Alice Henderson - Voracious

MOSTof the windows in Steve’s cabin were dark. Though she knocked quietly on the door, the sound thundered in the otherwise hushed night. She waited on the doorstep, watching a haze of blue smoke drift through the forest, remnants of the many campfires still smoldering, even at this late hour.

No one came to the door. She peered in a window. A light was on in the back of the cabin. She knocked again. Waited. Knocked harder.

Finally she heard someone stirring on the other side of the door. “Listen, buddy,” Steve called through the wood. “There’s nothing I can do about your damned beer. You’re just going to have to drive to town tomorrow and get more.”

She stood silently on the other side, confused.

“Besides,” he went on, “if it was that important to you, you should have known they didn’t sell it at the camp store and brought more.”

Madeline said, “Um… Steve? It’s me, Madeline, the person who reported the murder tonight?”

“Oh,” came the reply. A lock disengaged, and the door swung open. Steve’s sleepy face came into view, his eyelids drooping as he focused on her. “Sorry about that. Some drunk guy keeps coming by, asking me if I have beer. He’s been driving me crazy all night.” He rubbed some sleep out of his eye. “This park’s not nearly as bad as the state park I used to work at. But, man, do I get the unpleasant ones.” He leaned against the door. “So what’s up?”

“Well, actually, I was hoping…” Her voice trailed off. It was the middle of the night, and he didn’t even know her. But she had to get away. Her life might depend on it. “I was hoping you could drive me to my car.”

“What, now?” He squinted at his watch.

“Yes.”

He looked back up. “What’s the hurry?”

“I’m just… freaked out, I guess. I just want to go home.”

He scratched his head, his already mussed hair now standing up where he’d ruffled it. “Well, where is it?”

“It’s at the Loop trailhead.” The Loop was a section of the Going-to-the-Sun Road east of there that made a sharp, hairpin turn. A small parking area lay up there, along with a trailhead that started off some fantastic hikes, including the Granite Park Chalet and Swiftcurrent Pass trails.

He scratched his head again, then ran a hand over his whiskers. “You’re freaked?”

She nodded emphatically.

“What, you think the murderer is going to come after you? We did talk to Mike up there, you know. There was no murder.”

She looked down, feeling awkward. They already thought she was crazy for what she had seen and didn’t believe her at all. “I just feel unsafe,” she said finally. “I know you don’t think that thing was real.” She gently felt the bandage on her head. “But regardless, I just want to go home.”

Steve studied her face for a long time. “I don’t know if you should drive with that head wound.”

Madeline looked at him pleadingly.

His face remained concerned. Finally he exhaled. “What the hell. I’m not getting any sleep here anyway. Besides, I have to see about my winter job in Missoula tomorrow, so I do have to head out of the park. Driving up to the Loop first won’t take me too far out of the way.”

Madeline felt a little guilty. If she waited until morning, she could get Noah to drive her or take one of the red historic touring cars that had been recommissioned to take tourists from location to location inside the park.

Steve looked at his watch. “I guess if I left now, I would just get there super early. Could even squeeze in a visit with my sister.” He dropped his hand to his side, then pushed the door open wider. “Sure. C’mon in. I’ll just get changed. Then we can be off.”

“Really?”

“Sure.” He gestured for her to come inside.

As she entered she said, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he said, still groggy. He closed the door behind her and turned on a table lamp next to the door. “Make yourself at home. I’ll just be a minute.”

Sighing with relief, she watched as he walked off toward the back bedroom. Hope simmered within her at the thought of going home. She felt almost giddy. She was getting out of there!

Turning where she stood, she took in the meager possessions of the ranger: a small wooden table where he ate; two wooden chairs, the finish worn off on the seats and backs; a small bookshelf overcrammed with books. She approached the latter, taking in some of the titles. Many were field guides, the Golden Guide to Birds , the Audubon Society Field Guide to the Night Sky. But a lot were fiction, mostly mysteries and thrillers. So many books sat on the bookshelf that they were crammed four-deep in some places. On top of the bookshelf, next to a painted, wooden katydid, books teetered and loomed in precarious stacks, readying to topple at the slightest movement of the bookcase.

“You like reading?” she called into the other room, trying to make polite conversation.

“How’d you know? I love it.”

She smiled at the teetering books. “Just a guess.”

“Just about ready.”

“Okay.”

A minute later, Steve appeared, threw a backpack down on one of the wooden chairs, and then disappeared into the bathroom.

As she listened to him brushing his teeth, an unsettling feeling crept up on her. She started pacing. Suddenly the windows felt too close, like the creature was out there, peering in through the gauzy curtains, and only had to stretch its hand through the screen-

In the center of the room she stopped, staring at the windows. Part of her wanted to open the curtains and stare out, but she feared that as soon as she pushed one aside, she’d find a hideous dark face with red saucer eyes staring back. But she remained transfixed, as if it were calling her to the window, daring her to see if she was right. The room continued to creep in on her, the windows growing closer.

“Well, I’m ready to go,” Steve said, appearing from the other room.

“Great.” She was already moving toward the door. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet as she moved. Glancing back, she scanned over Steve’s outfit to see if he wore a gun. He didn’t.

“Don’t you have a gun?” she asked.

Steve shook his head. “I’m not a law enforcement officer. I’m an interpretive ranger. I don’t have professional weapons training. But I do have my own shotgun in the car. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. About different ranger categories,” she fumbled, lying. She knew the shotgun wouldn’t kill the creature, but if it came down to it, the fiery pellets probably wouldn’t feel too good. At the very least it might slow the creature down.

She paused before the door as Steve grabbed up his bag from the chair. Reaching out to turn the knob, she felt reluctance wash over her. And then Steve was opening the door, and they were outside, the cold of night sneaking in through the collar of Noah’s fleece jacket. She zipped it all the way up, turning while Steve locked the cabin. She scanned the shadows clustered at the bases of trees.

“My Jeep’s in the lot down the drive here,” he said.

Together they walked toward the vehicle, Madeline rushing slightly ahead, starting at every night bird rustling in the bushes, and each laugh or shout from loud campers. She wondered if she should tell Steve about the four guys who tried to attack her. There were no bodies, and nothing Steve could do except notify the families. She decided that when she got home, she’d write an anonymous note describing the incident. At least then the families would know. She wondered how many missing people had disappeared without a trace at the hands of the creature.

“You okay?” Steve asked.