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“So, which trail are we taking?” Lauren asked Pauline. The ranger had a map and GPS out and was plotting their course.
“That’s what I was trying to decide. I know you and your team went up to Ape Canyon last time, but this is the height of our tourist season and it’s twice as crowded as it was when you were here. I had thought perhaps a hike up to Spirit Lake, but now I’m debating hitting some of the areas less traveled. This area is still barren since the 1980 eruption.” She pointed toward the volcano.
Lauren’s eye found Bahati who was, fortunately, busy packing up her tent. “Where do you suggest?”
“Well, when we get near Windy Ridge Viewpoint, which is a high activity area for tourists this time of year, we can cross over the valley, across to Badger Lake,” she said. “We’ve had some reports of strange things going on up in that area. I’ve been meaning to get out there to check it out. Now’s as good a time as any.”
“What kind of things?” Lauren asked.
“Reports of strange howls in the night. Some campers scared out of their tents. Camp gear raided; food boxes ransacked. One of the picnic areas was trashed big time. Things like that.”
“Sounds right up our alley,” Lauren commented. She stood as Rowan approached.
“Looks like we’re ready.”
“We best get started,” Pauline said. “I hope you folks brought sunscreen. There’s parts of the trail where there’s absolutely no shade, and it looks to be pretty hot today.”
Lauren pulled on her large brimmed hat and smiled. “We came prepared for anything.”
* * *
“The Loowit trail goes all the way around the volcano,” Pauline explained as they trekked. “It’s 26 miles if you were to hike the whole thing. You hiked part of it when you were here in the spring, according to Jean-René.”
“I can’t believe there’s still so much damage from the 1980 eruption.” Bahati was breathing hard. Lauren was too.
The trail had turned to the northeast, but they were still hiking uphill. Lauren was ready to get to the valley where she hoped the going would be easier. Her pack was putting strain on her shoulder. She suffered in silence and led the charge up the slope.
“This whole park took heavy damage in the eruption. It’ll take decades more before it will return to pristine condition. Of course, by then, the volcano could erupt again,” Pauline continued.
“Again?” Bahati swallowed hard. Pauline turned and looked at her.
“Bahati doesn’t like volcanos,” Lauren said. “She worked in the Philippines in 1991 when Pinatubo erupted.”
“I barely got on a helicopter before the ash cloud made travel impossible,” Bahati said. “I don’t know how you can work on an active volcano.”
“It’s just part of the job,” Katie said. “We hardly even notice it most of the time.”
“That wasn’t your only experience with volcanoes.” Jean-René nudged her. “But that was a good one.” Her nostrils flared as she glowered at him.
“There’s no such thing as a good experience with a volcano,” she snapped.
“What happened?” Derry asked.
Bahati shook her head and stared daggers again at Jean-René for bringing it up. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll tell you about it.”
As they hiked, she told them the whole story. She’d been working in the Philippines as an assistant to famed nature documentary producer Arturo Jimenez. An earthquake measuring 7.7 in magnitude hit in the area of central Luzon. While not a photographer by trade, she’d captured some of the earliest pictures of the devastation.
By March the following year, there were more quakes in one of the villages she was visiting, on the northwest side of the island. They continued for two more weeks. The first warning of a potential eruption was finally issued.
“A few months later, we were working near one of the larger villages at the volcano’s base. I was taking pictures and interviewing the villagers. I was surprised to find they had no fear of the potential threat. Even with the ash clouds. It looked like nuclear winter all around them but they remained calm.” She stopped to take a deep breath. The rest of the team did the same. “An elder told me, we’ve had many warnings in the past. This is our home. We do not fear our home. The warnings come every day, saying, this is it! The volcano will erupt today. But night comes and then the dawn. There is no explosion. No eruption. We think they are foolish for saying such things when they obviously are not true.”
“We were evacuated later that week, only to be permitted to return a few days later. This was repeated several more times. I began to think the villagers must be right. Perhaps they knew something the scientists did not. But now, I know the scientists were right.”
“What was the VEI of the Mt. Saint Helens eruption?” Bahati asked.
“VEI?” Derry piped up.
“Volcanic Explosivity Index,” Lauren explained.
“Mount Saint Helens was approximately a five. Pinatubo was a six.”
“Has there ever been a ten?”
“Well, the VEI wasn’t invented till 1982, so there’s no way to be sure, but they estimate even Krakatoa was about a six,” Lauren commented. “The highest was estimated to be an eight. Lake Taupo in the North Island of New Zealand. But that was over 26,000 years ago. The Icelandic eruptions back in February were about a four.”
Bahati bit her lip. A visible shiver ran down her spine, despite the afternoon heat. “I was there for Pinatubo. I respect the power of the earth beneath our feet.”
* * *
An afternoon thunderstorm developed quickly, and they had to hunker down in the meadow as lightning crashed around them, striking the taller trees. Rowan held his rain tarp over himself and Lauren. They crouched as low as they could. It was the best they could do, all things considered.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
A shriek escaped her throat as the earth trembled beneath their feet, not sure if it was thunder or the ground itself. “Other than being terrified?” she grimaced. “I’m great.”
“I love how honest you are,” he grinned, and leaned in to kiss her.
“Hopefully, this will pass as quickly as it started.” A hail stone bounced off her head. They were pelted with the small ice balls that bounced like popcorn off the green grass around them.
“Holy crap!” Rowan drew her into him to protect her. He put his other arm up to protect his own head.
The sound of the hail on the tarp was deafening, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of the others around them as the hail hit them too. The pellets were slightly smaller than ping pong balls, but were rather soft, if a hailstone could be called such. They began to melt as soon as they hit the ground. Within minutes the hailstones shrunk to the size of peas before the storm waned into a gentle shower.
Rowan stood up, robbing Lauren of his warmth. She rose beside him as they turned to assess the damages. “Is everyone okay?”
Jean-René stood, rubbing his forehead. “I took one to the head,” he winced.
“I’m okay,” Bahati said. “I think.” She glanced over her shoulder, trying to eye a sore spot.
“Let me see,” Lauren came over to check, peeling back her rain slicker. A welt had built up on her shoulder blade. “Yeah, that’s got to hurt.”
“I have something for that,” Rowan said. He dug through his pack and found a zip-top bag. He scooped up a couple of handfuls of the ice pellets that had offended them. He made an ice pack. He handed it to Bahati. “Here’s a dose of the cat.”
“Dose of the cat?” Bahati raised her perfectly arched, and delicately thin eyebrows.
“Hair of the dog that bit you?” Lauren grinned.
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” Rowan shook his head. “Put that on your shoulder.”
“It’s getting late. We need to get a move on it, or we’ll be making camp in the dark,” Pauline said.
* * *
They spent a peaceful evening on the mountain, with no antics from the local fauna. Even the squirrels and rabbits had been quiet. Lauren wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It made stargazing much more peaceful. She and Morrison sat around the fire and drank coffee to prepare for their watch. She had seen a shooting star. She wasn’t one to give into whimsy, but she allowed herself a wish — the truth about Sasquatch.
“So how long have you been chasing Bigfoot?” Lauren heard Jean-René ask Pauline as they came to the fire and sat down. She’d founded the local Bigfoot Research Organization, and the fact that she worked for the National Park Service didn’t hurt.
“About sixteen years,” Pauline said. “I hadn’t been working for the NPS very long when I experienced something I’m still trying to explain.”
Lauren was immediately interested. She set her journal aside. She rose and refilled her coffee cup, offering up the option to others, filling Morrison’s cup before returning to her seat to hear the rest of the story.
“I was nineteen years old. It was my first real summer job. I cleaned bathrooms and took out the trash. Anyway, I was out near Big Pines one night on a trouble call, and something ran in front of my truck. I thought I hit it, but it didn’t stop. I thought it was a deer at first, but the next day when I was cleaning up the truck, I found a big swatch of brownish-red hair caught in the grill.”
“What did you do with it?” Lauren asked.
“I sent it to a guy at Washington State University who supposedly did Bigfoot research. I never heard anything back. I figured I’d have heard something if he’d found anything.”
“That sucks,” Derry said. “Would have been nice to know what it was.”
“Yeah, right,” Pauline said. “Since then, I’m a lot more careful with what I find. I take two molds, if I can. I keep half the sample. I never give up all my cards.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Rowan nodded, coming to sit by the fire, snagging the pot of hot coffee from the grill where it warmed over coals. “Anyone?”
No one took him up on it.
“Jean-René, how did you get into Bigfoot hunting? Last time I checked, there aren’t any Bigfoot in France,” Pauline asked.
“Well, I am from Montreal. But it was not Le Pied Grand who got me into this work. It was another beast. It was the Beast of Gévaudan, to be precise.”
“Je vous dans?” Rowan arched a confused brow; the translation wasn’t making any sense.
“I was working for a small television production company in Loire and was contracted to do the videography for a documentary about the beast. The researchers claimed they could prove it was a hyena, but ... well, I had my doubts. When they weren’t around, I talked to the descendants of the villagers who claimed to have killed the beast, but ... they told me a different story. They said that la bête told their ancestors to kill a regular wolf and tell the King it was him. The Beast was half man after all. He ordered the people to bring him sacrifice in exchange for his mercy. So long as he was fed and honored, he would not take the life of a single townsfolk. It is a tradition that continues to this day.”
“That’s a pretty fancy fairy tale.” Joshua scoffed. “You don’t believe that crap. Do you?”
Jean-René gave him a stern look. “There are stranger things under the heavens, but I have seen these things. I swear it to you all. One night, I went with one of the old farmers to deliver the homage. We waited in the shadows. I was a fool and I took my camera with me. When the Bestia came to take his wages, I fired off a few pictures, but the sound of the camera was heard by the monster and he chased us from the forest. I never saw the farmer again. No one has.”
“Do you still have the pictures?”
“Unfortunately, I dropped the camera during my escape, and I was too afraid to go back for it, but I swear upon my petrified heart, I have seen this monster.” He spoke in a tone Lauren had never heard before, and it sent chills into her soul; she believed him. “Our program on La bête du Gevaudan won many accolades. I was hired by the Exploration Channel to work on a new show they were developing called The Veritas Codex. Now, here I am, searching for another bête.”
Rowan looked over and noticed Lauren’s face brighten. “What?”
“I know where we can go on our honeymoon.”
“Oh no!” Jean-René and Rowan said in unison.
“We’re not going to do Gévaudan on our honeymoon,” Rowan stated flatly.
A long rant of French profanities poured from Jean-René’s lips. Lauren knew she was being scolded, but she smiled to herself, plotting. She usually got her way, and that wasn’t about to change any time soon.
“Derry, Lauren, you have first watch,” Rowan said. “I’m going to bed. I’ve had enough of ghost stories by the fire.”