Contact Of The Forestry Kin

By "Mark Paul" Sebar

Winter of March 1978, the Eastern Sierra Nevadas and we meet a man whose wife was the first victim of a serial rapist murderer known as The Screwdriver Killer. An angry relentless Sheriff Wyler Scott has his hands full in this pristine high country adventure as Indian's are defrauded of their holy lands causing them to nearly riot. But that isn't the only problem they face. Sasquatch kidnap locals and drug dealers are in the local forests. Throw in a rabid grizzly bear on the loose and the trouble explodes into an action epic that builds to a wild ending in this first story in the Sheriff Wyler Scott series "Contact of the Forestry Kin."

• Language: English
• Publisher: "Mark Paul" Sebar
• Release date: Nov 28, 2010
• ISBN: 9781930246386

"Mark Paul" Sebar

My most important love is story telling of fictional tales, far away places, memorable characters, great beginnings and surprise endings. I can author work across many genres comfortably. If I can connect with you my reader, then I did my job and we are hopefully, both happy.II don't try to author woke, politically correct content, but rather entertainment value work. I like to think of my stories as having a 'Movie in your mind' and if I connect with a reader that way, I have done my job.From my "Sheriff Wyler Scott" franchise to the "CalHouse" Technological terror tales of the 21st century, to a diabolical Veep at Weasle Mortgage and Loa in "$$$Amount Due$$$" to a dying man kidnapped in place of a woman by grey aliens on a disc in "Captura" ... I like my readers to be able to visit all types of places. Even in time, take "Skyway Arizona" where a 747 makes an emergency landing in the year 1885. Or a future detective "Turbadia" a detective from hell for the bad guys who seems unstoppable, to a religious scifi confrontation in the future "Thunder Dead" God versus the Devil and grey alien.It is that imagination, the travels with the characters, the places they have been, a hopeless situation turned around, this is what is important, an escape from the real world for several hours to go on those adventures and meet new characters.That is my world and I hope it 'Rocks your mind' for several hours. Humbly yours, American Author, Poet, Filmwriter and Songwriter, "Mark Paul" Sebar.

Book preview

The Wyler Scott Series #1

By

"Mark Paul" Sebar

Smashwords Edition

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Contact Of The Forestry Kin

Sheriff Wyler Scott Novel #01

Copyright © 1983 All Rights Reserved

Library of Congress, United States of America

ISBN 978-1-930246-38-6 TXu000128187

http://www.sebar.com/pub

Please support the author, many thousands of hours went into this story.

Table Of Contents

Chapter 01

Chapter 02

Chapter 03

Chapter 04

Chapter 05

Chapter 06

Chapter 07

Chapter 08

Chapter 09

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 1

Mono County California, Lake McLeod, June 1974.

It was a day highlighted by a deep blue sky and wispy cirrus clouds. Summer was fast approaching, overtaking the melting patches of spring snows. A stream flowed over rocks, swirling into small dark pools, while squirrels darted over boulders in a game of tag. Down below, the signs of mankind had already penetrated this paradise. It was a fire access road seldom used by the locals, but rather a few outdoorsy types, and finally others with a darker purpose.

A truck skidded to a halt, grasping the dirt for traction. The three men quickly exited it. Seth was a very grubby man, who carried a wild look in his eyes. He focused his attention on a grove of Jeffrey Pine, while his brother Chet approached him from behind. They were followed by a third man, with gold chains, while a fourth man sat in the vehicle.

Chet held a set of binoculars, spying a nearby ridge, where he scanned for signs of movement. Turning to his brother Seth, he frowned. Then something caught his attention. It was movement from a tree near the stream. Chet swung his finger around, pointing at the trees. There it is.

Seth scoped the outline of a creature, squeezing off two shots from his 458 Winchester. Hairy bastard ruined our crops. He squeezed off another round, completely missing his target, but almost shooting the man with the gold chains.

That man turned to Seth. You almost shot me you asshole. Seth stood back while lifting the rifle, then shot him right in the chest, causing blood and body organs to go flying onto the surrounding dirt and rocks, a grisly site indeed.

Chet was shocked. Damned Seth, you shot our connection. He couldn’t believe what his long crazy little brother did, a rash act of complete ruthlessness that bespoke volumes of who and what Seth Culligan really was. A complete killing machine when it was a small and unpredictable argument.

Seth wasn’t worried. He’d killed before, and this was just a small business loss to him. But something began to take place that did worry him. It was those shiny boots. That fourth person with those shiny black boots got out of the truck. Clarence Culligan was a tall brawny man with graying blond hair. He approached the two brothers as Seth stood by, displaying a big grin. He’d started something, and now he was answering for it.

Glancing up, he received a backhand, knocking him to the ground. He wiped the small spurt of blood from his mouth, the backhand splitting his lip. He reached for the ground, grasping a screwdriver. Seth quickly pocketed it, embarrassed by its presence. Chet stood out of his father’s way. Clarence Culligan, kicked Seth in the ribs, then he walked away as Chet gave his younger brother a hand. You’re lucky to be alive, he reminded Seth, helping him off the ground and handing him the rifle.

A sudden slip of the foot, tipped the three men off, to the presence of others. Somebody had been watching, and they were all aware. Looking up at a ridge, they spotted a man and woman standing there. It did not matter how long they had been watching, because the fact that there was a dead body lying near them, meant explaining. Seth lifted the rifle, took a shot at the head of the man. The shot was right on target, as the man fell from the spot.

The woman lost her footing, trying desperately to escape. It was to be a costly mistake, for in a short time, Seth was grabbing her leg. He pulled the screwdriver from his pocket, turning to glimpse his dad who smiled and nodded. He grabbed at her top, sliding her under him. He was fully aware of his actions, like a wild animal reaping the splendors of the moment; he knew that hideous moment was his. This isn’t right guys, Chet remarked. He felt guilty, but stood aside doing nothing to stop the hideous crime.

They later left the woman’s body on a hillside, near a grove of trees. It was buried in a shallow grave next to the man, and the drug dealer. As the sun dropped behind Mammoth Mountain, they drove away, leaving a mistake that might very well cost them dearly.

That chilly evening brought crisp scents of Pines, shooting stars darting the heavens, while the waters of a lake, calmly beckoned them. Suddenly, the air picked up, a gentle breeze rustling through the tall mountain passes and canyons of pine groves, while conifers carried the winds through their needles. A large pair of hairy hands scooped dirt from one of the shallow graves. The creature sniffed the dirt, all the while, digging up the grave. Moving the last bit of dirt, it tugged on a plastic windbreaker, covering the face of a man with a thick bushy mustache. The creature stared at the face of the man. The facial hairs, smooth white skin, mesmerized it. A second passed, and then the man sat up, startling the creature. The Sasquatch fell backwards, frightened by the sudden encounter, beating a hasty retreat in the process. Glancing around through a blurred vision, the man could somewhat make out the night stars, while cool air lashed his face. He was weak and dazed as he passed out in the dirt.

Hours later, the man sat up, only this time he could see the early sign of daybreak, as the morning was settling in. His head throbbed from pain, while he grasped his temple. Below his ear, was some dried blood. He realized that whoever shot him came very close to ending it all. The question lingered in his mind—why?

Wyler Scott spotted the other graves. As he began to dig, his memory lapsed, his vision fading. Then it happened, he found something he didn’t expect. It was his wife’s body, her clothes lying beside her, as she’d been covered by dirt and completely naked. Wyler sat back, the events fuzzy; he had a hard time remembering. His backpack lay half buried at the foot of a tree, and he spotted his wallet. Opening it, he found his picture. He stood up, holding within him, a terrible rage. Then he let it out, in a loud scream, that could be heard a mile away through the canyons. The forest was silenced as he stood pondering the events. Seth, the name Seth came to mind. Whoever had committed this horrible thing was a person named Seth.

Two weeks later

Late at night the cold mountain winds blew frigid bursts of air, while Clarence and his sons stood before the burning structure of the forensics lab and coroner’s office. The flames told of what they did. See boy…how it’s done? That used to be where the coroner worked. Not any more, Clarence chuckled.

That clears us pa? Seth asked.

Yes it does. All the evidence is in that building. Now they’ll never know who killed those three. Let’s get outta here, 'fore someone discovers us, he told Seth and the others. The flames ran tall, crackling under the stars of what was a peaceful mountain evening.

The Next morning, Wyler Scott stood near the ember of ruins beside the coroner who he knew as Doc. He held his chin as he asked him, how did it happen?

The coroner turned to him, hand at his sides for a moment. He really didn’t want to inform him but he took a deep breath. She was raped by a blunt instrument, then stabbed repeatedly one hundred and fifty eight times. If I can venture a guess, I would have said a stiletto of some type, thin and a bit wide, but it is hard to say with everything burned away.

I see, a stiletto, a thin knife then?

Just a guess mister Scott. With everything burned there isn’t much to go on anymore so it is just my suspicion, I could be wrong. Well nothing more then to head out and get this place cleaned up and rebuilt.

Well thanks Doc, I hadda know.

Mammoth California, March 1978.

Mammoth Mountain stood tall in the background, the sun’s rays reflecting off the fresh snowfall. Winter was on its way out, spring was moving in. The last few weeks had been warm ones, but that didn’t stop the hordes of skiers who sought refuge in town. It would be another wild weekend of spring skiing. The skiers were always appreciated by the townsfolk, who took in their cash revenues. From the overhangs of buildings, morning sunlight melted the icicles, while parked cars sat topped with snow, waiting for their owners to dig them out. Chimney’s spewed the scent of burning firewood, and a lone dog walked the center streets, diving in and out of cold morning traffic.

As the morning wore on, traffic became relentless on highway 203. A silver Chevy station wagon rolled into town. Inside the car, two young boys slugged away at each other, their parents quite distressed at their actions. Their mother threatened the boys, as she’d always done. It was like this all the time, threats and spankings, the signs of bad parenting to some, old fashioned discipline to others. Their father Lenny, an older man in his mid 40's, steered the station wagon through town. Often, his son Billy was at odds with him. At eight years, Billy was a monster, and at five, his younger brother Clyde was learning the ropes of mischief. Tisa turned to Lenny, after smacking Billy across the face. She was much younger than Lenny, by at least twelve years, and she looked it. It could be said that Tisa Brent was the bulldog in the family, holding things together when the going got rough. Lenny was more of a nervous wreck, on behalf of his barely controllable kids. Lenny had their weekend planned. He wanted to go fishing, hiking, take in the sights. Go to places like The Devil’s Postpile National Monument and Mammoth Lakes. But little did he realize the weekend that would soon present itself, on behalf of his sons, and outside events.

The weather stations predicted a large storm, due in 24 to 48 hours, and Lenny was ill prepared; chains were something he had neglected.

The town of Mammoth is at a high elevation, sitting just east of the main ski mountain. Mammoth Mountain had been created many thousands of years earlier as a volcano. Lying dormant today, it thrust an earthquake every now and then.

Gentle breezes rustled through the branches of pine needles. A small Grey Squirrel clung to the side of a tree, watching all that was happening. Then it leaped to the snow covered ground, running to another tree. This was the Eastern Sierra Nevada, home to the famous John Muir Trail. Looking east, one could see Death Valley, far off in the distance. Several hours north were Lake Tahoe, Reno and Carson City.

The Brent’s stopped at a small cabin rental office. I certainly hope the rentals are bigger than this place, Lenny remarked, upon entering the office.

They are, came a reply from behind the counter. He was an older man. He could have passed for a railroad engineer. His voice sounded like an old Cadillac on a cold morning, cranking over and over again, but never starting. What’ll ya have? he asked, grabbing a pen from the counter, as he opened a book of registrars.

We’ll need a cabin with three beds, and two bathrooms, Lenny answered.

Also a nice cozy fireplace, Tisa added.

The clerk smiled at her, scowled at Lenny. You want a luxury cabin with all them fancy frills?

No, just a place to sleep, with three beds, a bathroom and T.V., as well as her, Lenny threw Tisa a glance as she broke a modest grin of momentary embarrassment, fireplace. Isn’t that what you normally rent? Lenny asked.

Just sign here sir, the clerk smiled politely.

That’s robbery, sixty seven dollars a night, Lenny was surely frustrated. He pulled out his Visa card, cautiously handing it to the clerk.

Seventy dollars on weekends, the clerk’s smile grew. He knew he had Lenny by the financial gonads, and he was squeezing.

The Brent’s pulled up to the cabin in their station wagon. It was a nice sized, single floor cabin, unlike some of the A frames that dominated parts of Mammoth. Tall pines dotted the property. The next closest cabin was half a mile away, leaving them the privacy they wanted. Lenny got out of the car first, approaching the porch. He heard a creek come from the steps. Unlocking the door, he noticed a foul smelling odor.

The air smells so old, she told him, turning to the kids who were getting out of the car.

Lenny entered, followed by the rest of the gang. Of course it does. What did you expect from a secluded cabin like this? It’s a rustic smell. Look, it even has your fireplace, and my television set.

Let me have a Cola. Lenny was just dying of thirst. He’d been driving since early morning, from smoggy L.A.

Tisa went out to the car, while Billy stood behind the counter shaking a warm can of Cola, as hard as he could. Clyde watched his older brother, snickering as Billy handed it to Lenny.

Lenny grasped the can, popping the tab, the can exploding cola all over him. That persnickety little bastard! Billy ran outside to Tisa. Your brother did this, didn’t he? Lenny groaned.

Lenny, honey, calm down. Tisa had a way of soothing the tension between both men. This scenario had played itself many times in the past, and this was no different. She rubbed his shoulders, while Clyde stood watching.

Lenny grabbed her, kissing her firmly on the lips, while Clyde’s eyes popped. That kid’s getting away with murder; I’ll deal with him later. Lenny’s tone drew a slight hesitation in her, as Billy was causing tensions between them.

Meanwhile at Mammoth Mountain’s ski resort, Bob and his older buddy Jim, waited on a Lift line, at Mammoth’s base. They were waiting to go helicopter skiing. It was something they had longed for, ditching school in the process. They were snow-hounds, hunting snow bunnies. People were crowding onto the runs. Bob smiled, this is gonna be rad dude. As usual, Jim kept his cool. He heard Bob make spontaneous statements like this in the past, always leading him into trouble.

The line of people advanced, until they were at the window. Bob winked at the cute ticket girl, and she smiled back. He turned to Jim, Would you get a load of this chick. Bob was playing smooth operator, but this time, Jim wasn’t buying.

Jim pushed him aside. Let me in, you asshole. Smiling at the ticket girl he tried not to look embarrassed. We need tickets and info on heliskiing.

She thought they were cute, pointing at the Main Lodge behind them. Jim turned to Bob, giving him an arrogant snicker. But Bob just sighed. You know what that girl said about you? Jim asked.

Bob looked puzzled, what?

Jerkkkkk…she thought you were a total…jerkkkkk.

Lately, Jim had been pressuring Bob. He grabbed Jim by the shoulder, staring him in the eye. This stuff has to stop between us. You’ve been on my ass embarrassing me in front of everybody, treating me like crap, and I’m not taking it any more.

Jim didn’t have any reply, realizing he was being un-cool. There was only one thing to do at this point. Hey man, I’m sorry.

The dirty orange paint job, reflected the morning’s sunlight. This truck had seen a lot of dirt roads. The four men sat in the Dodge Ramcharger, discussing the day’s agenda. They drove casually through town. Seth and Chet, as well as their cousin Lloyd and his close friend Brett, planned on finishing business. Little did any of them notice Sheriff Wyler Scott, who stood on the street corner, watching as they drove by.

Wyler hadn’t noticed them either, because he wasn’t looking for them. This town was part of his county, and there was a serial killer on the loose. It was one of many problems facing his department. He never gave up on his wife’s killers. It had all been done by the same men who left him for dead. Men so inhuman, as to be lower than the lowest form of life on Earth.

He pondered the screwdriver case, which haunted him, each murder throwing a new ton of pressures on his Department as well. He was tiring as both a man and a sheriff. The future looked bleak, as each day passed, and he wondered where it would end. Then he took his mind off the pressures, turning his thoughts to leisure. Mammoth Mountain beckoned him, standing majestically etched against a dry blue sky, white slopes calling him, the voice of an old friend.

A while later, Wyler parked his truck at the main parking lot of the ski area. He waited on line for his lift ticket. He presented his seasonal ski pass, flashing the card at the ticket girl, while flirting with her. Howdy Holly, I’ll take one for the day.

The teen smiled as usual, her long golden hair wavering as she stamped his pass. I might be joining you later on…sheriff.

Nice thought, he smiled sarcastically with a wink. Wyler walked away, carrying a pair of Rossignol ST skis in hand, his boots crunching in the snow. Approaching chair number six, he contemplated his usual warm up, down Jill's Run. He figured a mild run would be the best way to get in shape for the day; it would help him loosen up. He loved skiing Mammoth Mountain, the snow always groomed, the trails well maintained. Somebody caught his eye. It was a woman standing on the lift line, just ahead of him. She had long jet-black hair that radiated a beckoning pair of deep blue eyes, and a figure in a black ski bib, that could knock a man dead. Pushing off with his ski poles, he skied over to her.

Damned the four of you. I need this crop in on time. People hiking around the forest, are bound to find my crops. On top of that Seth, what the hell are you doing carrying that screwdriver for women. Your brother’s in charge as of this moment, and if I think you’re going to jeopardize my business, I’ll kill ya. Clarence Culligan approached the four men, his eyes filled with deadly venom. Am I clear?

Chet was very nervous. He feared this man’s reply, I’ll keep tabs on things better, pa.

Clarence stood in front of Seth. Oh, just get him the hell out of my sight. Make sure the West harvest is shipped to the lab before the weekend is over. He was a ruthless man, placing no value on life, not even those of his own flesh and blood.

In their car, Jim and Bob drove up Minaret road, to the Helipads. Bob turned to him. You know, I would have been just as happy skiing the mountain.

Jim concentrated on his driving. Don’t forget one thing. When we’re done after a few runs, the helicopter brings us back to the lodge. You know what that means. Chicks, music, booze and a good piece of ass!

In another part of the woods outside of town, down a dirt road lined by tall pines, patches of snow covered the road. At the end of the road was a small clearing, cut among the pine trees. It was a secluded place, with a small log cabin, like the one Abe Lincoln grew up in. The cabin had a chimney and wooden steps for a porch. In front of the cabin stood an old man, known to many in town, as Old Jake. He was waiting for someone. Behind him, his cabin was a mess, shreds of lumber strewn about, while the roof in some places, looked as though it had caved in. An old black pickup sat by the cabin’s side, heavily damaged by forces yet unseen. Jake went around the side of the cabin. His instincts told him they were still around. He studied the tall pines that lined the meadows, separating his cabin from the deep forest.

Down the dirt road, a Chevy Blazer drove over the mud and slush, until it reached the clearing. Deputy Wayne Steep, Wyler’s Number one deputy, was on his way to help his Uncle.

Jake turned around, spotting the truck. Running out from the side of his damaged cabin, he motioned Wayne to park. Wayne hurried over to his Uncle. He was somewhat of an impatient young lad, anxious to take on the challenges set before him. He wiped his mouth clean from the dust.

What in the hell happened here?

Jake hugged him. I sure am glad to see you kid. You believe me when I tell you it was the Nünümusi’s that did this. Jake led his Nephew around the back of the cabin, pointing to large footprints on the ground. They both squatted down studying the tracks. Lookee here kid, he pointed them tracks are from the Nünümusi.

Wayne glanced down at the giant sized footprints. Sasquatch, Bigfoot?

Same thing…Indians call them Nünümusi’s, kid.

Wayne turned to him. "You know what the sheriff’s going to think,