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,pleasee-mailSpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

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.”

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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.