growlingandbarking,butnotateachother.
Theyweretwomothersscoldingtheirquarrelingchildren.BecklockedeyeswithReuben.Iwon’tgiveitup.No,notthistime!Thisismy
life!Shegotbothhandson theGPSandpulled. Itcouldhavebeenembeddedin
concreteforallthegooditdid.Hereyeswereclosedinagrimacewhentheblowcame,astunninghaymaker
acrossherface.ShenolongerfelttheGPSinherhands;shenolongerfeltherhands. Shewent numb and oblivious, theworld spinning before her eyes in ablurofsky,trees,grass,light,dark—Sheslammedintothegroundbutfeltnopain,onlynausea,astheearthreeled
beneath her and her visionwandered, thenwent black. As if in a dream, she
heardRachelbarkingandprotestingwhileLeahgrowledandsnarled,but theysoundedsofaraway,soveryfaraway...ReedandPetehadwalkedandcombedasquareoffiftypaces,anareathatnowincludedthecreekbedandroughly150feetofcreekbankandadjacentforest.Nowtheystoodattheedgeofthecreekbed,thedryriverrocksundertheirfeet,andreachedaconsensus.“It’sgone,”saidReed.Pete removed his hat, wiped his brow with his shirtsleeve, and responded,
“It’llmakeoneheckofascatpile.”Reed felt so numb, so empty. He’d been hoping for so long, and had that
certain feeling so deeply, that he now hung in emotional space with nothingunder him and nowhere to go. He couldn’t believe Beck was dead, but he’dexpendedhislasthopethatshewasalive.Forseveralminutes,heandPetestoodsilentlyonthebarrenriverrocks,waitingforthenextcourseofaction—notjustintheirsearchbutinlifeitself—tocometomindwhilenowaterflowedpast,nosquirrelschatteredinthetrees,andnobirdstookaninterestintheplace.Petefinallysuggested,“Wecanprobablytrackit.”Reeddidn’tanswerforamoment, thenasked,“Doyouthinkthosetracksat
theCryncovichsitecould’vebeenafewdaysolder?”“Could’vebeen,butIdoubtit.”“SoBeckcouldhavebeenalive then,but thenshewaskilledsoonafter.Or
maybetheBigfoottrackswerereal,butBeck’swerefaked.”“Idon’tthinkitmuchmatters.IjustrememberwhatSheriffMillssaidbefore
hewaskilled:‘Godhelpme,thatthing’swalking.’”SeveralsecondspassedbeforeReedreplied,“Sortofsaysitall,doesn’tit?”“Iwouldsayso,yeah.”Now,asReedfeltweakandhiskneesfeeble,hedidn’tfightit.Hesatdown
onanoldgraylog.Petejoinedhim.Astheforestwentonliving,notmindfulofthem,theysatmotionless,staringatnothinginparticular,theireyeslandingonthoseeighteen-inchtracksjustonceinawhile.“Isupposeweoughttotrackit,”Reedsaidatlast.“It’syourcall.Ifyou’refinishedwithallthis,soamI.”Reedtookanotherminutetofisharoundinthefeelingshedidn’tseemtohave
anymoreandconcluded,“IguessI’mfinished.”
Pete rose from the logandofferedReedhishand. “Comeon.Let’sgetyouhome.”Pow!The rifle shot echoed upon itself, stretching out into a clattering roar that
rippledthroughthehills.Pow!Thereitwasagain.
Beck awoke as if from sleep, head throbbing, mind dopey, the world crazilysideways.Throughtheswaying,blurring,sidewaysbladesofgrass,shesawtheSasquatcheshuffingandstirring,alarmedbysomething.Thatwasnothingnew.Theywerealwaysalarmedaboutsomething.Beckguessed theyweregoing torunagain.Yeah,theyweregoingtorun.Rachelhoveredoverher,pantingandgrunting,
takingholdofherarm,yanking,tryingtorouseher.Shethoughtshemighthaveheardsomething.
PeteborrowedtheradiofromReedandcalledin.“Sing?Weheardsomeshots.”Singcameback,“Wherehaveyoubeen?”“Whatdoyouhearfromthehunters?”“Standby.There’ssomuchchatterIcan’tmakeitout.”Petewaited,exchangingaconcernedlookwithReed.Singreturned.“Bettergetoverthere.They’reclosetothecreekbed,bearing
175,abouthalfamile.”“They’resouthofus,”saidReed.“What’vetheyshot?”PeteaskedSing.“Jimmydoesn’tknow.Whoeverdidtheshootingdoesn’thavearadio.”“Okay,we’reheadingoverthere.”Petehandedbacktheradio.“Lordy!Ifthey
baggedthatthing...!”Becksawthegroundfallaway,thenstartmovingbeneathher.ShewatchedthegrassandtheRockyMountainMaplewhiskby,thenthetrunksoftreesandmoretrunksoftreesandpatchesoflightandshadowontheplant-clutteredground,butallthewhile,searchasshewould,shesawnothingmadeofyellowplastic,kindofcracked,kindofslimy,maybebroken.Reed and Pete rounded a bend in the creek bed and heard the voices of twohunters uphill in the trees, laughing and talking it up, all caution and stealth
throwntothewind.OneofthevoiceswasJimmy’s.“Doesn’tsoundliketheyshotanythingunexpected,”Petemuttered.The knowledge brought Reed no joy, but on the other hand, he didn’t care
muchanymore.They climbed into the forest, came over a rise, and foundKane down in a
hollow,lookinglikeawild-eyed,white-hairedmountainmanashekneltbythebiggestblackbeareitherofthemhadeverseen.Hewasholdinguptheheadbythe scruff of theneck and striking aposewhile JimmyClark, in anunusuallychippermood,snappedhispicture.WhenWileysawthemhewhoopedlongandloud.“Canyoubelievethis?”Anothervoicecamefromhigherupthehill.“Yougethim,Wiley?”“Igothim!”Avague,camouflagedshapewearingamatchingcapwoveitswaydownward
through the spindly trunks.Onlywhen it cameclosedid they recognizeSteveThorne,allmarine,lookingreadyforjunglecombat.Histeethstoodoutbrightlyagainstthegreenandbrowngreasepaintheworeonhisface,whichputthemoffbalance.They’dneverseenhimgrinbefore.“Now,that’sarecordbreaker,myfriend!”“Thatitis,”saidJimmy,snappinganotherpicture.Kane probed the thick black fur until he found a bloody spot on the flank.
“Perfectheart-and-lungshot!Hedroppedlikearock!”Jimmyspokeintohisearpiece.“Okay,everybody.Wehaveaconfirmedkill.
WileyKane gets the trophy.Goodwork, andmany thanks to all of you!”Helaughed at the chatter coming back through the earpiece and relayed it,“Everybody says congratulations.” He spoke to the earpiece, “Sam andMax,you’re closest. I’d like to get you over here to help pack it out. Yeah, it’s amonster.”“Gonnadresshimout?”Peteasked.Jimmygrinnedupatthem,jubilant.“Yeah,he’stoobigtotakeoutwhole.”Pete set down his rifle and backpack, then spoke softly to Reed, “They’re
gonna find out they shot a bear for nothing.”Reed answered, “I’d better stayhere.”Petenoddedandsteppeddownintothehollow.Jimmyextendedahand,andPetegrasped it.“Youwere right,”Jimmysaid.
“Itwasmovingsouth.Sorrytogetthejumponyou,buthey,Wileysawitfirst.”Kanejustgrinned.PetegaveKaneacourteoussmile.“ForaminuteIthoughtyoumayhaveshot
somethingelse.”WileyknewwhatPetewastalkingabout.“Nottoday.”Petetookholdofthefeet,studiedthepadscarefully,thenlookedupatReed
withadiscreetwagofhishead.Jimmysawit.“Thisisyourculprit,Pete.I’llbankonit.”Petekepthisvoicedown.“Ithinktheculprit’sgottencleanawaythankstoall
your noise.”He forced a smileKane’s direction again. “But congrats on yourbear.”Jimmytookouthishuntingknife.“You’rewelcometowatch.”Reed wasn’t the least bit interested and found a small log a comfortable
distanceaway.PetecircledaroundtostandbyKaneandThorneastheywatchedJimmyopenupthebear’sabdomenwithquicksawingmotionsoftheknife.Injustafewminutes,withafewquickcutsandayank,thestomachrolledoutontheground.Itwasbulging.Jimmysliceditopenwithonecleanpassofthebladeanditblossomedlikeaflower,thecontentssendingupastenchthatmadeKanebackaway.Jimmyprobedthroughthecontentswiththetipofhisknife.“Lotsofberries.”
Hesnaggedsomealuminumfoilandfoodwrappingwithfamiliargoldenarches.“Robbedagarbagecansomewhere.”Under themassofberrypulp,seeds,andgarbage, something caught on his knife. He pulled it up, letting the othercontentsfallaside.HeliftedhisgazetoPete’s.Pete reacheddownand,withdeft fingers,worked thepieceof leather loose
andspreaditout.Itwasbrown,witharowoffringe.Itwasunmistakable.Deputy Saunders’s crew had not given up hope even thoughDave never hadmuch to begin with. They combed the woods, four people working fourquadrants,weavingbackandforthaccordingtocompassheadings,numbersofpaces,andredribbonmarkers,metaldetectorssweepingtheground.Theheavyequipmentoperator’sdetectorletoutasquealthatmadehimjump
—he’dneverheardhismetaldetectoractuallyfindsomethingmetal.ThesoundwassoloudandthemanwassoclosethatevenDaveheardit.He
rantothespotevenasthemandughurriedlywithhisshovel.
Clink!Hisshovelhitsomething.Heprobedfarther,scraped,pried,dugsomemore,andfinallywedgedup—Anoldaxhead.Hegottokeepit.Thesearchcontinued.
Sing called Cap to let him know the hunt was over. The news was such aforegoneconclusionthatitdidn’tshockorsurprisehim.Itonlystrengthenedhisresolve.“Well,itmaybeoverforJimmyandhiscrew,butnotforus,”hesaid.“Get
overhereassoonasyoucan.”Sing said good-bye, closed her cell phone, and stood by her motor home,
watchingthefinalexodus.JimmyClark secured the last bungee cord over his gear in the back of his
IdahoDepartmentofFishandGameKingCabpickup,gaveSingagood-byetipof his cap, and climbed inside. The four rangers from the forest servicewerealreadyintheirpalegreenvehicle,theenginerunning.WhenJimmystartedout,theyfollowed,easingdowntheroadthroughthehamletofWhitetailuntiltheirtaillightsvanishedaroundafarbendintheroadandallwasquiet.Wiley Kane had taken great care in rolling and wrapping up his bearskin,
setting it securely in the back of his old pickup so that only the bear’s snoutshowed from under the canvas.Hewaswhistling happily as Sing approachedhim.“Iwanttothankyouforyourhelp,younglady,”hesaid.“I’mgladforyou,”shereplied.“Thanks.ButIamsorry.Allinall, thisisnotahappydayforyouandyour
friends.”“Thankyou.”“What’s,uh,what’sOfficerSheltongoingtodonow?”heasked.SinglookedtowardtheforestwhereReedhadgonewalkingalone.“He’llgo
onliving.”“You figure he’s convinced now? I mean, he’s not going to be out there
searchingforhiswifeanymore,orhuntingforBigfoot?”“Noonecouldeverknowthat.”Kanesmiledandofferedhishand.“It’sbeennicemeetingyou.”
Sheshookhishand.“MayIaskforonesmallthing?”“Yes,ma’am.”“MayIhave justaportionofyourbearmeat?”He lookedquizzical, soshe
explained,“Itwouldbeforaremembrance,likeflowers.”“Gottwentydollars?”
Pete stepped out of the motor home, feeling weighted down, dispirited, andtwentyyearsolder.He’dlaindowntorestbuthadn’tslept.HewonderedwhereReedwas, andhowhewas—alive, hopefully,whichwas themost one couldexpectfornow.Hewasn’tsurewhereSingmightbe.Mostofthevehiclesthathad been parked along the road were gone, andWhitetail was nearly its old,mostlydesertedself.Jimmyhadleftwithoutsayingaso-long.Peteleanedagainstthemotorhome
andtookamomenttoregrettheless-than-friendlydeparture.HeandJimmyhadhad a discussion, then a disagreement, and then a pretty good shoutingmatchoverthatpieceofBeck’sjacketinthebear’sstomach.ToJimmy,itsettledeverydoubt and answered every question. To Pete—andReed— itwas just anotherpiece of garbage the bear had found, attractive because of the bloodstain andgulpeddownafterBeckwasnolongeranywherenearit.Ofcourse,bringinginthe alpha male’s footprints at the second baiting site did not serve well inresolvingthingsbutonlymadethemworse.Petesighed,deeplyimpressedwithhowbadlythingscouldgosometimes,no
matterwhathedid.Smokerosefromasmallcampsitebackinthetrees.Heheadedthatdirection
andfoundSingseatedonalognearafirepit.ShewaswrappedinawarmIndianblanket, tendingafireinwhichapieceofbearmeatwasburningandsizzling,sendingupsmoke.Max Johnson was there, carrying on a one-sided conversation. “So really,
there’snotalotofpointinprolongingthis.IthinkyouandReedandPetejustneedtosettlethisinyourheartsandgetonwithyourlives.”HespottedPeteasheapproached.“Oh,hi,Pete!How’reyoudoing?”“BeckSheltonisdead,”heanswered,matter-of-factly,ashesteppedintothe
circleoflogsplacedaroundthefire.“HowshouldIbedoing?”“I’msosorry.Butit’sforthebest,isn’tit—thatyoufinallyknow?It’sclosure.
That’swhatyou’vebeenneedingfordays,andnow...”“Max.”Pete looked at Sing,who said nothing, onlywatched the flames. “I
thinkthisissupposedtobeaprivatemoment.”MaxlookedatSingasifreallyseeingherforthefirsttime.Henoddedand,
withoutanotherword,leftthem.Petefoundafewmorechunksoffirewoodandcarefullyplacedthemonthe
fire,keeping theflameshotaround theburningmeat.Hesaton the logbesideher,ascloseasagoodfriend.Before long,alive, safe,andsilent,Reed returnedfromthewoods.Peteand
Singgreetedhimwith theireyes,but therewerenowords.Reedobserved thefire and the burning meat, then picked up two more pieces of firewood andaddedthemtothefire.HesatontheothersideofSing,andallthreewatchedtheflamestogether.Whenthemeatwasalmostgone,Singclosedhereyes,releasingatrickleof
tears,andbeganaplaintivelamentfromtheoldtraditions,rockinggentlyastheflamescrackled.Firstshesanginlow,mournfultoneswithoutwords,expressingasorrowthatonlythesoulcouldknow.Thensorrowgavewaytopainandthesongroseinvolumeandpitch,theanguishloftinglikethesmokefromthefiretowardthemountainswhereafriendhadgone,nevertoreturn.Tears came to Reed’s eyes, blurring the flames, as the songwrapped itself
aroundhisheart,carryinghissorrowasifheweresingingithimself.Thesongspokeforhim.Thisisme,whoIamandwhereIamrightnow.Pete removed his hat and looked toward themountains, not thinkingmuch,
justwondering,feelingthesameoldwhythatalwayscameattimessuchasthis.The song spoke for the wondering too, and fit this place so well.Maybe themountainshadtaughtittoher.Thesonghadnoendingof itsown.WhenSingwas finished,whenshehad
delivered in fullhercomplaint to themountainsand theGodwhomade them,whenshehadcriedoutherlastfarewell, thesongcametoaquietrest,closinglike adooron thepast.Singwasweary anddrained, but just a little closer topeace.Thebearmeatwasconsumedbytheflames.Sheopenedhereyesandwiped
thetearsaway.“Thankyou,”saidReed.“Where’dyoulearnthat?”Peteasked.“Mygrandfathersangitwhenmygrandmotherdied,”shesaidsoftly.“Idon’t
rememberallthewords—butIrememberthefeelings.”
Beck flopped to the ground once again, delivered there by her exhausted,frightened,adoptivemotherinthesameoldway.Theflightthroughthetangledforestwasaperfectcopyofthelastflightthroughthetangledforest.Jacobledthegrouprelentlessly,withLeahandReubenfollowingbehindandRachellastinlinecarryingBeck.Halfwaythroughthelong,franticrun,BeckrecoveredhersensesandclimbedaroundtoRachel’sbacktorideconventionally,soeventhatwasthesame.Asalways,Beckhadnoideawheretheywereorwheretheyweregoing,onlythatitwasawayfromrescue,awayfromReedandallshehelddear.Sherolledontoherfaceintheundergrowthwithherarmscoveringherhead,
tryingtoblockoutthesounds,sights,andsmellsofawildernessobsessedwithnobettercausethantormentingher.Itwassounfair!Shecouldn’tgetawayfromher overly possessive “mother” even when she wasn’t welcome; she couldn’tleaveacellphonenumberinthedirt;shecouldn’tlethergrievinghusbandknowshewas still alivewhen hewas inches away from her; and now—Of course!PardonmeforevenassumingthatIcould!—sheabsolutelycouldnotmakeuseofaGPSshewascertainReedhadleftforhertofind.Itwasallsoun—“N-no!”Beckopenedhereyesand forbade that thought toplay throughher
mind.Nomore.She’dspentenoughtimeandenergyonitandgottennothingbutmoreunfairnessforhertrouble.And what was she doing, lying in the weeds and bushes, feeling sorry for
herselfagain?She’ddonethatbeforeand,judgingfromhowthingsweregoing,couldeasilybedoingitthenextday,orthenextyear,orevenforthenexttwentyyears,inthesameweedsinthesamewoodsatthewhimandmercyofthesamesmelly,dung-eating,barf-chewing,power-struggling,upright-walking,run-from-everythingpackofapes.She sat up.Rachel laynext to her, her once-lovely coat revertingback to a
walkingdustmopforeverytypeofforestdebris.Jacobwasperchedonamoundwith his back against a rotting stump, keepingwatch like a lifeguard, lookingtired and irritable. Only Leah’s left knee and stomachwere visible above theundergrowth,herdiaphragmlaboringasshetriedtocatchherbreath.ReubensatbeyondLeah,preoccupiedwithhistoes.Sohowabout it,Beck?Wantsomemore?Ready foranother laparound the
merry-go-round?Therewasnothinglikeadumbquestiontomakethingsclear.Nomoreforme,
thanks.
Butwhatcouldshedo?Itwouldhelptohavesomeideawhereshewas.Theymayhaveheadednorth
again,judgingbythelocationofthesun,butasalways,nothinglookedfamiliar.SheonceheardReedsaythatgoingdownhillwasalwaysagoodidea:every
hilleventuallydrainedintoastream,everystreameventuallyflowedintoariver,andeveryrivereventuallycrossedaroad,woundthroughatown,orflowedbyasettlement.Itmightwork,exceptfor...When she tested her ankle, then looked at Rachel,who looked back at her
with those watchful, motherly eyes, the outcome of such a plan became aspredictableasnightfollowingday.ItmadeherwanttokillReuben—anotherplanwithapredictableoutcomethat
instantlyruleditout.Butshedidgivehimasecondlook.Shethoughthe’dbeenplayingwithhis
toes,butjustnowshethoughtshesawaglimmerofyellow.Acting as lazy, uninterested, and detached as possible, she rose to her feet,
stretched,fakedayawn,anddouble-checked.Hewasn’tplayingwithhistoes.HewasplayingwiththeGPS,lazilybattingit
backandforthbetweenhisfeet.
fourteen
The Lumberman Caféwas Cap’s third stop in Three Rivers. The folks at thelocal fillingstationhadn’theardofaDr.AdamBurkhardt; the ladyat theAceHardwarestoreknewhimasanoccasionalcustomerbutdidn’tknowwherehelived.Mr.Dinsley,owner/proprietoroftheLumberman,knewjustenough.“It’suptheSkeelGulchRoad,”hesaid,scribblingamaponanapkin.“You
goupthereabouttwomiles.Yougooverabridge—it’soneofthoselittleones,youknow,madeof logs?ItgoesovertheSkeelCreekupthere.Thentheroadtakesaleftturn,runsalongthecreek...”Hedrewitashesaidit.“Andit’supintheresomewhere.”Capstudiedthemap—threelinesfortheroads,asquiggleforthecreek,anda
littleboxfor thebridge—andasked,“Uh,anysignoutfront,youknow,housenumbersorsomething?”Dinsleyshrugged.“Well,Burkhardtdoesn’tliketoadvertise.Butyououghta
tryDenny over at AceHardware and Lumber. He’s done a few deliveries upthere.Adamwasbuildingabigoldshopafewyearsago.”“Denny’sonvacation.”“Oh,you’vealreadybeenthere!”“Yeah.Clairetoldme.”“Oh,well,Ihaven’tseenAdamforaweekorso.Didyoutrycallinghim?”“Losthisnumber.”“Oh.Well,sinceyou’regoodfriends,Iguesshewon’tmindyoudroppingin.
Heisaprivatesortofperson,isn’the?”“He’sthatway.”Capputthenapkininhisshirtpocket,paidforhiscoffeeandcinnamonroll,
andwentouttohiscar.Down the street, in apriceyMercedes that didn’t fit in this town, fourmen
withspecificorderswatchedCap’severymove.Becksatquietlyinthesyringaandsnowberry,invisiblytetheredtoRachel,whoappearedtobesleeping.ShewaswatchingReubenwithquick,carefulglances,
neveradirectstare.Ifshedidnothing,ReubenwouldeventuallydestroytheGPS,probablychew
ittosmithereens.Evenifhetiredofit,allshehadtodowasshowtheslightestinterestanditwouldbecomeimportanttohimagain.Ifshetriedtotakeitfromhim—well,she’dalreadytriedthat.Bynowthesunandshadowstoldherthegroupwasdefinitelyheadingnorth,
and of course this was the wilderness; there were no boundaries here. TheCanadian borderwouldn’t stop them.They could keepmoving as far as therewasforest,whichmeantshecouldwanderinthesewoodsforever,begivenupfordead,andneverbefound.But she had an idea. Itwasn’t a sure thing, but considering how the future
lookedifshedidnothing,afailurewasn’tgoingtosetherbackthatmuch.Shehatedhaving tobe theone tochange things,but forall sheknew,shewas theonlyplayerleftonherteam.Anychange,forbetterorworse,wasgoingtobeuptoher.She reached for thehairbrush inherbackpocket. It hadgottenher close to
Leahonce.IfBeckcouldbuyjustalittlemorefavorfromReuben’smother,thenmaybe...ShemadesureRachelwasasleep,heldthebrushupinawidegesturesoLeah
couldseeit,thenranitthroughherownhairafewtimes.Leahsniffedandsatupstraight.Shewasinterested.Beck set out before fear could catch upwith her, quicklyworking herway
through the brush toward Leah, head down, body language submissive, eyeslowered. For good measure, she added some quiet, conciliatory grunts and alittlehum,acarefree,meanderingsound.Reubensawhercomingandimmediatelytookastrong,protectiveinterestin
the GPS, clutching it close and eyeing her suspiciously. She ignored him,obviousaboutit,andheldoutthebrushtoLeah.Leahgruntedpleasantly.Beckmethereyesforaquickinquiryandfoundno
fearoranimositythere.She began brushing, smoothing out the hair behind Leah’s left ear. Leah
leanedintoit.Beckbreathedeasier.Thisjustmightwork.ThenRachelwokeup.Beckcouldunderstandthedisplaying,crying,andcommotion.Afterall,Beck
andherhairbrushweretheonlyuniqueclaimtopowerorpridethatRachelhad,
and thoughBeckwas by nomeans joining upwithRachel’s rival, how couldRachelunderstandthat?What todo?Commotionanddisgruntlementshedidn’tneed,butshehad to
haveLeah’ssympathy,and thiswas theonlywaysheknewtoget it.Shekeptbrushing.Shehadn’tconsideredhowJacobmightfeelaboutit.Hiseyeshadnarrowed
as she approached Leah, but since Leahwasn’t bothered but interested, Beckthoughthewouldn’tmind.WhenReubengotupset,Jacob’shairbegantobristle,but Beckwasn’t about to challenge Reuben and hoped Jacobwould see that.Then,whenBeckstartedbrushingLeah,hegruntedawarning,butBeckfelt itwasonlyprecautionary.WhenJacobcamethunderingdownather,roaringandthreatening,shedidn’t
think, hope, or feel anything, but leaped and rolled through the pricklyundergrowth toward Rachel’s protective arms. A gust of wind blew past her,generatedbyadeadlyswatofhishandthatbarelymissed.FallingintoRachel’senfoldingarmswaslikerunningintoafortress,andfortunately,itworked.Having returnedBeck to her rightful place, Jacob backed off and sauntered
back to his spot against the old stump, satisfied that he’d made his point—whateveritwas.Beck was shaking, very glad to let Rachel hold her and desperate to
understand the rule she’d broken. Jacob had alwaysmade it clear that hewasunhappywithRachel’sadoptionofahuman,buthavingpunishedherforsuchadumbmove,heseemedtobetoleratingit.Apparentlyhistoleranceendedwhenitcametothehumanmakinganyfurtherallianceswithhisfemales.Whetheroutofjealousyorfeelingsofthreat,hewasn’tgoingtoallowit.Beckset toworkrightaway,brushingandgroomingRachel tobesure their
relationshipwasintact.Rachelwasforgiving,hersameolddotingself.AsforassuringsupportfromLeah,thatideaclearlywouldn’twork.
Dave Saunders surprised himself.When the concentrated effort of his searchteamfoundonlyarustyhuntingknifewiththehandlerottedaway,aclusterofspentrifleshells,acanteen,andasetofcarkeys,hedidn’tgetdiscouraged,justmoredetermined,evenangry.“Widenthesearch,”heordered.“Samequadrants,doublethesize.”ThesearchershadnevermetBeckShelton,buttheyfelttheyknewher.They
didn’tgrumbleorquestion,butwentrighttoit.
Singturnedhermotorhomeinto theparking lotof theTallPineResort,easedinto the same place she’d parked before, and shut down the engine.With herchininherhand,shelookedthroughthewindshieldat thetiredoldlodgewiththe patched-together add-ons, the rambling, up-and-down porch, and the big,blackenedoutdoorbarbecue,andmusedonhowsheandCapfirstcameheretogetawayfromthestruggles,thepain,thedisappointment.Yetallthreehadfollowedthemhere,morerealandpresentthanever.Lessthanaweekago,theythoughttheywouldlearntosurvive.Theyhoped
theywouldhearfromGod.Shesighed.Maybetheyhad.Itallseemedtoomuchlikelifetobeotherwise.Sheshookoffthesorrowandtheweakness.AsCapsaid,itstillwasn’tover—
and thatwas like life too. She straightened her spine and took a deep breath.Eyes forward, she told herself. She would join up with Cap in Three Rivers.Maybetheanswerswerethere.Shesettheparkingbrakeandgotoutofthedriver’sseat,eagertoemptytheir
motelroom,settleupwithArlen,andgetrolling.Shenoticedhercomputerwasstillon,listeningforGPSsignalsthatwereno
longerthere.She’dforgottentoturnitoff,maybeonpurpose.Sheleftitonandwentoutthedoor.“Soyouheadingout?”cameavoicefromafewdoorsdowntheporch.ThorneandKanesatonabench,kickedbackandenjoyingabeer.Singwassurprisedandknewitshowed.“Aren’tyou?”Kane took a swig from his bottle and wagged his head. “Got my bear in
Arlen’scooler.It’llkeep.”“Thoughtwe’dstickaroundanddoalittlemorehunting,”saidThorne.ThenMaxstuckhisheadoutthedoorbehindthem.“Oh,yougoingnow?”Singstudiedthethreemenonlyamomentandthenreplied,“Can’twait.”Theyseemedsatisfiedwiththat.
ReedandPetepulledupbehind themotorhome inPete’sold truck.Theyhadnothingnewtosaytoeachotherandjustanodtogivetothemenontheporch.Someday they would talk about how badly things had gone, but they bothneededtime.Withonlyahandshake,theypartedcompany,Reedtohisroomtogatherhisthings,PetetothelobbytoupdateArlenandthankhimforhishelp.
Room105wasstillinthepitiful,panickymessReedhadleftafterArlengotthecallfromFlemingCryncovich.Hisuniformwasdrapedoverachairwherehe’dleftit.Hiscomputerprintoutregardingthelogger’sdeathandthephotosofthemysteriousunknownfootprintsintheLostCreekcabinlayscatteredonthebed.Leaninginthecorner,carefullyreassembledbyCapandSing,wasBeck’sbackpack.Lookingatit,Reedrememberedsoclearlythemomentshepickedoutthe color. He remembered helping her get her arms through the straps as shewriggledintoitatthebottomoftheCaveLakeTrail.He tossed his sheriff’s deputy shoes off a chair—and stared at his gun, his
radio, his handcuffs lying on the bedside stand. He snapped open the blackleathercasethatheldthehandcuffsanddrewthemout.Theyweresmallenoughtofitinthepocketofhisflannelshirt,soheputthemthere,ifonlyasareminder.ForBeck’ssake,hewouldbestrongandforeverstandbetweeninnocentpeopleandthosewhowouldtakeawaytheirlovedones.Hesatdown,lettinghiseyesdriftwheretheywanted,mostlytowardthebackpack,andlettinghisheartfeelwhatever it needed to feel. Nowords, no thoughts, no answers. Just feelings.Singwouldbeheadingout to joinupwithCap.Reedwouldcatchup later, inuniformif thesituationcalledfor it.But thismomenthewouldn’t rush. Ithadwaitedforhimpatiently—thegrief.Hewouldgiveititsdue.WithRachel’s indulgence, Beck stretched the limit of her invisible tether andreachedatinycreaseintheterrainwhereafeeblestreamtrickledamongrocks,aging logs, andmoss-coveredwindfall.Crouchingonall fours,onehandonatuftofwildgrassandtheotheronastickthatbridgedthestream,Becksippedwithherlipsjusttouchingthesurfacesoasnottostiruptheblackmudonthebottom.Survive,survive,survive,shethought.Drinktolive.Livetohope.Hopefora
miracle.Thestickunderherhandshifted,andshesatupbefore itgavewayandshe
gotafacefullofmud.It didn’t give way. It didn’t crack either. With nothing better to hold her
attention,sheclosedherfistarounditand lifted. Itcameoff thegroundinherhand,aboutthesizeandweightofabaseballbat.Shewieldeditjustamoment,thinking of Reuben and imagining what a good club it would make, but ofcourse,shewasonlyventingherfrustration.Shelet theotherendofthestickplopintothestreambedbutstillheldonto
her end, just for the feel of it.Thinking she should return to thegroupbefore
Rachelgotnervous, shealmost let itgobutdidn’t. Instead, she lifted it again,feltitsweight,gaveitafewsmallswings.Shetappeditagainstarock.Thestickhadn’trotted.Yearsofsunhadturnedithardandgray.Thestickhadstirredupthebottomofthestream.Shereachedinwithjustone
fingerandspoonedupasampleofthemud.Itwasfineandgreasybetweenherfingers,likeblackpaint.Shesmeareditalongthetopofonefinger.Itcoatedtheskinevenly,turningitanimpressive,smudgyblack.Anoutlandishthoughtcrossedhermind:Displayingcarriedalotofweightin
Sasquatch circles, didn’t it? Stomping, hollering, threatening, throwing things,bangingonthings...She studied the grass under her other hand, closed her fist around it, and
yanked it up. Therewas plenty of it.As amatter of fact, therewas plenty ofother loose material around here, like leaves, twigs, andmoss. Her shirt wasloosefitting.Itcouldholdalotofthisstuff.No!Sheshookherheadatherself,atGod.No!I’mnottheonetodothis!AsifGodHimselfweresayingit,thethoughtcametoher,Ofcourseyouare.
Whoelseisthere?Shecaughtherreflectionintheshallowwater.Therewasonlyoneface,one
personlookingbackather.She smeared the black mud over another finger. Now two fingers were
blackened—shehatedgettingdirty!Butitwouldn’tbeenough.Ifshewasgoingtoputonashow,ithadtobea
bigone,somethingnoSasquatch—especiallyReuben—hadeverseenbeforeorevenknewtoexpect.Shedugformoremudandblackenedherwholehand,grimacingwithdisgust.
Itfeltawful.Butitlookedawfultoo,andawfulwasgood.Awfulmightwork.Sheprobedaroundtheimmediatearea,lookingformoreideas—andstallinga
bit.Thatwaswhenshefoundarealprize:afreshpileofSasquatchdroppings,most likely Jacob’s.The scent of that stuffwould be quite alarming. If itwasJacob’s,itmightevenbeconfusing.Confusionwasgood.Themorethebetter.She scrambled around the area onhands andknees, thenon twohands and
oneandahalffeet,gatheringleaves, twigs,moss,andgrass.Theprocessgavehermomentum,enoughtoforsakeherhygienicworldandmovetothebrinkofthestreamonceagain.Athinbarrierofdisgustheldherbackforonlyamoment,andthenshemadea
choice.Withadangerous,recklessresolve,shedugintothemud,broughtupasizableblob,andsmearedherface.SingmadeherlasttripfromRoom104,carryingherbackpackandatoiletrybagout to themotor home. She piled them into the rear bedroom alongwith theother campinggear andawell-readcopyofRandyThompson’sbook, the lastvestigesofthevacationthatneverwas.ArlenPeakhadbeenaneighborlysort:heonlychargedforthefirstnight,nottheseveraldaysofsearching.Shesteppedintothemotorhome’sovercrowdedmidsectionwherethebulkof
her lab and crime scene reconstruction gear was stowed, hung, stuffed, andfolded.Thelastthingtofoldupandputawaywasthecomputer,stillrunning.ShepressedtheMenukey,arroweddowntotheShutDownoption,clickedon
it,andgotaboxwiththefinalquestion,Whatdoyouwantyourcomputertodo?ShutDownwasthehighlightedoption.She hesitated, the little arrow poised over theOKbutton.With a sigh, and
feeling just a little foolish, she closed that window and left the computerrunning.Thecomputermapof themountainscameon-screenagain,withnoactivity
indicated.Shewouldbehavingalast,partingconsultationwithReedassoonashewas
ready.Perhapsshewouldshutdownthecomputerthen.Jacobwasprobing theold stump forgrubs,breakingoff chunksof red, rottenwood with his fingernails and removing the white larvae with flicks of histongue.Leah sat next to an elderberry bush, indulging in the leaves from a branch
she’dpulleddown.Rachelwaspickingthroughthehaironanypartofherbodyshecouldreach,
removing seeds, twigs, and small leaves, sampling each find for flavor andedibility.Reubenwasdiscoveringhowtoregurgitate intohishand,buthestillwasn’t
surewhat to dowith the dripping contents. The intriguing yellow object wasbesidehimon theground,no longeranobjectofkeen interestbutamatterofterritorynonetheless.All fourwere aware of the female human’s presence on the other side of a
thicket,nearthetinystream.Nonecouldseeher,buttheycouldhearherrustlingabout, raking the ground, often splashing in the little bit of water there was.
She’dputteredaboutbefore,feeding,drinking,groomingherself.They’dgrownusedtoherways.But thencameastrangesilence thatbothered them.She’dneverbehaved in
quite thisway before, standing still as if hiding, lurking like a predator, evenstalkinginthebushes.Jacobflickedagrubintohismouthandwatchedthethicket,curiousbutnot
alarmed.Rachellookedoverhershoulder,mildlycuriouswhather“child”wasupto,
andpuzzledtoseeJacobstilleatinggrubsfromthestumpwhenshecoulddetecthisscentfromher“child’s”direction.LeahshotaprotectiveglanceatReuben,waryofdanger.Reubenwaspayingattentiontonothingotherthanthegreengooinhishand
andwasn’texpecting—“Aaaaaaiiiiiii!!!”Theyalljumped,evenJacob,asifacannonhadgoneoffinthemidstofthem,
andthentheystared,mouthsgaping,asBeckexplodedfromthethicket,runninglopsidedly on aweak ankle, shrieking like a cougar, brandishing a club, face,arms, and torso blackened with mud except for wide white areas around hereyes.She’dstuffedhershirt, sleevesandall, to theburstingpointwith leaves,twigs,andmoss,expandingheroutline.Grass shotout likebristlinghair fromher waist, her collar, her shirt cuffs, her pant legs. She’d even fashioned aheaddressfromherhandkerchiefandlongspearsofgrass,creatingasunburstofgrassandblowingreddishhairaroundherface.Startling tohear, shocking tobehold, sheevensmelled frightening, smeared
witha liberalcoatofdungthatmadeherreekas ifejectedfromthebowelsofthealphamalehimself.It was all or nothing. No turning back. No fear. No gentle, timid world. Nomercy,nocompassion,nopropriety,no fairness. If thiswashowmattersweresettledouthere,thenthiswashowshewouldsettlethem.Sheranheadlong,herclubraised,hereyescrazed,hermouthwideopeninapermanentscream.Sheclosed inonReuben, so focusedand intense thathe seemed to react in
eerieslowmotion—shylyjumpingtohisfeet,gasping,andraisinghisarmsinasingularmomentthatwentonandon.Shewouldnevergeta secondchance for that firstblow, that firstdesperate
grab for advantage.As shepassedonhis uphill side, she swung the club in awide batter’s arc and broke it in half against the back of his skull.He reeled,
stumbledforward.Beckdugin,reverseddirection, lungedathim,swattedhimagainonhisheadandshoulderswiththehalfclubstillinherhand.He ran for his mother, who was on her feet, screaming with shock and
indignity.The GPS, that precious GPS, lay on the ground, ripe for the picking. She
pouncedonit,gotherhandsaroundit.Preciousyellowplastic,hopefromhome—Reubenpouncedonherand,withonepowerfulheaveofhisarms,threwher,
headoverheels,intothebushes.Shefloated,mashedthebranches,tumbledintothe tangle until the thick stalks near the ground bore her up. Her head wasswimming, her world spinning, but she kicked, struggled, stayed alive. Stillentangledandsuspended,notknowingwhichwaywasuporwhetherherbodywas intact or what she could do next, she screamed, yelled, thrashed, anddisplayed, doing anything her body could do to show anger, defiance, andstrength.Rachel was coming her way, trying to save her. No. She couldn’t let that
happen. She had to stay in trouble. With a violent kick, a twist, and severalstrongyanks,shegotoutofthebushesandontotheclearground.Reubenwas hunting for the GPS. She saw it the same time he did, in the
grass,stillintact.Shecrawled,thengottoherfeet.Nofear.Showhimwho’sboss.Bluffifyou
haveto!Sheleaped,screamed,beatonherbulky,grass-and-moss-stuffedchest,waved
her arms, slapped theground.Herhand founda rock and she threw it, hittinghiminthehip.Heroaredinpain.Herentirefieldofvisionsuddenlyfilledwithgray.Leah.
“Tell you what,” said Arlen, his voice gentle, like that of a friend. “ThosetrophiesareprobablythelastI’lleversee.Iwouldsayyou’vepaidenough.Theroom’sonme.”Reed smiled, admiring the fournewplaster casts inArlen’sBigfoot display
case.Hecouldunderstandwhata treasure theymustbe toamanwithArlen’sperspective.“Idoappreciateit,”Reedsaid.Heexaminedthegrainyphotoofthebigfemalestridingalongasandbar.“Thinkthey’llstickaroundafterallthis?”Arlen’s smile slipped. “Maybe not. They’ve never been hunted before. If I
werethem,I’dprobablymoveon.”“Ihopeyou’reright.Imightbetheinterimsheriff,butIcan’tkeepthetrails
closedforever,especiallyforareasonnobody’sgoingtobelieve.”Reedturnedtogo.“Reed?”“Yeah?”“If I may speak on their behalf?” Arlen looked down at the casts for a
moment, drumming the countertopwith his fingers. “I can’t explain what wefoundupthere,otherthanthatyourwifewaswiththemandshewasalive.I’dliketothinkitwasthebearthatkilledher.”Reedwouldneverbelievethat,buttherewouldbenopointinbickering.“See
youlater,Arlen.”He quietly closed the front door behind him, leaving a sad oldman at the
counter.Leah snarled, displaying, baring her teeth, arms upraised as if to strike—andthenshelookedup.Asavage roar came fromoverBeck’s shoulder.Beckhugged thegroundas
thetruck-sizedmassofredfursailedoverherandplowedintoLeah,knockingher backward. Leah recovered in only two steps, then shoved, slapped, andpunchedasRachelreturnedblowforblow.Theyfacedoff,mirroringeachother,circling, hair bristling, backs arched, fingers spread like talons, hissing andfoamingthroughtheirteeth.With Leah occupied, Beck half-crawled and limped forward, searching for
thatglintofyellow.ItwasinReuben’shands.Hewasslinkingawaywithit.Beckgottoherfeet,yelling,displaying,thenlopingtowardhim.Sheleaped
withhergood leg, thenkickedhim in the side. Itwas likekickingawall.Heflinchedalittlebutdidn’tevenlosehisbalance.Shelandedontheground,gotupagain,facedhim—The slap sent her spinning.Her headdress disintegrated, the blades of grass
fallinglikewinnowedstraw.Theworldwasabluruntilherhairblindedher.Shehittheground,hernosedripping,herfaceburning.Withoneeyeabovethegrass,shesawRachelholdingherown,notbacking
down, getting slapped, slapping back, exchanging threats, and circling. Leah
showednoweakness.AsforJacob,hesatnexttohisstump,surprisinglyaloof,aspectator.Beck pushed against the ground, her body aching, nauseous. The ground
reeledunderher.Dropsofbloodglistenedonthegrass.Shegottoherfeet,bentover to clear the dizziness, and wiped her face with her hands, streaking themud,smearingtheblood.Shewipedherhandsonhershirtandleftredstreaks.Shestraightenedslowly—Reuben’s foot caught her in the back and she went down like a limp toy,
tumblinginthebrush,armsflailing,untilatreecaughtherintheside.Halfconscious,shethoughtshewouldneverbreatheagain.
Reedpokedhisheadinthedoorofthemotorhome.“Everythingokay?”Sing sat at the computer, scrolling the map up and down, back and forth,
retracingoldpossibilities,exploringnewones.TheGPSsystemwasitscoldandcruelself;ithadnothingtosay.“It’shardtoleave,”shesaid.Reed lookedbackat the inn,at thebenchon theporch, the frontdoors, the
doortoRoom105.Therewasn’tapleasantmemoryanywhere,onlysorrowandfinality.“Wehaveto.”She nodded but didn’t turn the computer off. She only closed the lid, then
went forward to thedriver’s stationandpulledoutamap.“Sowhat’s thebestwaytogettoThreeRiversfromhere?”Reuben stood a few yards up the hill, snuffing at her, acting superior andvictorious,clutchingtheGPSinhishands,hissnarlwarninghertostayaway,tostayontheground,toremainsubservient.Beck rolled a painful quarter turn away from the tree, drew her first full
breath,andpulledherkneesupunderher.The two females faced off, daring each other tomake amove. Itwasn’t so
muchafightasagame,awarofwills.Beckstraightened,gotonefootplanted,roseononeleg—Andfellagain,hurtingineverylimb,everyfiber.Reubenmusthaveopened
hersomewhere;shewasleavingatrailofbloodontheground.Hedisplayedagain,snarling,stomping,comingcloser.Sheknewhewouldhit
her,andthistimeitwouldprobablykillher.Shecouldbarelykeepthefemalesinfocus.Theyweren’tlookingherwaybut
glaringateachother.
Ifonlyshehadwonsomefavor.Ifonlyshewasaccepted.Shecriedout,thebestseriesofalarmscreamsshecouldmuster,andextended
herhand,crimsonwithherownblood,theirway.Rachel, facing Beck, saw her first. With a loud howl, she bolted Beck’s
direction.Leahopposedher—Rachelcouldhavebeenfightingthebearagain.WithferocityBeckhadseen
onlyoncebefore,Rachel forearmedLeahacross the throat,knockingherbackseveralsteps,turningher.Leahleanedintoastep,abouttolunge,whenhereyesfollowedBeck’sscreamandBeckcaughthergaze.Leahhesitated.Shestretchedherneckforabetterview,concerncloudingherface.Beckscreamedagain,herhandextended.Timestoodstill.Leahwaswideopen.Rachelhammeredherwitha right to thechest, thena
left, pushing, pummeling. Leah covered her head, struck back once, thenbackpedaled,stillstaringatBeck.Beckcriedoutagain,handextended.Leahmoaned,painfillinghereyes.Rachelpressedherattack,snarling,hurlinganotherdouble-blow.Leah ducked, arms over her head, asRachel delivered a steady and violent
drumming.Then,atlonglast,herwillbroken,Leahturnedtailandranintotheshelterofsometrees.Reuben’sbravadodrainedinaninstant.Hewhimpered,lookingatBeck,then
upthehilltowardhismother.Finishit!Becknoticedshewasonherfeet.Ithurtlikecrazy,butshewasstanding.A
good-sizedsticklayonlytwostepsaway.Shetookthosesteps,grabbedupthestick,raisedithigh,andclimbedthehill,closinginonReubenonelasttime.HewaslookingforhismotherwhenBeckbroughtthestickdownonhisshoulders,raisedit,broughtitdownagain.Again!Again!He flinched, ducked, put his arms over his head, then started up the hill,
retreating,ducking,whimpering.Again!TheGPSbouncedontothegroundandcametorestintheshardsofarotting
log.
Reubenran,disappearingintothesametreesthatconcealedhismother.Beck teeteredbut remainedstanding,her fist stillclenchedaround thestick,
notsureitwasover.Herupperlipandchinfeltcoldandshetastedbloodinhermouth.Shewipedhersleeveacrosshermouthanditcameawayred.Rachelwascomingtosaveher.No,please,notyet.Where’sthatGPS?It was close enough to grab just before Rachel enfolded her in those huge
arms.Rachelsettledtothegroundrightthere,cradlingher,lickingthebloodandmud fromBeck’s facewith her big tongue, pokingwith grave concern at theweird stuffing insideBeck’s shirt,yankingand tasting thegrass thatprotrudedfromBeck’ssleeves.BeckheldthatGPSclose,tryingtofindtheonswitchinbetweenswipesfrom
Rachel’s tongue.Lick!She found it.Lick! She pressed it.Lick! Lick!Nothinghappened.Shealmostfeltawaveofdespair,butanotherthoughthelditoff:Check the
batteries.The licking had stopped. Beck tried to open the back of the GPS, but her
fingerswereslickwithmudandblood,andnowtheGPSwassmearedwithit.Shepulledherhandkerchieffromaroundherheadandwipedherhands,thentheGPS.Rachelwaspokingher,hummingwithconcern.Becknestled inclose to let
her know she was all right and, using her fingernail, wedged the batterycompartmentopen.Thebatterieswere there, the endsblockedwith apieceof paper.Clever!A
safeguard,nodoubt,tomakesureonlyahumancouldturniton.Beckpulledthepaperout,closedthecover,andpressedtheonbuttonagain.Alittlelightcameon.TheLCDscreencametolife.
Reed spoke into his handheld radio as he sat in his SUV just outside theTallPine.“Okay,450point45.Hello?”Singcamebackfrominsidethemotorhome:“Gotchaloudandclear.”“Allbuttonedup?”“ThreeRivers,herewecome.Oh.Sorry.Gotonemore thing.”Singsether
radioinitsrackonthedashboardandhurriedbacktosecurethebedroomdoor.Onherway,sherememberedonemorething:thecomputer.Okay.Itwastimeto
turnitoff.She raised the lid and the screen came to life, the same old map of the
surrounding forestwithnothingshowingbut—Somethingnewcaughthereyeasherfingerpoisedabovethekeyboard.Wasthat...?No.Ithadtobedustonthescreen,abadpixel,themousepointer...Itwasblinking.Sheleanedintomakesure.Yes,itwasblinking.Sherolledout thecomputerchairandsat in it,diggingherglassesfromher
shirtpocket.Theradioonthedashsquawked,“Sing?Anyproblems?”Sheputonherglassesandleanedclose.Theblinkingblipwaslabeledwithanumber6.“Reed...”Theradiosquawkedagain.“Hello?Sing?Youcopy?”“Reed...!”Number6.TheGPSthey’dleftatthebaitingsite.TheLast-DitchAttempt.“Reed!” Sing bolted from her chair, ran to the dashboard, grabbed up the
radio.“REEEEED!”
fifteen
Cap drove up the Skeel Gulch Road, past quaint homesteads and run-downbarns, freshly mowed hay fields, and a huge pond where a moose grazed onwater cabbage. He found the bridge just as Mr. Dinsley had described it, asquatty rectangle of logs and rough-hewn plankswith red reflectors tacked toeachend.After theroad tooka left turn,Dinsley’sdirectionsranout,andCapwaslefttodothebesthecouldwiththeman’sbroad-sweepingdescription,“It’supintheresomewhere.”Capdrovetwomilesuptheroad,lookingforanythingthatmightbehometoa
scientistdetachedfromreality.Whenhenoticedrecent tire tracks turningontotheroadfromagraveldriveway,hewasdesperateenoughtocheckitout.The driveway wound back through the trees for several hundred feet, then
ended abruptly at a small,metal-roofed cabin. The parking lotwas empty, soCapfeltsafepullingtoastopandclimbingoutforalook-see.Justafewpacesupfromtheparkinglot,Capcouldseepastthecabinandinto
thetreesbeyond.Theownerhadaddedanoutbuilding,ametalstructurethesizeofanaircrafthangar.DinsleysaidBurkhardthadbuiltashopafewyearsago.Capmayhavecome
totherightplace.Inaninstant,Reed’sentireuniversehadcompressedtothesizeofatinyblipona computer screen. The blip was moving north, pulling the moving mapdownwardacrossthescreenpixelbypixel,blinkingasitwent,alittlenumber6atitsside.Reeddidn’tdarebelievewhatitcouldmean;hisnerveswouldn’tbeabletotakeit.“Youdouble-checked?”Sing,at thecomputer,waswiping tearsfromhereyes.“Icycled throughall
theGPScodesandeveryunit isaccountedfor, includingthisone:1 through5are in their cases right here under the bench. Number 6 is out, and it’sbroadcasting—”Her voice tightened into a weeping squeak. She took a deepbreathtoclearit.“Itesteditbeforeyouguysleftitatthebaitingsite.Thisisit;thisistheone!”Pete, atReed’s side, couldn’thave lookedmore intense ifhe’dbeen staring
downacougar.“Yousureyouwrappedthosebatteries?”Reedwastryingnottohopetoosoon.Thewhiplikereversalwouldsnaphis
mindforsure.“Imadedoublesure.Onlyanintelligenthumanbeingwouldhavepulledthatpaperoutofthereandresetthebatteries.Thisisn’tanaccident.”“Whatifit’sahikerwhofoundit?”Singventured.“Thetrailsareclosed,”saidReed.Pete pointed. “It’s not on a trail.And look how fast it’smoving. That’s no
hiker.”“ATV?”Reedsuggested.“Not in there. It’snothingbut steep slopes,heavy forest, andno roads.”He
watched itamoment.“Butsomethingwitheighteen-inch feetcouldmove thatfast.”Reed nodded, remembering thatmoment below thewaterfall on the trail to
Abney.“It’sstillcarryingher.”Petecautioned,“Wedon’tknowforsure.”“Right.”Reedreinedhimselfin.“Whataboutradiocontact?”Singreplied,“I’vetriedtoraisewhoeveritis,buttheunitradiodoesn’tseem
tobeworking.We’vegotGPSlocating,butthat’sit.”Therewasa rapon thedoorpost andMaxJohnson stuckhishead in. “Hey,
we’reallhere!”Reedwent to thedoor.Max,SteveThorne,SamMarlowe, andWileyKane
stoodthere,afirmsetintheirfacesthatalmostoverruledReed’sdoubt.Hestillneededtobesure.“Ineedtoknowyouguysarewithme.”“I’min,”saidMax.“Alwayshavebeen.Iwanttofinishthis,Reed,andfinish
itright.”Reedwasn’tsatisfiedyet.“Steve?”“Idon’tcarewhat’sup there,and I’mnotgoing tobickerabout it,”Thorne
replied.“Whateverit is, if itcomesbetweenusandyourwife,I’mpreparedtotakeitout.”“Sam?”Samseemedsoyoung,butthegrimlookinhiseyescamefromtheheartofa
man. “I know I’m the rookie here, but I’ll give you my best and that’s apromise.”Reed still couldn’t addressKane by his first name. “Kane?Do you think I
killedmywifeandmadeupastorytocoveritup?”
Kanesniffedachuckleandwaggedhisheadshamefully.“I’llwashmymouthoutifthat’swhatyouwant.”“Imight.”“Fairenough.”Kanegrinned.“Ijustgotmearecord-breakingbear.Gettinga
bigoldSasquatch,now,wouldn’tthatbesomething?”ReedaskedThorne,“Thinkyoucankeephiminline?”Thornenodded.“Allright,then.”“WhataboutJimmyandtheothers?”Kaneasked.Maxpipedup,“Wedon’tneedtheothers.Weknowwhereyourwifeis.”“Thereisn’ttime,”saidReed.Hesteppedbackfromthedoortomakeroom.
“Comeonin.Let’sgetorganized.”Thehuntersclimbedinandsqueezedaroundthecomputerstation,marveling
atthesightofonelittleblip.“Sowhereisitnow?”Kaneasked.“Fourmilessoutheast,”Singreplied.Shezoomedinforacloserviewofthe
terrain.“Andit’scomingourway.”TheSasquatch trainwasmovingagain, rushing throughdense forest,brushingasidelimbs,leapingoverlogsastheylookedanxiouslyovertheirshouldersandgave off fear scent, pushing, pushing, pushing themselves to the point ofexhaustion, an endless cycle. Only one thing had changed: Rachel and BeckwerenowsecondinlinebehindJacob;LeahandReubenbroughtuptherear.Thechangewascostly.Beckwassuresheneededadoctor.Thebleedingfrom
hernoseandmouthhadgonefromsteadytosporadic,butithadn’tstopped.Herfacefeltpuffyandherwholebodyached,notjustherankle.Withbarelyenoughstrengthtoholdon,shefearedshehadnonelefttosurvive.She’d found a way to bind the GPS in the roll of her sleeve, leaving its
antennaexposedtotheheavens.Beyondthat,shewaslivingbyfaith.Thecasewasbittenandbentinthemiddle,andshecouldn’tgettheslightesthissoutofthe radio. She could only hope the GPS part was actually working and thatsomeonewaswatching.Perhaps it was that person the Sasquatches were running from this very
moment; huntershad encircled thembefore, andReedwasoneof them.Beckcradled her head on Rachel’s soft, furry shoulder, so tired, dizzy, wishing
whoeveritwaswouldcatchupandputanendtothis.Rachel’sheadturned,herleatherycheekbumpingBeck’sbruisedface.Ithurt.“What?”Rachelhuffedandkeptrunning,anewwaveoffearquickeningherstep.Beckraisedherhead,and through the rushof thewindand thesnappingof
passinglimbs,sherecognizedafamiliar,chillingsound:thecryofthebanshee.The woman from Lost Creek was wailing again, her voice carrying like afarawaysiren,followingthemlikeadistantshadow.Wait.Followingthem?Beck fought off her stupor and forced herself to think.All the Sasquatches
werehere,runningtogether.Shecouldseeallfourofthem.Jacobwasn’tmakingthenoise;hewasrunningfromthenoise.ShetightlyclutchedRachel’sfurasachillwentthroughher.Itwasnohuntereither.Shelookedoverhershoulder.Thereweresomanytrees,limbs,thickets,dark
spaces.Anythingcouldhideinthere.MaxandReedcametoawide-eyed,open-earedhalt.“Yeah,youheardit,andsodidI,”Reedsaid,answeringthequestioninMax’s
eyes.Reed faced southwhileMax facednorth, bothonhigh alert,watching each
other’sbacks.TheywereworkingtheirwayupthemountainslopeaboveAbney,inahurryandbreathinghard,hopingtheyandtheotherscouldweaveanettightenough to catch a north-moving GPS and whatever or whoever might becarryingit.Reedradioed,“Pete,weheardittothesouth,downyourway.”Therewas a pause before Pete replied, “It’s north ofme. It’s in the circle,
gentlemen—assoonaswegetone.”Reedchecked the screenonhisGPS.Hecould seeBlips3 and4,Pete and
Sam,movingupthemountaintothesouth,butThorneandKane,sharingGPSunit5,weren’tonthescreen.“Sing,youthereyet?”“We’re at the drop-off point,” she answered, just pulling themotor home to astopat theendofServiceRoad221,aroadsooldandunusedthatnaturewastaking it back. According to her Forest Service map, this would place SteveThorne and Wiley Kane far enough to the north to intercept the blip if it
continuedonitspresentcourseandiftheycouldgetupthemountainintimetocloseupthecircle.ThorneandKaneweregearedup,armedandready,inthebackofthemotor
home.ThornehadGPS5onhissleeve.Singkilledtheengineandsetthebrake.“Goodhunting.”Theyjumpedoutthedoorlikeparatroopersandstartedupthehill.Singtookherplaceatthecomputerstationandscrolledthemaptoherpresent
location. Zooming out, she found all the blips:Reed andMax, units 1 and 2,wideningtheirpositionaboveAbney;PeteandSam,units3and4,fartherupthemountainside a mile south, but swinging north to close in. And Thorne andKane,unit5,headingupthehillwithagoodclimbaheadof thembefore theywouldcross theprojectedpathofBlipNumber6.Because the radioonunit6wasn’tworking,onlySingcouldseetheblip,viasatellite.Itwouldbeuptohertoguidethehunterstoitslocation.“Target is stillmovingnorth,”she reported,“onacourse roughly355.Pete,
bearingtotargetis345,abouthalfamile;Reed,bearingtotargetis110,threequartersofamile.Steve,maintainyourheading;atyourpresent rateofclimbyoushouldinterceptit.”Itwaslikewatchingafast-pitchedbaseballheadingforhomeplateandhoping
thecatchercouldputonhismittintimetocatchitblindfolded.“I’ve found a sign,” Pete reported. “It’s more than one, maybe the whole
family.”“Somaybethey’regoingbackhome,”Reedoffered.“Backwherethiswhole
thingstarted.”SingcouldseeLostCreekonthemapjustafewmilesnorth.Shewaggedher
head in absolute wonder and started trembling. She’d always believed thefootprintsatthefirstbaitingstationwerereal,andnowbeingrightterrifiedher.WhathadBeckgonethrough?Iftheyfoundher,givenshewasstillalive,wouldsheevenbethesameperson?Caphadtoknow.Singgrabbedhercellphone.
Capsaidgood-byeandfoldedhiscellphone,stunned,notknowingwhattofeelorthink,exceptforonething:hehadtogetinsidethiscabin.He’dknockedonthecabindoorseveraltimesandconcludedtherewasnoone
athome.Nowhelookedupanddowntheporch.DidBurkhardthaveaparticularhabitwhenitcametohidingkeys?Fromhis twoyearsas theman’sunwilling
protégé, Cap recalled Burkhardt liking overhead places: rafters, ledges,windowsills,lightfixtures.Hefeltalongthemoldingacrossthetopofthedoor.Nothing. There was a hanging flowerpot next to the stairs. He reached andfumbledamongtheleaves.Ahousekey.Hestoppedforonemorecautiouslookaroundandthenlethimselfin.Itwaswarmandhomeyinside,withpleasant,softfurniture,abearskinrug,a
stuffeddeerhead,amountedtroutwithitsweightandlengthproudlydisplayedonabrassplacardbeneathit.Fishingpolesweremountedinaracknearthefrontdoor,andinacabinetwithglassdoorsnexttothebrickfireplace...Rows and rows of glass jars containingBurkhardt’s icons of evolution: the
Galapagos finches with different-sized beaks, the white and gray pepperedmoths,thecoelacanthsandbats,thelizardsandsnakes,andonthetoprow,inaplace of honor, four new additions—unborn chimpanzees, floating in a fetalpositionintheamberliquid,eyeshalfopen,toothlessmouthsinahalfyawn.Baumgartner had listed three possible results of tampering with a chimp’s
DNA—a normal, unchanged chimp; a deformed, retarded chimp; or a deadchimp.Apparently,thesewerethedeadones.Pete andSamweremovingnorth, followingSing’svectorswhilePete spottedsnappedlimbs,bruisedleaves,andsoildepressionstocross-checktheirprogress.FromthesignPetefound,thetargetswerenotmovinginanylazy,meanderingpattern that would indicate foraging but were heading in a fairly straight linenorthward,definitelyontherun.“Howclosearewe?”Petewhisperedinhisradio.Singcameback,“Stillhalfamile.They’removingjustasfastasyouare.”Petehaltedat theedgeofsomesoftground,scanned it forprints,but found
none.“Mm.We’veveeredoffthetrailsomehow.”Sam stepped through and pushed ahead, peering intently in all directions.
“Whydon’twebagthistrackingstuffandjustfollowSing’svectors?”“Iwanttoknowwhatthosecrittersaredoing,”Petesaid,hiseyessearching
theground.“Pete, come on, that thing’s gonna pull farther away the longer we stand
here!”ThenPetefoundafootprintinabarepatchofsoftearth.
Sam’s.Hedropped toonekneeandproducedabluediagramcard fromhispocket,
quicklycomparing.Whenhelookedup,Samwaswatchinghim.
Thorne and Kane were pushing uphill, groping and climbing as silently aspossiblethroughtightlyspacedtreesandlimbs,followingSing’svectors,primedforadeadlycollision.“Veertotheright,”cameSing’svoicethroughThorne’searpiece,“090.”ThornewhisperedtoKane,aboutthirtyfeetaheadofhim,“Kane,moveright.
Kane!”Suddenly Kane jerked to attention, whispered a curse, and aimed his rifle
uphill.BeforeThornecouldcautionhim,theriflewentoff.
BeckknewthatsoundandunderstoodwhenJacob turnedonhisheelsandranpast, leading the group the opposite direction. Hunters. It was all happeningagain.ThornehissedatKane,“Whatareyoudoing?”Kanewasnearlybesidehimselfandhadatoughtimekeepinghisvoicedown.
“Isawit!ItwasaSasquatch—Iamnotfoolin’you!”Thorne caught up and put a hand on his shoulder to keep him calm—and
corralled.“Youweren’tevensupposedtobeaheadofme.WeweretrackingwiththeGPS,remember?”“Isawit!Itwaswalking,standingupright.Man,itwashuge!”Thornestaredathim.“You’resure?”
Reedpressedhistalkbuttonandonlyhalfwhispered,“Whofiredashot?What’sgoingon?”BlipNumber6washeadingsouthagain,withThorne’sbliplessthan500yardsnorthwest. “Heads up, everybody!” Sing said. “Target is moving south. Pete,Sam,it’llbecomingyourway!”Peteanswered,“Okay,movingnorthtomeetandgreet.”Samreported,“I’llmoveuphill,spreadoutabit.”Sing’seyesweregluedoneveryplayer.“ReedandMax,it’sgoingtopassyou
ontheuphillside.”
Reedanswered,“We’reheadingthatway.”Jacoblumberedtoahalt,thenbarelystood,stoopedandswaying,hisbreathinglabored, his eyes darting about, his nostrils sampling the air. Rachel came upbehindhim,everybreathapainfulwheeze.Beckslidtotheground,barelyabletomoveherarms.Leahtrudgedfrombehind,legslikelead,andploppedtotheground with Reuben still on her back. The forest floor became a hairy heap,huffingandsteaming.Jacob’s gaze darted to the south, then to the north, then down the hill. He
moaned,amournfulsoundBeckhadneverheardbefore.Fromsomewhereuptheslope,invisibleintheforest,thewomanwhimpered,
thensnickered.Shewascloser,watching,waiting.Theywerehemmedin.Rachel layonherbelly,herbodyheavingwitheverybreath, thewind from
hernostrilswigglingtheundergrowthinfrontofherface.Beckcrawledtoherand touched her shoulder. Rachel looked up at her through watery eyes, andBecksawmorethanfear;shesawdefeat.“No.Rachel,comeon,don’t...”Jacob sank to his haunches, still sniffing, still looking, his hair bristling.
Reubencoweredbehindhismother’spronebody,andhisexpressionwasmuchlikeJacob’s.Hewasafraid,listening,sniffing,sensingthesurroundingdanger.AndthenasearingawarenessworkeditswaythroughBeck’spainandstupor:
It’sme.I’mthecauseofthis.She struggledwithher shirtsleeve andgot theGPS loose. It appeared tobe
working.Themaponthescreenwasnowindicatingasteepmountainside,andthat’swhereshewas.Thisthingwaslocatingheraccurately,andsomehowthosehuntersoutthereweregettingthesignal.Whichmeant...Shedidn’tunderstandwhatshedid.Itwasthelastthingonearthshewanted
todo,butatthesametime,itwastheonlything.SheturnedtheGPSoff.
Theblipwasgone.Singlurchedforward.“No,no,don’tdothat!”She radioed, “I’ve lost contact with the target. It just winked out. Does
anybodyseeanything?”
Reed andMaxhad split up and spreadout.Reedwas alonenow in timber sothick he couldn’t see more than ten yards in any direction. “This is Reed.Negativecontact.”“ThisisMax.Negativecontact.”“Samhere.Stillmoving,stilllooking.”“Petehere.Sam,I’llwaitforyoutocomeupevenwithme.”“This isSteve.Sorry for themisfire.There’s somethingwrongwithKane’s
rifle.We’recheckingitout.”Beck,whatareyoudoing?Reedhadheardoflostpeoplegettingsonuttyin
thewoods that they actually hid from their rescuers.Was she afraid of beingfound?Eitherthat,or...Hadshemadefriendswiththesecreatures?Wassheprotectingthem?Heradioed,“Everybody,keepclosingonthelastknownposition,steadyand
quiet,andbesureofyourtargetbeforeyoushoot.Sing,letusknowwhenyougetthetargetagain.”“Willdo.”Reedwipedsweatfromhishandsandadropofsweatfromabovehiseye.He
mentallyreviewedthesightofthedeadloggerandthemangledbodyofSheriffMills. No more of that. Whatever Beck’s mental state, the hunt would enddifferentlythistime.Cap wasn’t finding out much in the little cabin, other than Burkhardt was afastidiouspersonwhoalwaysmadehisbedandputawayhisdishes.Hesearchedand inspected his way to the back door and then gazed cautiously across thegraveledalleywaytohisnextfrontier:thathugemetaloutbuilding.Itwastimetogetoutthereandtakealook.Hewaspushinghisluckbeyondacceptablerisktotakeanylongerinthe—Thesoundimmobilizedhim.Hewasstunned,astatue in thesmallenclosed
rearporchofthecabin.Yes,he’dheardReeddescribeit,andReedsoundedlikeanutcasewhenhedid.ButReedwasrightonthemoney!Fromthebigmetalbuilding,clearasday,Caphearditforhimself:theeerie
wailofawomaninpainanddespair,thecryofthebanshee.
sixteen
Kane’svoicewasgettingloud.“Whatdidyoutellthem?There’snothingwrongwithmyrifle!”Thorneputouthishand.“Thatrifle’spullingtotheleft.Letmeseeit.”“You’renuts.”“Letmeseeit.”Kanehandeditover.Thornepeeredthroughthesight.“Eh,itmightbealittleoff.Didyoudropit
orsomething?”Kanereachedtograbitback.“We’rewastingtime!”Thorne jerked it away, then raised a hand to calm him down. “Easy,Kane.
Youdon’twantthemtoknowyousawthatthing.”Kaneworked on that amoment and finally caught Thorne’s drift. “In case
theygetthekillfirst,isthatwhatyou’resaying?”Hegotagitatedagain.“Butifwestandaroundhere,they’regoingtogetitforsure.”“Takeiteasy.Iftheothersseeit,theywon’tbeanybetteroff.They’llbeinthesamemessyouare.”ThatchangedKane’sdemeanor.“Whatareyoutalkingabout?”
The heavy metal door to the outbuilding was locked, but it had an electriclockingmechanismwithanumerickeypad.Onawhim,CapenteredanumberBurkhardtconsistentlyusedforlocks,entrycodes,andpasswords:1-8-5-9,theyear Darwin’sOrigin of the Specieswas published. The mechanism whirred,thenclicked.Thedooropenedwithaslightpush.At first,Capwasunsure ifhe’dentereda labor awarehouse.Thebuilding
was cavernous butwell lit,with a vaulted roof supported by steel trusses andenough floor space to host a convention. A half-heightwall divided the frontsection from the rear. From beyond that wall came the occasional stirring,banging,grunting,andhootingCaphadbecomefamiliarwithattheYorkCenter.Chimpanzees.Fillingthefronthalfofthebuildingingeometricallyarrangedrowswasalab
most scientists—and most major universities— could only dream of. Cap
performedacarefulwalk-through,eyesandearsopenforanyhumanpresence,which,atleastfornow,wasstrangelymissing.Adam Burkhardt’s original basement lab had grown tenfold, dropped all
superfluousdécorandwarmth,andtakenontheappearanceofanassemblyline,dedicated to specificprocedures executedefficiently and repeatedly:DNAandprotein synthesis and analysis, DNA sequencing, viral transfer, site-directedmuta-genesis, and in a large, dedicated section toward the rear, high-volume,assembly-lineinvitrofertilizationandcloning.Thewomancriedagain,herwailcomingoverthathalfwallwiththenerve-janglingvolumeofafirealarm.Capsawanarchwayleadingtothatsideofthebuilding.Movingquicklyyet
warily,hemadeabeelineforit.Thorne spoke reassuringly, the voice of reason trying to corral Kane’simpulsiveness.“Peoplecan’thandlethissortofthing,youknowwhatImean?They see something like this and theyget all thewrong ideas.Sometimes it’sbetterwhenwedecidewhatthey’regoingtoknowandwhattheyaren’t.”“Idon’tfollowyou!”Thornestruggledamoment.“YoujusttoldmeyousawaSasquatch.”“YoubetIdid!Itwashuge,itwasallblacklikeagorilla,anditwaswalking
ontwolegsjustlikeaman!”Thornechuckledandwaggedhishead.“YouthinkI’mcrazy?”“No, no, you’re not crazy.” Quickly, easily, Thorne leveled Kane’s rifle at
Kane’schest.“You’reabsolutelyright.”Hefired.
Reedgotonhisradio.“Who’sshooting?Fillusin.”Thorne’svoicecameback,“Hey,we’resorry,we’vegotaproblemuphere.
Kane’srifle’smisfiredagainandnowhe’shithimselfinthefoot.”Reedwinced.Kane.Heshouldhaveknown.“Howbadisit?”Thornecamebackon,yetsoundeddistantasifhewereaddressingsomeone
else.“No,trytostayoffit.Yeah,justwrapitwithsomething.”Then,“Reed,he’sokay,butIneedtohelphimoutofhere.”Reedfearedthehuntwasasgoodasover.“Okay.Pete,Sam,anysouthbound
traffic?”Samcalledback, “They’re still in there,Reed, but after those shots they’ve
gottoknowwe’rehere.”“Max,canyouswingnorthandfillin?”“Willdo,”Maxreplied.“Sing,let’smarkawaypointatSteveandKane’slastpositionsowecanguide
Maxupthere,”Reedinstructed.“You’vegotit,”sheanswered.Reed scrolled hisGPSover toThorne andKane’s last position andmarked
thatspotwithawaypoint.Hopefully,heorSingwouldbeabletoguideMaxtothatspotbeforetherewasnopointindoingso.Capfoundacentralhallwaywithdoorstoindividualroomsoneitherside,muchlikeahospitalward.Theplacewaswellscrubbedandsmelledofdisinfectant.Thefirstdooronhisrightwashalfopen;somestirringfromwithindrewhis
attention.Heapproachedslowlyandeasedthedooropen.Chimpanzees.Sixofthem,insixfloor-to-ceilingcages.Thechimpinthefirst
cageimmediatelywenttothebarsandstoodup,onehandgrippingabarofthecage, theother reaching through thebars towardhim,herambereyesmeetinghisimploringly.Heknewthatmannerismandexpressionandwenttoher,gentlytaking her hand and stroking it. Her eyes went across the room to a bin oforanges. He grabbed a few and passed one to her. She settled into the cleanbeddingandbegantoeatit.Fromherbulgingabdomenhecouldseeshewaspregnant.Thefemaleinthenextcagecoweredinacorner,herarmsenfoldingherself.
Except forone frightenedglance, shewouldn’t lookathim.Shewaspregnanttoo.Herolledanorangetowardher,andshereachedforitbutwouldnotcomeoutofherhidingplace.In the third cage, a female lay on her back inwhat appeared to be a drug-
inducedstupor.Herbellywasshaved,anda largestitchedincisioncrossedherabdomen.The chimp in the fourth cage was the kind who liked to be friends with
everybody.Shehadbright,expressiveeyesanddidn’tambleuptothebars—shepranced.Shelookedhimrightintheeyeandreachedfortheorangeheoffered.Her belly too was shaved, with an incision, but not as recent; the hair wasgrowingback.Thefemaleinthefifthcagewasalsopregnant,grumpy,andnotinterestedin
oranges.Inthelastcage,anolderfemaleboreanoldincisionacrossherbulgingbelly.
Theincisionhadapparentlybeenreopenedseveraltimes;itwasridgedwithpinkscar tissue that displaced the skin and hair along its length. She didn’tacknowledgeCap’spresencebutmerelysatonherhaunches,endlesslycountingherfingers.Capknewthismannerismtoo.She’dgivenup.Attheendoftheroomwasapulledcurtain.Ontheothersideofthecurtain
wasacleanroomdivided into twowell-litcubicles,eachwithastainlesssteeloperating table such as veterinarians used, but with one troubling addition:leatherrestraints.Cabinetsoneachsidewerestockedwithsurgicalinstruments,dressings,gowns,caps,masks,andgloves.Capwasgetting apictureof how theprocessworked.Whenheopened the
doortothewalk-incoolerjustpastthetables,hegothisconfirmation.On theshelves, inZiplocbags thatwere labeledanddated, lay tiny,unborn
creaturesthatcouldhavebeen—shouldhavebeen—chimpanzees.Twohadlegs,toes,andfingerssoelongatedastobeuseless.Oneonthesecondshelfhadgonetheotherway,withthree-fingeredstumpsforarms.On the bottom shelf, thrown into a tub,were four little femaleswhose legs
nearly matched human proportions and whose arms were intact. These musthaveshownpromise—theywerecutopenandtheovarieswereremoved.BeckhuddledagainstRachel, listening,watching,herbodyaching,hersoul inturmoil, her finger poised over the on button. She and Rachel were pressedagainst a crumbling snag, blendingwith the redness of the rottingwood untilthey had become part of it. A short distance downhill, Leah and Reuben hadfoundawaytoblendanddisappearwithinasizableclumpofserviceberry.OnlythetopofJacob’sheadwasvisibleashecrawledthroughtheunderbrush
toward the north, watching and listening, his eyes floating above the leaves.Beckhadnoideawhathewashearing,seeing,smelling,orevenfeeling,butsheknewsomethinghad tohavechangedout there. Jacobwasn’t inahideor fleemode;hewasplanningsomething.Hestoppedandbecameabigrockinthemiddleofthebrush.Silence.Stillness.Whenhegaveaquietsniffoverhisshoulder, theoldsnagandtheclumpof
bushesbecamecrouching,sneakingSasquatchesagain.Withstealthymovesand
lowpostures,thegrouppushednorth.Beck slipped theGPS intoher shirt pocket andbuttoned the flap.The right
timewouldcome.Ithadtocome.Butnotyet.SingsawMax’sblipmovingsteadily toward thenorth,buthewasmovingfartoo slowly for her comfort. With Thorne and Kane on their way down themountainside, the north endwaswide open for the quarry to escape;with noGPSsignal,Singandthehunterswouldneverknowit.“Max?How’sitgoing?”Max’sstrugglecamethroughinhisvoice.“It’sprettyroughterraininhere.”“Kane’swaypointisbearing024.”“Zero-two-four,okay.”Shequicklyscannedtheotherhunters’positions:Reedwastothewest,trying
tokeepthecreaturesfromrunningdownhill,ifhecouldevendothat.Peteheldhis position to the south, supposedly preventing any escape in that direction.Samwas—WherewasSam?“Sam,Idon’thaveyouonscreen.”Noanswer.Noblip.“Sam?”
Withhiseyesstillfixedinhorrorupontheevisceratedbodiesofmutantunbornchimps, Cap’s nerves nearly melted when the cry of the banshee rose like agoblinoverthepartitionwalls.Heclosedthecoolerdoorandfellbackagainstthewalltogatherhimself,take
somedeepbreaths, talksense tohismind,andmakesurehisbowelsdidn’t letlooserightthereonthefloor.Itwas bad enough knowing that thingwas in the same building. Itwas far
worseknowinghewouldhavetofindandidentifyit,whichmeantcomingface-to-jawswithasavage,neck-wringingkiller.Hecouldonlyhopeandprayitwasinacageandthatthecagecouldcontainit.He looked around for anything hemight use as aweapon.No crowbars or
baseballbatswerereadilyavailable.Hecrossedthehallwaytowhatseemedthemostlikelydoor.Careful,now.Hishandshookashegrabbedtheknob.Hewouldopenthedoor
justacrack,takealook,thenevaluatehisnextstep.Theknobturned.Thedoorcrackedopen.
Thebansheescreamed in terror,anger,maybeboth,so loudly,sopiercingly,that Cap jolted back, slamming the door shut. The screaming continued, thesound of violent death knifing into every fear instinct Cap had. It was all hecould do to stand still, be reasonable, and not create another window in thebuildingtryingtogetoutofthere.Thescreamingsubsidedtogaspsandwhimpers,andCapnotedthat,asnearas
hecouldtellfromthesound,itwasn’tmovingfromonespot.Whateveritwashadn’t stormed the door or come after him. Chances were good that it wasconfined.Heslowlyopenedthedooragain—Thethingscreamedagain.Heopenedthedoorenoughtolookinside.He saw another row of cages, larger than the cells that held the surrogate
mothers.Atthesightofthefirstcreature,hehadtodouble-checknotonlyhisbowels
buthisstomach.Inthefirstcagewasaquaking,nearlyhairlessblobwithblue-veined, leatheryskin.Ononeendwerestumps thatshouldhavebeen legs.Onthe other end was a head without a neck that turned only slightly when heapproached.Feeding tubesran into thebroad, flatnose,pumping in temporarylife.Itseemedonlyvaguelyawareofhispresence.Thenextcageheldachimpanzeegiant,grotesquelyovergrownandsuffering
forit.Straightenedout,itcouldhavemeasuredeightfeetfromheadtotoe,butthispoorbeastwasbentandcrookedlikeanarthriticoldman,sittingpainfullyinthecorner,itsjointsknobby,itsfingersbentanduseless.Ittriedtoreachouttohim,butthearmwasagnarledlimbonadeadtree;itbarelymoved.Ashockinglywhitealbinooccupiedthenextcage,itscoldpinkeyesstudying
him with suspicion and loathing. It too was oversized, and judging from thecrookednessofthefingersandfeet,onlyslightlymobile.Ithuffedathim,thencreaked and straightened to its feet to growl and threaten. The twisted legsbuckled and it fell to its haunches again, resigned to making threats it couldnevercarryout.Afterwhathe’dseensofar,Capthoughthewasreadyforthenextcage.Hewasn’t.Atthefirstsightofhim,thethingleapedatthebars,wailingandfrothing—its
eyes the crazed yellow orbs of a demon, its black fur bristling like a sooty
explosion.ItfilledCap’svisionandheslammedagainsttheoppositewallevenbeforehefelttheterrorthatputhimthere.Thiswasamalformationofthehighestorder,acreaturefarremovedfroma
chimpanzee, but not better. Though smaller than Cap in stature, it had tooutweigh him three to one, with muscles so pronounced they impeded itsmovement.Itwasderanged,drooling,outofcontrol,andthecryfromthatthroat—thescreamofamadwoman!Itwasurinatingasitclungtothebars,triedtoclimbthem,triedtobendthem,
triedtograbonwithitsfeet,whichonlyslidtothefloor;thebig,opposingtoeslookedtohavebeensurgicallyremoved.Cap inched along the wall, maintaining distance from the huge arm that
gropedathimthroughthebars.Hopingtomakeittoanearbyexit,hepassedthelastcage,thisonemuchlarger—Itwasempty.Thebarswerebent,thesidewallsbattered.Plywoodwasrippedfromtheback
wall, and the two-by-six framingmemberswere snapped aside like dry twigs.Foam insulation lay everywhere in broken pieces. The metal sheathing thatformed the building’s exterior was mangled and ripped open like a tin canopenedwithahatchet.The cage door was ajar, as if someone had already gone in to inspect the
damage.Captookonestep inside, recognizingafamiliarpatternofbitemarksonthesplinteredlumberandapepperingofall-too-familiardiarrheticdroppingsontheconcretefloor.Lookingthroughthegapingholeintherearwallofthecage,hecouldseeno
barriersbetweenthisbuildingandtheforestandmountainsbeyond.Sing rebootedher computer, tweaked all thewires on the backof the satellitesystem,anddouble-checkedherradioreceiver.“Reed,canyouhearme?”Heradioedback,“Loudandclear.”“Istillcan’tfindSam,andnowIcan’traisePeteeither.”“IhavePeteonmyscreen.”“SodoI,butheisn’tmovingandheisn’tanswering.”ReedcalledforPetebutgotnoanswer.“Well,Isurewon’tbuythisbrandof
GPSanymore. I’d better get over there.”Thenhe asked, “What aboutThorneandKane?Wherearethey?”
“Youdon’thavethemon-screen?”“No.”Sing sighed in exasperation. “Now I don’t have them either.But theywere
almostbackhere.”“Nonumber6?”“No.Ithasn’tcomeback.”“Max?Anything?”Maxanswered,“Notyet.”Sing heard footsteps outside the motor home. The door opened, and Steve
Thornesteppedupintothedriver’sarea,hisrifleslungonhisback.Singwas relieved. “All right.There’s onewarmbody accounted for.We’re
havingtroublewiththesystem.”Hebrokeintoatiredgrin.“SoIhear.”Shewaitedamoment,thenasked,“Where’sKane?”Hercellphoneonthecounterrang,Cap’sspecialring.Shereachedforit—“Don’tanswerthat,”saidThorne,snatchingitaway.Shesawhimraiseapistolandalmostunderstoodbefore themuzzle flashed
andher awareness shattered into a starburst of fragments fading to black.Herbodycametorestfacedownagainstthebedroomdoor,apoolofbloodspreadingbeneathherhead.
seventeen
Caphurried,hiscellphoneagainsthisear,waitingthroughringafterringuntilSing’svoice-messagesystemansweredandgavehimabeep.“Sing.I’velocatedBurkhardt’s lab and confirmed the source of at least one of the creatures. I’mreadytocallthepolice,butfirstIhavetogetoutofhere.TellReedthat—”He’d only gotten halfway to the front doorwhen the electric lock hummed
andtheknobrattled.Hetumbleddownbehindaworkbenchasthedoorswungopen,castingdiffusedsunlightabouttheroom.Judgingfromthefootsteps,three,maybefour,peoplecamein,andtheyweren’tlittle.HethoughtofthecellphoneinhishandandfranticallyshutitoffbeforeSingcalledback.NowheheardPhilipMerrill’svoice.“Secure theexits—thisone, theone in
therear,andthesideloadingdoors.Thensearcheveryinchofthisplace.”BynowReedwaspraying,DearLord,don’tletmeloseBeckagain.“Sing?”heradioed.“Anyprogress?”Shedidn’tanswer,butSamdid.“Hello?Anybodyhearme?”Well,herewasonesourceofrelief.“Sam!Youokay?Welostyou,buddy.”“I’mfine.Iwastryingtoswingaroundtocovertheeastflank,butnowI’m
worriedaboutPete.Haveyoutalkedtohimatall?”“Negative. I can’t raise him.Thewhole system’s breakingdown.Haveyou
talkedtoMax?”Maxcameon:“I’mstill scouting thenorth side. Itdoesn’t lookgood.They
mayhavegottenthrough.”“Sing?”Reedstillcouldn’tgetananswer.“Nowshe’scutoff.”“Wemayhavetocallitaday,guys,”Maxsuggested.Reedwasn’treadytoconcedethat.“Max,whydon’tyoustaywhereyouare.
Sam,we’dbettercheckonPete.”“Yougotit,”Samreplied.
Capheardsomeonecoming.Heduckedaroundtheendofaworkbenchjust intime toavoidbeingseen.Withaquick,one-eyedglancearound thecorner,hecaughtsightofTimthecampuscop,nowincivilianclothingbutbrandishinga
gun.Itseemedoutofcharacter.CapwonderedwhatMerrillmusthavetoldhim.Slam!Clank!Therattleofachainandapadlock.Thathadtobetheloading
doorsonthesideofthebuilding.Capwouldn’tbeescapingthatway.Theywereworkingtheirwaythroughthelab,anditwasonlyamatteroftime
before—Hewriggledaround thecorner to thebacksideof thebenchand justmissed
being spotted by Kenny, the other campus cop. Now, that guy was not to betangledwith.Hehadaniron-jawedfeistinessandthemuscletobackitup.Clunk!Rattle!Therewentthereardoor.Did these guys even know what was going on in this place? Did Merrill
know?Theywerelockinghimin,buttheywerelockingthemselvesinaswell.Wouldtheybeallthathappywiththeideaoncetheyencountered—The thing screamed one of its best banshee screams yet, and just faintly
audible under the screams and the rattlingof thebarswere thevoices ofmenscreaming in horror, running footsteps, more hollering, cursing—a franticretreat.Capdidn’tsmileoutwardly,butsomequirkypartofhimwasenjoyingthis.NowMerrillwas in themix, cursing, hollering orders nobodywas hearing,
tryingtoholdhisbandofthugstogether.Capcaughtthewords,“Don’tshootit!”Well.Imaginethat.Merrillwassurprisedtoo.Footsteps! Apparently they’d satisfied themselves—with a little help—that
Capwasn’tintherearhalf.Thelabwasgoingtogetathoroughgoing-through.Therehadtobeacupboard,acabinet,agarbagecan,anythinghecouldhide
in!Hescurriedonhishandsandkneesacrossanaisle,peekedaroundtheendofacounter,scurriedacrossanotheraisle,straightenedtopeekoverabench—Hisshoulderupsetapairofforcepsthathungovertheedge.Hetriedtocatch
thembutmissed.Theyclatteredtothefloor.Thefootstepsstartedgallopinghisdirection.Therewasonlyoneplacelefttohide,andthatwasinahugewalk-infreezer
builtintothepartition.Heknewhewaskiddinghimself,butthenagain,maybehe’dbeabletohideinthecoldjustalittlelongerthanthey’dbeabletosearchinit.Heslinkedacrossthefloor,reachedup,pulledthehandle,slippedthroughthecracked door, and managed to click it shut just one nanosecond before hispursuersroundedthecorner.
Itwasdarkinside,andyes,itwasfreezing.Thecoldwasalreadyworkingitswaythroughhisclothing.Herosecarefullytohisfeettolookthroughthesmallwindowinthedoorandhisbreathfoggedit.Nuts!Hebackedup,tryingtogetusedtothedark—Hewasn’taloneinhere.The first nudge of a hairy hand startled him like a jolt of high voltage.He
jumped involuntarily;hisarmsflewoutwardandstruckahairybodyoneitherside. Twisting, he saw two rows of four—no, six—no, eight glassy-eyed,deformedchimpanzees,somewhole,somegutted,allstaringbackathiminthelight from the window. Their eyes were vacant, jaws slack, faces and furglisteningwithfrost.Theyhungfromtworailsbysteelhooksinsertedin theirearholes,andnowhe’dset themswinginglikebells inabell tower, thumpingagainsthimandeachother.The first one rolled off the end of the rail and bounced off Cap’s shoulder
before thumping to the floor. The second followed, glancing off Cap andspinningasitwentdown.The thirdbumpedinto thefreezerdooras thedoorswungopenandflooded
the room with light. The fourth dropped, teetered, and fell right in front ofKennythecop,nowsilhouettedinthedoorway.KennyholleredandjumpedbackbutrecoveredwhenhespottedCap.Capwasonthefloor,trippedupbythefirsttwocorpsesandtryingtowrestle
himselfout fromunder the thirdand fourth.Kenny reacheddown,not togivehimahandupbuttoyankhimoffthefloor,nearlydislocatinghisarm.BeforeCapknewit,hewasoutinthewarm,habitablelab,heldfastbetween
Kenny and a Kenny wannabe. A third guy in an expensive suit slammed thefreezerdoorshutbehindhim.Timstoodbeforehimholdingagun,andnexttoTimwasDr.PhilipMerrill, lookingpale,hishairoutofplace,his tiecrooked,andsweatglisteningonhisbrow.“Dr. Capella!” he said,winded and shaking. “You never should have come
back!”Onemorehour,DeputySaundersthought,andwe’llcallitaday.Hisvolunteersweregettingtired,cold,andhungry,andtheyhadtogetbackdownbeforethelightwasgone.The lastdiscovery,a rustypocketknife,wasoveranhourago,andexpandingthesearchareatoincludetheentireInlandNorthwestdidn’tseemlikeawiseuseoftimeandmanpower.
“Okay,everybody,”hespokeintohishandheldradio,“onemorehour.”Theycamebackwithmutteredacknowledgments.Ametaldetectorsomewhereinthewoodsrepliedwithaloudchirp.“OfficerSaunders!Ifoundit!”“Whatisitthistime?”“It’stheshovel!Ifoundtheshovel!”
MerrillandhismentookCaptoanofficeinacornerofthelab,asimplecubiclemade from sound-baffling dividers, and sat himdown in one of two availablechairs.Kennystoodintheentry,bigarmsacrosshischest,expressionnotfirmbuttroubled.Timleanedinthecornerasifhedidn’twanttocomeoutofit,thegunloweredbutvisible.Merrilltookthechairbehindthedeskandsmoothedhishairbackrepeatedlyasiftryingtocomposehimself.TheothertwoguysstoodbehindCap’schairtomakesurehestayedinit.Cap
offered his hand to the one behind his right shoulder. “Uh,MikeCapella.Dr.MerrillandIknoweachother,didhetellyouthat?”Themangavehimacoldstare.Heandhispartnerweredefinitelyonedge.Capcheckedaroundtheroom.Onlyoneentrance.Thewallsweretooheavy
to knock over, too tall to jump over. The roomwas too small to avoid beinggrabbedifhemadeamove.A snapshot push-pinned to the wall above the desk hinted that this was
Burkhardt’soffice.ItwasaphotoofBurkhardt,beardedandponytailed,deckedoutinabilledcapandfishingvestandposingwithagood-sizedcutthroattrout.Burkhardtalwayshadbeenanavidhunterandoutdoorsman,whichwasironic,Capthought.Merrillloosenedhistie,unbuttonedhiscollar,andfinallyreachedalevel of composure acceptable for conversation. “I suppose you’ve seeneverything?”Capstudiedhim—andhismen.“Looks likeyouhave too.Didn’tyouknow
whatBurkhardtwasdoing?”“We had an understanding.”Merrill leaned closer. “Sometimes the greatest
scientific breakthroughs have to be made in secret, away from prying eyes,politics,andboardsofethics.”“Sohowdoyoulikehisresults?”Merrillrubbedhisface.“Idon’t supposeyour so-calledscientificcommunitywillbe toowildabout
them,”Capwent on. “AmericanGeographic isn’t about to publish them, andforgetaboutPublicBroadcastingandtheEvolutionChannel.”Merrill’stemperbroughtsomeofhiscolorback.“Suchstepsarenecessary—”“To prove what? That randommutations work? Look around you,Merrill!
Doesall this lookrandom?It’splanned; it’smonitored; it’scarefully recorded,and it still doesn’t work.” He spoke to the men behind him. “Burkhardt’splantingmutatedembryosinsurrogatemothersandharvestingtheeggsfromtheoffspringbeforethey’reevenborn—”Merrillinterjected,“Tocompresstheamountoftimebetweengenerations.”Cap spoke to Kenny and Tim, “—so he can further mutate the mutants,
implantthemothers,andstartalloveragain.”“Andtherebyreplicatethenaturalprocess—”Capwassosteameduphehadtostand.“Naturedoesn’tloadthedice!You’re
usingalabhere,Merrill!You’reinterposingintelligenceintotheprocess!You’re—”Thetwoguardssathimdownagain.“You’renotonlyprovingthatrandommutationsdon’twork;you’reprovingthatpurposefulmutationsdon’twork!”HespoketoKennyandTimagain.“Didyougetaloadofthosemonstersinthere?Niceimprovementsontheoriginal,don’tyouthink?”Merrilltriedtoarguetohismen,“Mutationsarethemechanismbywhich—”“Sowhereiseverybody?”Capsaid.Merrillwasn’tincontrol,anditshoweddespitehisefforttohideit.“Isuppose
it’stheirdayoff.”Cap felt sorry for thisman. “Philip, come on.You’ve figured it out just as
easily as I have! You know Burkhardt! He’s not about to let somebodyaccomplishsomethingwhenhe’snotaroundtotakecreditforit!Thestaffisn’therebecauseheisn’there,andheisn’therebecause...?”Merrillsatthere,corneredandseething.Capansweredhisownquestion.“Becausehismonsterisn’there.Yousawthat
holeinthewall,right?”Heaskedtheguards,“Right?”Hepointedthatdirection.“Therewent thewhole experiment, alongwith your funding,Merrill, into thegreat outdoors for thewholeworld to see.You thinkBurkhardt can livewiththat?Youthinkhe’dwantyoutofindout?”Cap could tell Merrill knew, but the esteemed college dean didn’t offer to
discussit.
Capspoketotheguards,“Burkhardt’sgoneafterit.”Deputy Dave Saunders, the housewife, the fireman, the heavy equipmentoperator,andthemachinistfoundtheshallowgraveonlyafewfeetfromwherethe shovel had been dropped. It was the equipment operator who first hitsomethingwithhisshovel—aboot.Thehousewifeturnedaway.Theothersdugcarefullyasthestenchofadeadcorpseroseintotheair.Thefiremandroppedhisshovelandran,bentover,andvomited.Davecouldhardlybear ithimself,buthekeptgoing, carefullymovingpeat
and soil with his gloved hands until he found out what Sing and the othersneededtoknow.Gaspingforfreshair,hewavedforahalt.“It’sThompson.”MerrillwasdesperatetomakeCaptheliar.“Youcan’tpossiblyknowwhereDr.Burkhardtisorwhathe’sdoing!Ofallthearrogant,outlandish—”“Can I stand up?”Cap rose, testing the disposition of the two guys behind
him. They didn’t slap him into the chair again, so he knew he was makingprogress.Slowly,makingsuretheycouldseehiseverymove,hereachedintohisshirtpocketandpulledoutsomefoldedsheetsofpaper,digitalphotosSinghade-mailedhim.Heunfoldedoneandshowedittothem.“Recognizethisguy?”Theystaredatitblankly.Cap went to the desk, reached for one of Burkhardt’s pencils from a desk
caddy,andscribbledabeardandponytailonthemaninthephoto.Hehelditup.“Nowdoyourecognizehim?”HedirectedtheirattentiontoBurkhardt’sfishingphotoonthewall.Capsawthelightofrecognitionintheireyes.“He’soutthereright now, lying tomy friends and pretending he’s helping themhunt down aBigfoot!Butweknowwhatthatmonsterreallyis,don’twe?Andsodoeshe.”“You are a trespasser, Cap!” Merrill lifted his voice. “I could have you
arrested!”“Trespassingwhere?Caretoshowthisplacetothepolice?”Merrillfellsilentagain.“I’m guessing Burkhardt cut the big toes off his monster so it couldn’t be
arborealandwouldhave toevolve intoaground-dwelling,bipedal something-or-other. I’m going to guess that Burkhardt engineered that thing to competewith any other primates it encountered—that’s the natural selection thing, youknow,competingwithother species andprevailing—and that includeshuman
beings.Well,it’snotevolving,butitiscompeting.It’sresponsibleforthedeathsoffourpeople,oneofthemadearfriendandoneofthemtheWhitcombCountysheriff!”Merrill leaped to his feet, the veins showing in his neck. “You can’t prove
that!”“Ah-ah-ah! The hair, stool, and saliva samples, remember? Now, the hairs
don’trevealmuch,butthat’sokay.Allthepolicehavetodoismatchthestooland saliva samples with the saliva and droppings in that broken cage, andbingo!”Merrilllookedasthoughhe’dswallowedabitterpill.“Iknewnothingabout
allthis!Ihadnothingtodowithit!”“Ah!”Cappointedathim.“Youbelieveme!”HewalkedovertoKennyand
looked up at him. “I’d like to go now. I need to warn my friends beforeBurkhardtgetsachancetodosomethingreallystupid.”Kennylockedeyeswithhimamoment,thenexchangedaquicklookwiththe
others.Timslippedhisgunbackintoitsholster.Kennysteppedaside.“Thanks.” Cap wasted no time getting out of there and called over his
shoulder, “You might want to wait here for the cops— and show them thatphoto!”Merrillboltedfortheentryway,butKennyblockedhim.“Wheredoyouthink
you’regoing?”Merrillwasdumbfounded.“Youworkforme!”“Sitdown.”Merrillbackedaway,rubbedhishandoverhishair,approachedTimtotryto
reasonwithhim—HegrabbedTim’spistolfromitsholsterandsweptitaroundthecubicle.Themenshiedback,handsraised.Merrill dashed out of the office and across the lab and caught sight ofCap
racingfortherearofthebuilding.Heaimedwildlyandfiredasheran.Thefirstbulletputaholeinawallabouttwelvefeetfromthefloor.Thesecondshatteredglasswareonaworkbench.KennyandTimracedafterhim,holleringtostop,tosimmerdown,butMerrill
wasbeyondthat.Caprandownthehallwayandduckedaroundthepartition.
Merrillshouted,“Cap!Thedoorsarepadlocked!Giveitup!There’snoreasontocallthepolice!Wecanreachanagreement!”The banshee started screaming then—a perfect giveaway ofCap’s location!
Merrill hooked a sharp left and ducked through the doorway into the hall ofmonsters.Thebeastinthefarcagehadalreadygoneberserk,leapingandpoundingthe
bars, spitting, screaming, groping, drilling into Merrill with murderous eyes.Merrill recalled howBurkhardt’s creations felt about competing primates, andransidewayswithhisbackslidingalongtheoppositewall.The last cage brought no comfort. Even beforeMerrill got there, he knew
whattheopencagedoormeant.Directlyoppositethecage,hequitrunningandfellbackagainstthewallindismay.Yes,allthedoorswerepadlocked,buttherewasnothingbeyondthatholein
therearwallbutthewideoutdoors.“Sam?Sam,youthere?”ReedandSamhadbeenconvergingonPete’sGPSblipandgettingclose,but
nowSam’sbliphadvanishedagain,andReedcouldn’t raisehimon theradio.Reedrestedagainstatreeandcalledagain,“Sam?Comein,Sam.Sing?Canyoureadme?Cananybodyhearme?”HetooktheGPSfromhisarm,checkedthebatteries,thenrecycledit.Pete’s
blipappearedagain,butPetestilldidn’tanswerhisradio.AsforMax,Sam,andSing,hewasn’tgettingabliporaradioresponse.Guess I should have known. This gremlin-plagued GPS system had been
playingacruelgamewithhishopeallalong.Hetriednottoletitdistracthimashepressedaheadthroughheavyforest,followingagametrail,closingonPete’sblip,theonethinghecouldcalla“known”—maybe.Likeanairplanepoppingoutoftheclouds,hebrokeintoanopenareawhere
rocksandshallowsoilstuntedthetreesandundergrowth.Grassfoundrootandsunlighthere,providingpastureforelkanddeer.Hoofprintsanddroppingswereplentiful,andtherewereobviouspatchesofflattenedgrasswhereelkhadrested.Ah!Hegotavisual.Petesatagainstatreeinthemiddleoftheclearing,his
back to Reed. Reed blew a sigh of relief and gladness. After all the gadgetfailure,itwasgreattohavedirecthumancontactagain.“Pete,”hesaidquietlyasheapproached,“I’mcomingupbehindyou.”Petenoddedslightly.
“Iguessyouknowyourradio’sout.Thewholesystem’sonthefritz.Maybeit’ssunspots,Idon’tknow—”“Reed...”Pete’svoicewasweak,barelyaudible.Reeddouble-timedandkneltbesidehim.“Pete...”Pete’sriflewasgone.Hisfacewaspale,drainedofblood,andhewasholding
hisside.Bloodoozedbetweenhisfingers.Itlookedlikeaknifewound.Reeddidn’taskhowithadhappened.Thatwasn’timportantnow.“Easy,bud.
We’regoingtogetyououtofhere.”“S-sam!”“What?”“Getdown.”Reed saw the terror in Pete’s eyes as they focused across the clearing.Not
thinking,justtrusting,Reedducked.AbulletzingedoverhisheadandthuddedintoPete’schest.ThencamethePow!ofarifle.Reedhuggedtheground,lookedupatPete—Pete’slifelessbodyslumpedover,revealingabulletpunctureandaredsmear
onthetreebehindhim.Reedheldhisrifleinadeathgrip.Hehadageneralideawheretheshothad
comefrom,buthedarednotraisehisheadtomakesure.Sam.Petesaid“Sam.”Whybegan toenterhishead,but thewhydidn’tmatter,notnow.Not being
killedmattered.Reedrolledbehindaclumpofrocks,disturbingsomebrush,atelltalesignof
hislocation.Therewasapuffofdustandthewhineofaricochet.Pow!TheslopefellawayjustbelowReed’sposition,providingaprotectivedome
ofearthbetweenhimandtheshooter.Hegrabbedhischanceandran,crouching,downtheslopeandinto thetrees.Droppingbehindaprotectivelog,hepeeredbacktowardtheclearingashecycledtheboltonhisrifle,chamberingaround—Itdidn’tfeelright.Heopenedthebolt.Thefiringpinwasbrokenasifsomeonehadpuncheditinwithanail.
MaxhadofferedtoloadReed’srifleandReedhadsaidokay.MaxandSam.Thecover-up!Them?Why?The questionswould have to come later. For now, therewas absolutely no
sense in sticking around. Reed barreled down the hill, not navigating, justmoving,duckingbehindtrees,zigzagging,alwayslookingforcover.TheGPS!Heglancedatit.Hecouldseehisownblip,andnowhecouldsee
Sam’s,comingdownthehillafterhim,hominginonhissatellitesignal!Reedclickedoffhisunit.TheLCDscreenwentblack.NoReed.NoSam.No
signals.Hewasaloneinthewoodsexceptforthementryingtokillhim,outofcontact.Hunted.
eighteen
It was like awakening slowly from an anesthetic, coming out of the dark,reentering the world from somewhere far away. She heard a voice butunderstoodnowords.Thefloorfeltwetandstickyagainstherface,anditwasreelingasiftheentiremotorhomewerefloatingonstormywater.Asharppainhammered her skullwith every beat of her pulse, and she smelled blood. Shebecameawareofherbodyinstages,firstherhands,thenherarms,andthenherlegs,but somehow, through themorassof tangled, swirling thoughts thatwerehalfdream,halfcoherent,sheknewthatshemustnotmove,shemustnotappearalive.Sheheardavoice fromsomewhere, and in a fewmoremoments anda few
morepainfulpulsebeats,sherememberedwhosevoiceitwas.Thorne.Sherecalledthelast imageshesawbeforeherawarenesscametoa
shatteringhalt:SteveThorne,eyesascoldasashark’s,aiminghispistolather.Asnearasshecoulddeterminefromthepatternofthepainandthestateofherbody,thebullethadstruckherinthehead.Wherethebulletwasnowshecringedtoimagine,butshewasstillaliveandbeginningtothinkagain,whichastoundedher.“No,he’sgotitswitchedoff,”cameThorne’svoice.Hepausedasiflistening
tosomeoneandthenanswered,“Iknow,butjustkeepmoving,keepthepressureon.Shesensedfromthedirectionofhisvoicethathewasbehindher.Carefully,
sheworkedoneeyeopen.Thefloorofthemotorhomewaveredandthencameintofocus.The first thing she sawwas a pool of blood.How she’dmanaged to regain
consciousness she had no idea, but one thing was certain: whateverconsciousnessshehadwouldbetemporaryatbest.Justafewmoremoments,shethought.IfIcangathermystrengthforjusta
fewmoremoments...Reed rolled over a log, sank into the cover of some willows, and lay still,listening,thinking.
Encouragingthoughtswereinshortsupply.Forallheknew,therehadn’tbeenanythingwrongwithWileyKane’srifle,whichwouldmeanKanewasdeadandmaybeSingaswell,bothatthehandofSteveThorne.Thatlefthimnofriendsandthreehunterstryingtotrackhimdown.IfhecouldturnonhisGPSandpickuptheirlocations—Thatwastheproblem.Ifheturnedhisuniton,theotherswouldbeabletosee
him just as hewould be able to see them.He could guess that hewas in themiddle of a triangle with Max to the north, Sam to the south, and Thornedownhilltothewest.Theywerenodoubtclosinginonhimrightnow.Hewriggledthroughthewillowsandranforastandoffirs—Achipofbarkflewfromatrunkandnearlyhithiminthecheek.Pow!Well,atleasthewasmaintainingsomedistance.
Jacob halted again, turned in place, sniffed, and searched as he grunted at hisfemales,yankingthemtokeepthemclosetogether.Theywerestillworkingtheirwaynorth,but inzigzags,quicksprints,silenthidings.Thewomanwassilent,unseen,butBecktrustedJacob’ssensesandunderstoodwhyhewaskeepingthegrouptogether:predatorswentfor thestragglers, thestrays, thoseleftalone.Iftheystayedtogether,maybe,justmaybe...Beckhadheardmoregunshotsbehindthem.Shecouldn’tmakeanysenseof
itexcepttoguessthehuntersweretryingtosignalher.Shefelt theGPSinhershirtpocket.Fornow,surroundedbythefrightened,
fleeingfamily,sheleftitoff.“Okay,”Thornewassaying,“trytokeeppacewithhimanddon’tlethimflankyou.I’mallsettotorchthisplaceassoonasyou’redone.”Torch. Fire. Now Sing recognized a particular smell that didn’t belong:
gasoline.She concentrated, then raised her head a hair’s breadth, gritting her teeth
againstthepain.Imustbeastone.Lord,helpmenottofeel;helpmenottohurt.She raised her head higher. She tested the fingers on her right hand. Fromsomewhere,shefoundstrength.Shecouldn’tseeThornebutcouldpaintapictureinhermindfromwhatshe
couldhear:fourfeetaway...sittingatthecomputer...facingmaybeaquarterturnawayfromher...lookingdownatthescreen,and—DearLord,please—hisweightontheforwardhalfofthechair.
Shewouldn’t be able to test her strengthorher ability tomove.Shewouldhaveonlyonechancetomoveatall.She envisionedwhere the knife rackmust be: very close, above the cutting
board,nearthebedroomdoor.Onequickleapwouldgetherthere—ifshewasable. She envisioned the carving knife in her right hand, the one with thesharpestpoint.Shereviewedhermemoryofthevariousknifingvictimsshehadexamined,whichwoundshadkilledintheshortestamountoftime.“Isshedead?”Thornewassaying.“Areyoukidding?Iblewherbrainsout.
Youwantmetodoitagain?”Iamastone.Shepulledinalong,steadybreath,thenletitoutslowly,silently.Shepulled
inasecondbreath,thenletitout.Withoutmotion,shetestedhermuscles.Thornewaslisteningagain,drumminghisfingersonthecounter.Hopefully,
hewouldtalkagain;hisearswouldbefilledwiththesoundofhisownvoice.“Adam,comeon,now.You’reinthisneckdeepwiththerestofus.Let’sgetit
done—”Withevery reserveof strength,ofbody,andof spirit,Sing flipped fromher
bellytoherbackandthentoherside,closingthedistancetothecomputerchair.Thorne’s headwas turning toward the sound and hewas saying, “. . . and gohome,” just as her hands gripped the wheeled base of the chair, yanked, andupsetitfromunderhim.Hefellawayfromher,grabbingthecounter,tryingtorecoverasthechairclatteredonitssidetothefloor.Shepushedtoherfeet,reachedwithherrighthand,graspedtheknifefromthe
rack—Her head emptied of blood and she sank to her knees, head down, vision
clouded, pain raging through her skull. Her hair and scalp were sodden anddripping.Sheheldtheknifeinbothhands.Thornewasonhisfeetimmediately.Hecameather.Sheraisedherheadandsawhertarget:thefemoralarterynearthetopofhis
thigh.Herheadwasswimming,herstrengthdeparting.Heputhishandsonher,triedtograbherarms.Withbothhands,sheplungedtheknifeintohisthighnearthegroin.He screamed in pain and horror, releasing his grip, backing off. The knife
slippedfromthewoundwithaspurtofblood.Hislegcollapsedunderhimand
hestaggeredbackwards,tumblingoverthefallenchair.Hewasdistracted,disoriented,onhisback.Her chancewould never come again.Unable to rise to her feet, she lunged
forwardonherknees,screaminglikeacougar,pouncinglikeabear.Justabovethebelly,justbelowthebreastbone,atjusttherightangle—Withbothhandsandall herweight, sheput theknife throughhisheart.He
staredatherindisbelief,gasping,trembling,untilhiseyeswentblank,hispupilsdilated,andhisheadclunkedagainst thefloor.Hisarms, thenhiswholebody,went limp. Near his head were the mobile lab’s auxilary gasoline cans. Hewouldn’tbeusingthem.Sing rolled to the floor beside the man she had just killed, her scream
becomingaloudsobbingfrompain,fear,andhorror.Jacobandthefemalesweremovingswiftly,theirarticulatedfeetpaddingsilentlyoverdeephumusandsoftgreenmoss,weavingupanddown,underandaroundimmense,ancientpillarsofold-growthforestwithseemingindifference.But Beckwas sure she knew this place. Hadn’t she once compared it to a
Tolkien or Lewis fantasy, a wondrous, otherworldly place where hobbits andelves, fairies and princesses, knights and ogres had their adventures andintrigues?She’dbeenherewithReedonlyaweekago!Hadn’tshe?Painfully clinging to Rachel’s shoulders, she looked for a trail, a ravine, a
creekwithalogbridge,anoldcabintornapartbyasavagebeast—frighteningmemoriestobesure,butitwasthenearestboundaryofherworld,thelastplaceshe’deverbeenasahumanbeing.Rachelslowed,faltered,thenturneddownhill.“Wha—?”Beckstartedtosay.Rachel kept going, loping down the slope even after Jacob stopped, turned
around, and grunted a question at her; even after Leah barked in alarm andReubenwhimpered.Beck pushed herself higher up on Rachel’s back and scanned the forest on
every side,wonderingwhereRachelwas going, andwhy, and feeling anxiousaboutbeingseparatedfromthegroup.“Rachel!Hello?W-whatareyoudoing?”Beck looked over her shoulder. Jacob, Leah, and Reuben were huddling
together,fidgetingandgrunting.Rachel’ssidetripwasnotintheirplans.Rachel was sniffing, on the trail of something. Beck had never seen this
behaviorbefore,aSasquatchsniffingaftersomethingrather thanrunning fromsomethingithappenedtosmell.“Whatisit,girl?”They came to an immense log that had once been a majestic cedar
unnumberedyearsbefore.Aweboftangledrootsclawedtheairatoneend;theother enddisappeared in the forest, cov- eredoverwithyoung firs andcedarsthathadtakenrootalongitssurface.Rachelsniffedtheairagainasiftryingtobesureofsomething,thencircled
aroundtherootstotheotherside.A loud fluttering startled Beck; she ducked behind Rachel’s head as a
gathering of birds scattered into the air: ravens, an osprey, two bald eagles.Recovering, and peering over Rachel’s shoulder, Beck saw that the birds hadbeen here awhile—the surrounding thickets, branches, and windfall werespatteredwithwhitedroppings.RachelstraightenedinthatcertainwaythatletBeckknowshecouldslideto
theground.BeckreleasedhergriparoundRachel’sshouldersandslidclumsilyontoamoundofredcrumbles,theremainsofafallentree.Herlegswereweak;shecollapsedtotheground.Rachel took a furtive step, then another, looking at something amid the
broken,dropping-spatteredbranchesofserviceberry,until,withamournfulsigh,shesanktoherhaunches,herheadhanging.Beck struggled to her feet, eased closer, and caught a scent she’d come to
know: rawmeat andpeeledanimalhide, this timewitha reekofdecay.FrombehindRachel’sslumpedback,shepeeredintothebrokenbushesandsawaribcagealmostpickedcleanbythebirds,theblackeningmeatshowingredwhereithadbeen freshly tornby theirbeaks.Eyeswideningwithhorror,Becksawanarm,halfeaten,halfcoveredwithreddish-brownfur,withanape’shand—fivefingersandathumb.BeckmovedfromRachel’srightshouldertoherleftforabetterlook.Theinnardswerealmostcompletelygone.Thespinewasvisiblethroughthe
emptychestcavity,andBecksawthat theneckhadbeenviolentlytwistedandbroken.Lyingcrookedly,almostseparatefromthebody,wastherottingheadofaSasquatchchild,oneeyeclosed,oneeyegone,thefacepeckedandgouged.ThelittlefemalewasBeck’ssize.Themouthwassmearedwithhuckleberries,
andthehair—thelong,magnificenthair—wasreddishbrown,thesamecolorasRachel’s.“Sh-shewasyours,wasn’tshe?”Rachel’sbodybegantoquakeasairrushedinandoutofhernostrilslike...
sobs?Beck,alreadyinastateofshock,wasfurtherastonished.WasRachel...crying?Wasitpossible?Tears floodedRachel’s eyes, overflowed, and randownher face, something
Beckhadneverseenorimaginedinthegreatape.“Rachel...sweetheart...”Becktouchedher,pattedher.Rachelthrewbackherheadandhowled,aloudsoundthatrippledthroughthe
forestandcarriedformiles.Fromabove,LeahbeganhowlingandJacobbarkedawarning.Theforestwas
filledwiththenoise.Beckcoveredanearwithonehand,strokedRachel’sshoulderwiththeother
—Sherecalledthebitemarksonthatshoulder,thepatchofbloodthathadsoiled
Beck’sleathercoat,thehowlssheandReedheardthatnight—notvicioushowlsofpredationand threat as they’d thought,buthowlsof struggleand loss,painandremorse,thesameasshewashearingnow.Then,likealoathsomereminder,athirdvoicejoinedLeahandRachel’sfrom
out there.Thewailingwoman, thedemonofLostCreek,began to answer thehowlswithherowneeriecry,matchingthemvolumeforvolume.TheghostlychorusfromthatnightonLostCreekwascomplete.Beckhadbeeninthisplacebefore.
Reed was not terrified when the howling voices floated his way through theforest,layeruponechoedlayer.Forhim,itwasanawakeningofhope.Heknewthosevoiceswell,andjudgingfromthesound,thebeastswerestillwithinreach—ifhecouldonly live that long.He tookameasuredriskandraisedhisheadfrom his hiding place between twomoss-covered logs, scanning the forest allaround.Hesawnotelltalemovementbehindthetrunksoftreesandthetangledstalksofbushes;heheardnosnappingoftwigsorcrunchingofleavestoindicatehisenemieshadfoundhim.Notthatitmattered.Theywerehunters.Theywouldbedoingalltheycouldto
remainunseenandunheard.Thelasttwobulletshadwhizzedbyhisheadbeforehe’dseenorheardanythingelse.Buthe’dheardthebeasts,andiftheywerenearby,Beckcouldbenearby,and
if,ontheoutsidechancethatshe’ddecidedtosendasignal...HeturnedonhisGPSandthescreenlitup.HecouldseeSamalmoststraight
uphillfromhim—andknewSamcouldseehim.Maxwasstilltothenorthandmovingfartherthatway,notinterestedinReedatallbutgoingafterthebeasts—and maybe Beck. He last saw Steve Thorne’s blip approaching Sing’s motorhomenear the endofServiceRoad221,but itwasoff the screennow,whichcouldbe theworstofnews.OnlySingcouldupdatehimonBlipNumber6, ifBeck’sunitwas turnedonand ifhe could raiseSing on the radio, andonly ifSingwerestillalive—Aweakandfalteringvoicecamethroughhisearpiece,“Reed,Iseeyouonmy
screen.Canyouhearme?”Reedfeltasthoughhe’dreconnectedalifeline!“Sing!Iwasafraidyouwere
dead!”“Almost.SteveThorneshotmeinthehead.”Hecouldn’thaveheardthatcorrectly.“Sayagain?”
Singwasslumpedoverinhercomputerchair,pressingabloodiedtoweltoherhead, trying toview thescreensidewaysandwork thekeyboardwithone freehand. Sometimes she could think clearly, and sometimes she felt she wasdreaming. “It was a glancing blow.” She touched the wound and winced. “Itfeels like a shallow depressed fracture, nonpenetrating.” She looked at thebloodiedtowel.“Thebulletmissedthetemporalartery,butthere’sstillamess.”“Haveyoucalledthemedics?”“ThornesmashedmycellphoneandIcan’tfindthepoliceradio.”“WhereisThornenow?”“SteveThorneisdead.”“DidyousayThorneisdead?”Shelookedatthecorpseonthefloorforamoment,herfocuswavering.“I’m
prettysure.Iseveredhisfemoralarteryandstabbedhimthroughtheheart.Heisn’tmoving.”“Sing,Pete’sdeadtoo.Samkilledhim.Doyoucopy?”Sheheardtheanguish
inReed’svoice,asifhewerehearingthenewshimselfforthefirsttime.
Her wound pulsed out fresh pain in a faster rhythm. “Did you say Pete isdead?”“Yes.Samshothim,andnowSam’stryingtokillme.”Sherestedherheadonthecounter,weakwithshockandgrief.Maybeshewas
dreaming,andthiswasabaddream.Itfeltlikeone.“Sing?Areyouthere?”“Thecover-up,”cametohermindandouthermouth.“WeneedtofindBeck.Canyouseeheronyourscreen?”Singblinked and forcedher eyes to focuson the screen. “Reed . . . Sam is
coming down the hill, coming close to you.” Sam’s blipwinked out. “Oh no,he’snot—”Ping!Reedhadjustturnedtoscrambleoutofthelogswhenthebullethitandchips
flewonlyinchesaway.Heducked,rolled,plowedintosomebushes,foundatreetoprotecthim.“Sam?”ReedcalledintohisGPSradio.“Sam,youdon’twanttodothis.”No answer. Reed looked at his screen. That’s what Sing meant: Sam had
turnedoffhisunit.He’dgoneinvisible.Well,itcouldworkbothways.Reedswitchedoffhisunit.HeknewSamwas
headingdownthehillfromthesouth.Hopingtoflankhim,Reedstartedupthehilltowardthenorth.Beck heard the shot and searched that direction but saw no movement, nocamouflagejacketsorcaps.Shethoughtofshouting,butno,nothere,notwheretheywouldfindRachel.As if Rachel were not giving them plenty of noise already. She was still
howlinginconsolably,herheadthrownback,herrighthandbeatingherchest.Becktriedtocalmher,quietherdown.“Shhh,now!Shhh!Rachel,don’tdo
this!Thehunterswillfindyou!”Rachelshruggedherhandaway,andBeckshiedbackastep,strickenbythe
tableau of a grievingmother and her dead, mangled child, incredulous at therevelationinthechild’sreddish-brownhair:“Iwasher!YouthoughtIwasher!Nowonderyouwantedmyhairthewayitwas.”Ka-wump!Asifhe’ddroppedfromthesky,Jacobcameleapingoverthelog
andthuddedlikeafallingtimberrightnext tothem.Beckjumpedwithayelp,
butJacobpaidhernomind.Growlingandscolding,heyankedRacheltoherfeetand shoved her against the log, trying to knock some sense into her. She quithowlingbutkept crying.Hepushedher frombehind,herdedher, swattedher,gothermovingaroundthelog.Rachel did not look back to find Beck. She just went around the log, still
whimpering,withJacobhuffingathertobequiet.Beckstoodthere.Alone.Amazed.Nonplussed.Racheldidn’tlookback.Whentheyreappearedonthehillabovethelog,Jacobwashurryingheralong,
pushingandgrunting.Sheobeyedandclimbedtheslopeinfrontofhim,hersoftfeettakingholdofthegroundwithsuresteps,herheadhangingasshewipedhertearstained face. They disappeared behind a tree, reemerged, passed behindanothertree,thentwo,andthentheforestshroudedthemlikeaclosingcurtainandBecksawthemnomore.Somewhereinthedeepforest,outofsight,RachelquitwhimperingandJacob
fellsilent.Beck backed up a step, and noticed that she could. She looked over her
shoulder,downthehill,andrealizedshecouldgothere.Shelookedupthehill.NoJacob.NoRachel.Nogroup.What about the woman? Beck listened carefully, rotating a full circle. The
womanwassilent,whichcouldmeanshewasgone,or lurking,orstalking,ortrailingtheSasquatches...Therewasnotimetofretaboutit.Therewasnooptionbuttogetmoving,to
find a landmarkor trail, to get thatGPS turnedon andmake sure the huntersfoundonlyher.SheventuredOneSmallStepdownhill, slowedby thepain inherbody,her
anklecomplainingbutcarryingher.Otherstepscameafterthefirst,fromtreetotreetoledgetostumptotreetofallenlog,fartherdownandstillfartherdown,always peering ahead, always hoping to sight something familiar emergingthroughtheever-changingcurtainoftrees.Justonemoretime,shelookedback.TheSasquatchesweregone.Shewasno
dangertothem.ShepulledtheGPSfromhershirtpocketandpressedtheonbutton.TheLCD
screenlitup.Sing justhad toaccept it.Shecouldn’texplain it; shewasn’texpecting it; she
couldhardlycomprehendit,butthereitwas:BlipNumber6.“Reed...IhaveBeckonmyscreen.”The screen faded toblack;her thoughtsdisintegrated intononsenseand she
begantodream.Shedidn’tknowhowmuchtimehadpassedbeforeshejerkedawake,forced
hereyesopen,andbroughtthescreenbackintofocus.“Reed,MaxisheadingforBlipNumber6.HecanseewhereBeckis.Reed?
Reed,doyoucopy?”Noanswer.
BeckstudiedthescreenonherGPSasshehikedameandering,limpingcoursedownthemountainslope,headingforwhatlookedlikeastreamonthemovingmap,hopingtofindanotherhumanbeing.“Hello!Isanybodythere?”Shewas alone, and she knew it. Shewas a stray, a straggler, and a perfect
targetforapredator.NowonderRachelneverletherwanderoff.“Hello!I’mBeckShelton!Isanyonethere?”Keepmoving,girl;keepmoving.Findthosehunters.Wasshemakingthatnoise?Shestopped.Therustlingsheheardcontinued.It
camefromuptheslope,backamongthetreeswhereanythingcouldhide.“Hello!”Noanswer—justthesnapoftwigs,therustlingofsomebrush.
Reedcrouchedinathickclusterofyounggrowth,notsureenoughofwherehewastokeepmoving.HemayhaveslippedbySamonhiswayuphill,buttherewasonlyonewaytobesure.Hepressedtheonbutton.The screen told him he was a little upslope and a little south of where he
wantedtobe.“Sing?Doyouread?”Hervoicewasweakbuttensewithexcitement.“Reed,IhaveBlipNumber6,
bearing342,closetoLostCreek.Maxisclosingonit!”SomethinginReedcamealiveagain.Hezoomedoutonhisscreentofindthe
creek,toorienthimselftothebearing.Sam’sblipappearedlikeashipoutofthefog,closerthanever.The bullet hit with a loud whack!Reed spun and went down with a cry,
graspinghisshoulder.“Reed,Samiscominguphilltowardyou!”Reedhadtogrababreathbeforehecouldanswer,gaspingwithpain.“Sing.
I’vebeenhit.”Beckquickenedherstep.Ahumanwouldhaveansweredwhenshecalled.Shemoveddownhill,duckedbehindsometrees,froze,andlistened.Thesoundswerefollowingher,movingdownthehill:a thump,adragging,
anotherstickbreaking.Sheleapedandlimpedtothenexttreeandlistenedagain.Shemayhaveheard
morenoises,butnowthegurgleofacreekwasmakingitdifficulttotell.Acreek?Shelimpedtothenexttreeandpeeredaroundit.Aravine.Acreek.IthadtobeLostCreek!Thump!Drag.Thump!Drag.Sheduckedbehindthetreeandpeekeduphill.Through the spaces in the trees she caught a flash of black hair, a patch of
yellowingflesh.Whateveritwas,itwaswalking.Beckonlywhispered,“Jacob?”Thewomanscreamedinreply,socloseBeckcouldheartherattleofphlegm
inherwindpipe.Beckspun,triedtorun,butherlegswereweakandshefellheadlong.Thecryof thebansheeblastedoverher, aroundher, socloseandso loud it
hurt.Thump!Drag.Thump!Drag.
nineteen
Reed disappeared from Sing’s screen. “Reed, don’t do this to me! Be alive,please!”Withafewfumblingtries,shezoomedinonSam’sblip.Hewasshiftingback
andforthasifsearching.Reedduckedandwovearoundtrunksandundergrowthasquicklyandsilentlyashe could,mimicking the stalking techniques he’d seenPete use, half-guessinghisbearing,hoping,prayingforenoughtimetolive,tostayaheadofSam,togettoBeckandendthis.HisGPSwasoff.Fornow,hewouldhavetobeinvisible.Beckrolledtoastop,rightedherself,lookeduptheslope—Thump!Drag.It emerged from behind an ancient fir, thumping on one crooked leg and
dragging the other, still raw and bleeding from a bullet wound. It wavered,grabbed at one tree and then the next with long ape arms to steady itself,wheezinghoarsely,teethbaredandcaninesglistening.ItwaseverybitaslargeandpowerfulasJacob,butbent,twisted,deformed.Itsblackhairwassparseandpatchy, bristling like quills from its jaundiced skin. The wrinkled head wasnearlybald,andonehalfofthefacewaspeeling,blisteredandscabbedfromarecentburn.Whenitsawher,itglaredwithbulbousyelloweyesandscreamedascreamBeckcouldfeel.Itcameafterher,hobblingonunevenlegs,careening,itslongarmsguidingit
fromtreetotreeasitdescendedtheslope.Beck leaped aside as it rumbled past. It planted a hand on a tree and spun
around, fell, rose again, and crawled up the hill on all fours, thumping anddragging,grabbingandpulling,acrooked,arthritichandclawingtoreachher.Beckscreamedassheturnedtoescapeupthebank,herstrengthebbing, the
humuscrumblingandgivingbeneathherfeet.Shescreamedagainwithallthatwasinherasahugehandswungcloseenoughtostrikeherfootbutnotgrabit.Thinking like an animal, Beckwailed a Sasquatchwail of alarm, loud and
throaty, againandagain,grabbing roots and smallbushes topullherself awayfromthosehands,thoseteeth,thoseglaringeyes.Reedheardthescreams—Beck’sscreams;he’dknowhervoiceanywhere—and
itwasallhecoulddotokeephiscool,staysmart,andnotbreakintoablindrun.Samwasstillafactor,andReedwouldneverbeabletooutrunhim.Hefoundahidingspotbehindsomerocksandcollapsedthere,takingoffhis
hat,strugglingoutofhisjacket.Hangon,Beck!Thethingfellon its faceas its legsbuckled; itwrithedandflaileduntil itwasmoving again, hobbling on twos, walking on fours, stumbling on threes,shouldersuneven,knucklesskinnedandbleeding.ItlaggedbehindlongenoughforBeck tobreak into a clearingwherepatchesofmaple andelderberrygrewthroughacrisscrossofwind-fallentrunks.Shecameupagainstawallofbrushandfallentreeswithnowayoveroraround.Thecreaturebrokeintotheclearing,huffingandwheezing,frothonitschin,
eyescrazed.Thump!Draaaagg.Thump!Draaaggg.Beckturned,herbackagainstthebrushpile,herarmsandlegstangledinan
explosionofshoots,leaves,andbranches.Shecriedoutagain,lookingforawayout,over,under,anywhere.Thethingbareditsteeth,reachedout—Boom!Theleftshoulderjerkedviolentlyasbloodandfleshexplodedoutthe
creature’sback.Itcriedoutinpainandhorror,afraid,wondering.Boom!Therightarmjerkedandtwisted,thebiceppuncturedandspurtingred,
thebonebeneathsnapping.Boom!Thecreaturereeledbackward,apunctureinitschest.It stood, glaring at Beck, teeth bared, reddening saliva seeping through its
teeth.Boom!With another blast through its chest, its breath became a gargle. It
teetered and swayed, choking, its eyes locked onBeckwithmurderous intentuntil theyslowlyclosed insleepandthecreaturefellwithawump! thatshooktheground.Itlaystill.Therewasamomentary,unnaturalsilence.Beckcouldnotcomprehendthatthedangerwasover.Shepushedfartherinto
thethicket,triedtogetafootholdonthelog,slippedandfellintotheelderberrybranches.Then she saw someone. A hunter in camouflage came into the clearing,
steppingcautiously,rifleleveledatthecreature.Beck couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could only stare through the
leaves.Hewenttothecreature,nowspreadflatonitsbackontheroughground.He
pokeditwithhisrifle,thenpointedtherifledirectlyatthething’shead.Beckturnedherheadaway.Boom!Onelastshot.Thehunterglancedaroundtheclearing.“Hello?BeckShelton?”He spotted her through all the helter-skelter limbs, and he appeared a little
puzzled.“Beck?BeckShelton?”Whywashestaringather?“It’sallright.Thecreature’sdead.”Languagehadlefther.“Whoo...hoo...hoooo...”“WhoamI?”Shenodded.“I’mafriend.MynameisAdamBurkhardt.”
Reedlayamongtherocks,unabletomove.HeswitchedontheGPSandspokeinaweak,tremblingvoice.“S-sam.Sam,whyareyoudoingthis?Whyareyoutryingtokillme?”For the very first time, Sam replied. “It’s nothing personal, Reed. It’s
somethingIwashiredtodo.”“Idon’tunderstand.”“It’snotthatcomplicated.Justcallitsurvival.”
SingsawReed’sbliponherscreen,butitwasn’tmoving.Sam’swas,changingcourseandheadingdirectlyforhim.Shemumbledintoherheadphone,“Sam...Sam,Icanseeyouonmyscreen.
I’mawitness.”There was an ominous silence as the blip kept moving closer to Reed’s
position.Abruptly,Samradioed,“You’vegotaholeinyourhead,soIfigureI’vestill
gotaprettygoodchanceofcatchingupwithyoulater.Reed?Youstillwithus,buddy?”Reed’svoicewasbarelyaudible.“Pleasedon’tkillme.”
Beckpushedafewlimbsaside.Shestudiedtheman,unsureabouthim.Hewassuddenlypreoccupied,listeningintentlytothedeviceinhisear.ShecouldseeaGPSonhissleeve.
SamMarlowe got a visual: Reed Shelton down, propped against a log, handagainst his chest as if hewerehaving troublebreathing.Samsteadiedhimselfagainstatree,sightedReed’sbackthroughhisscope—“Sorry,pal”—andpulledthetrigger.Thebodylurchedwiththeimpact,thenremainedstill,floppedoverthelog.Hesighedwithrelief.“Abouttime.”Keeping his rifle ready, he stepped carefully into the open, approaching his
target.Hecouldseeagood-sizedholethroughReed’sjacket.Hespokeintohisradio,“Boss?Youthere?”“Goahead,”Burkhardtanswered.Samreachedthebody.“Heardyoudoingalotofshooting.Didyougetwhatyouwereafter?”“Uh,yeah,sofar.”“Well,IjustgotReed,solet’sclosethisupandgetoutofhere.We’vestillgot
Thorne’sjobtofinish.”“Uh,roger.I’llgetbacktoyou.”Burkhardt’svoicedidn’tsoundtoosure.
Adam Burkhardt set his rifle down, removed the earpiece from his ear, andturnedoffhisGPS.“Iguessthat’sthat.”HelookedatBeck,whowasstillhidinginthebushes.“Don’tbeafraid.It’sallovernow.I,uh,Ispentquiteafewyearsstudyingthesecreatures.”Forsomereason,shecouldn’tmove.
Samshookhishead.Burkhardtsoundedasthoughhewashavingdoubtsagain,which wasn’t good. Burkhardt set this whole thing up, and now he wasbecomingtheweaklink!Neversendaboy...SamgrabbedReed’sbodybytheshoulderandflippeditover.ItwasWileyKane, dressed inReed’s jacket, hiswhitemane stuffed inside
Reed’scap.Reed couldmove now.He aimed his rifle from his hiding place in the rocks,onlyfifteenyardsaway.“Sam,dropthatrifle!”Sam’sfaceflushedwithsurprise.Heraisedhisweapon—Reedshothimthroughtheheart,knockinghimbackwards.Hedroppedlikea
limppuppet.ReedroseonlyenoughtomakesureSamandhisriflelandedseparately,then
gotontheradio.“Sing?It’sReed.Canyouhearme?”Maybebeingshotintheheadhadsomethingtodowithit:SingwasstillhearingReed’svoice.“Reed,areyoualive?”“Ihadtodosomeplayacting.Sorrytoscareyou.”“Sam...Sam’sclose!”
ReedstoodoverSam’sbodyanddouble-checked.“Samisdead.IshothimwithWileyKane’s rifle.”He looked about cautiously. “Do you haveMax on yourscreen?”“No.He’sgonenow.ButIstillhaveBeck.”“Getmethere,Sing.”Singwas fading.Her answer came in disjointed pieces. “Head for . . . um,
LostCreek.Thebearingis...340.Lessthanaquarter...mile.”AdamBurkhardt satona log,wipinghisclose-shavenbrowandstaringat thegrotesque,bleedingbeastathisfeet.“Thiscreaturewasanexperimentthatwentterriblyawry.”Helaughed.“Makesmesoundlikeamadscientist,doesn’t it?”He quit laughing abruptly. “Maybe I qualify. This is a terrible thing, justterrible.”Beckventuredtotheedgeofthebushes,eyesprobingthismanandthehairy,
misshapen creature that had almost killed her. “Did it kill . . .”She couldnotrecalltheman’sname.“RandyThompson?”Shenodded.“Ohyes.It’skilledseveralpeople.Wethoughtithadkilledyou.”Hisfacewas
sad,andyetheseemedtomarvel.“Itwasbredthatway,bredtoprevail—eventhough it can’t reproduce.”Hepointed, almostproudly. “Butdidyounotice itwas trying towalkupright?Weremoved thebig toesso itcouldn’t live in thetreesandwouldhavetonavigatemostlyontheground.Wemayhaveconfirmedourtheory,butthenagain,thekneeandhipjointsareunsuitableforbipedalism,soit’shardtodrawanyconclusions.”Shestaredathimblankly.Heshookhishead.“I’msorry.Thisdoestakeabitofexplaining,doesn’tit?
Well,haveyoueverheardhowwe’reall98percentchimpanzee?”Reed ran, ducked, swerved, jumped, ran somemore, jammingmore cartridgesintoKane’srifleashewent.Hestilldidn’thaveBlipNumber6onhisscreen,
but he had to be getting close. He’d entered a familiar stretch of old-growthforest;theterraindescendedtowardLostCreek.Sing’seyesweresoheavyshecouldhardlykeepthemopen.“Toofardownhill.Youwant...355.”Reed’sblipchangedcourse,butitsprogressseemedagonizinglyslow.“Sing,isBeckmovingatall?”Sing closed her eyes. Themotor homewas rocking again, heaving like the
ocean.Shewasgettingnauseous.“Sing!”Sheopenedhereyes.“Uh,nowit’s,uh,350.”
“Anyway,” said Burkhardt, replacing his hat and eyeing Beck with a strangelookofpity, “whatwe’ve taughtpeople tobelieve,wehaveyet toprove, andnow...”Heindicatedthebeastathisfeet.“Somecouldevensaywe’veproventheopposite,whichwouldbeverydifficultforus,tosaytheleast.Wewouldn’twantthatfacttobecometoo,uh,noticeable.AmImakinganysense?”Beckcouldonlyshakeherhead.He stood, wringing his hands, obviously agitated, nervous. It made her
nervous.“Well,here’s thesituation:many,oh,at leasthalfof thesearchparty,thoughtitwasabear,andwhentheyshotalargebear,theythoughttheyhadthevillain,and theyallwenthome.Thatwasexcellent!That tookcareofhalf theproblem!”Hesteppedcloser toher,hishandsout infrontofhimas ifgesturing.“And
then there was a really wonderful hoax by some Bigfoot fanatics—oh, youshouldhaveseenit,footprintsandeverything!Itprovidedanexcellentdismissalofthatcontingentascrackpotsthatnoonewouldtakeseriously!”HecamesoclosethatBecktookastepbackward.“Butthentherewerethepeoplewhoactuallysawourcreaturebutwerenot
killed—peoplelikeyourhusband,Reed...andyou.”Hegrimaced.“Ifyoujusthadn’t been in thewoods, things could have been different!As it is, you andyourhusbandbecamealiability,andnow,withyourhusbandnolongerafactor,thatleavesyou.”Beck pressed backward into the tangle, dismay becoming dread, and dread
becomingterror.Reednolongerafactor?Whatdidthatmean?Thenitoccurredtoher—shewasnotbackinherownworld.Thiswasnotahumanbeingcometo
saveher,butanarticulate,educatedbeast.Shecouldseeinhiseyeswhatshe’dseenonlymomentsbeforeintheeyesofhiscreature.Hewastheretokillher.Sheturnedandboltedintothebushes.Hedove,grabbedherbyhercollar,andjerkedherbackward,offherfeet.She
fought,strikingandflailing,ashedraggedheroutofthethicketbyhercollar,byherhair.“I’msorry,I’msorry,”hekeptsaying.Reedheardascream,veryclose.HecheckedhisGPS.Hewas picking upBlipNumber 6, uphill, bearing 005, notmore than 200
yardsthroughdense,younggrowth.“Sing!I’vegother!005!Canyouconfirm?”Singsawbothblipsonherscreen,withReedconverging.Theimagewasfuzzy,fading in andout of her awareness, becomingmeaningless to her. “Go to her,Reed.”Shebackedherchairawayfromthecomputerandputherheadbetweenher
knees.Thepainmadeherwhimper.Shecheckedthetowelshe’dbeenusing,andfreshblooddrippedonitthemomentshelifteditfromherhead.Shedidn’t remember toppling to the floor.Sheonly remembered seeing the
ceilingashighastheskyaboveherandhearingthefaintsoundofahelicopterbeforeshefellasleep.Beckwasfacedowninrocks,needles,andgrass, trying tosquirmfree, flailingherarmsatnothing,strugglingforbreathasBurkhardt’skneepinnedhertotheground.Heclampedhishandsoneithersideofherhead;shepeeledthemloose.He gripped her forehead and the back of her head and began twisting. “I’msorry,”hesaid.“Idon’twanttodothis.”She grabbed, clawed, kicked, but couldn’t resist his strength. Her neck
twisted,twistedsomemore.Herscreambecameagargle.Hewasgoingtosnapherneck,killherlikealltheothers,carryoutwhathisbeastcouldn’t.Abruptly,hisgripforcedherheadbackward,andthen—Hewasgone.Hisweightliftedfromherbodyasifahugeeaglehadplucked
himup.Shegotherarmsandlegsunderher,readytodiginandgetaway—Theskywasblottedoutbyblacknessthatmoved,roaredwithanger,andheld
Burkhardt aloft as if he weighed nothing. With long, tree-trunk arms, themonstrousshapehurledBurkhardtacrosstheclearing.Burkhardthittheground,tumbled,struggledtorighthimself—
Helookedup—wayup—andthesightparalyzedhim.Beckwasamazed,relieved,andterrified.It was Jacob, vicious and defensive, taking position between Beck and
Burkhardtwithblackhairbristling,fangsbared,andarmsreadytodismember.Burkhardt’sriflewasonlyafewfeetbeyondhisreach.Henoticedit,triedto
easetowardit.DeputyDaveSaundershadanirongriponthewheelandadeterminedsetin
hisjawashedrovehissquadcarthroughAbney,lightsflashing,andveeredontoService Road 221. Behind him came another squad car carrying two moredeputies, a squad car carrying two Idaho State patrolmen, an ambulancewithfourparamedics,andbehindthat,alight-greenrigcarryingthreeshotgun-totingforestrangers.Cap rode in the squad car beside him, handon the dash, eyes intent on the
road.“Howfar?”Davegot on the radio. “ChopperOh-9,we are entering road221 atAbney.
Anyfixonthemotorhome?”High above, piloting a National Guard helicopter on loan to Idaho Fish andGame,JimmyClarkeyedtheoldroadthatsnakedthroughtherolling,forestedterrain.Twosheriff’sofficersrodewithhim.Wheretheroadbegantofadefrombrowndirt to greenweeds, Jimmy spotted the silver rectangle hewas lookingfor.“Car12,Ihavethemotorhome,aboutfourmilesuptheroad.Noactivity,butwe’llstickaround.Drivesafe,everybody.”Dave drove as fast as “safe”would allow, thewheels pounding over ruts andpotholes, the car nearly bottoming its springs. The other vehicles stayed rightbehindhim.BurkhardthadjustgrabbedhisriflewhenJacobpluckedhimoffthegroundbyawadofhis jacket.The scientist dangled in the air, legskicking, face stretchedwithhorror,tryingtochamberaround,tryingtoaimhisrifle.Jacobdidn’twaitfor Burkhardt to resolve such issues but threw him into the brush, where hetumbledandthrashedoutofsightinthetangle.Beckwassuddenlysurroundedbyreddish-brownhairashugearmsenfolded
her and pulled her in. She fell against a familiar bosom, felt a sweaty heat,inhaled a disgusting stench, and for the first time in a week, felt perfectly,wondrouslysafe.“Mmm!”Rachelgrunted,lookingdownather.Beckhadseenthatexpression
before,whensheawokeinRachel’sarmsinapatchofhuckleberries.Jacob tromped halfway into the brush,watchedBurkhardt’s still body for a
shorttime,growledalastword,andthenhewassatisfied.Hestompedoutofthebushes and started to leave, but not without an obligatory glance in Beck’sdirection.Shewantedtosmile,tothankhim,togivehimahug,butofcourse,hewould
notunderstandsuchthings.Sheonlyhummedherthanks,lookingjustbelowhiseyeline.Hehuffedbackatherasiftosay,Thisdoesn’tmeanIlikeyou,andvanished
intothetrees.Becktriedtorelax.ShehadtodealwithRachelsomehow,hadto—Racheltensed,herarmsclosingtightlyagainstBeck.Danger.Beckcouldread
itclearlyinRachel’smanner.WasBurkhardtstill—The brush across the clearing opened, and Beck gasped audibly. Her legs
weakenedandherhandsbegantoshake.ItwasReed, hard-run and sweating, holding a rifle, suddenlymotionless at
whathesaw.Shecouldn’texpresswhatshefeltinwords,onlyaSasquatchsound,along,
mournfulcryasshehunginRachel’sarms,tryingtobelieve.
twenty
Reed was prepared to confront anything, but the scene before him wasimpossible to fathom. It was as if time had folded back on itself and hewasbelow the waterfall again. The creature he never quite saw that night stoodacrosstheclearingplainlyvisible,areddishversionofArlen’sphotograph,butsomuchbiggerinreallife.Justasbefore,itheldBeck—butwhathadhappenedto her? The pitifulwoman in that creature’s armswas dirty all over, smearedwithmudand...itlookedlikemanure!Herfacewasbruised,andoneeyewaspuffy.Grassandweedshungfromeverychinkinherclothing,thefrontofhershirtwasstainedwithblood,andnowshewasmakingsoundslikeananimal.Inthecenteroftheclearinglayagrotesque,fly-infestedcorpsethatshattered
allofhispreviousassumptions.Rachelgrowledlowinherthroatandbegantobackaway.BeckshotahandtowardReedandcriedoutlikeaSasquatch,pleading,“Ohh,
oh-oh-oh,Reeeeed!”Rachelhesitated,huffingair throughhernostrils,herarms likesteel,on the
verge of fleeing. But something held her here; maybe, just maybe, sherecognizedthisstranger.BeckdetectedJacob’sstench.Hehadn’tleft.
Reed didn’t move, but he had a round in the chamber and his finger on thetrigger.Beckhadcriedouthisname.Hesaidhers,veryquietly.“Beck.”“Lookatme,” she said, her hand extended towardhim. “Don’t look at her;
lookatme.”Beckwastalking!“Areyouallright?”Thebigredbeastwashuffing,nervous,spooked,readytoattack,orreadyto
run—Reedcouldn’ttellwhichitwouldbe,buthewouldshooteitherway.Heheardalowgrowlcomingfromthetreesbehindthebeastandrecalledthe
multiplefootprints,especiallythoseofthealphamale.Heforbadehimselftobeafraid,buthishandsweregettingicy.“Reed,”Beckcalledquietly,“youhavetobow.Youhavetoshowthemyou’re
notathreat.”
Reedhadtobesurehe’dheardherright.“Bow?”BecksensedthatRachelwaswarilycheckingoutthisintruder,whichwasagoodsign.Inadifferentsituation,Rachelneverwouldhavestuckaroundatall.Beckkept her hand stretchedout to show friendship and connection, hopingRachelwouldreaditthatway.“Bow,Reed.”Shepantomimedaslightbow.“Bowdown.”Reedbowedonlyafewinches,hiseyestakinginhistarget,hisriflepointing
onlyslightlyaway.“Yes,yes, that’sright.”Helookedup.“Don’tlookatthem;lookatme!”He
droppedhiseyesandmethers.“Wehavetoshowthemweknoweachother.Justlookatme—anddon’tsmile!”Hewasn’t smiling anyway, but he relaxed his expression as best he could.
“Good, good, good.Don’t showyour teeth; that’s a threat.Nowmaybeyou’dbetterputtherifledown.”Noway.“Can’tdoit,Beck.”Therecamethatgrowlfromthetreesagain.Reedsawsomethingmovingback
there—ifthatwasthetopofthething’shead,itwasalottallerthanReedwouldhaveexpected.Beck made that weird guttural sound again, reaching out with both hands,
“Ohhhhh,oh-oh-oh!”Thensheclickedhertongue.“Tok!Tok!”Nowwhatwashesupposedtodo?“Reachouttome,likeI’mdoing.”Reedcradledtherifleinhislefthandandslowlyreachedwithhisright,aneye
onthosetrees.“Lookatme,Reed!”HowfardoItrusther?Thebig red creaturehuffed, eyeinghimwithobvious suspicion as the trees
behindherquaked.Comeon,BigRed,hethought.Youknowme.We’vemetbefore.
BeckpushedtogetfreeofRachel’sarmsbutwasheldtight.AsforJacob,BeckrecognizedhisbreathingfromthelasttimeReedcametooclose.“Reed?Reed,listentome.Idon’tthinkthey’rebuyingit.”Hetightenedhisgripontherifle.
“No!No,justputitdown.”“Can’tdoit!”“They’veseenhuntersbefore.Itscaresthem.”
ReedhadtotrustBeckorshoot.HelookedintoBeck’seyesoneverylong,finaltime.“Reed...”He foundher.He finallysaw,underall that filth, theBeckhe’dknownwas
thereallalong—theconfident,competentwomanhe’dgrowntolove.Heslowlystoopedoverandsettherifledown.“Staytherenow,”shesaid.“Staybentover.Don’tlookup.”Hebentlow,eyestotheground,everybitofcommonsensetellinghimthis
wasdeathforsure.Thegrowlingbehindthetreesstopped.
Beckforcedherself to relax.She lookedupatRachelandhummedinascalmandhappyatoneasshecould.Rachelgazeddownather,thencockedherhead,eyestroubled.BeckreachedforReedagain,notpleadingthistime,butexpressinghappiness.
“Hmmm...hmmmph.”Acrosstheclearing,Reedsanktoallfours.Rachel’sarmsrelaxed.“Hmm.”Becktoldher,“Friend.Myfriend.Hmm.Tok!Tok!”RacheleyedReedforalong,carefulmoment,asifshewasfinallysortingout
whereshe’dseenthatstrangecreaturebefore.“See?” said Beck, patting Rachel’s arm. “You know him.You’ve seen him
before.”Rachelquithuffingandjuststared.
Reed stayed on the ground but was poised to grab his rifle if anything wentwrong.Rachel drew a deep breath, sighed it out, and slowly relaxed her arms. Beckstepped down, limping slightly, one hand holding Rachel’s, one hand towardReed. “Look atme,Reed.”He lifted his face to hers, and she could see hopefloodinghiseyes.“Don’tgetup.Letmecometoyou.Ihavetocometoyou.”She gazed back at Rachel one last time. Rachel seemed perplexed and
troubled,butwhenBeckletgoofherhand,shewithdrewit,lettingitfalltoherside.BeckturnedtowardReedandlimpedacrosstheclearing,passingbythefallen
monster.Shecouldmusteronlyaquick,fearfulglanceinitsdirection.Itwas the longestwaitofReed’s life,buthekept to the rules,watchingBeckcome closer, stepping and limping over rocks, easing through grass and lowbrush.Whenshewasonlytenfeetaway,shesaidquietly,“Ithinkyoucangetupnow.”Heroseslowly,meetinghereyes,carefulnottolookatthe—Shefellintohisarms.Heembracedher as sheheldhim,kissedhim, clung tohim, stinking like a
sewer but totally, wonderfully Beck. He was still cautious, checking the areaoverhershoulder,almostdancingwithherashescannedafullcircle,wonderingwhatbecameofMaxJohnson,checkingthelocationofhisrifle,wonderingwhattheBigfootmightdo—TheBigfoot.Hestoppedandstared.Beckturned.“See,Rachel?He’s—”Itwasas ifadreamhadended.Thecreaturewasgone.Thebrushand trees
weremotionlessasifthey’dneverbeendisturbed.Cap pressed his fingers against Sing’s carotid artery. The pulsewasweak butsteady.“Sing!Sing!”She opened her eyes. It took her a moment before recognition settled, but
finallyshesmiled.“Cap,you’reallright.”“Soareyou,”helied.Hekissedhergently,almostimperceptiblyonthecheek,
afraidhemightsnuffoutwhateversparkofliferemained.“Hello,”Singsaidtoallthewonderfulpeopleinuniformwhowerestepping
aroundSteveThorne’sdeadbodytogettoher.Themedicswentrighttowork,assessinghervitals.Oneshinedalightinher
eyes.Thepupilsresponded.Shepointedtothewallbesidethecomputerstation.Themedicsweretoobusysavingherlifetolook.CapandDavefollowedher
directionandfoundathinspatteringofherbloodandsomeofherhairsonthewall.Inthecenterofthepatternwasabullethole.Davetookapenlightfromhispocketandshineditintothehole.Hesmiled.
“Theslug’sinthere.”The medic tending her wound smiled. “Pretty good scalp wound, but no
penetrationoftheskull.She’llmakeit.”“Sing,”Daveasked,“whataboutReedandPete?”“Reed’slookingforBeck.”Shegasped.“AndMaxisstillupthere!”CaptoldDave,“AdamBurkhardt.”Daveeyedthecomputer.“Canyoushowuswhere?”“Lost Creek.” Sing tried to rise but couldn’t. She gestured toward her
computer.“Helpmeupthere.”Reed gave Beck a kiss, giving no thought to the mud, blood, and filth, thenimmediatelyturnedhisattentiontoherbatteredfaceandbloodstainedshirt.Hernoseandmouthhadbeenbleeding, thenapparentlywipedandsmearedwithadirtyrag.“Areyou...whathappened?”“Igotinafight.”“Somebodyhityou?”“Mysnottylittlecousin.”“Butyou’re,you’reallright?Nothingbroken,nothing...”“I’vebeenworse.ButI’mwithyounow,and—”Shegasped,hereyeslookinginhorroroverhisshoulder.Reedspun,thenfroze.Max Johnson emerged from the brush, limping, in pain, his shaved head
scratchedbybranchesandbleeding.Hesighteddownhisrifleatthem.Reedspokequietly,withoutmovingamuscle.“Max,it’sover.”Hewaggedhishead,hiseyesburning.“I’msorry,Reed.Ihavetosurvive.”Beckwhispered,hidingbehindReed.“Hemadethemonster.”ThepiecesflewtogetherinReed’smind.“Surviveaswhat?Youwanttoend
uplikeyourcreation?Akiller?”Themanwas trembling. The barrel of the rifle oscillated in erratic circles.
“It’sanaturalprocess.It’sbeengoingonforbillionsofyears.”“Max—”“Burkhardt!”hespat.“ProfessorAdamBurkhardt!”“Okay,”Reedloweredhisvoice.“ProfessorBurkhardt.Yousee?Youhavea
name.You’reaperson,aman;you’remorethanthatthingyoumade.”Thefaintsoundofahelicoptergrewlouder,comingcloser.Reed never broke eye contact. “And now, just look at yourself. Is this
ProfessorAdamBurkhardtstandinghere?Isthissomethinghewoulddo?”Burkhardtwasshaking.“Idon’twanttodothis!ButIhavetosurvive!”Reedinsisted,“Aswhat?”Burkhardtglancedathiscreation.The sound of the helicopter grew louder and then appeared from the
southwest,headingdirectlytowardthem.“Professor.When that chopper lands, what are they going to find standing
here?Aman,oramonster?”Burkhardtcouldnolongersightdowntherifle.Hiseyesstrayed,lookingfar
away,fillingwithtears.Therifledriftedtoonesideandthensankashisresolvemelted.Atlast,hisgazefellandhebegantoquake,weeping.Thechopperroseoverhead,circled,andbegantosettletowardalandingsite
beyondthetrees.“Professor.It’sover.”Burkhardtsanktohisknees,sobbinginshameandremorse.Reedreachedintohisshirtpocket.Thehandcuffswerethere,forthismoment.
Hepulledthemout.“ProfessorBurkhardt,you’reunderarrest.”HetooktheriflefromBurkhardt’sweakandtremblinghandsandhandedittoBeck.“It’smydutytoadviseyouofyourrights.Youhavetherighttoremainsilent...”HecuffedBurkhardt’shandsbehindhisback.
JimmyClarkandthetwosheriff’sofficerswereaghastwhentheyfirstarrived,andJimmyhadnotyetrecoveredevenashesnappedphotosofthesceneandofAdamBurkhardt’smonster.Click!Click!Click!Theclearingfromseveralcompassdirections.Click!Thelocationofthemonsterintheclearing.Click!Themonster,wideshot.Click!Theapelikefeet,missingtheopposingtoes.Click!Aclose-upoftheburninjuryonthesideofthehead,complimentsof
MelanieBrooksandherpanofhothamburgergrease.
Click!Aclose-upofthebulletwoundintheleg,complimentsofSheriffMills.Click,click,click!Jimmyloweredthecameraandshookhishead—something
he’dbeendoingincessantlysinceheandtheofficersarrived.Reedhadjustfinishedusingthechopper’sfirstaidkittocleanBeck’swounds
andprepare a cold compress for her face.Nowhe cameover to take one lastlookbeforetheyleftforthechopper.Jimmygazedathim,struggledforwords,andfinallycameupwith,“Iguess
you’vemadeyourpoint.”“Well,nexttime—”Reedsmiledandwavedthatoneoff.“No,wedon’twant
anexttime.”“No,wesuredon’t.”Theysharedalaughandthenahandshake.ThetwoofficershadBurkhardtbetweenthem.Burkhardtwouldn’tlookathis
monster;hewouldn’tlookupatall.Jimmyhollered,“Okay,let’sgetthesepeopleoutofhere.”Becksatinthecoarsegrass,holdingthecoldcompressagainstherfacewith
onehandwhilepullingitchy,pricklygrass,twigs,andmossfrominsidehershirtwiththeother.WhenReedandJimmycameovertohelpherup,Jimmyshiedbackfromthe
filth.“Eeesh!Whatdidyoudotoyourself?”“Hey!”Shegot toher feetwithoutanyhelpand lookedhimsquarely in the
eye.“Justforyourinformation,thisismyfamilyscent.IttellseverybodywhoIamandwhatI’vebeeneatingandhowI’mfeelingaboutthings.”ReedandJimmystaredather.“IteventellsyouwhetherIlikeyouornot,soreaditandweep—”“Beck,”Reedbegan.“—unlessyoucan’treadplainSasquatch!”“Beck?”Sheturnedtowardhim,herdignityreclaimed.“What?”“Whathappenedtoyourstutter?”Thequestionstoppedhercold.Plainly,shehadn’tnoticeduntilthismoment.
“Uh...”Sheglancedtowardthewoods.“MaybeGodtookit.”Hegave her a special smile and then pulled her in close. She clung to him
unabashedly.“Readytocomehome?”heasked.“Anywherewithyou.”Hegaveherhisarmtoleanon.“Comeon.Let’sgetyoutoahospital.”Thechopperwasparkedonarockyknollashorthikeupthehill.Asitrose
above the trees, Beck watched out the window and marveled: the mountainsreallywereasvastandmysteriousastheyseemed.Almostimmediately,JimmystartedcirclingasReedtappedhershoulderand
pointed.Theypassedover a deep,meandering ravinewith a creek runningdown its
center.Becauseofthethickforest,Beckcouldonlycatchafewquickglimpses,butitwasenoughforhertorecognizeanaturallogbridgeacrossthecreekandthesquare,split-shakeroofofaforlornlittlecabin.
epilogue
“What in theworldwere they thinking?”Aweek later,Reed still couldn’t getover it. “I mean, how were they going to explain all the dead people lyingaround?Didn’ttheythinksomebodywouldstarttowonder?”He sat atoneofArlenPeak’sbest tables at theTallPineResort, debriefing
and rememberingwithCap,Sing,Dave, and Jimmywhile theywaited for thebestbarbecuedsteakdinnerArlencouldwhipup.“The problemgot away from them, literally,” saidCap. “Even ifBurkhardt
andhiscrewhadacontainmentplan,ithadtobetrashedthemomentBeckgotgrabbed.Theseguysweredesperate.”“Nice pictures, Jimmy.” Sing,wearing a head bandage and amodified hair
arrangement,wasonceagaingluedtohercomputer.“ButThornecutusanicebreak,right,Reed?”Shewashinting.Shestillhadn’theardthefullexplanation.Noneofthemhad.Reedhadaraptaudience.“IfiguredThornehadtoleave
Kane’s gun with him so people would think Kane died from a self-inflictedgunshotwound.IhadawaypointinmyGPSmarkingwhereKaneandThorneleftoff,soIusedthattofindKane’sbody—thatandsomeluckyguessing.”“Amightylongshot,Reed,”saidJimmy.Reedshrugged.“That’sallIhadleft.”Jimmypattedhisshoulder.“Itwasbrilliant.Petewould’velikedit.”Reed,alongwiththeothers,fellintoasombermomentatthementionoftheir
oldfriend.“Itdoessoundlikesomethinghe’ddo,doesn’tit?”Davehadpluckedacrackerfromthebasketinthemiddleofthetableandsaid
withhismouthfull,“Sowhatweretheygoingtodowiththatmonster’scarcass,letthebirdseatit?”“Buryit,Isuppose,”saidSing.“Well,it’sinacoolernow,”saidJimmy.“JustlikeBurkhardt,”Reedquipped,andgotalaugh.“HeandMerrillcouldendupbeingbunkmates,”Capventured.“Tellthemaboutyourjob,”Singpromptedherhusband.Now Cap had their undivided attention. “Well, it looks favorable. I don’t
know whether the university’s had a change of heart or whether they’re justtryingtosaveface,but...”“Butyoucan’targuewithRight,”saidSingwithanoveractedpatonhishand,
“andthat’swhatyouare!”Arlensweptthroughtotakedrinkorders.“Andbytheway,it’snotsuchabad
ideatoletthebirdsandthebearsandthecoyoteseradicateacarcass.Theycanmakequickworkofit,letmetellyou.”HedirectedhisnextsentenceatJimmy.“Whichiswhynobody’severfoundaSasquatchskeleton.Naturehasawayoferasingthings.”Jimmysmirkedgood-naturedly,handsliftedinsurrender.“Whateveryousay,
Arlen.”“Didn’tBeckfindaskeletonupthere?”Daveasked.Reedputupahandofcaution.“That’sasensitivearea.”Cap interjected, “But remember, Jimmy:Those hairs fromBeck’s backpack
turned out to have clean DNA from a creature not yet catalogued. Nobodymutatedthatanimal;itwastherealthing.Sing peered closely at her computer screen. “Andyoumight take a look at
this,Jimmy,especiallysinceyoutookthesepictures.”TheyallroseandgatheredaroundSing’scomputer.Shescrolledthroughthe
photos as theymurmured, reacted, and pointed. They’d seen these before butwere more than eager to see them again. Sing clicked and enlarged one ofJimmy’s wide shots of the clearing. “See those two fir trees and that bushbetweenthem?”Theydid.Shescrolledtoamediumshotofthemonster’scorpseontheground.Thetwo
fir treeswere visible in the background. She clicked and dragged over the firtreesandzoomedinonthatarea.“Takealook,gentlemen.Takeyourtime.”Atfirsttherewassilenceastheystudiedtheblown-upimageoftwofirtrunks
withasplashingofgreen,yellow,andredleavesbetweenthem.Green,yellow,andred.Butredonlyinonearea.“IthinkIseeit,”saidReed,ashetraceditwithhisfinger.Sing clicked and dragged, enlarging the image until the saw-edge of the
individualpixelsbegantoappear.Jimmy’seyesnarrowed,gluedtothescreen.“Itookthispicture?”Theycouldallseeitnow:adomedhead,aredbrow,twoambereyes,anda
flat nose—a face peering through the leaves, keeping an eye on all that washappeningintheclearing.“That’sher,”saidReed.“That’sRachel.”“Beckneedstoseethis,”saidCap.“Whereisshe,anyway?”Jimmyasked.Reedputoutahandtocalmthemdown.“Outside.”“Sheokay?”theyallwonderedatonce.Reednodded.“She’llberightback.Shejustneededtosaygood-bye.”
Beckhadnotgonefar, justenoughofawalkup theLostCreekTrail tostandstillandsilentamongthetrees,outofsightofherworld,justbarelywithintheboundaryoftheirs.The swelling in her face was nearly gone, reduced to bruised patches of
yellow,purple,andblue.Hercutswerehealing.Heranklewasbacktobusinessasusual.Herstutterhadnotreturned.Shecouldstilllapseintoshyness,butforthefirst
timeinherandReed’smarriage,shewasansweringthephone.She’d gotten that shower and shampoo she used to dream about the first
severalnightsinthewoods—plentyofshowers,asamatteroffact.Herskinwasbathed,moisturized,andperfumed.Nevertheless,theSasquatchstenchstilllingered—inhermemory.She’dcometothisplacetowonder,shesupposed,justwonder,andforhow
long, shecouldn’tguess.Onemoment,onenight,one lifetimemightneverbeenoughtofinishwhatfeltsounfinished.Ifonly...She listenedfor thevoiceof the forest.Thebirdsweresinging theirclosing
number,butthereweren’ttoomany.Alightbreezemovedthroughthetreetops,butsogentlythatothersoundscouldstillbeheard.She didn’t feel foolish when she whistled; she only thought about how to
achievethatparticular,teakettle-likewaveringinthemainpartandthatcuriouswarble at the end.The first attemptwasonly fair.The secondwasbetter.The
thirdwasdelightful,almostexactlythewayRacheldidit.Thenshestoodquietly,listening,knowinghowunlikelyitwouldbe,thinking
shewouldnevertellanyone,wonderingifherwhistlewouldcarryfarenough.Thevoiceoftheforestcontinuedtospeak,butithadnothingtosaytoher.Yes,itwasabitfoolish.Themountainsweresovast,theforestssodeep.The
windcouldbewrong.Sheturnedtostartback—Somewhereoutthere,sofaraway,ateakettlewhistled.Sheheldsoverystill,notbreathing,strainingtohearitagain.Theteakettlewhistled,waveringinthemainpart,warblingattheend—andso
muchbetterthanBeckcoulddoit.Therewasnothingafterthat—onlythebreezeandthelastverseofonebird’s
eveningsong.Beckcriedalittle,deeplyhappyandnothavingtowonderquitesomuch.Shestartedbackdownthetrailwhileshestillhadlighttoseeherway.It could have been a bird. It could have been the bugle of an elk or the
squeakingofonetreeswayingagainstanother.Shecouldn’tbesure.Butitwasenoughfornow,andmaybeforever.
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behindthescenes
AnInterviewwithFrankPerettiQ.Howdidthepowerofstoryaffectyouasachild?A. It affectedme in a special way. I rememberwatching “TheWonderful
WorldofDisney”ontelevision;thestoriesandtheactionwereapartofme.ItwassomethingIknewimmediatelyIwantedtodo—beapartofthe story. I knew Iwas innatelymade to be a storyteller. Somepeoplereadstoriesasa“receptor.”Ireadstoriesasacreator.
Q.Howdidyoustartwriting?Whatwasyourfirstpieceofwritinglike?A. I’ve always been awriter.My first piece ofwritingwas a comic strip
calledTony theTerrier. Iwent from there to tappingout storiesonmyMom’s portable typewriter. Storytelling was inme, no question. Yearslater, Imadeupa story to tell at a juniorhighBible campand itwentoversowellIactuallywroteitalldownandsubmittedittoapublisher.ThepublisherwasCrosswayBooks,andthestorywasTheDoorintheDragon’sThroat,theveryfirstbookIeverpublished.
Q.Whydoyouwritefiction?A. The best way to convey a spiritual truth is by telling a story because
storieswork.Istartedoutasaspeakerforjuniorhighyouthcampsyearsago. It struck me one day, “You know, we’ve got five days of camp.That'stwochapelservices.Icangivethosekids10sermonsthatthey'reprobablynotgoing to remember,or Icangive themonebigeffect thatthey'regoingtoremember.”SoIdevisedastorywithcliffhangerendingsthatconveyeda spiritual truth. Justonegood truth that Iwanted togetacrossforthewholeweek.Ihavemetsomeofthosekids,whoarenowgrown up with kids of their own, and they remember that camp andrememberwhattheylearned.
Q.Whydoyouthinkpeopleremembersomuchmoreaboutstoriesthantheydoaboutsermons?
A.Storiesarepowerful.AfterthatcampIstartedthinking,“Man,ifIwanttoeffect thebodyofChrist, if Iwant to reachpeople, if Iwant tochange
theirlives,andconveyspiritualtruthtothem,thestoryisthewaytodoit.” The goal is always the same. I want to change people's lives andbringthemclosertotheLordinanewway.Iwanttoconfrontthemwithanissue.
Q.Whataresomeofthedifferentissuesyouhavedealtwithinyourbooks?A.InThisPresentDarkness,itwasspiritualwarfareandintercessoryprayer.
InPiercing the Darkness, it had to do with the encroachment of neo-paganismintotheeducationalandlegalsystem.AndinProphet,itdealtwith the Truth and really living by the Truth. InTheOath, it was sindepictedasthismonsterwaitingtodevourusthatwejustkindofignore.InTheVisitation,itwasthefalseChrist thatsomanyofusareserving.WehaveourownideaofwhatJesusoughttobelike.AndinMonster—whoooh!—there’s awhole lot of differentmessages.My first ideawasevolution. One of evolution’s best-kept secrets is that mutations don’twork.They’renotbeneficial.IbelievethatifIcanjustcreateastorythatsomehowaddressesthatonelegofevolution,Icangetpeoplethinking.Ican’tmakeabigscientificargument.Icanjusttellthestory.OneofthebestwaystoreallycombatthefortressofDarwinismistoallowpeopletowonder about it, to acquaint themwith the controversy so that theyknowthereisone.
Q.Allofyournovelsdealwithunknownevil—demons,sin,oppression,andnowmonsters.Whydoesyourwritingexplorethedarkside?
A. I know that I’m a suspensewriter. I guess I find those types of storiesinteresting.But if youdon’t have somekindof evil—well, at the leastsomekindofstruggle—thenyoudon'thaveastorytotell.You’vegottohavesomethingtodrivethestory.You’vegottohavesomethingtokeepthepagesturning.
Q.Whatdoyouhopereadersgetoutofyournovels?A. It’s surprising to know that a lot of folks—goodChristian folks—don’t
realizewhatkindofaboxtheymightbelivingin.Youhavetotest thetruth,butsomefolksdon’tevendothat.Myroleis,believeitornot—areyouready?—I’mabuilder.TheLordsays,“Frank,youjustbuild.BuildtheBodyofChrist.Youequipthem.Youbuild them.Youhelpthemtothink.HelpthemtoseeTruth.HelpthemtowalkclosertotheLord.Helpthemtojust, throughstories,testideas,testthingsthatthey’relivingorbelievingordoingor teachingorgrowingin.”That’swhatgoodfiction
oughttodo—justgetyouthinking.Q.MuchofChristianfictionisdidactic.HowdoyouavoidthatinMonster?A.Itisatightropetowalk.Christianfictionspendsalotoftimemakingits
point.Butgoodfictionneedstospendmoretimemakingthestorywork.Yes,IhaveanideaIamtryingtomovefurtherinMonster.ButIdon’twanttoframeanentirestoryaroundanargument.
Q. Your stories have a strong visual element. How do you write for thereaderto“see”thestory?
A.Classicnovelsarewrittenfortheloveofwords,therichnessoflanguage.Andwhile there is aplace for that styleofwriting, thebulkof today’sreaderswantastorytocreatevividimagesinthemind.Itrytowriteforourpresentculture,whichisvisually-oriented.Itisinterestinghowlittleyoucangiveareaderandyetheorshewillpictureitperfectly.
Q.Thevisualelementsofyourstoriesgivethemanengagingcinematicfeel.Which of your novels have been made—or are being made—intomovies?
A.So far,Hangman’sCurseandTilly. TheVisitation is in post-productionand should be released soon.We have our sights onTheOathand, ofcourse,ThisPresentDarkness,but those are going to be huge projectsandwe’llbetrustingGodforthestudio,personnel,andmoney.
Q.Whatdoyouliketoread?Whoaresomeofyourfavoriteauthors?A.Iusuallyreadnonfictionbooksdoingresearchformynextproject,butI
love agoodnovel and try to learn fromother authors. I guess IwouldclassifyMichaelCrichtonasmyfavoriteauthor.Inoticedjust theotherdaythatI’vereadpracticallyeverythinghe’swritten.
Q.Whichauthorshaveinfluencedyourwriting?A. No one in particular. I try to learn from everybody. But I learn from
movies too. I’malways looking for a good story and trying to analyzejustwhatmadeagoodstorygood.
Q.Whatistheprocessforwritingyournovels?A. It isalways thesamefour-stepprocess:brainspilling,outlining,writing,
and rewriting. Any novel I write takes a full two years to complete. Ioutline thoroughly and plan the book carefully before I ever begin towrite. I try toput in fivehoursadayandIuseakitchen timer tokeeptrackofmytime.Iuseanotebookcomputer,MicrosoftWord,andsome
reallycooloutliningprograms.I’vehadtotakespecialcareofmywristsandhandsinthepastfewyears,sonowIuseavoicedictationprogrampartofthetime,aswellasoneofthoseweird,ergonomickeyboardsandawireless,gyroscopicmouse.
Q.Areanyofyourcharacterslikeyou?Ifso,who?A.IhavealotincommonwithTravisJordan,theleadmaninTheVisitation,
buthe’stheonlycharacterIpurposelydrewfrommyownlife.Q.Whatadvicewouldyouoffertoaspiringwriters?A.Neverstoplearning.Learnallyoucanaboutthecraft.Knowwhatyou’re
doing.Readbooksabout it, takeclasses, readotherauthors,doallyoucan to develop your skill.Did you notice I didn’t say,Never give up?Persistence comes second to learning. If you don’t know what you’redoing, you can persist until you’re dead and never be a writer. I stillconsidermyselfastudentofwriting;I’mstilllearning.
Q.Doyouhaveagermofanideaforyournextbook?A.IhonestlyamthinkingaboutdoinganotherDarknessbook.Iwanttogeta
widerperspectiveofwhat’sgoingoninthosestories—whatishappeningintheworldaroundthecharacters.Ifyoucouldmakealistofthethingsthatchangedafter9-11, itwouldbehuge. I ambeginning to think thatoneofthebestwaystoexplorethisphenomenonis throughasequel toThisPresentDarkness.
Q.Canyoushareaparticularlymemorableencounterwithafan?A.Therehavebeenazillionofthose,butjusttogiveoneexample,IthinkI
stillhavealetterfromahighschoolgirlwhowasscheduledtohaveanabortionuntilafriendputacopyofTillyinherlocker,shereadit,andlether baby live. She sentme a photograph of herself, the baby, and heryouthpastor,andtoldmehowreadingoneofmybookssavedthelifeofher littledaughter.WhenIconsider testimonieslikethat,alongwithallthe countless folkswhohave found Jesus as theirSavior as a result ofreadingmywork,well,whatcouldbemorerewarding?
April2005
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JoinBiblical archeologistDr. JacobCooper and his children Jay andLila ontheir adventures as they discover the secret behind the two-mile-high Stone,solvethedeadlycurseofToco-Rey,researchthemysteryofthe“ghost”ofAnnieMurphyandflyaplaneinthemidstofaturbulentstorm.
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nateSpringfield,hiswifeSarah,andtheir twinchildrenElijahandElisha,arepart of the Veritas Project team. Follow this group as they travel the countryaiding the FBI and other organizations in breaking drug rings and solvingmysteries.Thesestoriescouldhavecomestraightfromtheheadlinesandwillleadkids
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“ThekingoftheChristianFictiongenreisFrankPeretti.”
—TimeMagazine
Thesleepy,easternWashingtonwheattownofAntiochhassuddenlybecomeagatewayforthesupernatural—fromsightingsofangelsandmessianicimagestoaweepingcrucifix.Thenaself-proclaimedprophetmysteriouslyappearswithanastoundingmessage.Thestartlingsecretbehindthisvisitationultimatelypushesone man into a supernatural confrontation that will forever alter the lives ofeveryoneinvolved.
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10thAnniversaryEditionoftheBest-SellingNovel
THEOATHA decade ago, Frank Peretti unleased what many fans consider his most suspenseful, multi-layered novel ever. To celebrate this best-selling novel's 10th anniversary, WestBow Press isreleasing a hardcover edition that includes special features and an all-new cover design. Thisanniversary edition is the perfect way to introduce new fans to this classic as well as offer akeepsakeforlong-timePerettifans.
SomethingsinisterisatworkinHydeRiver,anisolatedoldminingtowninthemountainsofthePacificNorthwest.Somethingevil.Underthecoverofdarkness,itstrikeswithoutwarning,takinglifeinthemost
chillingandsavagefashion.Thelatestvictim,naturephotographerCliffBenson,wasbrutallykilledwhilecampinginthemountains.Asthetownsfolkarepressedforinformation,theycloseranks,asifswornto
secrecy.Thediscoveryofoldlettersanddiariesofthetown'sforefathersbegintopeelawaythelayersofmysterysurroundingHydeRiver.Whatisdiscoveredisapredatormoreterrifyingthananythingtheyhadimaginedandatowninthegripofunspeakableevil.INSTORESEVERYWHERESEPTEMBER2005
S
AnexcerptfromTheOath
ONE
TheKilling
HE RAN, tree limbs and brambles scratching, grabbing, tripping, andslappingherasiftheywerebonyhands,reachingforheroutofthedarkness.Themountainsidedroppedsteeply,andsheranpell-mell,herfeetunsureon
pineneedlesandloosestones.Shebeatatthelimbswithflailingarms,lookingforthetrail,fallingoverlogs,gettingupanddartingtotheleft,thentheright.Afallenlimbcaughtherankle,andshefellagain.Wherewasthetrail?Blood. She reeked of it. It was hot and sticky between her fingers. It had
soakedthroughhershirtandsplatteredonherkhakipantssoherclothesclungtoher.Inherrighthandsheheldahuntingknifeinanirongrip,unawarethatthetipofthebladewasbrokenoff.Shehadtomakeitoutofthesehills.SheknewwhichwaysheandCliffhad
comeandwherethey’dparkedthecamper.Allshehadtodowasbacktrack.Shewas crying, praying, andbabbling, “Let himgo, let himgo.Oh, Jesus,
saveus...Goaway,lethimgo,”asshegropedherwayalong,stoopingunderlimbs,clamberingovermorelogs,andpushingherwaythroughtangledthicketsinthedark.At last she found the trail, a narrow, hoof-trodden route of dirt and stone
descending steeply along the hillside, switch-backing through the tall firs andpines.Shefolloweditcarefully,notwantingtogetlostagain.“Oh,Jesus,”shesaid.“Oh,Jesus,helpme...”
HAROLD BLY had no reputation for mercy and no qualms about dragging hiswhimpering,pleadingwifeoutofthehouse,throughthefrontyard,andintothestreetwherehetossedherawaywithasmuchrespectashewouldhavegivenaplastic bag filledwith garbage.MaggieBly tumbled to the streetwith a yelp,bloodying her palms and elbow on the rough asphalt. Hurt and afraid, sherightedherself and sat there, a blubbery, blue-jeanedmess, her tousledblonde
hairhangingoverhereyes.Withthebackofherhand,shesweptherhairasideand sawher enragedhusbandwalking away fromher, a silhouette against theporchlightthatformedaglaring,dancingstreakthroughhertears.“Harold!”shecried.Harold Bly, a tall, barrel-chested man, turned, one foot planted on the top
porchstep,anddeignedtolookuponhiswifeonemoretime.Therewasnopityin his eyes. In his mid-forties and twenty years her senior, he was and hadalwaysbeenabossmanwhodidnottakekindlytobetrayals.He’denjoyedthrowingherintothemiddleofthestreet.Infact,hewishedshe
wouldgetupsohecoulddoitagain.“It’sallover,Maggie,”hesaidwithaslightshakeofhishead.“It’sadonedeal.”Her eyes widened in terror. Gasping and whimpering, she struggled to her
feet,thenrantohim.“Harold,please...don’t.I’msorry,Harold.I’msorry.”“Youthinkyoucangotwo-timingonmeandthenjustsayyou’resorry?”he
shouted, thenpushedherdowntheporchstepswithsuchstrength thatshefellagain,lettingoutacrytheneighborscouldhear.“Harold,pleasedon’tmakemego.Please!”“Toolate,Maggie,”hesaidwithawaveofhishandasifpassingsentenceon
her.“It’sonlyamatteroftimenow,andthere’snothingIcandotostopit.Nowyou’dbettergetoutofhere,andImeangetwayoutofhere.”Heturnedtogoinside, then added, “I don’t want you around me when it happens. Nobodydoes.”“ButwherecanIgo?”shecried.“Well,youshould’vethoughtofthatalotsooner.”Acrossthenarrowstreetalacecurtainwaspulledeversoslightlyopen,and
thewife of amining company foremanwatched the dramawhile her childrenwatchedcartoonsonasatellitechannel.TwodoorsdownandoppositetheBlys’large, brick home, a miner and his wife cracked open their front door andlistenedtogether.“Harold,” they could hear Maggie almost screaming, “don’t leave me out
here!”Hewasjustopeningthefrontdoor,butheturnedoncemoretostabatherwith
hisfinger.“Youstayawayfromme,Maggie!Youcomenearhere,andI’llkillyou,youhearme?”
Thefrontdoorslammed,andnowMaggiewasaloneinthedark.Ihopeshedoesn’tcomehere,theforeman’swifethoughtandquicklyletgoof
thelacecurtain.Theminerandhiswifelookedateachother, thenclosedtheirdoorquietly,hopingMaggiewouldn’thearthesound.Maggiewiped away the tears that blurredher vision and looked around the
neighborhoodforanyhaven,anysignofwelcome.Maybeshecouldgo to theCarlsons. . .No.Shesawtheparlorcurtainsof their turn-of-the-centuryhomebeingdrawnacrossthewindows.TheBrannons,perhaps?No.Acrossthestreet,shesawtheporchlight,thenthelivingroomlight,oftheirwhitehouseblinkout.ItwasaclearJulynight,andMaggierealizedthatmostoftheneighborhood
musthaveheard theargument.Noneof theneighborswouldopen thedoor toher;theywouldn’triskHarold’swrath.Despitethewarmthoftheevening,Maggiefeltcold,andshefoldedherarms
close toherbody.She lookeddown the steephill toward the rest of the little,has-been town and felt nowarmth from the tight rowsofmetal-roofed homesand aging businesses. The rooflines with their chimneys looked like night-blackenedsawteethagainstthemoonlitmountainsidebeyond.Therewashardlyalightonanywhere.SuddenlyMaggierealizedshewasastrangernow,andtoanystranger,Hyde
Rivercouldbeacoldandsharp-edgedplace.She wandered fearfully down the hill toward the highway that ran through
town,herhandgoingtoherheartasiffeelingadeeppain.Shelookedbehind,thenahead, theninto theblacksky,wherestars twinkledbenignlybetweenthehigh mountain ridges. She stared for a long moment at the Hyde MiningCompany,an immenseconcretecitadel justacross theriver,nowblackagainstthesky.Inherterror-crazedimagination,thewindowsoftheoldbuildingwereeyesand thehugedoorsmouths,and itwassizingherupforameal.Shewassuresheevensawitmove.Shequickenedherstep, lookingoverhershoulder,thentowardtheskyagain,asifsomeunseenmonsterlurkedthere.She came to the Hyde River Road, the narrow, two-lane highway that ran
throughthecoreofthetownandmeanderedsouththroughthirtymilesofdeepvalleytothetownofWestFork,andbeyondthat,totheoutsideworld.Justafewblocksup thehighway, the townputon itsbest face.There,youngbusinessesclusteredarounda four-way stop.Down thehighway in theoppositedirectionwastheoldpartoftown.Ithadbeenthroughalotmorewinters,hadhungtoughthrough a century of booms and busts, and made no apologies for its age.
Maggiehurriedupthehighway,towardthenewersectionoftown,throughthefour-waystopandpast the smallbusinesses, theTrueValueHardwareand theChevronstation,Charlie’sTavern,stillopen,andDenning’sMercantile.Beyondthese,thetownwasasteadilydecayingparadeoframshacklehomes,boarded-upstorefronts,dismemberedpickuptrucks,andrustedmineequipment.FinallyshecametotheMcCoys’mobilehome,awindowed,metalshoeboxwithnowheels,perchedandsaggingonpierblocksandconcrete-filledoildrums,theruinedroofnowsupplementedbyheavyblue tarpaulins.Maggie could seeBerthaMcCoypeeringout ather throughherkitchenwindow.When their eyesmet,Bertha’sfacequicklydisappeared.Maggie approached the toy-strewn front yard.Griz andTony, theMcCoys’
two mongrels, barked at her, which set the other dogs in the neighborhoodbarking.Aknockonthedoorbythistimewouldbeonlyamatterofcourtesy;theMcCoyshadtoknowsomeonewasthere.Maggieknocked,justafewtimidtaps,andBerthacalledfrominside,“What
doyouwant?”“Bertha?Bertha,it’sMaggie.”“Whatdoyouwant?”Maggie hesitated, flustered. What she wanted was nothing she felt
comfortableshoutingthroughadoor.“CanItalktoyouaminute?”Thencameaman’svoice.“Whoisit?”AndBertha’svoicereplied,“Maggie
Bly.”“What’s she doing here?” the man’s voice asked. Then the two voices
mutteredinahusheddiscussionwhilethedoorremainedshut.Finallythemancalled,“Whatareyoudoinghere,Maggie?”“I—”Shelookedaroundwithfear-widenedeyes.“Ican’tstayouthere.”“Thengohome.”“Ican’t.Harold—”Shehadtosayit.“Haroldkickedmeout.”ElmerMcCoy, once a foreman forHydeMining,waswell acquaintedwith
HaroldBly,andMaggiecouldhearitinthestrainedtoneofhisvoice.“Maggie,we’vegotnoquarrelwitheitheroneofyou,andwedon’twantonenow.”Maggiepressedcloselyagainst thedooras if forprotection.Allaround, the
town lay in thecold,graycolorsofnight,and toher,everydarkenedwindow,everyshadow,seemedtobehidingsomethingsinister.
“Elmer,ifyoucouldjustletmeinforawhile...”She could hear Bertha begging Elmer in a voice that quavered with fear.
“Elmer,don’tletherinhere!”“Goaway,Maggie!”heyelledthroughthedoor.“Please...”Elmer’s voice sounded frightened as he said, “Go away, you hearme?We
don’twantyourtrouble.”Sheturnedaway,andthedogsbarkedatheruntilshewasoutofsight.
EVELYNBENSONstayedonthesteeptrailformiles,takingstepafterjarring,downhillstepuntilat last the trailemptiedonto the loggingroadsheandCliffhadfollowed.Havingmadeit thisfar,herdesperationgavewaytoexhaustion,herkneesbuckled,andshesanktothegroundonthesideoftheroad,toonumbwithshocktoweep,tooemotionallyspenttopray.Bynowthebloodthatsoakedher clothing hadmingledwith sweat, and the night wind drew heat from herbodyuntilshebegantoshiver.GOAWAY!” Carlotta Nelson hissed from behind the door of the small, one-storyhouse.“Please,Carlotta!Letmein.Ican’tstayouthere!”Maggiecried,standingon
thefrontporchandclingingtotheknobofthecloseddoor.CarlottaNelson andRosieCarson, semi-cute andnot quite young anymore,
werestillthetown’sfavoriteladies—anddeterminedtostaythatway.“Ican’tletyouinhere,”Carlottareplied,“notifHaroldkickedyouout.You
oughttoknowthat!”“Carlotta,I’mscared!”Carlotta, her long blonde hair pulled back in a loose braid, exchanged a
worriedlookwithRosie,apetite,freckledredhead.Carlottahadherhandonthedoorknob,nottoopenit,buttobesureitwouldn’tturn.RosiewasnearthedooronlybecauseshecouldhidebehindCarlotta.“Well—
well,we’rescaredtoo,youfollow?”sheshoutedoverCarlotta’sshoulder.“Justletmeinforthenight,”Maggiepleaded.“I’mdeadifIstayouthere!”Dead?Did she say dead?Carlotta shot a lookof terror atRosie, andRosie
shotitrightback:Onlyawoodendoorstoodbetweenthemandtheworstkindoftrouble.“That’syourproblem,”Carlottasaid,andnowhervoicewasquavering.“And
youcantakeitsomewhereelse,youhear?Nowgetoutofhere!”Maggiewasweeping again. “Please, letme in. I’ll leave in themorning, I
promise!”Herpleawasmetwithsilence.Finally,Maggieturnedand,inastuporoffear,drifteddowntheporchstepsto
themainsidewalk,stayingclosetobuildings,cars,andtrees,continuallylookingoverhershoulder,towardthesky,anddownthehighway.HADHEnotbeenforcedtoslowdownduetothepoorconditionoftheroad,thetruckerwouldneverhaveseenEvelynintime.Asitwas,hehadtobrakequicklywhenhisheadlightscaughther,lyinglikeabloodycorpseontheroad.Hebrought his logging rig to a grinding, growlinghalt about ten feet away
fromthepronebody.Asheeasedhimselfdownfromthecab,thetruckercouldalreadyfeelhimselfstartingtoshake.Itwasdark,hewasalone,andtherecouldbemoretothissituationthanhecouldseeinhisheadlights.Heapproachedthemotionlessbodywarily,expectingtheworst:ahuntingaccidentorabearattack;maybe a raped,mutilatedbodydumpedby somepervert.Heglancedover hisshoulder.Whatiftheattackerwasstillinthearea?“Hello?”hecalledtentatively.Evelyn stirred andmoaned into theground.The truckerquickenedhis step.
Reachingher, he stoopeddownandgently turnedherover.Shewas limp,hereyesclosed,her facewaxen.Hecradledherheadand feltherneck.Herpulsewasstrong,herbreathingnormal.“Ma’am,canyouhearme?”Sheawokewithastart.Evelynwasnotawareofwhoshewas,whereshewas,orwhowasholding
her.Allthatregisteredinhermindwerethetruck’simposinggrill,therumblingdiesel engine, and especially, the glaring headlights—they looked like eyes toher.Witha terrible shriek, shebroke free from the trucker and leapt toher feet,
staggering with exhaustion, stained with blood, her right hand wielding herknife, the broken blade flashing in the headlights. The trucker, fearful for hisownsafety,scrambledawayfromher,awayfromthatblade.Stunned,hestoodintheroadwatchingthewomanas,withcrazedeyesandacougarlikescream,she assaulted his truck with the knife, shrieking, kicking, lashing at the bigmachine,thebladeclangingoverthegrill.Thenrealizingthatshewasgoingto
hurt herself, the trucker leapt forward andgrabbedher, pullingher away fromthetruck.Shekickedandscreamedandalmostslicedhisearoff.VICMOORE, tall, bearded, andburly, didn’t need any trouble either.Findingwork inHydeValleywasn’t easy thesedays, especially for a contractor.Well,he’dmanagedtokeepfoodonthetable,whichsaidsomethingforhisstrengthandcleverness.He’dalsomanagedtostaymarriedtothesamewomanforgoingonsixyears,whichinitselfwasquiteanaccomplishment—andsaidsomethingforCarlottaNelson’sability tokeepasecret.So thingsweregoing fine, thankyou,andcouldonlygetbetterfromhere.Atleast,thatwaswhathethoughtuntilthatnight.He was just getting ready for bed, standing bare-chested in front of the
bathroomsink,whenhenoticedwhatlookedlikearashorsomebrokenbloodvesselsdirectlyoverhisheart.Heleanedtowardthemirror,tryingtogetabetterangletostudythestrangemark.Itseemedtohavealacy,veinlikepatterntoitandcoveredanareaoverhisbreastbonean inchor sowideanda little longerthanthewidthofhishand.Whatintheworldwasthis?hewondered.Fromsomewheredeepinhismemory,ananswersurfaced,andtheheartjust
beneath thatmark began to pound faster.Vic grabbed the edge of the sink tosteadyhimself.Hisheadbegantoswimasreasonandlogicfoughtagainstfearanddenial.Thismark,thisblemish,couldn’tbewhathethoughtitmightbe.Hedidn’tbelieveallthatstuffhe’dheardsincehewasakid.No,he’djustpulledamuscleor something;brokenacoupleofbloodvessels swingingahammerorliftingaradialarmsaw.He’dbeenworkinghardlately.A loud knock at the front door made him jump. There was a moment of
silence,followedbydesperatepounding.Dottie,hiswife,wasintheshower,andheknewshecouldn’theartheknocking.Viccursedthebadtiming.Whointheworld—?Hehad tocoverhimself.Hecouldn’t letanyonesee—Oh,comeon,he told
himself,justputyourshirton.It’snobigdeal.Heputonhisshirt,whichwashangingonahookonthebackofthebathroom
door.Forgoodmeasure,hegrabbedhisrobe,too.Thepoundingcontinued,andasViccrossedhislivingroomtowardthefront
door, tying his robe as hewent, he could hear a voice. “Hello!Hello, please,somebody!”Uh-oh.ItsoundedlikeMaggieBly.
Heswungthedooropen.Maggiealmostknockedhimoverasshepushedherwayinsideandheldhim,practicallyclimbedhiminterror.“Vic,letmein,letmein!”Vicwasstartled,thenangry.“Maggie,what’reyoudoing?Whatisthis?”She held on to him, her eyes fixed on the front door as if something had
chasedherinside.Herwordstumbledoutlikethoseofafrightenedchild.“Vic,yougottaletmestayhere,Iwon’tbeanytrouble,letmestayhereplease,Ican’tgooutthere!”“Maggie, now calm down!” he hissed, forcibly breaking her hold on him.
“And pipe down,will you? I’ve gotDottie and the kids here.Youwanna getthemallupset?”Maggie tried toquietdown,buthervoicewas stillhigh-pitchedwith terror.
“Please,justdon’tmakemegooutthere...”Viclookedtowardthehallwayleadingtothebathroom.Hecouldstillhearthe
showerrunning.Hewasgettingnervous.“What’sthematter?Whathappened?”Maggie rubbed the area over her heart as if trying to ease a pain. “Harold
kickedmeout.”Vicsawwhatshedidasheheardwhatshesaid,andhewasfrightened.She
leaned toward him.He backed away. “Easy,Maggie, easy.Harold kicked youout?Whatfor?”Shestoodthere,justcrying,notlookingathim.Vicinsisted,“Why’dhekickyouout?”“I’ve never had this happen to me before . . .” she said, sidestepping the
question.Vicgot thepicture,andhis face tightenedwith fear.Hestepped to thedoor
andswungitallthewayopen.“Out.”Herdeathsentence.“Vic—”“Out!Now!”She clasped her hands in front of her imploringly. “Vic, don’t you know
what’soutthere?”Heloweredhisvoicetoawhisper,hopingshewouldtakethecue.“It’sgonna
stayoutthere.You’renotbringingitinhere.”“Ididn’tmeanit—”
Vic’sspeechacceleratedashegrewmoreagitated.“Maggie,whateveryou’redoing, it’sgotnothingtodowithme,andit’sgotnothingtodowithDottieormykids.Nowgetoutofhere!”Shehesitated,trembling,unableorunwillingtomove.Vicknewhehadtoget
her out of his house—and quickly. Reaching out, he grabbed her by the arm,thendraggedhertowardthedoor.Sheletoutacry.“Shutup!”hehissed,andthenhethrewherout.Heclosedthedoorandbolted
it.The shower had stopped. A few moments later, Dottie, a lovely woman
wearingatowelonherheadandarobe,walkedintothelivingroom.“Whowasthat?”sheaskedherhusbandwithsomeconcern.Vichadbeenstandinginthemiddleoftheroom,lookingatthedoor,waiting
to see if Maggie would dare come back. As he turned to face his wife, hecouldn’thidethefactthathewasquiteupset.“Stupidkids,throwingrocks.”“Whatdidyoudo?”“Ichased’emoff.”“Didyouseewhotheywere?”“Naw,itwastoodark.”Shewasabouttoaskanotherquestion,buthebrushedpasther,scratchingan
itchoverhisheartashewalkedoutoftheroom.Hewantedtogettobed,toturnthelightsout,andtoputthisdaybehindhim.Hedidn’twanttoansweranymorequestions.MAGGIECAMEatlasttoCobb’sGarage,formerlyanoldminingcompanyfirestationhaphazardlyconstructedofstoneandbrickwithtwohugewoodendoorsonironhinges.Thelightswereon;Leviwasworkinglate.Shewenttothesideentranceandwithno thoughtofknocking, tried thedoor.Finding itunlocked,sheenteredquickly,slammedthedoorshutbehindher,andleanedagainstit.Hermindwasset:LeviCobbmightpickherupandthrowherout,butshewouldnotleaveonherown.Shewouldnotbeoutsideforonemoremoment.Autilitytruckfromthephonecompanywassittinguponjacks,andMaggie
spottedLevijustbeyondthebackendofthetruckbytheclutteredworkbench.Abearded,graying,heavysetfellowwithwire-rimmedglassesandthehugearmsof a laborer, hewas holding awelding torch in one hand and just raising hiswelder’smasktoseewhohadcomein.Atthesightofherstandingagainstthedoor,holdingitshut,tremblinganddisheveled,hecockedhishead.
“Mrs.Bly?”STEVEBENSON>hadgottenacallfromEvelyn’smotherinthemiddleofthenightandarrivedat theClarkCountyMedicalCenter inWestForkbeforetwoo’clock the next afternoon. He could sense fatigue chasing him down thehospitalcorridor,butheknewhehadthestaminatooutrunit.Hestrodedownthehallway,weavingpastpatientsinwheelchairs,pastnursesanddoctors,intenton findingRoom 31. He was aware of people staring at him as he passed. Atowering man dressed in rugged, outdoor clothes, he knew he looked out ofplace in thatwhite, sterile environment, and yes, he did look like he’d drivenhalf the night, his face a blackening stubble and his eyes glazed and intense.Theycouldstarealltheywanted,hethought.HisprioritywastoseeEvelynandfindoutifhisbrotherCliffhadbeenlocated.Hespottedthenurses’stationandthesheriff’sdeputywaitingthereforhim—
at least shewas dressed like one.At the sight of her, his impatiencewent upanother notch. What was the sheriff’s department thinking, “Aw, the CliffBenson thing’s no big deal, only aminor case, send the girl”? She looked toSteve likeagreen-as-grass rookie:auburnhair trimmedneatlyat theneckandnotahairoutofplace,asifshe’dneverdoneamoment’spolicework.Lean,fitbuild.Achina-dollface.Healsonoticedshelookedillatease,woundup,likeitwasherfirstdayonthejob.Great.Justgreat.Shewaslookinghisway.Don’ttrytostopme,younglady.“CanIhelpyou?”sheasked,walkingtowardhim.“I’mSteveBenson,”hesaid,comingtoahalttokeepfromrunningoverher.“Mrs.Benson’sbrother-in-law?”“That’s right,” he answered, letting her shake his hand but already looking
pasther,towardthecorridorbeyond,anxioustoseeEvelyn.“I’mTracyEllis, the county, I’m the—I’mwith theClarkCounty Sheriff’s
Department,” she was saying. Yeah, she was nervous all right. It wasunderstandable.“Evelyn’smothersaidyouwerecoming.Soyou’rethebrotherofthe—uh—”Steve finally gave her his full attention, if only to get around her. “Cliff
Bensonismybrother.”Sheseemedtogropeforhernextquestion.“Are—areyoualone?Hasanyone
comewithyou?”
“I’malone.Let’scut to thechasehere. Iwant toseemysister-in-law,andIwanttoknowifyou’vefoundmybrother.”She readhis faceandhis tone,droppedhereyes foramoment, then finally
said,“Evelynisalive,safe,sedated.Noseriousinjuries.Shewascutandbruisedandinshockwhenthetruckdriverbroughtherin,butshe’srestingnow.She’llbeallright.”Stevedidnotmissthefactthatshe’dtoldhimonlyaboutEvelyn.Butbefore
he could speak, she touched his arm. “Could we sit down first, just for amoment?”“Whatfor?”Sheonlyansweredgently,“Comeon,”andledhimtoawaitingareajustoff
the hallway, a spacious roomwith comfortable chairs,Peoplemagazines, bigwindows.Hesank intoasoftchairby thewindow,achairalreadywarmedbythe afternoon sun. It felt better than he’d expected; his body was giving himhintsaboutneedingrest,hintshe’dbeenignoring.TracyEllispulledachairover so shecould sitoppositeandclose.Shewas
holdingafolder,nodoubtthedetailsofthecasegatheredthusfar,Stevethought,buthenoticedshedidn’topenit.Instead,shejustlooked—hecouldseeshewasstrugglingtofindwords.But her expression said enough.He could read the truth in her eyes, feel it
boringintohisguts,overpoweringhishopes,dashinghisstrongestdesirestonotbelieve.“Ismybrotherdead?”Shestillhesitated.Finallyshesaid,“Um,weneedapositiveidentificationof
thebody,but...yes,it’salmostcertainthatyourbrotherCliffisdead.”A flicker of hope returned, but only to torment him. “What—what do you
mean,almostcertain?”Shequicklyopenedthefolderandscannedhernotesforspecificinformation.
“Did—”She flipped toanotherpage.“—yourbrotherCliffhavea scaronhisrightleg,uh,onthesideofhisthigh?”Stevetookadeepbreath.Hecouldfeelhimselfgoingnumb.Herfacewasfullofapology,butshewaswaitingforananswer.Henodded.“He,uh,shothimselfinthelegwithapistolwhenhewassixteen.
Hewastryingtoshowmehisquickdraw.”Hecouldseeitall:thehand-drawn
paper target tacked to the old oak tree out behind the house; Cliff, tall andgangly, with that holster tied to his leg and that drooping cowboy hat. ClintEastwood,moveover.“Hewas—hewasacrazykid.”AndIlovedhimforit.“I’msosorry.”“Whathappened?”“We’re not sure. Last night, a truck driver found Mrs. Benson alone on a
loggingroaduponWellsPeak.Shewasinshockandincoherent,buthadsomeIDonher.Wecalledherhomeandfoundoutfromoneofhersonsthatsheandyourbrotherhadgonecampingtogether.Wefoundyourbrother’sbodyonWellsPeak early this morning.” She paused, then said carefully, “By the looks ofthings,wethinkhemayhavebeenthevictimofabearattack.”Mayhavebeen?“Youcan’ttellabearattackwhenyouseeit?”His tonewassharp;hewasinsuchpainhecouldn’thelp it.Henoticedthat
she took itwell, remaining calmandpleasant thoughvisibly tense. “Wedon’thavealltheinformationyet.Firstofall,bearattacks,ifthat’swhatthiswas,areextremelyrarearoundhere,atleastthereportedbearattacks,and—”Shehatedtoadmit this. “—we’veneverestablishedaprocedure forexpeditingacaseofthis sort. In this part of the country, it takes time to gather the personnel andworkoutthelogistics.Now,yourbrother’sbodywastakentothemorgueinOakSprings— that’s over the pass, about thirty miles from here. The autopsy isscheduled for tomorrow, and we’re hoping the county medical examiner canmakeadetermination.Inthemeantime,we’vecontactedtheDepartmentofFishandGame,andthey’regoingtogetsomepeopleouthere—”“MarcusDuFresne?”Shestopped.“Uh—excuseme?”“The conservation officerwith Fish andGame. It’sMarcusDuFresne, isn’t
it?”Shecockedherhead.“Youknowhim?”“We’veworkedtogether.Ihelpedhimtagsomebearslastyear.Isheonthis
case?”Shehesitatedjustalittle,butreplied,“Yes,Ithinkheis.”Nervously running his hands through his straight, black hair, he said, “I’d
bettergetintouchwithhim,then.We’vegottogetrightonthisbeforethesignsfade,beforewelosetheevidence—”
“Well,I’msureMr.DuFresneiswellqualified—”“Webothare.It’lltakebothofus.”Stevewasawarehewastalkingtooloud,
toofast,buthecouldn’tstophimself.Itwasasifhewereputtingallhispainandangerintoacourseofaction,intosomethinghecouldcontrol.“Mr. Benson.” She raised her hand to cut him short. “Give it some time.
You’retooclosetothis—”“Wedon’thavetime!”hesnapped.“Ifthiswasabearattack,thesignscould
fadewithinhours.”“Therearequalifiedpeopleworkingonthis—”“Youwantqualifications?Isthatit?”Stevesaid,raisinghisvoice.“Woulda
Ph.D.inbiologicalsciencebegoodenoughforyou?Howaboutaprofessorshipat Colorado State University, teaching environmental science and biology? Iknowbears,Deputy!I’vespecializedingrizzlyandblackbearbehaviorforthepasttenyears.I’veconsultedwiththeNationalParkService,I’vechairedtwelveboards of inquiry into bear attacks, I’m currently doing research on grizzlyhabitatandseasonaluseinGlacierNationalPark.Asamatteroffact,I’mevenintheprocessofwritingdownsomeofwhatIknow,andyoucanreadallaboutitwhenI finishmybook,but fornow,I’vegotabrotherkilledandapossibleroguebear responsible, and . . .”He stopped, exhaled a long sigh, and leanedforward,restinghisheadonhisfingertips.Hehadgonetoofar,andheknewit.Her calm and soothing responsewasmuch to her credit. “Dr.Benson,why
don’twegetyou in to seeyour sister-in-law?Wecan talkmore afteryou seeher.”Histonewassofter,apologetic.“Iwouldgreatlyappreciatethat.”
SHEWASmorethanjustanin-law.StevehadknownEvelynlongbeforeshe’dfallen forCliff.He’d evendatedher a few timeshimself.Shewas a longtimefriend,akidsister,atease,withjustenoughedgetomakeherperfectforaguylikeCliff.Ashestolequietlyintoherhospitalroom,hesawhermother,AudreyMiller,sittingbesidethebed,holdingherhand.Abouquetofflowerswasonthebedsidetableandclassicalmusicwasplayingsoftlyfromthebuilt-inradio.Stevedidn’tknowwhattoexpect,butwhenhesawEvelynlyingonthewhite
sheets,paleandweakbutsafeandcaredfor,thesweetknowledgethatshewasaliveoverwhelmedhim,andhebegantocry.Audrey turned and her face lit up. She spoke in a hushed, bedside voice.
“Steve!Oh,hello,”andthensheroseandembracedhimastearsfilledhereyes.
They held each other for as long as it took to exchange comfort, sorrow,understanding.Therewerenowords.Whatcouldbesaid?Stevethought.He looked at Evelyn.Her facewas turned hisway, but her expressionwas
listless.Shegavenohintthatsherecognizedhim.AudreykeptonearmaroundSteveasshefollowedhisgazetothebed.“She’sstillinshock,Ithink.”Steveapproached,bentdown,andlookedintoEvelyn’seyes.“Evie?”hesaid
softly.“It’sSteve.”Foramoment therewasno response.Then, likeadelayedreaction, her eyes came to life and looked into his.Her lips quivered slightly,thenformedaveryweakandslurred“Steve...”She’dbeen through somethinghorrible,Steve thought.Her curly blackhair
was still matted with dried blood, her face and hands marred with cuts andbruises.