Mike was startled awake, a hand across his mouth. He tensed as he waited for the blade to slide in. It was Stacy. She had a finger to her lips as she slowly pulled her hand away from his face.
“Outside," she whispered. “I heard something.”
Mike was thankful it hadn’t been an advance on her part. Knowing this family, when he rejected her, she was likely to beat him to death with a mallet. He sat up quickly and attempted to stand, but Stacy had been fixated on what was going on outside and had not moved. They collided, and he fell back with her falling on top of him.
“What the fuck!?” Tim shouted. “Are you boinking my cousin, you sick bastard? You’re like, double her age, and you’re married!”
“Tim, shut up, we’re not boinking. I heard something, so I woke him up.”
“How were you trying to wake him up?” he asked, leering.
“Cousin, you have got to stop watching porn. Not everything leads to sex. People don’t screw others while they’re sleeping, no one has ever got their arm stuck in a dryer, and I can guarantee if another woman walks in on a couple having sex, she won’t want to join or even be invited to.”
“You sure do know a lot about those kinds of things,” Tim told her.
“Ha ha. I’ve seen your browser history, cuz. Ever hear of incognito mode?”
“Can I get up now?” Mike turned his head away from the breast firmly planted on the side of his face.
“Sorry.” Stacy stood up.
“Good thing you weren’t messing with her!” Tim was pointing a finger at Mike.
“I’m not so sure why you bothered saving me if you’re in such a rush to beat my ass.”
“Saving you wasn’t my idea, remember?”
“Will you two shut up? There’s something outside.”
Mike found himself uncomfortably close to Tim as they both headed to the window. The storm had run its course; moonlight sifted through the constant cloud cover, giving the snow-covered ground a haunted glow.
“Help me!” The dampening effects of the snow made it impossible to tell if the words had been screamed from a great distance or whispered nearby.
“Sounds like a trap,” Tim said as Mike rushed for the door.
“Yeah, the yetis learned English overnight and are baiting a trap,” Mike told him as he braced for the cold. Snow had drifted halfway up the door and fell into the cabin as Mike pushed through it.
“You’re going to clean that up!” Tim called after him.
Now that the storm was through and Mike could see more than a few feet, there wasn’t a chance in hell he was stepping back in Tim’s. As far as he could tell, the ground in front wasn’t disturbed by footprints, regular or extreme sized.
“Help me.”
His heart began to pound as he saw a figure emerging from around an empty cabin. His first instinct was to rush to their aid, but something wasn’t right; they weren’t moving away from the edge of the cabin, and he could see that the person’s head kept looking to the side.
Tim came out and marched past Mike.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mike told him.
“Just because you’re a scared little bitch doesn’t mean I am too.”
Mike wanted to just say fuck it and let Tim go and explore. The last time he’d been so tempted was when he’d been trying to lose a few pounds by dieting, and he’d been offered a deep-fried hamburger. He’d caved then, but he didn’t think that was such a wise maneuver this time.
“Tim, make them come to you.” Mike moved to the side to line up a shot.
“Why?” Mike didn’t think Tim was asking him, but rather questioning the situation, most likely sensing something as well.
“This isn’t right. Whoever you are, step away from the cabin.”
“Please help me," she begged.
“Blaire? Is that you?” Mike asked.
“It’s got me; you have to help.”
Mike saw tears falling from her face like glittering jewels of sadness.
“What’s got you?” Mike kept the rifle to his shoulder and his eye to the sights as he kept swinging farther to the side.
“What the fuck is going on?” Tim hissed.
“Its got her, and it's trying to bring more of us closer.”
“Oh bullshit. You’re telling me the stupid giant monkey is using her as bait?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, and aren’t you’re the one who just told me this sounded like a trap?”
Tim’s face expressed how he felt about that, but he didn’t move any closer. “I was just fucking with you.”
“Blaire, how many are there?” Mike asked. Her body jerked like she was a marionette being controlled by a puppeteer who was in the midst of a seizure. Blaire groaned from the abuse.
Mike hadn’t seen it before due to the shadows, but as he crept closer, he saw an incredibly beefy hand wrapped around her midsection. “Blaire, stay with me," he said as her eyes began to roll back into her head.
“Hurts," was all she managed to say.
“You gonna shoot her?” Tim asked.
Mike looked up for a moment and at Tim.
“I meant the thing holding her.”
Mike had finally moved far enough around that he caught sight of the animal gripping Blaire. It let loose a voluminous cry, a loud, mournful sound that howled like a gale-force wind ripping through a forest. To Mike, it sounded more like a calling for backup than a warning for him to step back. It wasn’t afraid of him, and why should it be? As far as Mike knew, not one ever, at any time in history, had been shot or captured by a human.
“Who's out there?” BT called from across the parking lot.
“Mike and Tim! One of those things has Blaire. I’m trying to get a clean shot, but it’s using her as a shield,” Mike called out.
“I’m coming,” BT replied.
“Not a good idea, buddy. I think it just made a landline call to its friends.”
“You okay?” BT asked.
“As well as can be expected.” Mike didn’t want to say any more, fearful that the ever-volatile Tim would take that moment to attack him. “Tim saved me.”
“Tim?” BT could not keep the incredulity out of his voice.
“It wasn’t my idea!” Tim shouted as if in defense of his actions.
“They killed Chaz.” A sob escaped Blaire. “Ate him alive.”
“Did she just say they ate him alive?” Tim asked. “I didn’t think monkeys were meatatarians.”
“Carnivores, you mean?” Mike asked.
“Did you understand what I meant?” Tim finished as Mike nodded. “Then shut the fuck up about it. No wonder everyone hates a critic; always in such a rush to correct someone else because they’re so fucking perfect. Probably blow a blood vessel in their brain if someone corrected them the way they’re always correcting others. Ooh! Ooh! I found a mistake! Look at me, a superior human being going to point it out to the ignoramus. Again, just shut the fuck up about it and keep your feelings of superiority to yourself.”
A puff of white blew up from the ground to Mike’s right. He wasn’t sure what it was until one came much closer. The yetis were throwing rocks again, and from the size of the impact hole, if he were to get hit by one, he’d be in some serious trouble.
“Incoming!” Mike yelled, trying to keep an eye on the sky and also Blaire. The animal holding her was pulling her further along the side of the cabin, making it more difficult for Mike to see them both while also luring him away from the parking lot and any help.
“Please!” Blaire begged, an arm outstretched. The yeti was trying to hide behind the woman, but that was effective as BT hiding behind a stop sign. He had to take a shot. The rock barrage was still happening, and he could hear the heavy footfalls of another coming. Mike aimed a foot above Blaire’s head; the pounding of blood through his extremities made it difficult to stay on target. He hesitated then fired. A spray of blood flew up into the air; he was afraid to look, thinking he would see Blaire’s brains glistening on the muted moonlit snow. The ensuing howl was unearthly. Mike backed up in fear, his rifle still at the ready.
“Did you hit it?” Tim had come around and was close, the blade of his knife held out in front.
Another howl, this one sounded more like anger, rage that the human had the audacity to wound the mightiness that was Yeti. Blaire was smashed into the side of the cabin, the first time she gave a strangled "ung" as blood caught in her throat. By the third time she was swung like a dirty rug into the wall, all the sound that came from her was the crunch of bones breaking.
“You should shoot it again.” Tim had backed up past Mike.
“I only have one bullet left.”
The yeti held Blaire’s lifeless body above its head then ripped her in half. Mike fired his last bullet. He hoped it hit center mass, but he wasn’t going to hang around to find out.
“I’m going to reload, come and get you, Stacy, and your grandmother!” Mike said as he ran to the main lodge. A rock whistled toward him, ripped through the jacket, and scraped his arm. A stone bigger than Mike’s head smashed into the front end of Mrs. Bennilli’s RV. The aluminum caved in around the foreign object, cradling it like a mother with a newborn.
“Go!” Mike motioned as he ran toward the lodge. BT was holding the door open. So many rocks were falling all around, it was as if a volcano had erupted a torrent of them. He thought this might be what the Pompeiians felt like when Vesuvius blew. Sure, these weren’t molten, but they would still kill on contact. BT waited until Mike was in then closed the door behind him. Tracy gave him a hug, which he gratefully accepted.
The assault continued for another twenty minutes. When it was over, the silence felt heavy, ominous. When Mike opened the door, he fully expected a yeti to be standing in the frame, lunging for him. He was thankful that wasn’t the case.
“Tim!”
“Yeah?” came the answer.
“Everyone all right?”
“Nonna’s pretty pissed about her ride, but other than that.”
“I’m coming over to get all of you.”
“They took off; grabbed the one you shot and bolted.”
As much as Mike didn’t want to, he still pressed. “They’ll be back.”
“Gonna let you in on a little secret, Talbot. I don’t like people much.”
“Looks like we agree on something,” Mike told him. Tim was silent. “So I take it you’re not coming over then?”
“Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not smart. Good luck; not that I really give a shit, but I think courtesy dictates I make the gesture.”
“You’re sort of nullifying that by telling me you don’t care.”
“If you get out of this, I’ll buy you a beer to make it up.”
“Good luck, Tim.”
“You mean that?”
“What do you think?” Mike responded.
“I don’t like many people in this world, Talbot, and you’re not one of them.”
Mike couldn’t help but snort, wetly. He blamed it on the exhaustion and his ability to store away the nightmares.
“Where’s Trish?” Mike asked.
“We put her up in our bed,” Linda said.
Mike relayed everything from the moment he’d walked out into the storm.
“Do you think any of the other kids are alive?” Stephanie asked.
They paused when they heard grunting from behind the counter, Paul slowly shuffled his way out into the room. If his movements were any indication of how slowly he was healing, leaving in a week was out of the question.
“I don’t see how; not after that storm. Not unless they found shelter.” Mike left the part out about and if the yetis didn’t find them.
“How are you doing?” Tracy asked Paul as she helped him sit.
“Like a donkey kicked me in the chest. Which is far better than I have been.”
“I have got to get some sleep. BT, want to get me up in a couple of hours and I’ll take a shift?”
“I’ve got this," Paul ventured. "Sick of sleeping. All I do is see Errin’s face, and I’d like to think I was helping instead of just being dead weight. I realize if it wasn’t for me, all of you could have hiked out of here.” His eyes dropped, not wanting to look straight at anyone.
“Yeah, and we would have been caught out in a blizzard. You probably saved us,” Tracy told him.
Mike nodded, again his wife was right.
“Don’t worry; I’ll stay up with him. I have tons of multiverse stories I can tell him, and he’s not half bad in some of them,” Trip said.
The company stared for a moment.
Stephanie smiled wanly and shrugged as if to say, what can you do?
Mike generally wasn’t one for cuddling; he couldn't handle being restrained, got tremors of panic from the inability to move around when he chose. Tonight, however, he was so exhausted he didn’t think twice about how close his wife was, her arm draped over his side, daring him to get out of bed without her knowing about it. She didn’t need to worry.
The next morning when Mike awoke, he thought it was still the dead of night, the light filtering through the window would have been hard-pressed to outshine a candle from across the room. He went over to discover snow was again falling, but not like the previous storm. “Shit.” Winter-like weather in Alaska was no place to get caught without supplies. Denver was unique in the fact that generally, the day after a large storm, it would be in the fifties, and folks would have to worry about flooding as the snow melted away. Mike suspected that wasn’t going to be the case here. The snow would just keep piling up and would not begin to dwindle until sometime in March. The blizzard had dropped eighteen inches, and the storm looked like it was settled in place. Walking through knee-high snow was exhausting. Limited supplies, limited cold-weather gear. If they made a go at it, it would have to be two people trying to get to help. “That’s not going to work.” Mike was looking up at the sky.
“What isn’t?” Tracy asked, handing him a cup of coffee.
“You sure you want to know?”
“No; tell me anyway.” She sat on the edge of the bed.
“Us hiking out isn’t going to happen. Not until the spring, anyway.”
“You’re not thinking of doing it on your own, are you?”
“I thought about it.” He turned to look at her. “I’m not feeling good about my chances. Everything is white; getting lost in the Alaskan wilderness is not my idea of a good time. I’d have to make it around the yeti cordon, and if I did, the likelihood I could get someone to come help us is limited. I’ve got to imagine there are far worse disasters being contended with right now. The best I could hope to do is find some sort of tracked vehicle with a cab big enough to drive us out of here. I’ve seen them in sci-fi movies; not sure if they exist.”
Tracy’s face lit up. “You beautiful genius!”
“Not sure if anyone has ever used those descriptors for me, but go on, I like where you’re headed.”
“Snowmobiles!” she blurted out.
“Okay?” Mike was confused.
“There was a motorsports store not more than five miles from here. Quads, four-wheelers…”
“Snowmobiles,” Mike finished.
“We hike there and take those, get as far away from here as possible. If we get to Anchorage, I would think there’d be a way to get back to the lower forty-eight.”
“Let’s bring this to everyone else,” Mike said. “And I’m taking credit.”
“My ass," she said as she bolted for the door.
For the first time since the earthquake had struck, the group had a glimmer of hope. Tracy's idea seemed sound. There were still some logistics to go over, but a five-mile hike was much more doable than fifteen, certainly better than twenty.
“They have jackets, too!” Stephanie hugged Tracy.
Having adequate fuel and getting an injured Paul and an older Mrs. Bennilli to the store were the primary concerns. They would still give Paul a few more days before striking out, but the mood was somewhat festive, especially given that Trip had broken out a bottle of vodka.
The night was mostly quiet; the yetis had refrained from attacking the group. The consensus was that Mike had indeed killed one of them and that they were mourning. Or plotting revenge. That particular point of view was Mike’s, and the group did the best they could to dispel the notion, although it had stuck like a particularly nasty parasite, feasting on brain matter rather than blood.
“Shit,” Mike said the following day, partly due to the hangover he was grappling with, the rest to the still falling snow, which was easily over two feet by this time. At this pace, by the time Paul was ready to go, they’d have to tunnel their way out.
“What about a sled or something?” Mike asked as the group began to settle down onto couches.
“Going to need more context than that, buddy,” BT told him.
“I feel like crap. I should have drank the good stuff,” Trip said as he picked through the pills in his hand, looking for the best one to alleviate his symptoms.
“The good stuff? What’s wrong with the one we drank?” BT asked.
“I already drank it then filled the bottle back up with a local vodka, Dog’s Hair, or something like that. Only five bucks a gallon,” Trip offered in the way of defense. “Two guys make it in their bathtub. Strangely enough, one of the guy’s nicknames is Dog.”
“I’m going to have to kill him,” Mike said, crossing the room.
“What? They clean it out after they bathe.”
Tracy had her hand on Mike’s shoulder. “The alcohol will have likely killed everything,” she told him.
“Yeah, us included. Are you with me on the visual here?” Mike was staring holes through Trip.
“Unfortunately, I am.”
“The sled, Mike. Get back to the sled so I can think of something else,” BT beseeched.
“I, um, yeah.” Mike shook his head, trying to get Dog’s hair out of his mind. “This snow doesn’t look like it’s going to stop anytime soon. I think we should go to the store, grab some snowmobiles and some sleds and get out of here today or maybe tomorrow, depending on when this gets done.”
“Are we sure they have sleds?” Tracy asked.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to have to try. Worst case, they don’t; we get a couple of snowmobiles and then shuttle folks to the store. I think us leaving sooner is our only option.”
“I’m truly sorry,” Paul offered.
“It’s not your fault,” Stephanie told him. There were nods of agreement all around.
“I’ll go with you,” Trip volunteered.
Mike wanted to unequivocally say no, but out of the available applicants, he was the best for a variety of reasons. BT had to stay back and offer defense, should they need it, and not that Stephanie, Linda, and most assuredly Tracy weren’t highly capable individuals, but Mike was still stuck on good old-fashioned (and probably far outdated) chivalry.
“Trip, and I should go,” BT offered.
“That’d be a great idea if you hadn't eaten all your vegetables and everyone else’s at the table when you were growing up,” Mike told him. “There’s nothing that’s going to fit you, and it’s got to be close to ten degrees out, and that’s not including the windchill.”
“Stupid Brussel's sprouts. Why did you have to be so delicious?” BT asked.
“It’s true. I can’t stand the sight or stink of them, but he eats them by the bushel, or however they grow,” Linda replied.
“I’m not sure if Mike even knows what one looks like,” Tracy quipped.
“Yeah, and we should keep it that way," he came back. “You ready to get going?”
“Now? I just took a hellacious rip off a bong,” Trip replied.
“When? You haven’t left the room,” Paul stated.
“I don’t remember, but since I’m always usually taking a rip, it makes sense.” Trip was stripping down in the living room to put on his long johns. “Fair warning, I usually go commando.”
“You don’t know for sure?” BT asked in alarm.
Trip shrugged.
Fifteen minutes later, Mike had enough layers he figured he could give an onion a run for its money. “Okay, figure two hours, maybe three, to make the distance, get some snowmobiles, maybe set up a sled or two, and then get back. I can’t see it taking more than four hours. And if that’s the case, I say we just head out today; there will be plenty of daylight left. We need to go, or I’m going to start sweating. I’m going to head over and tell Mrs. B what’s going on.” Mike said his goodbyes, got a kiss from Tracy, and was heading out the door when Trish pulled a Lazarus.
“You can’t go out there!” she shrieked. “They’ll kill you! They’ll kill us! They’ll kill us all!”
“Honey, do you want to maybe get some more sleep?” Stephanie moved closer to the traumatized young woman.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” Her eyes were wild as she backed up and put her hands in front of herself.
“Okay, I won’t touch you, but we’ve come up with a plan, a way to get out of here.” Stephanie was using as soothing a voice as she could.
“No one’s getting out of here.” A dry laugh barked from her throat. “We’re all just meat to them! Ironic, don’t you think? I’ve never let anything pass by my lips that had a face, and now…and now I’m the chopped liver of the whole fucking world!”
Mike didn’t think it worked like that. Gazelles never ate pork chops, but lions still feasted on them all the time. There was no quid pro quo in the animal kingdom, a place they’d all been forcibly reminded they belonged to.
“Come on, honey.” Stephanie wrapped her arm around Trish. It seemed the woman’s earlier protestation was already forgotten.
Mike glanced at the group and the collective concern in their eyes as Trip opened the door. “Are you coming?” he asked.
Mike’s first inclination was to say no; instead, he wordlessly followed. The snow was nearly up to his crotch, and he was fearful of what long exposure to the cold might do to him or, more specifically, his beloved jewels. The walking was even more difficult than he imagined. The earlier snow from the blizzard had crusted over but not enough to support the weight of a human. And the pace was brutal. A boot would be pulled up and out, over two feet in the air, then coming down it would sink six inches easily enough before meeting a false resistance. Pressure from the step would then cause the whole leg to fall right through to the hard pack over two feet below. Mike could feel the discomfort building already, and they weren’t even across the parking lot yet.
“What the fuck are you two idiots doing?” Tim came to the door in purple underwear with the face of Barney across the fly and a threadbare robe around his shoulders.
Mike was happy he didn’t have to walk the extra fifty feet. “We’re heading to the motorsports store to get some snowmobiles,” Mike told him, having to pause to catch his breath.
“I’d offer to come, but I don’t want to. Don’t get eaten.” Tim turned and shut the door.
“He’s fun.” Trip turned and picked up the grueling march. Mike followed in the holes he made. It was easier, but not by much.
“Trip, hold up.” Mike was bent over with a stitch in his side, and the hamstring on his left leg was twitching, promising to seize up at the most inopportune time. They’d walked perhaps two miles, and it had been Mike’s intention to take the lead and let Trip draft, as it were, for a while, but each step had become more laborious than the last. Leading was out of the question, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could follow. He wondered how selfish it would be if he told the other man to continue and come pick him up after he’d got a snowmobile. There were at least two problems he could see immediately. The first was it was extremely cold and standing still waiting could lead to hypothermia, and second, Trip might forget the task he was out for and simply wander off into the mountains.
“You should eat more bananas,” Trip advised, watching Mike rub the back of his leg.
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m in a situation like this.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret. You’re in more situations like this than you’d care to know.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Juicy Fruit?” Trip offered Mike some gum. “It’s banana flavored.”
“You’re a strange one, Trip. I think I’m good to go for a while longer. How are you doing?”
“Not too bad. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you disengage your mind.”
“I bet.”
Trip was plowing through the snow, Mike doing his best to keep pace. His deceit-plotting leg muscles had, so far, not betrayed him. Sweat was pouring from him, exhaustion making his limbs feel leaden. He’d been on twenty-six-mile forced marches with a full pack of gear in the Corps, and he’d not been half as tired. Of course, he’d been half the age and not goose-stepping the entire time. He was wrung out. Each plodding step forward was a battle of determination and will. He kept his head down and his teeth gritted together; he’d been so focused on the task he hadn’t realized Trip had stopped. He stumbled into the back of the other man’s legs and fell over. There were long seconds where he didn’t even try to move. His body craved the rest and threatened to seize up if he moved too soon.
“Almost there.” Trip had offered a hand up. He refused it, not because he didn’t need the help, but he could see the strain on Trip’s face as well. As bad as it had been for himself, he couldn’t even conceive of how difficult it must have been blazing the trail. As Mike stood, he groaned as he realized that "almost there" didn’t mean that they were in the parking lot ten feet from the front door.
“Just another mile.”
If Mike had been alone, he might have cried, like he did that time he watched Toy Story. His kids had fallen asleep halfway through, and he was unlikely to get caught. When Tracy had come in, he wiped his eyes and feigned a yawn in an attempt to explain the moisture away.
The indefatigable Trip was flagging; he stopped every third step, but Mike didn’t utter one word of complaint. Mostly because it was too much effort to do so. Also, he was breathing too heavily, and more importantly, it gave him a chance to recoup some energy, brief as it might be. His heart physically hurt. It throbbed like a thumb slammed in a car door. With each bashing beat, he wondered when it would finally say it had had enough. When he deigned to look up again, he wondered why the sign in the distance was no closer. If anything, it may have been farther away, although, that could have had to do with his vision beginning to tunnel.
“Of all the things.” Mike had his hands on his sides and leaned back for a moment. A headache formed against his temples and pressed on his forehead. “I’m heading toward dehydration.” He knew that it could be easier to get dehydrated in the cold because you were less aware of it, he just never figured that would be an issue on a five-mile jaunt. He’d not bothered to grab water, believing it would only be an added burden in what was already going to be an arduous journey. “Fucking stupid.” He waited until the worst of the pain was over before following Trip.
He was two hundred feet behind Trip when the other man made it to the entrance. He dug around the door so that he could pull it open. He felt bad he wasn’t there to help while simultaneously relieved. As Mike finally found his way in, Trip tossed him a bottle of water.
“Thank you,” he coughed out after nearly choking on a large swallow. “I mean, for everything. I don’t think I could have made this on my own.” Those were tough words for Mike to verbalize; help wasn’t something Marines were comfortable asking for.
The showroom was packed with vehicles of all sorts. Motorcycles, dirt bikes, four-wheelers, quads, wave runners, and snowmobiles. It was an outdoor enthusiast's motorized dream world. Even though there wasn’t a soul for miles and they were doing this out of dire necessity, Mike kept wondering when he’d see flashing reds and blues as the cops rolled onto the scene. As much as he’d want to, there was no way he was going to be able to make a run for it, either.
“Well, that doesn’t make sense now, does it, Talbot?” Mike was sitting at James Pearson’s desk, waiting for the misfiring of his leg muscles to quiet down.
“What’s that?” Trip asked as he tossed a bag of beef jerky onto the desk.
“If the cops show, I’m not going to run.”
“Why not?” Trip eyed him suspiciously. “Are you a narc?”
“We’re trying to get help, remember?”
“Right, right. You going to eat that?”
“You just put it there. Do you mind if I get a piece?”
“I guess it’ll be all right; there’s a whole box of them. Must have been getting ready to fill the vending machine.” And still, he eyed the one Mike was working on.
“Holy shit, man, here.” Mike pushed the bag over, and, after two failed attempts, he stood, albeit wobbly. “In the backroom?”
“Haven’t you already had enough?” Trip asked around a mouthful. Mike had eaten some but, more importantly, had filled up on water to the point he could feel it sloshing around in his belly. “Where are the keys?”
“Lockbox in the manager’s office,” Trip said from his prone position on the floor.
Mike pulled on the latch. “Locked. You have got to be kidding me.” It wasn’t a bank vault, but it was going to take more wasted time and energy getting it open, and he couldn’t help but feel that there was a huge invisible timer ticking away. When it reached zero, what happened was not likely to be pleasant.
“Trip, I’m heading to the parts department, see if I can find something to smash this thing open.” The other man was snoring softly. “Sweet dreams, man. You earned it,” he whispered.
Mike ripped through a few boxes. Swinging a shock absorber around, he decided it didn’t have the heft needed to get the job done, but it was all he could find until he walked out of the backroom. Through a barred window, he spotted the service center. “Twenty yards, you can do that, right?” He wasn’t so sure. His legs felt wooden and his heart fluttered in protest.
To make matters worse, the door opened outward, which meant he would first have to go out the front and around, tripling his trek. He pushed the door open before realizing he’d forgotten the rifle. He nearly said screw it, then he remembered how much he’d missed having water with him and went back. Rifle in hand, he steeled his resolve, or at least aluminized it, then headed out. He wasn’t more than ten high-steps in when his legs decided he’d not had enough recuperative time. They both vibrated as if they were getting ready to do a spectral-possessed mamba.
“This is infuckingsane.” He was looking at the service door, hoping it was unlocked. He heard a heavy chuffing sound off to his side, his first thought was that the yetis had followed them. As large as the beasts were, this snow would hardly be an impediment for them. If he didn’t get into position soon, they would be upon him before he could say double rack of ribs with a side of throbbing hamstrings. He turned; his left leg didn’t. Pain shot upwards from his hyperextended knee, and he fell in a puff of white. He could not help but think this was a shitty way to die; in his mind, he always figured it would be in a blaze of glory, defending those he loved.
The snorting and chuffing were closer; only the massive fists beating down on his body had yet to happen. Apparently, yetis weren’t above playing with their food. When he finally propped his head up, the sight was not what he’d been expecting. A bear cub was ten feet away, watching him, curiosity in her eyes. Mike stood slowly; she might have only been a young bear, but she easily weighed a hundred pounds, and if she wanted to do damage, she most certainly could. Mike’s knee ached, but he didn’t think he’d done much more than stretch it too far. In a day or two, he figured he’d be right as rain...whatever the fuck that meant.
“Hi, little bear.” Mike raised his free hand in a gesture of goodwill. “I’m just going to leave you alone, okay? I’m sure momma is close by, and I don’t want anything to do with her. Cool?” Mike tried to back away, it was not a maneuver the snow was going to allow him. Showing his back to a predator was not a wise move, but he was at a loss as to what to do. When the momma bear came along, she wasn’t going to see anything that the human was doing as non-threatening. Dead by grizzly was just as dead by yeti. Sure, he’d have an extraordinary story to tell at the Pearly Gates, but he had some things he wanted to accomplish before he had that conversation, and first and foremost was getting everyone the fuck out of Alaska. As soon as Mike turned, he heard more snorting and grunting, and when he carefully looked back around, the cub had halved the distance. His heart, which had already been exerted from the exercise, ticked up a notch from the shot of adrenaline.
Mike did the only thing afforded to him and began to plow through the snow on all fours. The more powerful bear followed enthusiastically, crashing into Mike’s rump, sending him sprawling face-first into the snow. He came up quickly, spitting out the coldness. The bear had come back around and swatted him with her paw. Mike rolled twice and came to a stop.
“What the fuck bear!” he yelled.
The animal cocked its head to the side as if to say, "Do you not like my playful gestures?" She bounded, smacking into Mike’s shoulder, pushing him hard into the ground. He felt like he’d been lowered into his final resting spot as he stared at the stark walls made of ice around him. Fearful of sticking his head up and becoming a life-sized game of Whack-a-Mole, he decided there and then it would not be nearly as fun to play when you were the one taking the hits. Mike had to duck down the moment he sat up, as the bear was ready to plant him again.
“Stop!” Mike placed his hands up. “Just stop!” He didn’t like raising his voice; he was certain momma would be pissed he was yelling at her cub, but the yelling appeared to have confused the bear long enough that he was able to fully stand and brush the worst of the snow off. The cub watched as he dug out around the door and was finally able to swing it open. He’d been sufficiently battered around enough that he forgot why he’d even gone over to the garage in the first place. The smell of old oil and grease was comforting in a familiar type of way. The small waiting room was decorated in plastic furniture fashionable in the seventies, with garish colors to match. To his left was a bubblegum ball dispenser full of peanuts. The light filtering in from the door and through the filthy windows dimmed as the bear rose and pawed at the glass.
“Are you kidding me? Just stop. You’re going to break it.” The bear had stood up on its hind legs and was thumping its front paws against the door. The glass was ponderously bending inwards. “You’re going to cut yourself! I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Mike went to the door and pushed outward; the bear stepped back and moved to the side, nosing her way in when there was enough room. Mike stood still as the bear sniffed his legs and then swung her head toward the peanuts. Clearly interested, she pawed the spindly metal stand, knocking it to the ground. The glass bulb shattered on the concrete flooring; the sharp sound sent the cub scurrying away. As the cub approached again, Mike shooed her away in order to pick up the larger pieces of glass. When the bear figured the ground was clean enough, she nudged the human out of the way.
“You’re welcome. Can I go about my business now?” The bear looked up and chuffed then sat with her legs splayed, like a toddler, and began delicately picking individual peanuts up. Mike watched for a moment, smiling unconsciously, making sure there were no other pieces of glass to worry about before he went back into the garage proper to get the tools needed.
“Little bigger than I wanted, but this will work.” He hefted the five-pound sledge. He couldn’t find a pry bar. “Cold chisel it is.”
The bear was on the final few peanuts when Mike came back into the waiting area. He skirted around and to the door, using the kickstand at the bottom to prop it open so as to not trap the animal.
“Good luck; I’m not going to miss you. Tell your mom I was nothing but a model person in how I treated you. You, on the other hand, could use a few lessons in manners."
The bear snorted at him.
Trip was still passed out on the floor. He made no indication of knowing Mike had gone and had now come back.
“Yeah, I’m fine, even if I was almost eaten by a bear, if you must know. But hey, thanks for asking,” Mike told the softly snoring man. With the chisel placed in between the housing and the door, it only took two solid strikes to break the locking mechanism out. The door swung open, revealing dozens of keys. “As long as they’re gassed up, we’re in good shape.” Mike read the tags, ascertaining which went where, as he headed back out into the showroom. “Come on, man.” He kicked Trip’s boots. “Time to go.”
“I could use a few more days of sleep.” Trip sat up and wiped his eyes.
“You and me both, but we need to get back. Oh fuck me.” Mike looked out the window where snow was falling. He settled on a purple-streaked Polaris 800; Trip was all about a neon pink Ski-Doo Freeride. They grabbed an abundance of cold weather gear from the back of the showroom and stowed it on the machines.
“Should have checked before I tied everything down, but... Nice. Three-quarters of a tank. How about you?” Mike asked, going over to check for himself, not trusting the man enough with his answer. “Half, that’ll do. You know how to drive one of these?”
“2015 World Championship Snowmobile Derby winner.”
“What?”
“Yeah, held in Wisconsin every January.” Trip handed Mike some goggles. “You’re going to want these. What about you?”
“Um, uh, sure. I’ve been on one a couple of times.”
“I’ll take it easy on you.”
By the time they got the second door propped open, the snow had picked up. Getting back was going to be challenging enough, and as much as he wanted to, he didn’t think they’d be making their escape today.
Trip revved his engine before looking over to Mike. “Wanna race?”
Mike shook his head.
“I’m just messing with you," he said before taking off as if he’d been shot from a cannon.
Mike adjusted his goggles, turning his head as he caught movement to his left. The cub was barreling down on him. “Nope!” he shouted as he hit the gas. It wasn’t the same take-off Trip had managed, but it was fast enough to make the outstretched paw of the cub just miss as it swatted at him. If Mike hadn't been so fixated on keeping an eye on Trip and had bothered to look behind, he would have seen that the cub was following, keeping up the best she could.
“Come on, man, slow down,” he begged as Trip kept pulling farther and farther ahead. The swirling snow had picked up in intensity, and the already dim day was rapidly moving toward dark. Mike was having a difficult time keeping an eye on him, and with the storm increasing in intensity, Trip’s snowmobile tracks were the only thing Mike could count on. If the storm covered those over, he wasn’t entirely sure he could make it back, as everything looked the same covered in snow. He was going to be pissed if he died a quarter-mile from the warmth and relative safety of the lodge. He was relieved when he saw the sign for the campgrounds, as he’d lost sight of Trip completely a few moments beforehand.
“Where’s Mike?” BT asked as Trip came inside.
“Who?” he asked, brushing off the accumulated snow from his shoulders and head.
As BT opened the door to look, he first heard the engine then saw the headlight as Mike pulled up.
“Everything cool?” BT asked.
“Yeah, except for this storm and a bear.” Mike went inside to warm up.
“How was Trip?” BT asked as he closed the door.
“Wouldn’t have made it without him,” Mike answered truthfully.
“Are you shitting me?”
Mike shook his head. “The snow, bud, it’s so friggen' deep, by the end I could barely lift my legs. He led the entire way. Without his trail to follow…” Mike shrugged and left it there. “Anything happen while we were gone?”
“Quiet.” Tracy gave Mike a hug as he warmed up by the stove.
BT stood looking out the window. “Definitely not going to be able to head out today.”
“Probably for the best; I’m exhausted.”
“Why don’t you head up, get some sleep,” Tracy told him.
“No trailers?” Stephanie asked.
“None that I saw. If they had any out in the parking lot, they’re covered. We could spend a day digging, trying to find one, and still come up empty. Plenty of snowmobiles, though. Tomorrow we’ll double up, get two more rides; it’ll only take a couple of trips until we have enough. And whoever doesn’t want to drive one, can ride pillion.”
“If this storm ever ends. Looks like a doozy.” BT stepped away from the window.
“I’m not going out there.” Trish was sitting cross-legged on the couch, wrapped up tightly in a blanket.
“You’ll feel differently when we can leave safely,” Linda told her.
“It’s not going to be safe out there. They’re watching, waiting for us all to come out so they can attack. They let them go today.”
Mike wanted to tell her she was being absurd, that animals can’t plan tactics like that, but they’d already tried to bait them into a trap; nothing was entirely out of the question.
“Do you think she’s right?” Paul looked panicked.
“Whether she is or not, we’ll be on vehicles traveling too fast for them to catch. We’ll leave this place and them far behind.” BT wanted to dispel the worry before it could manifest into something bigger.
“I vote we just stay here.” Trish raised her hand as if it punctuated her point.
“We can’t. We don’t have the food or the wood for a prolonged stay. We’ll either freeze or starve.” BT hoped his point was getting through. It hardly ever worked, convincing someone of something else once their feet were dug in. And to be honest, none could blame her, or Paul, for that matter; they’d already lost so much to the yetis.
“And if I decided I wanted to stay here?” she asked.
“I’m not going to make you come with us,” BT said softly. “I think it would be for the best if you did, but you’re an adult; you made an adult decision when you left, and you’ll make another one when it's time to leave.”
His words stung her as he’d intended them to. She’d dragged her group along when she should have stayed put, and now she wanted to stay, when clearly leaving was the best option. She was doing what was right to do, only doing it in the wrong order.
“Can we figure this out tomorrow?” Mike was at the top of the stairs.
“Go, get some sleep. We’ll take care of the watch,” Tracy told him.
A loud thumping struck the front door, followed by the sound of heavy claws shaving off strips of curlicued wood.
“They’re here!” Trish was up and gone so fast her blanket hadn’t yet settled to the floor.
Mike was running down the stairs to get the rifle he’d left there for those on guard duty.
“I think it’s for you.” Trip was at the window looking sideways; he had a lit joint in his mouth.
“For who?” Linda asked.
“That Talbot fellow.” Trip stepped back and took another drag.
“What are you doing!?” BT yelled as Trip went to the door and opened it up.
A large bundle of snow-covered fur bounded in. If his finger had been within the trigger guard, Mike would have shot the bear. The animal shook until there wasn’t anything in the general vicinity that wasn’t covered in white precipitation, then ran right at Mike, pulling up just as it ran into him. The man tumbled over slowly, like a large tree being felled.
“Something you want to tell me?” Tracy asked once the initial shock wore off. The bear had straddled Mike and licked his face twice; spittle flowed down his cheeks.
“I gave her some peanuts, hon; it meant nothing.” Mike tried to push the bear off of him, desperately wanting to sit up and wipe his face clean.
“You can’t keep him...her," his wife said. “Her mother’s going to want her back, and I'm damn well not going to clean up after her.”
“Mike, is this thing safe?” BT hadn’t let his guard down.
“She hasn’t ripped my face off; I’m gonna go out on a limb and say sure.”
“This isn’t funny. That’s a wild animal, and not just any wild animal, it’s a grizzly.”
“I think she's been recently orphaned.” Mike was able to scoot out from under and stood, wiping bear drool off with his sleeve.
“And if it isn’t, we could have a much bigger problem knocking on our door,” Linda replied.
“Come on, bear, you have to go out.” Mike pushed; the animal didn’t budge.
“Can’t be more than a hundred pounds; let’s just lift her.” BT moved closer; the cub got on her hind legs and swatted wildly with her paws. BT backed up, his hands in the air. “Yeah, I tried.”
“Are you serious?” Linda asked. “Get it out of here!” She had moved so she was behind the couch.
“We could shoot it,” Stephanie offered.
“Whoa. No one is shooting this bear. We’re leaving tomorrow. We’re leaving the yetis, the fires, the incessant snowstorms, and even this little guy. Tonight, if she wants to stay out of the storm, then I guess tonight she’s staying out of the storm.”
“And what do we do if mom comes to pick her baby up?” BT asked.
“We open the door and let her. I’m going to bed now.” As Mike went upstairs, the bear followed.
“Hon, if that thing is going to stay in our room, I’m sleeping down here,” Tracy told him.
“I’ll miss you," he told her.
“You’re such an asshole.” She was smiling, though. It was her first genuine one since the quake.
“Seriously? We’re just going to let that thing stay?” Paul was incredulous.
“Not many options, and it’s only for one day. Only Mike could make friends with a grizzly.” BT shook his head.