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Geri
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Shortly after the bride and groom took off for their honeymoon, I left the wedding reception. My mom was disappointed, but Emma was leaving to take Evan home, which would’ve left me with Michelle and her friends and all the retired folk. And frankly, I was anxious to get started on my investigation before someone else got the scoop on the Sasquatch hunt. So I used the rest of my evening to do some online research as well as compose an email to Derek to let him know that I’m sitting on top of the hottest story to hit the internet and that I’d like to extend my time here to get the scoop for Global. Even though Derek hasn’t responded—in fact he’s stopped emailing me altogether, which is troubling—I got up early this morning and began my investigation with a visit to Bethany Moulton at Pembroke Regional Hospital, and now I’m almost to the site of the alleged attack in Algonquin Park.
When Bethany pinpointed the exact location of their ill-fated run-in with Bigfoot on Google Maps—a bluff along an enormous body of freshwater called Shag Lake—it looked like a straightforward drive in. But now that I’m here, I’m having a few misgivings about starting my investigation at the scene. Algonquin Park is over seven thousand kilometers squared, most of which is wilderness, and the only road that leads near the bluff is an old logging road in dire need of grating.
Mark gave me the keys and his permission to use his brand-new, shiny Land Rover to drive to the lodge, which wasn’t exactly the same as giving me permission to do some off-roading through giant potholes and over tree roots. Plus, and perhaps more importantly, it’s kind of scary being in the woods all by myself. I expected investigators to be at the site, but I crossed paths with the RCMP on their way out of here. They flashed their lights for me to pull over, warned me to avoid the area roped off with caution tape and said that they wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours.
I check the reception on my cell phone: one bar. Bethany warned me that cell phone coverage wasn’t reliable on this side of Shag Lake. If I get stuck, calling for help isn’t an option. I’ll have to hike to the lodge on my own, approximately ten kilometers due east. It sounds easy enough, and if I were a seasoned outdoorsman, it would literally be a walk in the park. But I’m the kind of person who needs to consult Siri—the Australian one with the deep, sexy voice—on how to get to Macy’s from Times Square. Knowing that there wouldn’t be cell coverage here, I took a screenshot of the area Bethany pinpointed on the map.
I was pleasantly surprised by how easily Bethany’s mother consented to let me talk to her daughter when I identified myself as a reporter from Global. Although Bethany’s physical injuries were minor, she was still in Pembroke Regional for mental distress—at least that’s what her mother told me. I was inclined to believe it because Bethany had a difficult time keeping her story straight, almost as if she was piecing it together as she told it, and I was left to wonder how much of it was confabulation. Or maybe she was deliberately trying to take refuge in being an amnesiac in response to all the Internet chatter about her being a lunatic. Poor kid. As if the trauma of losing her best friend wasn’t enough to deal with.
At the end of the logging road, I park the truck, get out, and gather up my dad’s rifle and my backpack quickly and methodically, not giving myself time to chicken out. I stop only long enough to read the official park sign warning hikers that the trail is steep and rugged, with areas of erosion close to the cliff’s edge, and should not be hiked after dark. The sign also has a map of the trails that snake around Shag Lake, which is a three-finger-shaped body of water that covers more than sixty square kilometers. Its deepest point is in the center with a depth of two hundred eighty meters.
It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, which means I have about three hours of good, solid daylight left. The site where Bigfoot allegedly attacked Hornsby and Moulton is approximately two and a half kilometers from here, which isn’t far. Although it suddenly seems really far because I’m completely alone, walking an isolated trail through woodlands made up predominantly of tall pines and short evergreens that provide lots of hiding places for animals. Plus, I keep hearing the occasional rustling of something moving.
Mice?
Squirrels?
A bear would make more noise, right?
I check my cell phone reception again. No service.
A crow screeches off to my right, jolting me into a run. My legs burn with the effort of going up the steep slope, and my boot glides over an exposed rock in the muddy path, and damn near twisting my ankle.
Panic, and you’ll be no better off than Lisa and Bethany. I slow down to a walk and force myself to focus on my surroundings, be observant, and look for at least one solid piece of evidence of a Sasquatch—something I can give the hunters to ingratiate myself onto the hunt. I look, listen, and sniff the air. There’s a mildly rank odor being carried on the breeze, and my heart leaps for a moment because I know from the little bit of online research I’ve done, Bigfoot is stinky. However, the stench is a familiar spring odor; it’s the smell of forest floor detritus rotting after the snowmelt.
When I finally reach the crime scene, a shiver of relief shoots down my spine. It’s irrational, I know, because I’m still alone in the woods and quite possibly in the exact spot where the women were allegedly attacked by a hairy monster. However, the presence of the authorities is plainly visible here. The area has been staked out and wrapped in caution tape, and it’s giving me a false sense of security. It’s also giving me reason to wonder what’s up with caution tape. Did they find evidence?
I take out my phone and start videoing the area to get footage I’ll need for my reportage. There’s not a lot to see here, but the caution tape looks official and will give credibility to where the video was taken.
The wet spring ground has been trampled into churned mud, with only the odd footprint distinguishable, including a few canine tracks. Search dogs, I suspect. I keep looking, hoping to find a giant ape-like print in all the mess but not really surprised when I don’t. What I do find is a substantial fracture on the cliff’s edge snaking its way into the trail—one of those areas of erosion the sign warned about. The pointed tip of the crag cuts into the trail, widening exponentially toward the cliff-face. Its steep base is littered with scree, loose and unstable. I’m thinking it would be damn near impossible to see the crevice at night, which was when Bethany and Lisa were hiking through this area.
I maintain a cautious two-foot distance and lean over to look down the crag as I follow it along to the rounded, smooth edge of the cliff face, looking for any signs of someone having met their demise here. But there’s not much to see from this vantage point, and I’m not about to risk my life to go down there.
Venturing off the trail, I widen my search. Bethany said that when she bolted, she ran through a sparsely forested area, then out into a clearing, and then into a densely forested area, which is where she became disoriented. And as I emerge from the sparsely forested area into a clearing, I’m feeling pretty confident that I’m following the path she took.
Pausing at the edge of the clearing, I debate whether or not I should continue on. Problem is, the woods are getting darker as the sun gets lower and pretty soon I won’t be able to see where I’m going let alone search for Bigfoot tracks. I’m very aware of what happened to Moulton when she attempted to find her way at night, so I turn around.
A throaty burbling sound brings me to a dead halt.
My heart misses a few beats before it launches into a pounding staccato. I drop my phone in my pocket and aim the rifle I’m shouldering, sliding my eyes to the right then to the left but see nothing.
Is something behind me?
Maybe it’s a bird, like a wild turkey. They make gobble noises.
It wasn’t a gobble.
Slowly, I turn in a circle, rifle raised threateningly, taking a good look at the obvious hiding places, like trees, bushes, and deadwood. I don’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean something isn’t there, watching me.
I start soft footing it back to the trail, and within five steps, the throaty gurgle comes again followed by four clicks—kind of like the sound someone makes when calling to their horse, or dog, or whatever.
This time when I raise the rifle, I thumb off the safety. A sober voice in my head is asking me what the hell I think I’m doing because the odds of me actually having the guts to fire on anyone or anything are negligible. The only things I’ve ever shot are tin cans and the logs they were lined up on. But at this moment I need to convince myself that if whatever it is charges me, I’ll drop it with a bullet through its head.
Something moves. I can’t see it, but I can hear the shift in the air current. The gurgling-clicking combination comes again, and this time there’s a Doppler effect to it, as if it just whizzed past me. My eyes and the rifle follow the direction of the sound.
Something moves my hair, breathes against my neck, and whispers two clicks in my ear.
I break into a full run, pushing myself faster than any marathon I’ve ever competed in, which is saying something considering I’m not on a clear path and my hiking boots feel like dead weights on my feet. I duck branches, jump deadwood, and step high to avoid tripping over tree roots and ruts as though it’s second nature. And no matter how fast I push myself, the thing is keeping pace somewhere to my left. Not that I have eyes on the damn thing, but I can see bushes rustle, tree branches twitch, and the occasional tall patch of grass ripple.
Where the hell is it? Why can’t I see it?
Keep moving. Don’t look for it. Just go. I’ve run enough marathons to know that distractions, like trying to keep my eye on my opponent, will only slow me down.
A guttural shriek slices through the quiet, and I almost lose it, I almost scream, because the shriek came from somewhere on my right. That means two things are chasing me. I save my scream for later because right now I’m locked in marathon mode, concentrating every ounce of my energy on running.
The trail is just up ahead, and I try to remember when the officers said they would be back. An hour? Two? How long have I been out here?
Jumping over deadwood and low-lying bushes, grateful for every second that something doesn’t grab me, I head toward the caution tape like it’s a home-free zone. Whatever is running on my right lets out another violent shriek, louder this time, and I’m not sure if that’s because it’s closer to me or just super pissed off.
Clack, clack, clack echoes through the air, the sound of rocks cascading down on other rocks. The noise is coming from up ahead, in the home-free zone of yellow caution tape, where the land ends in a twenty-foot drop-off into the lake.
A third thing is in front of me?
Illogically, I keep running in the direction of the caution tape, the same direction of whatever the thing is ahead of me, praying those two RCMP officers are on their way up here now, but come to a screeching halt when something flies up over the edge of the cliff, like it had been catapulted. In shocked horror, I watch it land on two steady feet and go into a slightly crouched position, arms away from its sides, hands balled into fists.
The scream I’ve been holding down finally erupts out of me. My eyes wildly dart in every direction, looking for an escape route. I can’t go forward, I can’t go to the right, I can’t go to the left, and for all I know, some thing is behind me too.
Get yourself together, Geri.
If I can’t flee, then I have to fight.
Gritting my teeth, I raise the rifle and swing it left, and damn near drop it when I almost hit a large mass. It’s just standing there, over eight feet tall, wearing a purple tunic with red writing on it. The thing has a symmetrical face covered in scales with a spine running down the middle from its forehead to under its chin, with two large gaping nostrils on either side. Deep yellow eyes with vertical slits for pupils ogle me in what I can only describe as cold interest.
“Geri?”
I barely hear my name being called over the roar of adrenaline pulsating through my ears, but it registers that whatever is crouched by the cliff knows my name. I risk a glance and see a man, naked from the waist up, all rock-hard muscle with sunlight glistening off his wet skin and hair, his chest heaving from exertion.
Am I hallucinating? “Sean?”
I jerk my eyes back to the reptile man, but he’s gone. Or is he? I couldn’t see him before when he came right up to me and whispered in my ear.
Even though I’m beginning to think it’s futile, I aim my rifle again because it’s the only defense I have.
“Are you okay?” Sean calls to me. “Are you hurt?” Despite the odd mix of concern and wariness lacing his tone, I’m relieved to hear Sean’s voice. I’m not hallucinating. He’s really here.
“No,” I say in a breathy voice. “I have my gun on one of them—I think. I can’t see it anymore. And I don’t know what the other one behind me is doing.”
“Geri, lower the gun,” Sean says.
My heart jumps in my chest. “Are you insane? Did you see that thing?” Shuffling my feet, I do a full circle scan of the area, looking for any sign of it. There’s a light wind blowing, so it’s hard to tell if that is what’s disrupting the bushes or if something is hiding in them. “Can you see it?” I call out to Sean, maintaining my aim on a bush. “I don’t have eyes on it anymore.”
“Absolutely nothing is going to hurt you,” Sean says, and the clear underlying threat in his tone does nothing to calm me. It only confirms that I’m in just as much danger as I thought I was.
That thing was over eight feet tall, so there’s no way it’s hiding in a bush. Maybe it moved behind me. I pivot, keeping the rifle aimed, and I’m abruptly aware of a rank odor being carried on the breeze.
“See? There’s nothing there,” Sean says. “Now lower the gun and walk to me.”
It finally registers that he’s not going to come to me. He’s been standing in the same aggressive stance, using the same threatening tone ever since he flew up over the side of the cliff. And he’s talking to me as if I’m a hostage who has a shot at getting free of her captor if I do everything right.
I don’t know what Sean is doing here at the very moment I need him, at the very place two young women were terrorized and one went missing, but I trust him way more than whatever is stalking me. Keeping a firm grip on my rifle, I lower the barrel and walk toward him, every muscle in my body ready to spring into action if reptile man comes within breathing distance of me again. The closer I get to Sean, the better I see his features, and I realize his focus isn’t on me but on something behind me. His jaw is clenched, the muscles on the sides of his face working, his eyes narrowed.
My hair stands on end. “You can see it, can’t you?” I ask in a low voice, still walking, wanting to run, but thinking that running will only make me look like prey.
He refocuses his eyes on me. “I can’t see anything.”
I’m closing the distance between us. Sean is on the trail, and I’m emerging from the sparse tree line. As soon as I get to within arm’s reach, he hauls me against him, and I’m surprised to feel his heart pounding just as hard as mine.
“You’re fine. I’ve got you,” he says, his mouth moving against my hair.
But I’m the one with the gun, I think to myself in a crazy, slightly hysterical voice. How is Sean able to keep whatever’s stalking me at bay with just a threatening pose?
Or maybe he didn’t scare them off. Maybe they’re still here.
I push away from him. “We gotta get out of here.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He pulls me back against him, one hand cradling my head against his chest. “If something was chasing you, it’s gone now.”
“You don’t get it, Sean. It’s invisible or something.” I lean my head back to look at him. “It came right up to me and whispered two weird clicks in my ear, and I couldn’t see it.”
He cups my face firmly in both his hands, directing me to look into his eyes, which have become a dark, stormy blue. “It was probably a pack of coyotes. They’re small, good at hiding, and they communicate with yips and clicks.”
I shake my head and pull his hands away from my face. “No, they weren’t coyotes. No way. I got a good look at one of them—only for a few seconds—and it was a... a... reptile man.” When I hear it spoken out loud, I know I sound like a babbling lunatic. I sound just like Bethany Moulton with her tall tales of a Bigfoot.
The stormy blue in his eyes intensifies as his eyebrows jerk together in an expression of horror, but just as quickly, he relaxes his facial muscles and adopts a look of concern. “A reptile man, Geri?” he asks in disbelief. “Are you sure?”
Wild-eyed, I look around again. “I know it sounds crazy.” The hair on the back of my neck is standing up as I feel—or at least imagine I feel—the creature’s eyes on us.
“Look, I’ve been chased by coyotes before.” He puts a hand under my chin and redirects my gaze back to his. “Coyotes are small, low to the ground, and can hide in plain sight. They hunt by circling their prey, closing in, constantly communicating with each other in a series of yips and clicks. I was camping up here about ten years ago when they hunted me, and I thought I was going to be dinner.”
“Do they have scales, Sean? Because the coyote hunting me was covered in them. And it was also at least eight feet tall.” He gives me an indulgent look, but I put a hand up to stop him from humoring me. “I just want to get out of here.”
“Did you hike in?”
“I have Mark’s SUV. It’s parked on the old logging road.”
“Let me grab my pack, and I’ll walk with you.” Sean saunters over to where a dark green pack sits, bends down and unzips it. I don’t recall him having a pack when he—Oh. My. God. He catapulted up onto the bluff.
“Did you...” I hesitate, knowing it’s going to sound stupid, but I have to ask. “Jump up the cliff?”
“Jump?” he repeats incredulously, extracting his jacket from the pack. “You mean like Superman?”
My mouth opens and closes again as I struggle with the conflict of owning up to what I saw against the fear of coming off as a nutjob. Probably my admission about the reptile man was enough honesty for one day. On a rational level, I know that Sean could not have jumped up twenty feet, so there must be some other logical explanation for what I saw.
Sean grins at me shaking his head, and returns to pawing through his pack, taking out a white t-shirt. It finally sinks in that he’s only wearing his jeans and boots, and that his hair and bare torso are glistening wet. “Were you swimming? The water’s frigid.”
“I didn’t actually mean to go swimming. I fell in when I was poking around the rocks.”
Except for his skin, everything else is dry. “Did you know you were going to fall in?”
He stands up, his eyebrows scrunched together as he observes me. “What?”
I drop my gaze to his bare chest to make my point, and now that I’m no longer terrified out of my mind, I have a sudden appreciation for the way his smooth, lightly tanned skin conforms over hard muscle. My eyes rove over his eight-pack and follow the line of his happy trail down to where his fly is open and the waistband of his Calvin Kleins is visible.
“You’re staring,” he says. I snap my eyes back to his. “Not that I mind.” He pulls his t-shirt on, blocking my view.
I have the decency to blush. “Generally speaking,” I begin, getting us back on topic, “when people accidentally fall into a lake, they don’t have time to prepare, like get undressed.”
“I was already undressed when I fell in.” He pulls up his fly. “And before you ask, I was working on my tan.”
I tilt my head to one side and ask in a deadpan voice, “You were poking around the rocks naked?”
“Nope. I kept my boxers on.” The location of the wet patches on his jeans confirms the claim.
“So you were poking around the rocks in your boxers—”
“And my boots,” he cuts in.
I’m picturing it. “So you were poking around the rocks in your boxers and boots because... why? Something to do with your alloy emergency?”
He shrugs into his jacket. “I told you, there’s no ‘alloy emergency.’ I had to take care of something for the government project I’m working on, which is classified, and now I’m waiting for the next stage of the project.” He looks out across the lake. “I used to camp here every summer and I know the place like the back of my hand, so I decided to come up and take a look around, see if I could find anything that might help with the investigation into the missing woman.”
“In your underwear and boots.”
He’s nodding, a big grin on his face. “Working on my tan.”
I’m eyeing him, wondering if he’s telling the whole truth, because if I’m going to be completely honest with myself, it crossed my mind—and I’m talking for one small, infinitesimal moment during all the drama and terror—that maybe Sean had something to do with Hornsby’s disappearance. And if I didn’t know him so well, I wouldn’t have dismissed that possibility so easily.
“Did you find anything?”
He shakes his head and squats down to zip up his pack. “So what are you doing here?”
“I’m here as a reporter.”
Sean looks up at me from his squat position. “Yeah? Someone planning a red carpet event out here?”
Mouth hanging open, I stare at him for a moment, shocked that he would even say that. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He stands up and slings his pack over one shoulder. “Aren’t you a fashion guru now?” His eyes sweep over me from head to toe, one eyebrow arched. “Although, you’re back to your old self today.”
I’m suddenly conscious of how I’m dressed—my old hiking boots, circa 2009 Canadian Tire specials that Mom couldn’t bring herself to throw away after I moved out, and Mark’s bright red-and-black wool hunting jacket. I packed for a wedding, not a camping trip, and I’m making do with what I could scrounge.
“Watch it, Eastman.” I hold up the rifle. “I’m an experienced hunter.”
“Oh yeah? Ever bag anything?”
“I got a fish once,” I say smugly.
“You shot a fish?”
“No, I said I got a fish. I actually don’t like killing animals, but fish don’t seem to bother me.”
He’s looking at me with those azure blue eyes, a broad grin on his face, and I’m struck by the raw beauty of the man. Standing on the bluff with the expanse of lake and rugged Algonquin wilderness behind him, he is in his element. The knowledge calms my shaking limbs, and the last of my adrenaline rush recedes.
I reach out and touch the sleeve of his brown hiking jacket. “Speaking of which, hunting season opened this weekend. You should be wearing a bright color so a hunter doesn’t mistake you for an animal.”
“Except there’s no hunting allowed in this area of the park.”
“Does that include no Sasquatch hunting? Because there’s a group of hunters at the border, chomping at the bit to get up here.”
“Yeah, I heard,” he says in a flat voice. An upward flash of his eyebrows and tightening of his lips convey to me that he’s bothered by the news.
My interest is piqued. “You don’t want them here? Why?” I’ve got my mental notebook out, ready to jot down notes and look for an angle to figure out what classified government project he’s working on.
He cocks an eyebrow. “Do you want a bunch of gun-wielding yahoos running around trying to kill a mythical ape?”
That takes the wind out of my sails because he makes a valid point. My interest in the hunters is purely for their entertainment value. “I see what you mean.”
“Which leads me to ask, are you camping out here? Alone?”
I vigorously shake my head as I shoot him an are-you-nuts kind of look, especially after my run-in with the, ah, coyotes. “No. I’m staying at Lake Lodge Retreat.”
My announcement elicits a frown from him, which he’s quick to cover with a bright smile. “That’s where I’m going to stay.”
What’s up with the frown, I wonder. Is Michelle meeting him? Which would make me a big, awkward third wheel. “Alone?”
He nods, his expression slightly addled. “Yes, alone.”
I manage to suppress my sigh of relief, but can’t quite prevent the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. I don’t elaborate on what I meant by “alone” because he’s already told me there’s nothing between him and Michelle. It’s just that I can’t get the sight of the two of them practically canoodling in my back yard out of my head. “I can give you a lift,” I offer.
“Thanks, but I have a rental. It’s parked just off the logging road.” He hauls the other strap of his pack over his shoulder. “You better stay close in case those coyotes are still around.”
“I have my gun if they come around again,” I say loudly, giving the rifle a jerk to make sure that whatever was chasing me sees it if they’re still out there. “And this time, I won’t be too afraid to use it.”
“Mmmm.” Sean gives me a sideways glance. “But you only like to shoot fish.”