Mike didn’t hear Tracy come into the room. He’d thought his bulldogs were loud when they slept; fully-loaded freight trains had nothing on Gus. (The bear just felt like a Gus.) She had settled on the floor by the foot of the bed, on, of all things, a bearskin rug. If Gus was offended, she didn’t say anything. He could only wonder if it gave the cub some comfort, but thinking on that made him somewhat sad.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Tracy said softly as she got under the covers. Mike wrapped her up in his arms, and they both fell asleep to the sound of thunderous waves crashing against a cliff face. Aside from that, it was peaceful...until all hell broke loose.
Mike sat up quickly. Diffused moonlight was filtering into the room; it wasn’t much, but it was enough to see Gus standing next to the bed, not more than a few inches from his face. They stared eye to eye. Mike felt like he should be terrified, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t figure it out, but the bear wasn’t giving off any vibes of malice. Then she moved to the window.
Now Mike’s heart began to beat a little faster. If the bear’s mother had shown, he’d put everyone’s life in jeopardy. “It’d be awesome if you told your mom how good we’ve been to you, so she doesn’t make us into salmon fillets.” He ran his hand over the back of the bear. The fur was bristled; Mike was on full alert because that most definitely wasn’t the appropriate response to being reunited with family. Or maybe it was; lord knew Mike had enough problems with his family. He smiled, in spite of himself.
“What’s going on?” Tracy asked as Mike's smile dropped and he headed for the bedroom door.
“I think we’re about to be attacked! Everyone up!” Mike ordered as he took the steps down two at a time.
BT was sitting in a chair reading a book by candlelight. “What’s going on?” he asked, tucking his glasses away.
“Wait, you wear glasses? Forget it, Gus is spooked.”
“Gus?” BT had stood.
“The bear.”
Gus was standing at the top of the stairs, effectively blocking everyone still up there from going down. She gave a slight rumble in her chest then bobbed her head at Mike.
“I think Gus wants you to go back upstairs. You sure she didn’t just have a bad dream? Everything is all quiet; even the storm has died down.”
“Something just went past my window!” Paul had quickly come from his room, holding his side as the movement caused him some discomfort. Suddenly, the windows in his room exploded inward as a rock was hurled through one then another. Another window was blown out in the back of the lodge. BT ushered everyone upstairs, as fist-sized rocks were pummeling the furniture, denting the floor, smashing everything they hit. The faucet was bent over to the side; a vase sitting on the counter was reduced to glittering fragments. Two of the kitchen cabinet doors were broken, one left open was torn from its hinges. The toilet basin was cracked, and water flowed onto the floor.
BT and Mike stood at the railing of the loft waiting for a target to present itself. It never happened during the entirety of the half hour barrage. When it was over, the first floor looked like ground zero for a frat party with a bring your own grenade theme.
“Are they gone?” Stephanie asked. No one could answer because there was no way of knowing.
“What was that all about?” Paul asked after a few moments of blissful silence. “And why didn’t they just come in? Not that I’m sad about that, but why attack and not finish the job?”
Something tingled in the back of Mike’s mind; it was Tracy who grasped the answer.
“That was a distraction.”
“For what? Why?” Paul asked.
“The other cabin?” Mike went down a couple of stairs.
“Hold on, man, let’s make sure it’s safe,” BT said.
Gus headed down the stairs. “She thinks so, that’s a good enough answer for me.” Mike followed the bear.
“The bear’s calling the shots now?” BT asked his wife.
“You want to tell it differently?” was her reply.
Gus was careful to avoid the broken glass, which was impressive, given the sheer amount of it.
“Hold on,” BT told Mike as he moved past him. “I’ll get your boots.”
Once Mike had them on, he asked if everyone was ready. Gus stepped back as Mike went to the door.
“Super comforting, bear,” Mike told her. He grabbed the handle, twisted it down, pulled the door slightly open then moved back as quickly as he could. There was nothing there, although Mike’s nervous system was acting as if there were. He was tempted to punch a bullet into the blackness, if only in an abundance of caution. Trip had a flashlight; he shown the beam on the ground directly outside the door.
“Is that...blood?” Tracy asked as they all looked at the black fluid cutting through the snow.
Mike took a step closer, fully expecting something to come running out of the night and into this nightmare. “Smells chemically.” Another tentative step, blocking most of the light, making it more difficult to see in front of him.
BT borrowed the light and came up beside him. “It’s green.” The big man was looking at the wet ground while Mike kept watch. “Antifreeze.”
“Goddamnit!” Mike yelled as he peered outside and to his left. The snowmobiles had been trashed. The handlebars were ripped off both of the machines, the treads had been torn free from Trip’s ride, Mike’s was impossibly bent in the middle. The forces needed to do that much damage boggled his mind.
“Looks like Trish was wrong,” BT said, referring to her belief that the yetis wanted them to leave. “They very much want us to stay.”
“You pinheads all right over there?” Tim yelled.
“Even in Alaska, the largest state in the Union, when you should have more of God’s country to yourself, you end up with asshole neighbors,” Mike said.
“Fine!” BT responded. “You?”
“The only reason I’m awake is I heard the racket. They didn’t touch this place. Can I go back to sleep now?”
Mike’s head was down as BT responded.
“The whole damn day was a bust.”
“Not quite.” Tracy sat down next to him on the couch as Gus came over and sneezed in his face.
Mike absently reached out and petted the bear’s face until he realized exactly what he was doing.
Trip had grabbed a broom and was sweeping up the debris. “Becky better not take all of this damage out of my pay," he mumbled as he worked.
“It’ll be fine, no one’s going to blame you.” Stephanie was putting logs in the woodstove.
“We’re going to have to do something about the windows.” Linda wrapped her arms around herself.
“Oh, I know!” Trip dropped the broom, startling Mike and Gus. He went outside as if he didn’t have a care in the world. BT’s jaw nearly bounced off the floor as it fell open. He came back a few minutes later carrying a hammer, box of nails, and a piece of plywood. “Storm supplies in the attached shed. Maybe should have got this out sooner.” He dropped off what he was carrying and went back for more.
“Should we help?” BT pointed. There was a small shed attached to the main lodge, only accessible from the outside. It took a couple of trips, but they had all of the wood inside the lodge. An hour later, the ground floor was as sealed up from the weather as it could be.
“What’s the R-value of three-quarter-inch plywood?” Mike asked as he looked at his handywork.
“Less than one,” Trip replied immediately.
“You know the insulation factor of plywood?” Mike asked.
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“He has a fascination with material effectiveness,” Stephanie offered as a way of explanation.
“And the windows?” Paul asked.
“They were close to four,” Trip said.
“We’re going to burn through more wood trying to keep this place habitable,” Tracy said.
“It’ll be tight, but we’re going to have to move to one of the guest cabins.” Mike looked at the group. No one said anything; it was the right course of action, but that didn’t in any way make it desirable.
“In the morning?” Paul asked.
“Yeah, definitely," was Mike’s response.
BT closed and latched the door. As late as it was and as exhausted as the group appeared, no one immediately went back to their beds, fearful that the yetis could start back up.
“I’ve got a question,” Tracy started. “Why didn’t they come in? Why just destroy the machines?”
Mike had a theory but kept it to himself. He didn’t think anyone would want to know that he thought the yetis had their pantry stocked with young hikers. They weren't hungry. Not just yet.