Spirit Lake

By Steven Andrew Cole

This story takes place in the vast and dreary forest
of Mt. Saint Helens, five days before the devastating
volcanic eruption of 1980. Despite several verbal
warnings, a film crew of seven ventures onward
to perform and film a dangerous B.A.S.E. jump,
attracting the attention of the legendary Bigfoot.
After an accidental death, the rest attempt to hike
back to the safety of their departure point, Spirit Lake,
only to be picked off during their horrific journey,
one by one. Just as the mountain begins to erupt, they
not only discover who Bigfoot is and where he came
from, but what he really wants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 17, 2009
• ISBN: 9781469116396

Steven Andrew Cole

Steven Andrew Cole was born in Arizona and has lived in several areas along the West Coast. He now resides with his wife, Tiffany, and their two daughters, in Austin, Texas. He loves traveling, enjoys walking his dog and spending time indulging his true passion, writing. He is currently working on two upcoming novels; Stalking Stacy and Based on a True Story. Visit his web-site at www.stevenandrewcole.com for the latest updates.

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Copyright © 2009 by Steven Andrew Cole.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Contents

Dedications

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Other Books By Steven Andrew Cole

Stalking Stacy

Dedications

Being my first novel, all of the dedications to the people who got me to this point could fill a book themselves. To name those closest to me, I especially thank my supportive wife who keeps my inspiration cup quite filled, and at times overflowing. Naturally, I dedicate this book to God for making it all possible. To Michael and Ken for their knowledge of the complicated English language. To my loving parents for encouraging me to be creative within my backyard. And to everyone else, I give this dedication for all of the ideas that help me to complete the scenes which tell my stories.

Chapter 1

May 14th, 1980 Wednesday 2:19 pm

The brass bell above the entrance door had rung, informing old Harry that he had customers. It wasn’t unusual for the Mount Saint Helens Lodge at Spirit Lake to have patrons, especially at the start of the camping season, but since the forest rangers had begun the evacuation process, it’d become terribly quiet.

Where’d you kids come from? Harry asked from behind a handcrafted, wooden counter.

Down the road. Dennis answered the man with a defensive look. His attention was redirected to his older brother, Otis, who was admiring a wall of fish photos taken of awardable catches reeled out of Spirit Lake. Turning away from the cashier, Dennis headed in that direction.

Petting one of his sixteen cats, Harry directed his inquiry to one of the three girls who’d also entered his shop. She was smaller and paler girl than the others and to Harry she seemed timid and perhaps more sociable. Chiryl Kamp, the runt of the bunch, tried her best to ignore him. Dressed appropriately with her crimson hair pulled back in a bun and tiny, silver, secretarial bifocals, she portrayed an intelligent, sophisticated look. Her hands were hidden in her avocado-green flannel jacket as she stood timidly in a pair of tan corduroy pants.

All of them looked like they were from the city. Their clothes were hip, smelling of mall and fabric softener. Harry was familiar with this sight, having always noticed the same scent and appearance on all of the city slickers.

The second of the three girls, Donna Alexander, made a right down an aisle. She was a striking blonde, wearing Pat Benatar makeup and large hoop earrings like the girls on the covers of the magazines Harry had seen in the city. In her painted-on jeans and tight-sleeved, pink shirt, she paraded around his shop like a lioness in heat leaving her scent lingering heavily in her tracks.

One of the guys, Dennis, called to her. Hey, Donna, come check this out! She whipped her head, snapping the ends of her long hair, and strutted towards them with her red, three inch heels announcing her direction.

Cynthia Jackson, the third female, was a beautiful black girl with long braids, voluptuous lips and mesmerizing jade eyes, she was a double-take to any passer. In her Jordache jeans and baby-blue shirt with the word ‘SPAM’ printed on it, she turned down a different snack aisle in search of the requested marshmallows.

The echoed sound of a dog’s bark frightened half of Harry’s cats and they scattered around the cluttered lodge. Glancing out through a grimy window, he saw two other boys throwing a baseball by the shores of Spirit Lake. Between them, a brown dog pranced excitedly.

Mount Saint Helens Lodge was approximately five hundred square feet. It was a tall A-frame structure, with a cluttered loft that Harry called home. The wooden shelves were dusty, loaded with inhabited cobwebs and dead crickets in the corners. From hunting and fishing to camping and hiking, Harry supplied a good majority of the crucial necessities. Whether you needed a roll of T.P., bug spray, tampons, fishing hooks, or a sleeping bag, you could find it at Harry’s. The nearest competition was Castle Rock, which was over fifty miles away. Harry made a decent living, especially in the prime months, but since the rangers had begun evicting everyone, business had become alarmingly slow.

Chiryl continued along the counter, one hand still buried in her pocket. Harry studied her like he did all his customers. He appreciated their presence more than their business. Harry R. Truman had been a resident of Mount Saint Helens for 54 years. He’d seen a lot of folks come and go through his time, but none were more fun to watch than the youngsters; they always changed so dramatically from year to year.

It’s really quiet up here. Chiryl finally replied.

The old man studied her closely. From one of the loops on her belt, a set of keys jingled.

Clearing his old, dry throat, Harry repeated himself. Where’d you kids come from? He held one of the cats in his lap, casually stroking the feline. Wearing a frayed, yellow fisherman’s hat, torn and pierced with tied-flies and deadly-looking hooks, he reminded Chiryl of her grandfather, flaccid and plastered with wrinkles. Harry was 83 years old and matched the number to a ‘T’.

Chiryl hesitated on a truthful answer. There’d been a lot of discussion about the reason why she and her friends had ventured to Saint Helens. During those conversations, there was some disturbing talk about trespassing and other illegal acts. She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone why they had come up here. She knew two things for certain: she was getting paid to be here, and it was because of her keen eye and expertise with a camera.

The city. She answered, glancing down at the glass counter which separated them. Below her was a display of sharp hunting and fishing knives.

Harry scratched at his desiccated, carrot-like chin. I’m just giving you forewarning, the rangers have been instructing everyone to leave. Governor Dixie Lee Ray has ordered people to evacuate.

What? She quickly raised her head. Chiryl was a dainty girl, pushing twenty-three years old, but could pass for eighteen with ease.

Yeah. The skin around his eyeballs stretched back so much, it looked like the balls might fall out. They say there’s activity in the mountain.

What mountain? Saint Helens? She could hear Dennis and Donna discussing photographs from across the small store.

Yeah. She’s captured the interest of the scientists, that’s for sure. They’ve been coming here for years, but I’ve never seen them as serious as this past week. I’m surprised you didn’t notice the line of tourists who’ve come for the show. They hadn’t because they’d taken the unpopular forest service road 830, which passes along Castle Lake. There, they’d stopped to smoke a joint, watch the dog dip in the lake and shoot their guns. Almost every road around Saint Helens had already been closed down.

What, like they think it’s going to erupt? There was actually a faint squirm of fear in her tone.

You’re a bright girl I see. Harry leaned back, practically disappearing into one of the Lodge’s old shadows. He continued to talk, his face silhouetted in a ghostly way. There’ve been reporters interviewing the people on the mountain. The residents and I don’t like it. His voice was heated. He sighed, letting out a breath and continued. This mountain isn’t going to rupture. He shrugged off all concerns about the warning. All the high talk has been over-exaggerated. For years folks have been bringing their children here to enjoy a peaceful and relaxing atmosphere. Now all of a sudden, because of a couple tremors, there’s talk about closing down the campground for the whole summer. Hell, I’m old; this might be my last summer. And, it would be.

Chiryl stepped back cautiously.

Harry could sense the fear in the young girl. Don’t be afraid. This mountain hasn’t been awakened for over a century. I really doubt it’s gonna blow any time soon. I’ve been up here for over fifty years. If there’s anyone who really knows Helens, it’s me.

Dennis and Otis joined them at the counter with Donna. Cynthia, with her bag of marshmallows, joined the group. Unloading their merchandise beside the register, Dennis dug into his wallet, completely ignoring Chiryl and Harry’s conversation. Arrogantly, he counted his hundred dollar bills loud enough for everyone to hear. He was wearing a pair of button-fly Levis and a red and white winter vest.

Hey, old man, can you break a hundred? Dennis yanked out a crisp, Ben Franklin. Dennis was shorter and thinner than he would have liked. He stood seven inches shorter and about a hundred pounds lighter than his older brother, Otis. With his new designer clothes and smart smirk, he stunk of punk.

Old Harry scoffed. I don’t even have enough to break a twenty. Lifting his finger, he punched the NO SALE key on his cash register. With a mechanical rattle, the drawer flew open, revealing the results of his slow business.

Chiryl turned to Dennis, He was just telling me that they’re closing down the mountain.

Dennis turned to face her. His cheeks were slightly sunken, adding width and mass to his enormous nose. From under a golf hat, his brown, oily mullet rested gaily on his shoulders. Get real. He spat out the chewed up words.

No, really. Harry rested his weight on his cane and slanted forward.

Dennis yanked his arrogant look from Chiryl and attached it to Harry. Are you telling me, old man, that they’re closing down the whole mountain? Is that what you’re tryin’ to tell me? He pressed his hands against the counter. Harry leaned back slowly, realizing that this seed was a rotten one.

Otis, a gentle giant, crossed his fat arms over his calorie-swollen stomach. He had yellow, plastic-like bangs that were cut perfectly across his stretched brow like a doll, and was missing a couple of teeth from his crooked mouth.

They say that the mountain could erupt. Chiryl volunteered.

Donna flashed her cousin, Chiryl, a look that said: Shut up, knowing that her babbling words had only irritated her boyfriend, Dennis Morril, even more so.

Dennis spoke over Chiryl, they’ve been saying that for years. Besides, we’re only here for a couple nights. And if it really blows, I’ll be home watchin’ it. Raising his voice, he pointed at old Harry with his index finger. And, if you say they’re evacuating the mountain, then why the hell are you still here?

Harry had become a minor celebrity during the last two months of volcanic activity. He’d been interviewed by reporters due to being such a long time resident on the mountain. I’ve been granted permission to stay. There’s no way I’m leaving my mountain. Harry’s words were as solid as rock as he leaned closer to Dennis. If this mountain goes, I’m going with it. The solemn look on his face proved he was dead serious.

Dennis bantered back at him. Whatever, old man. Just ring up this shit so we can get outta here, this place reeks of cat piss. Dennis flared his nose at the Lodge, completely ignoring Harry and the warnings. Soon, though, they’d all find out the terrifying truth. Mount Saint Helens was on a countdown to total destruction and the time was just a number of ticks away.

Wednesday 2:23 pm

Outside the Lodge, the brisk air was invigorating. High overhead, a hawk instinctively hunted as its wings severed the lucent sky. A cool breeze swept down from the west, carrying the scent of ice from the eternal snow-covered peak of Helens. Saint Helens was gorgeous, towering up from behind the Lodge to stand magnificently in the heavens with fresh snow visible on its rocky crags. Covering the shoulders of the mountain was a warm blanket of tundra spreading down to where it weaved into the downy flora of wild flowers. Over a billion years old and formed out of dirt, rock and clay, she had watched over the sparkling surface of Spirit Lake since the beginning.

Below the mountain, Michael Austin and his friend Willie White threw a baseball, while Willie’s dog, Cash, chased the action as his metal tags clanked. Down a sandy shore tattooed with footsteps and tire marks, the spread of Spirit Lake’s water stretched outward, reflecting the clouds, and from the opposite mirrored direction, Saint Helens herself. The pristine blue surface of Spirit Lake shimmered like illuminated silver. Fed by snow and glacial melt, the lake’s temperature is below 55 degrees Fahrenheit year round. When people reminisce about Spirit Lake, they always mention how clear it was. They say you could see straight to the bottom. The Spirit Lake basin is blanketed with ancient forests that continue outward to create the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. Both the mountain and the lake have been regarded over the years as being cursed, yet spiritual. The local Indian tribes have given the mountain many names through the centuries, often related to the expelling gases witnessed at night, venting from her severed mouth. As for Spirit Lake itself, these same natives would not fish from the lake, believing the fish held the souls of the evilest people who have ever lived. They also believed that the lake shores were populated by a band of rogue demons. Only the young warriors, to prove their bravery, would climb beyond the timberline of Helens and spend a night in the presence of Spirit Lake. Today, however, there are many dirt roads and trails that bring hundreds of families here annually to fish and boat in these cursed waters.

Nice catch! Michael Austin, known as Austin by his friends, congratulated his black friend, Willie. Both men had played baseball for the same high school. Willie played center field, while Austin pitched their senior year back in ’76. It was during this glorious season that Austin led his team to win the state championship.

Beginning to sweat, Willie caught the baseball and held it firmly in his grip while he headed in Austin’s direction. His four-year old pit bull, Cash, jumped and snapped at the ball in Willie’s hand. Patting his best friend’s solid head, Willie rejoined Austin at the front of Austin’s Jeep.

They brought three vehicles on the trip: two Jeeps and a truck. Packed with sleeping bags, tents, and the other necessities, they were all ready for two nights and three days of pure camping fun; well, besides the job they had come here to do, which was the reason they were all here to begin with.

It was Hump Day, May 14th, and they’d just arrived at Spirit Lake, their first stop. Once the girls noticed Harry’s little store, they quickly rushed in.

Damn, what’s takin’ ’em so long? We gotta set up camp before it gets dark. Willie tossed the baseball and his glove into the bed of his blue pickup. Cash chased after it, barking and wagging his ass. Willie then pulled out a metal cigarette case from his jean’s pocket and flipped it open. Plucking out a cigarette, he held it in the opposite hand while retrieving a similar stick from the other side of his tin, just rolled with different leaves. Besides, I can’t wait to smoke one of these babies. He lifted the marijuana stick to his pudgy, black nose and inhaled dramatically. Dy-no-mite! He replied with a zing. Willie had a big head, much like his dog except for the static-induced ‘fro. He was tall and athletic with long, chiseled muscular arms. Wearing camo pants and a Bob Marley t-shirt, he was the powerhouse of the group, due to his avid boxing training. With a cartoon smile, he began to slide the joint safely back into his cigarette box as he spoke to it. I’ll be seeing you real soon, little buddy.

Hell, spark it up now, it’s not like there’s anyone around. Austin scanned the area. It was true; for some eerie reason the place was deserted. These grounds had already been well combed out by the rangers.

You’re crazy.

No, really. Austin quickly snagged it from Willie’s hand. Shit, I’ll spark this baby up right now. With the joint tucked between his cracked lips, he looked at Willie with a furrowed eyebrow. Austin’s long, feathered, brown hair was styled in the image of Eddie . . . Van Halen himself. He had a square shouldered frame that gave his body a wide span. His thick black soul patch pointed sharply down his chin like a spade. Austin had a flawless face, perfectly proportioned and well sculptured as if it was created for show.

The sound of a ringing bell prompted them both to look toward the lodge’s door. Donna appeared in the entryway. The sunlight seemed to enlighten her beauty like a prism. Austin’s jaw dropped, his eyes firm and unblinking. She was sexy, with smooth curves and a divine scent. This trip marked the first time he’d met her, and everything she did and said turned him on.

There’s my baby. Willie quickly snagged his joint back as he bubbled over Cynthia as she followed Donna out of the shop. Cynthia’s ebony skin was creamy dark, like swirled chocolate.

Yeah, carryin’ your baby. Austin added sarcastically. Willie gave him a harsh look as the group became one.

They rejoined at their awaiting vehicles, in the background of the mountain, there was the faint sound of a helicopter’s rotors. Whump Whump Whump.

That old man was bent. Dennis recapped the incident.

Do you think he was tellin’ the truth? Donna was slightly concerned. They all stood in a huddle, Otis carrying the bags of merchandise they had purchased from Harry’s.

What? What’s up? Willie asked Cynthia, looking up from a tight squeeze.

This old man was talkin’ all kinds of funky smack about the mountain. Cynthia answered.

What kind of smack? Austin was curious.

Shhh . . . Dennis swung his palm at them. Nothin’ serious.

Nothin’ serious! Chiryl spoke up. Usually she was quiet and submissive. This mountain is on the verge of erupting! Her voice trailed down the empty campgrounds of Spirit Lake. A distant bird called back to her. It was suddenly smashed with the sound of laughter as Austin and Willie both shattered the silence.

Looking toward Chiryl, Dennis glowered at her. See, dingbat, I told you that old man’s crazy. Maybe you are, too? He squinted his almost black eyes. Dennis had a line of freckles under his left eye, and, when he scowled, they resembled a wicked tear, like a sinister clown would have.

Chiryl tolerated him only because he was paying her to capture images of the stunt and also, because her cousin, Donna, was dating the rich asshole. Rolling her eyes away from him, she replied, Get bent.

Did you just say that the mountain is going to erupt? Willie asked Chiryl.

Then why are the roads and the lodge still open, let alone this whole campsite? Austin asked defensively.

Well, Harry . . .

Harry? Willie gave her an odd look.

Yes, his name is Harry. Anyways, he said he was given special permission to stay.

This mountain isn’t going to erupt. Dennis interjected.

Yeah, Chiryl, they’ve been saying that for years. Austin snipped.

Yeah, years . . . Willie chimed in.

Tell me you didn’t let it slip about what we’re doing here? Willie asked Chiryl with accusation in his tone.

What? No, I’m not stupid. She turned her head.

I still don’t see why it’s so illegal.

Ah, duh, because you can die doing it. Dennis belittled Donna.

Shh, whatever. Austin looked at Donna. Only the stupid ones die. Austin rolled his eyes. That’s the government for you, making anything that’s fun and dangerous, illegal. Austin headed toward his Jeep with Chiryl by his side. They had ridden together, due to space. Well, hell, let’s go break the law and film it!

Next stop, the Twilight Zone. Willie quoted as Cynthia and Cash piled into Willie’s blue pickup. Donna and Otis rode with Dennis in his Jeep, which was newer and more pristine than Austin’s.

Wednesday 4:20 pm

Out of the peaceful brush came a noise. The sound grew quietly out of the silence at first, then began swelling until it seemed it had always been there, hidden under the greater noises of the forest. It grew, took on lucidity, and became the muffled motor of a Jeep.

Austin’s new CJ-7 tore across the valley like it was out of control. Rocks and twigs spit from the tires as the metal ride slid across a colorful carpet of wild flowers. Around a boulder the Jeep fissured through a bush as it crushed fallen branches on its way. From a distance, the vehicle looked like it was racing out of control, and that either the brakes had gone out or the driver was inebriated. But, actually, Austin had his Jeep in full control and loving every minute of the wild ride.

Michael Austin was a sharp driver, experienced with years of off-road mayhem. For one of his projects in a college class he even volunteered to play the role of a driver who loses control on a wet road. Turning with the rotation of the twisting Camaro, he pulled off the stunt in front of thirty-four students and his then girlfriend, now ex-girlfriend, Susan. It was videoed and awarded with appreciative applause and the admiration of a young girl.

Whoa!!! Willie hollered as he grabbed hold of the roll bar with his only free hand. Over an indention in the valley’s floor, all four tires of the Jeep caught a brief sensation of air. It was followed with a heavy, plangent landing as the back-end of the red Jeep fishtailed up a wave of dirt. Austin slid the vehicle to a stop. For a brief moment, the dust tail behind them caught up, leaving them engulfed in a cloud of earth particles, pollen and an array of leaves.

Austin’s new Jeep was the Chief package with a V8 under the hood. It resembled the Jeep Daisy Duke drove on the show, The Dukes of Hazzard, except his was bright red instead of white and where it said Dixie on the side of Daisy’s Jeep, his had a green squiggly salamander. Austin had just purchased the Jeep only a couple of months before the trip. He’d been working for old man Steller down at the lumber yard for two years to save for this Jeep. He had once owned a CJ-5, but he liked the newer one better because it featured a longer, 93.4 inch wheelbase and lacked the noticeable curvature of the doors. The CJ-7 featured a new optional automatic all wheel-drive package called the Quadra-Trac, as well as a two speed transfer case. It came with the Levi’s interior that matched his favorite pair of pants.

Whatcha think? Austin pressed the gas again.

Awesome! Yeah, you’re right, man. She handles beautifully. Dude, let me drive her. Standing again, Willie wrapped his left arm around the width of the roll bar. In his other hand, he held binoculars. On the seat beside him was a loaded M1903 Springfield rifle. He had adorned it with a scope and cleaned it on a regular basis. The black rifle had been in Austin’s family since his grandfather fought in WWI. He still had the old 16 inch bayonet at home in his trunk of treasures.

Are you for real? Austin crossed his arms as he played on Willie.

Come on man, don’t be such a spaz. Let me drive.

Austin grinned. All right, dude. Just keep us crawlin’ so I can spot something to shoot.

After leaving Harry’s, the group had traveled through the thick forest for two hours when they finally came to a valley. The trail they’d chosen was burly, with enormous knots made of trees and walls of sculptured, iron bushes. Towering overhead, the branches of the ancient elders reached to each other to give the place an etched ceiling, where only tiny slivers of light pervaded through the limbed roof just enough to color the woods with a hard, gray glow. Deep in the thick of the Washington State forests, it always seemed to be cold. Some areas, where the sunshine never penetrated, the moss encased everything with its sleek, green infection.

Suddenly, when the group had started to believe that the hallway of wood would never end, an illuminating light flashed up ahead; an entrance to a beginning. It was a hidden valley, dappled with scented flowers and swaying lush greenery, all resting under a sun drenched blue sky.

They raced to the utopia while honking and screaming with excitement. That had come to the first mark, Chupper Valley.

There they stopped to snack, drain and enjoy the warmth of the afternoon rays. Spring on Helens was still very young, but there was enough shine from above to coat the valley with fresh floral life. Avalanche Lilies and Bear Grass brightened different areas with a white, snowy effect, while the edges of the open stretch were lined with Queen’s Cup and Cusick’s Speedwell, both brilliantly purple.

Through the black tunnels of Otis’ Porro-prism binoculars, Austin spotted movement in the wall of the Pacific Silver Firs. Hold up. I think I spotted something. Willie brought the Jeep to a stop. Austin swiped the dust from his view as he examined the scene. Back and forth, he scanned the forest. The movement turned out to be a squirrel practicing its acrobatics between branches. Although the squirrel could be considered wild life, it was not a blue ribbon kill. He wanted to pull the trigger and feel that curious satisfaction that came with dispensing death; a death worthy of one of his bullets. Besides, a bullet from his rifle would split a squirrel in half.

So, what was it? Pulling forward on the steering wheel, Willie tried to see into the fence of trees. Chupper Valley was large, the size of several football fields. From where they sat, idling in the center, they could see the snow-capped peak of Helens towering over them. Small patches of clouds cradled around the peek like a tiara of cotton. The backdrop of sky was a magnificent, indigo blue that seemed too perfect to comprehend.

It was nothing. Austin began to lower the binoculars from the veiled gathering of trees. Right before he pulled his vision from the eyepieces, he noticed something. There was movement. Adjusting the focus of the binoculars, he leaned on the Jeep as if to get closer to the image itself.

Dude, what is it? What do you see? Willie rose from the driver’s seat and drew his Remington .45 caliber from his waistband. The gun was old, the black lacquer was scuffed and the silver chrome scratched, but it still fired straight. Loaded with 7 rounds in the clip and one in the chamber, he was ready for action.

Pipe down. Austin whispered. I thought I saw . . . Through the tangled brown and green blends of camouflage he saw it again, moving. Focusing his eyesight, he was finally able to see it. There it is again. His whisper was electrified with enthusiasm. Within the snarl of branches and draping leaves, he spotted a large portion of hair covered flesh. Maybe it was the rear end of an elk or the back of a large bear? To Austin, it didn’t matter. The fact was he actually spotted something worthy of a challenge. Holy shit, it’s big!

What? Willie tried to see. They were too far away for the human eye to discern it. What is it?

Austin quickly tossed the binoculars to the seat beside him. Hurry, hand me my rifle- he ordered hastily. Willie helped Austin with the gun and in seconds he had it braced against the hollow of his shoulder. Holding the barrel steady, he focused. With his head cocked slightly to the side and one eye closed, he concentrated through the scope and stared back into the garbled spread of forest. Willie held his pistol with both hands, ready to fire.

It’s still there.

Either his vision had improved or his riflescope was better than Otis’ binoculars. Either way, he actually had a better view. Through the patch of woods, he looked at what seemed to be a bear. Not a common black bear wandering around on all fours. This was an enormous, grayish-black figure standing on its two hind legs. What was so eerie, was that it was staring right back at him.

What is it? Willie asked again. Before Austin answered, Willie reached to retrieve the binoculars.

Shhh . . . Austin aimed the rifle right at the creature. Steadily, his finger pressed against the trigger, ready and waiting. His eyebrow rose dubiously as he began to examine it. It was odd, the stance was almost . . . humanlike. Suddenly it moved, revealing more of its large shape.

With its long legs, the bear appeared in a window within the branches, just enough for Austin to realize that it was definitely not a bear.

The earth beneath the Jeep shuddered, rocking the metal frame under Austin.

Without warning or explanation, Austin pulled the trigger and the gun fired.

POW!

It was the combination of Austin’s desire to kill and the earth trembling under them that caused his finger to tighten.

There was a loud, thundering explosion as the sound of the shot reverberated across the valley and through the skirts of Helens. Birds shrieked from the trees, as a family of coyotes scurried from the back of the valley. Austin blinked as the gun detonated smoke from the barrel, sending a bullet screaming over the green valley floor.

Holy shit! Willie dropped the binoculars and the pistol and covered his ears with his opened palms. Next time give warning, dude! There was a high-pitched tinnitus in his ears. Yo, that was so powerful it felt like it shook the ground. The small earth tremor went unnoticed by everyone in the group. Austin didn’t respond because even