The Superspecies

The Superspecies

 Chapter 1

Jack Falcon broke from sleep early usually between 5:00 and 5:30 to accept his place in the world. Pressure had been building on him since the night before as he arose and mumbled some god-awful pissiness to himself. Looking in the mirror he saw a detestable likeness staring back at him. ‘It is interesting...,’ he thought, ‘...to imagine a day when even I might be happy in this world.’ He was a slightly depressed individual of thirty-five who never wore a collar or slept with more than one woman at a time, believing it simply made life too complicated. By no means a heroic or romantic person, at least not in popular understanding of the term, he was susceptible to taking the simplest and least cluttered road in life.

He laughed as he looked in the mirror and saw a boyish grin, full of mischief, staring back at him. His slightly graying auburn temples belied the youthfulness behind it while his unusually thin frame belied his age. His prominent musculature carried an understated tone of strength and energy and his voice was deep and powerful. The sharp line of his rather lunky chin and the large head positioned on top of a thin frame made him seem formidable, with grace not totally lacking in his manner. The effect of it all being an able and practical reliability. Fortunately he wasn’t lacking in imagination either. A fact alone that distinguished him from his peers.

Working for the U.S. Forest Service was a lot like being an species on the verge of extinction. Only, the endangered animal has a lot better chance of survival, depending, of course, on their ability to elude their predators. The modern forest ranger has to worry about the constant rain of descending missiles conceived by federal government administrations. At the present time, not a lot of funds were being set aside for observing the changes going on in the forests of the United States, or anywhere else for that matter, at a time when so many changes were strikingly apparent. He often found himself wondering, working for such a heavily-funded department like the National Park Service why there was never enough money to adequately observe what was occurring in the forests of his state. And with recent developments, like the drastic shifts in animals populations going all over the place, logic would seem to dictate that more money be allotted to investigate these developments.

Overlooking Jack Falcon’s bed was a skylight that allowed the sun to slap him right across the face when he allowed the curtain to remain open all night. He did this about half the time in order to fall asleep more quickly to the soothing effect of the winking stars. It felt like nature itself was enveloping his sleep and seeping into his dreams. He didn’t mind it at all. Rather enjoyed being aroused by nature than the foul sound of an alarm clock. “Nature replaces what civilization takes away”, he would often say; and after fifteen years of repeating it, was well-known for this peculiar kernel of wisdom. At least in bustling metropolis of Buford, Colorado, population 3,487 counting a few hundred horses, cattle and seven hundred forty-seven grazing sheep.

The day began each day with a long drive in his four-wheel drive pickup (not jacked-up overmuch as far as pickup trucks go in the local community) through the mountains of White River National Forest searching for any human or animal activity that appeared abnormal or destructive, or otherwise disturbing of the peace and tranquility of local renown. His daily assessment of the “grounds”—a diminutive term for a rather large area—took about four hours, at which point he would break for lunch and read notices, charts or send correspondence for the rest of the day.

“Lotta coffee” is how he’d referred to his daily drive, which meant, he consumed one and a half thermosfuls of strong black “joe” each day along the route. Never failing to consume less. Occasionally, tossing in some of the spent coffee grounds to add some additional “flavor” and what he described as a special “enlivening” effect for those hard to start morning rituals. Later in the day, depending on its course, might transform into coffee + Wild Turkey to soothe a struggling batch of nerves. On his way back from the ranger’s office this particular rainy evening he bottomed out severely, sending the undercarriage of his truck into a rapid “jerk-and-spring” motion, up and down, followed by a heady tailspin that sent the back of his skull flinging against the rear window with a sharp rap; his body achieving temporary weightlessness. The amateur astronaut suffered only slight bruising to the head as a result as it had begun raining hard in the past hour and his eyes found it difficult to focus clearly on the muddy slosh of state road ahead. Not enough visibility even to notice the newly-formed ditch that developed sometime in the past twelve hours.

The pickup stalled on its way up from the bottom of the ditch and on recovering from the impact lurched up and slouched over like a wounded animal. Almost completely sideways in a ditch now along the side of the road. Taking a quick look under the hood, he realized mud was caked on top of the carburetor and the engine compartment was splattered in black sludge. He tried starting it without holding out much hope and his suspicions were rewarded—no moving her in that position!

He assembled his rain gear and putting it on began to accept the reality that his only option at this point was to escape on foot. Upon surveying the outside damage to the vehicle, he noticed the left front tire was flat. It lay there in the swirling mud, a pitiful mass of folded over crescent-shaped rubber. But driving along these long stretches of road during the unpredictable spring weather of the Rockies one expected, on occasion, to be walking home through a downpour. Poorly-equipped vehicles were always being hauled out of difficult entrapments along these road.

He left the truck behind and began walking furiously, feeling compelled to walk as fast as possible in order to avoid getting the maximum soaking. Doing this almost instinctively, though uncertain of the wisdom of the strategy. There was no way to test it, but in spite of realizing the pace he walked had nothing to do with the amount of soaking he would ultimately get, he stuck to the plan as if it did work, compelled by discomfort alone. Head down, he tramped his way through the gumbo of muddy water and pebbles, emerging from the rushing drops in the pale moonlight like a wayfaring pioneer along an old wagon trail, driving the herd to an uncertain destiny. His face stoic and impermeable, much like the rain gear on his back, down steep slopes and dense forest that barely slowed the rain, into a broadly expanding mountain valley where the ground under his feet felt spongier than bedsprings. Meanwhile, the rain beat down incessantly, drumming its tragic refrain on top of his head, like a scolding parent wielding a stern finger, making him fear raising its head. About halfway between the truck’s untimely demise and Falcon’s home, he passed onto the banks of a small, rushing riverbed, pregnant from the rain torrent, meandering around several hilly congregations that led to his house. Vision still limited, he kept his arm raised above his head to protect his face from the lashing trees and forest shrubbery along the way. Swooping, descending and sprouting branches swatted him from all directions, punishing this hapless traveler who dared to intrude upon their domain.

“Ugh,” he cried out loudly as if to dispel his sufferings in vehemence, “Tramping through the forest in a downpour is not my idea of a good time!” He appealed passionately to the cosmic accountant of personal injustice. Sloppily, juggling one foot in front of the other like a man in a straitjacket, he hoped to submit his misery in an angry revolt against his circumstances.

His eyes were almost completely closed from the increasing pace of it when he spotted some lights up ahead several hundred yards away. Appeared to be auto lights, too. Two glowing, yellow orbs throwing a set of matching incandescent lines into the night sky that disappeared somewhere in the towering pines. The lights appeared like broken searchlights. Jack’s eyes grew wide, ignoring the offending raindrops for a moment as his mind struggled with the possibilities of the strange light’s origin. He acknowledged the shortcut he’d taken a mile back led straight into the belly of a canyon too treacherous for vehicle travel; even four-wheeling adventurers, those in the know, avoided this region for the tough obstacles contained herein. Obstacles that made getting in and out one hell of an undertaking and a miracle not getting stuck. Only amateurs were ever pulled out of it for their lack of discretion.

He pondered it for a moment, and then drenched, sore and delirious…Yes! It had to be—a wreck! Somebody must’ve skidded off the road in the storm. His mind raced with images and through it passed every one of the gory scenes he’d ever seen in the past. All the years of disaster response and recovery. Folks barely able to breathe, crying for help, battered, broken and bruised, too often badly bloodied; others unable to make a sound behind crushed doors, flesh and bones. Silence, he learned, can be morbidly deafening. Once he responded to an accident—a couple—the man’s vocal chords exposed just above the Adam’s apple. The stringy, red mess like a large platter of unholy spaghetti, complete with lots of marinara. He’d been ejected through the windshield. The serrated edges of the glass sliced through his neck like a enormous cutting saw and his wife fared no better: she’d broken her face in seventy-seven places and the side of her head was crushed like an egg. She’d suffered so much trauma the left side of her brain turned black—irreparable. Neither survived.

“People go crazy in this country...,” he muttered bitterly to himself, “...they like to take chances and this unforgiving terrain makes them pay for their mistakes.”

He started out at a tempered run, tempered only because the water-logged mud kept sucking his feet down every time he took a step toward the light—the blasted light!—hoping the passengers were still alive and not too injured to move. Alive would be good! And help, how was he going to get help down here if he did find them alive?

The whirl of the trees and the crack of the branches reached out for him, slashing from the left and right, as he sprang forward into a fury of running—every moment counted. Twice his feet caught something on the ground, the top of a fallen tree or a buried boulder, nearly sending him headlong into the mud as he struggled through the swimming canyon floor.

When he arrived at the light’s source, he found an Toyota Landcruiser, tilted backward and slightly to the left, headlights on, shooting gamely into the night sky like a inoperable searchlight during wartime. He hurried to the driver’s side window which brought him to his knees in rippling, muddy water and peered desperately through the glass into a dark void within. Pressing overly hard with his hand, he rubbed the foggy glass but discovered it was fogged on the inside.

Desperately, he tried the door handle, fuming with frustrated intent, but couldn’t open it. He grabbed an eight-inch blade from the back of this pack and turned it around to avoid cutting his hand, exposing the iron butt of the knife and lunged forward like a pitcher unwinding a fastball, cracking the window so it pushed through in one awkward slab. Having performed this particular operation more times than he could recall, he was, by now, an expert on it. He tapped along the edges for moment to allow the glass slab to fall out in one clean piece where it still clung in a couple of spots along the edge. It crashed onto the empty front seat. Fanning his disbelief in this rather shocking situation, he found no one inside the vehicle. Not a soul. He stood staring in awe for several minutes, blinking from soaked eyelashes that kept getting stuck in his eyes, cursing in perplexed anger, “I got soaked for this. Maybe I should go have a look around. It’s incredibly strange though...,” pressing the back of his neck nervously with his fingers. “I wonder if they got out, if they’re lost or wandering around injured somewhere?”

He scanned the scene of the accident for a moment trying to figure out what had happened. From the looks of it, the car went careening off the embankment above, down the steep slope where it skidded off the road, beginning a rapid descent about two-hundred yards above the canyon bottom. The chaotic descent left its evidence in deep, water-logged, meandering tire tracks that wound down the steep, heavily-forested cliff face. It appeared that a couple of trees had been clipped on the way down from the exposed white trunks along the path. He circled the truck to see if there were any noticeable footprints leading away.

Visibility was getting worse by the minute and he suddenly realized he didn’t have a flashlight. He’d left it back in the truck. Damn! A few feet from where he’d broken the window he saw what appeared to be footprints, but everything being pretty washed out as it was, he couldn’t be sure. Some of the prints, heading down toward the riverbed, seemed to be running parallel to each other, but again, he couldn’t be sure as they looked remarkably similar to random ruts in the mud. The rain meanwhile kept up a furious pace. Flood water rushed down the sides of the canyon in a thin, steady sheet that made its own ruts and pits along the way as it dislodged and carried away prodigious amounts of earth.

He heard the howling sound of wolves getting louder and bolder in the night and decided to beat it home quickly and call out a search-and-rescue party. His house was only about a mile from here so he hustled down the riverbed along what he thought to be the most likely occurrence of footprints. Before leaving however, he turned the lights off and spotted the keys still in the ignition. He grabbed them and did his best to jog out of the there through the sucking mud. Glancing over the area one last time—seeking any personal effects belonging to the victims or any signs whatever of what may have happened to them or where they went. After twenty minutes of fruitless searching he decided the best course of action was to give up, head home and report the incident immediately to authorities. Luckily, he felt good, not too exhausted and kept up a good pace.

When he arrived home, he jarred the door open in a panic and made his way instantly to the phone. Dripping water all over the receiver and the wood floors of the cabin, he immediately dialed his office number: “Hello, Rick, it’s me...,” followed by a short pause to catch his breath, “...yeah, I sound awful, I know...had an accident bit ago and that’s not all, no time to explain. Don’t worry, I’m alright. Look, I just observed a four-wheeler, wrecked…white Land cruiser…just below Fisher’s Hill, down in the riverbed…skidded all the way down into the canyon. Yeah, looks pretty bad—my truck’s about two miles from the spot too...had a close encounter with a giant pothole and came up with a flat tire and a drowned engine compartment. The whole thing probably needs to be flushed out now. Saw the Land cruiser on the way home. Anyway, call out a search party right away…we need every man we can get There was no one in the vehicle when I got there and I’m afraid the owners may be out wandering around in the woods or got thrown from the wreckage…I don’t know. I looked around a bit but didn’t see anything. Bring both trucks and call the search helicopter from Rifle. Yeah, I know it’s ugly out there but situations won’t allow us to wait out the storm...see you soon.”

He went to the closet and found some dry clothes to put on, taking great care to remove the wet ones on the back porch before putting the dry ones on. This, he did, in order to avoid spreading anymore water around the house. Hoping Laura would forgive this minor misdemeanor under the circumstances. He put on a pair of jeans, high rubber boots and a thick wool sweater and over all of it heavy gauge rain gear. He propped a floppy, wide-brimmed, waterproof hat on his head and tied the string underneath his chin to prevent its flying off then went to the outside shed and poured gas into the AT to ensure it wouldn’t run out on the way to the accident scene. One adventure a day was enough. He started it up and let it run for several minutes while he packed a flashlight, shovel, .45 and first aid kit into the stowaway bin behind the seat.

He arrived back at the scene of the accident in a half hour to find his fellow rangers and underlings, Mel Jaspers and Rick Skaggs, sifting through the contents of the vehicle for clues. Skaggs was youngest of the three. Tall and thin with dark eyes and a general skepticism directing a hidden sword at the world, animating his features in a vigorous and appealing way. Jaspers was practically the opposite. He was the oldest of the three. Gray of beard and head—thick in both respects, patriarchal and Old Testament in aspect, stout like a mountain man, with a broad back and cold pale blue eyes.

Falcon parked the AT in front of the Land cruiser and left it running with the lights on, aimed at the truck. He noticed the rain had slowed a bit but still maintained a steady rhythm.

“Find anything?” he asked hopefully as he walked up beside the truck, leaning on his hands on top of the door frame, and peering inside.

“Nothing, yet, Jack, it’s the damnedest thing...,” Skaggs replied in soaked frustration. A frustration that ran deeper than the water drenching his skin.

Falcon queried, “when’s the helicopter coming? We’re gonna need it right away.

“Bout an hour they said, no sooner. They need time to gear up and refuel. They’ve been running non-stop since yesterday they claim. It’s tourist season and they’ve been giving rides to families to bring in some extra income.”

“Shit! Well, ain’t that a kick in the nuts!” Jack growled fiercely, spitting fire. “Tourists! I need that now!” he added with a passionate disgust. “Did you get a chance to check with emergency services to see if they had any distress calls tonight?”

“Not me, Jack, but Mel did.” Skaggs answered dryly, not hesitating from his present occupation of overturning the carpets in the back of the Land cruiser to see if there was anything underneath. Jaspers meanwhile was rifling through the glove box in search of the registration papers or anything indicating the name of the owner.

“Mel, have there been any calls placed to emergency services tonight?”

“Nothing,” came the muffled reply. Muffled by the small enclosure his head was presently stuffed into just below the glove box, now looking underneath. “Of course, if there were any, you think they woulda contacted us by now.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Falcon answered vaguely, “but I’m going to check into it again all the same.” He walked to Rick’s truck and removed the radio receiver from its cradle. “Hello, c’min...c’min...hello.” Impatiently awaiting a response. “Hi, this is Jack Falcon, supervisor at White River...I’m checking on any distress calls you might’ve gotten lately. Anything for us tonight?” A crackling, nasally female voice came on the line abruptly. It was Sandra Lee.

“Well, hello stranger, it’s Sandra...nothing for you yet. You’d a gotten it already if we had. We ain’t holding nothing out on ya down here,” she observed comically. Adding, “What’re you expecting anyway?”

Jack stared at the Land cruiser. The rear tires, dipping sharply into the ground, were almost completely submerged in a swirling pool of mud, forming the perfect murky tomb for the hapless SUV. It was roughed up pretty badly too—rear fender twisted upward sharply, rear tires at odd, outward angles, and the rear section pushed more or less in toward the center of the vehicle. The rear window was smashed in and pushed through the back and a few inches of water had collected inside.

“Sandy, we’ve got a situation here. An SUV slid off one of the old state roads and crashed into a low lying riverbed some one-hundred and fifty yards below. It’s right around the vicinity of Fisher’s Hill where it occurred. The situation now is we can’t locate the vehicle’s occupants, they’ve simply vanished. Haven’t found any clues to their whereabouts either....”

“My god!” she gasped breathlessly, still registering the information being given her, “Anything special you’d like me to do?”

“Don’t worry Sandra—just keep me posted on anything that might come over the wire.”

“Hey, Jack, here’s something.” said Mel Jaspers, the older, grizzled ranger coming up behind him who, for all intents and purposes, reminded him of an old patriarch. He’d been at White River for eight years and the forest service for thirty-two; consciously never rising above the position of ranger though promotions and commendations had been offered him in the past. To curious inquisitors he explained it was fear of being taken out of the forest for paperwork, responsibility and being chained to an office chair.

“Yeah, Mel. What is it?” he replied, turning to face the man many years his senior.

“Our office just called, there’s a report, a bit strange, just come in...,” he paused, peering intensely at Falcon and biting his lower lip nervously, “...a couple reported being forced off the road by a large grizzly bear they described as coming at them wildly across the road. Eventually forcing them off and down a slope where they crashed at the bottom. Miraculously—they survived.” He examined Falcon’s face closely to see if comprehension was taking hold, then shouted, “Right here!” observing his reaction and blinking several times in a time-conscious discomfort. He continued his explanation, “The grizzly was rearing up on its front legs in the middle of the road! Scared them half to death, apparently, and the driver veered off the road and they ended up in the river.”

While still digesting all of it, he asked with a cocked, expectant brow, “Did it mention whether they were driving a Land cruiser? When did this come in? Just now?”

Jaspers nodded to both questions but Falcon was insistent.

“Yes on both accounts?”

“Yes, Jack. It’s the same people. Couldn’t be anyone else. And the report just came in by the way.” Falcon contemplated the many causes that might’ve led to such a rare occurrence. It was the first time he’d ever heard of a grizzly bear forcing a car off the road and seemed more like fantasy than any possible reality.

In a light voice he suggested, “Maybe mama bear had some of her cubs nearby and the driver simply got too close,” he proposed. “Maybe she was getting ready to lead them across the road, into the forest to the other side and the car just startled them.” Satisfied with his explanation he came out of the relative fog of his own thoughts, glancing at Jaspers with clear eyes.

“No Jack,” he protested, “Listen to this: the woman said the grizzly followed them down the hill after forcing them off the side of the road. And after they crashed at the bottom and escaped from the car, the grizzly picked up their little girl and made off with her into the woods. Disappearing, they said, so quickly, they were unable to keep up with its gallop as they tried frantically chasing it into the forest...”

Mel stood observing Falcon’s reaction and tried to decipher its meaning, wondering idly if the words were as strange to listen to as they were to say. So far, though, there wasn’t much to be read on Falcon’s face. He continued the story, hoping, in the end, to gain a more satisfying response.

“I should mention that there were other grizzly bears involved too. In fact, a large group of ‘em.”

“Grizzlies? You sure they were grizzlies? Here at White River? Impossible! Do you realize how unusual that is for this part of the Rockies? Grizzlies are almost non-existent around here...” He hastily explained. Strange that out of the many unusual things involved in this case—grizzlies forcing cars off roads, people surviving long harrowing tumbles down treacherous embankments and young children being carried off to “god-knows-where” for “god knows what reason”, Falcon focused on the least unusual of all: a species, rare to the area, being observed out of its normal habitat range. Guess it was an attempt to “normalize” what seemed a perfectly “abnormal” situation.

“Grizzlies—yes it was undeniable according to them. The father’s a hunter and says he’s sure they were grizzlies.”

Jasper’s dark irises, swimming in pale blue, grew in excitement as he continued his explanation of the rather colorful event. “The woman said four or five grizzlies surrounded them when they got out of the SUV, growling and slashing at them with their paws as a kind of warning, apparently to stay put, as if they’d been captured. They felt certain the bears were going to kill them and froze in their tracks, then one of the bears grabbed the little girl and slipped away while the mother watched in horror. She started screaming and tried grab her daughter back but one of the bears took a swipe at her, giving her a good scrape on the shoulder.”

“The father stepped in immediately after to prevent the bear taking his daughter away and was nearly killed in the process—thrown against the car so hard he sustained a broken wrist and collarbone. He may’ve even suffered a moderate concussion according to the medical report. Then, the mother said, the grizzly that picked up the little girl cradled her in one arm and walked away with the other grizzlies in tow into the forest on three legs. Her husband said she was in such a state of shock she didn’t even cry out—just stood there holding her breath. At which point, they pursued the group for awhile before losing them in the bush. Pretty bizarre, eh?”

“That’s not the half of it if it’s true!” Falcon himself in a state of shock; unsure whether he was the victim of some elaborately conceived scheme by someone getting even with him. He gazed at Jaspers with a fresh suspicion.

“All I can say is, it’s a good thing they didn’t catch up to those bears, otherwise we’d certainly have three deaths on our hands instead of one.” Falcon jumped immediately to what seemed to be the inevitable conclusion: the girl was dead.

“Please...,” Jaspers begged defiantly; finding the thought unpalatable, “They didn’t say she was dead—yet. She may still be alive...”

Falcon took in Jaspers hopeful, pleading expression and decided it was best to abandon that line of thinking for the time being. He’d simply assumed given the circumstances she was dead—well, maybe it was best not to assume anything yet, especially the worst at the start and avoid tempting the will of fate.

“Mel, you’re right, I am jumping to the worst possible conclusion without just cause, hope I didn’t upset you.” He paused for a moment because he was wondering about something. So compelling was this particular notion on his mind that he neglected to think about the impact before asking. “Did the couple seem sound in their recollections according to whoever spoke to them? By the way who did interview them? Were they under the influence of any intoxicating substances?” He couldn’t be sure why he’d said it. It just came out like a natural and inevitable question, from conception to reality; and unbelievable was the only way to explain what he’d been hearing. He actually felt vicious for uttering these words but the situation was so rare, he had to be sure he was getting the true facts.

Jaspers responded plainly, ignoring the question concerning the couple’s mental state. “I realize everything I’ve told you is hard to believe but it’s true and accurate, at least according to the report just come in on the radio. Didn’t say anything about them being intoxicated.”

Falcon withdrew in quick, critical thinking. “Just sounds too unbelievable to me. My natural skepticism tells me something else may be going on here—a child abandonment, or worse, a child murder. Like that case a few years back. The couple that left their little boy in the forest hoping he would starve or be killed by animals. They reported him lost and when we finally located him he gave us a completely different account that implicated his parents.”

Jaspers was grave, confessing darkly, “I didn’t think of that, god, I hope it’s nothing like that...” his voice shrinking to a whisper on the last few words.

“Where’s the couple, now?” Falcon inquired.

“At the office, they walked all the way there from here. Though I’m not sure how they found it so quickly.” Jaspers’ confession combined with vigorous fingers brushing back his long hair and stroking his impressive beard.

“I’m really dying to talk to these two,” he informed the older ranger and turning to the other one kneeling beside the truck, peering underneath, commanded, “Rick, you come with me. We have to find out what’s really going on behind this incredible fiasco.” He actually had cause to use the word “fiasco” which amused him greatly as there weren’t many occasions in which he had found it useful. “Let’s take your truck. There’s nothing more we can do here anyway.” And turning around to Jaspers, who started walking up toward the tire tracks, yelled out, “Mel, we’re going back to the office to interview this couple. Give her the once-over again and meet us up there as soon as you can. Oh, and tell ‘em to forget the ‘copter, okay?”

Jaspers replied with a short semi-salute and began checking over the area one more time. Noticing now what appeared, after the report had come in, to be bear tracks on the passenger’s side of the Land cruiser. Visually he tried to take the bear’s measure from the size of the tracks, but after glancing at it awhile, seemed unable to determine whether it was really a bear track at all. Whatever it was, the water-logged indentation had undergone considerable distortion since forming. Absolute certainty under these severe weather conditions was perhaps too much to hope for.

He called out to the others as the truck rushed past, “Put ‘em under the lamps but be sure to go easy. I’m going to call in the tow truck to pull this thing outta here and make sure it’s cleaned up good. See ya soon.”

Falcon yelled back, “Make sure it hasn’t leaked any oil or gas anywhere, too. We need to know right away if it has and make out a report for the state. The environmentalists’ll jump down our throats if they find out we didn’t do anything about it.”

Jaspers chuckled and tipped his hat as they disappeared down the hill under the pre-dawn sky.

****

The couple looked defeated and at wits end when the rangers arrived back at the office; huddling together like refugees suffering the adverse effects of dispossession and severe hypothermia, physically and emotionally. Falcon instantly gathered it was frayed and cracked nerves rather than cold that affected them. Their faces bore the unmistakable stamp of pain, shock and helplessness often seen when circumstances turned extreme, seated in chairs like cliff edges occupied precariously by them. Their eyes gleamed with rodent-like self-defense against a world that cornered and made them desperate.

The mother was a pale blond with a pretty somewhat oval-shaped face, in her early 30s and normally, one might expect, displayed the light graceful movements of a youngish girl. At this moment, however, she looked remarkably like a frail young girl suffering a tremendous burden her intrinsic delicacy left her unable to cope with; drifting in another universe. Her dark eyes weren’t focusing on anything particular in the room, anything at all. She was absorbed and transported by myriad thoughts, many of which presumably bore a striking resemblance to nightmares. In all honesty it would’ve been less uncomfortable for her companions if she were bawling out loud.

The father’s mental state contrasted with the mother’s by being nervous, irritable and defiantly terrified. His peculiar affliction, however, prepared him for action. His eyes were clear, focused and cruel, searching for an object of blame or venting. In his late 30s, he was a smallish, intelligent man with black hair, doubtless white-collar, thick mustache, and from the large gold watch on his arm, well-to-do. He kept repeating over and over like a charm, “How are we going to get my little girl back?”—and like a wounded animal—“Why, oh why, did they kidnap my little girl?” With a hand like a claw he pulled his fingers frantically through his hair almost yanking it from the roots, and wringing his hands together, repeating some variation of these sentiments over and over.

The scene was unnerving. After a bit, the man actually began shrieking, “He’s going to kill my little girl, isn’t he…eat her like a fish?” as if Falcon knew the answer to that question and a lot was riding on the answer. The woman’s eyes grew wider and more distant upon hearing this awful prediction and the man clenched his fists; forcing the veins violently to the surface on his arms.

“That god-awful beast is probably feeding on her as we speak, isn’t he?” he shrieked again, not noticing the effect on his poor catatonic wife. Oh!” he howled, “What am I going to do?”

Falcon, in the role of supervisor, did his best to answer all the father’s questions, however incoherent, without making it obvious he had no idea what a bear would want with his little girl. He had no idea, of course, but advertising that fact right now might not display the best form with two frantic parents on his hands sitting on the verge of collapse. Why would a bear kidnap a human child? Who knows? Unless the obvious prevailed: to—to—best to think about it!

After a while, he turned tail on his previous thinking rather then keeping up a front for them. How long could he pretend to know more than he did? Be better to simply come clean with them, they deserved that much with what they’ve been through. He confessed with complete candor, “Unfortunately, (thinking fortunately) nothing like this has ever happened at White River before. We have nothing to compare this situation to and we’re not sure what to expect or what it means...”

The woman propped her head up and regarded him closely with a vague sense of loathing. Her eyes glowed, silently and morbidly, in nervous expectation as her gaze enveloped him. He realized nothing he said would soothe their agony, at the same time, some sort of positive action was required under the circumstances. He certainly had no idea what a bear would do with a little girl. Would it immediately kill her? Hide her? Eat her? He wondered if she was still alive as they were speaking about the protocols of rescuing her and something in the woman’s eyes, he felt, recognized the thought now fleeting through his head.     In a feeble attempt to be hopeful and reassuring Falcon explained directly to the girl’s mother, “I do not believe the bear would eat a human child....be highly unusual for them. The bear probably carried her around awhile for the sake of novelty then left her somewhere in the forest. What we need to do now is go out and find her before she is harmed.” He observed her reaction. Nothing. He persisted,

“It’s very much a fluke, this event, and there’s a good chance she’ll be back with you—soon! First, however, we need to go through all the details of the incident together.”

He wondered in her silent condition whether his words stirred her at all. Her look hadn’t changed significantly, that was clear, and it was possible she hadn’t heard him wherever she was now. His heart sank and he began to doubt the wisdom of uttering these thin words of hope.

The father seemed to be growing more agitated all the time and was beginning to show the initial signs of a nervous breakdown. He scowled severely, shivered as if cold, and began mumbling inaudible curses to himself. Crooked veins popped out on his forehead adjacent to the temples, pulsing vigorously as though his brain was about to explode from the pressure building inside it. Falcon stared in worry and awe.

He turned to the woman, hoping, at this moment, she might be more accessible than her rapidly disintegrating husband. “Mrs. Demora...?” She looked up for a split second tragically, saying nothing; it wasn’t much of an answer but he went as if strongly encouraged. “We’re going to do everything possible, I assure you, to get your little girl back. I want you to understand that...” He paused to allow his words to sink in and determine if any comprehension was taking shape.

“Now I realize you’ve suffered a terrible tragedy and we’re going to get to the bottom of it whatever it is, but we need your cooperation in helping us understand what happened. Do you understand? For your little girl.” His eyes grew wide in appeal to her motherly instincts and he imagined he saw a glint of purpose in her murky eyes.

She didn’t move.

He studied her for several moments trying to draw her out of herself and her face like a rubber mask. At last, he was sure of what he saw. A spark, a glimmer of understanding washed over her features, tightening and enlivening them. She was coming to.

Outside the window the rain still poured down rhythmically adding some measure of timeliness to the course of events. In the last half hour alone, in fact, it had started raining afresh with a renewed vigor as things got especially tense in the room. Tiny droplets rolled incessantly down the foggy panes on their way to the sill. Figuring she was the one to talk to most for many reasons, not the least of which was a relatively even temperament, Falcon queried slowly, “Now please do tell me what happened Mrs. Demora.” The clear and vibrant sound of his voice appeared to draw her further out of herself.

“Oh, Mr. Ranger...we were just driving along the state road...we didn’t mean to get off there…I know it was wrong of us…” she stopped suddenly, sobbing without a sound and too wracked with guilt to continue. Blaming herself for her daughter’s disappearance and obsessed with that minor infraction of the law—using prohibited roads—as if it had contributed or caused her little girl’s kidnaping or death. This simple act of miscalculation on her part was certainly indicative of the depth of her distress and how it’d rattled her to her core. What worried Falcon even more though was the sense that she was clinging to her illusion like an explanation, a place of blame, and a link to reality. And the blame was clearly being thrust upon herself. Falcon wondered now if his initial assessment of her was correct.

He decided to let her proceed at her own pace and see what transpired.

“Maybe driving...*sob*...a little too fast,” she picked up again without consequence; glancing guiltily at her husband who began staring at her in disbelief. “I’m so sorry, ranger...*sob*” to which Falcon replied, “It’s OK. It isn’t your fault. Don’t worry about the state road. That isn’t important now, please just continue with what happened...”

She looked at him shyly, wiping her puffy moist red eyes. “Anyway, we were driving too fast for the weather…we realize that now...,” She glanced insistently at her husband who looked at her blankly, appearing bewildered by the unexpected testimony. “And then we saw a huge shadow in the road up ahead…I was in the passenger seat, my husband was driving, in the headlights in the center of the road...neither one of us could make out what the thing was until we got close enough—too close in fact!” Her face transformed quickly into a tragic mask. It was a turning point, a major one in her life and she began living it all over again.

She burst out suddenly in a voice thick with emotion, “We should’ve been more careful, should have known.” It sounded like a wail—the cry of a badly wounded animal. “A very large grizzly bear was standing on its hind legs in the middle of the road coming straight for us. And it looked like there were others around, hiding just over the cliff, waiting. I was terrified!” she shrieked, her dark eyes exploding like volcanic suns. “I screamed for Daniel to stop, “Stop!” I yelled at him, “Turn back, turn back,” I yelled over and over! I don’t even know if he heard me.” She glanced at her husband briefly and inquisitively with the thought. “But he couldn’t see the road well and the rain was coming down so hard and everything so wet and muddy and wild! Daniel quickly put the car in reverse to back up so we could get away—away!” she shivered, “but we got stuck in the sloppy mess trying to back out. Daniel panicked and before we knew it we started rolling and rolling down a very long, steep hill, backwards, crashing down at the bottom. None of us were hurt, thank god! A terrible situation we were in too, we knew it, but thought we’d escaped those awful creatures that drove us off the road at least. We came down such a long way! But…but...” she trailed off; breaking down in a series of dry, cracking sobs as she recalled these painful events and others that followed.

Suddenly, the husband awoke from his mental stupor. The sound of her voice had evidently stirred his protective instincts enough to make him clasp her shoulders in support. After a long silence, Falcon urged her to proceed, “I know it’s difficult for you, Mrs. Demora, but please go on. We need to know everything.”

Her failing crackling voice and bewildered expression seemed to indicate she was slipping back into her semi-conscious daze; trembling now on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“What happened next?” he encouraged her with a patient, gentle persuasion that didn’t elicit a response, slipping further into herself, his voice became more insistent, “And then?” Placing his face up next to hers. She broke down immediately, “ah-ah-ah-ah-aaaaaaaa!” wailing in a morbid, haunting tone. Her eyes drowning in tears and suddenly, without warning, she stopped and resumed speaking again:

“When we got out of the car, we were surrounded by huge bears—monsters!” she explained with wide, vacant, expression. Her face growing tight, “I don’t know how many—four, five…”

Mr. Demora interrupted to keep the record straight, “Four.” He said assuredly, returning to scowling silence after.

She didn’t seem to hear him as she relayed the rest of her account, a narrative filled with frequent sobbing, “My...little...Amy... *sob* …was picked up...by... *sob* …excuse me, I’m sorry, I can’t go…*sob*...” she passed quickly into an episode of ever violent sobbing in silence for a long time. It was a painful thing to behold. She buried her face in her hands and her body trembled with such unrestrained force they were certain she’d break up at any moment. An eternity for Falcon and at least as unnerving for others present. Without thinking, he placed the firm hand of consolation on her arm.

“It’s alright, miss, please take a deep breath. Calm down and try to relax. What direction did the bear take when he grabbed your daughter? Did you see? Into the mountains, maybe...?”

Her skin trembled like loose rubber attached to the front of her face as her eyes pooled up with cloudy tears she attempted to stifle in noiseless sobs. Falcon felt for her. The weariness, the quick lines on her face showed clearly just how much she had suffered from the experience—how much she was suffering now. Falcon suspected much of her agony was rooted in personal guilt. Blaming herself for not having “done something more” to rescue her child. Feelings of helplessness are always the hardest to accept in any situation.

“I’m sorry to press you so much, Mrs. Demora,” Falcon said by way of explanation, “but we need to collect all the information we can get in order to find your little girl. I hope you understand.”

She stared at him deeply, eyes wide-open, sunken, shiny, pleading and coldly rational, “Ranger, my little girl is out there somewhere in this god-forsaken place with wild animals holding her hostage, perhaps turning her into grizzly meat as we speak and I don’t know what to do!” and in an even clearer voice, “Whatever you decide, wherever you’re going, I want to be there to help...”

Falcon countered to this, “We have quite a number of folks in the field already, Mrs. Demora, in less than an hour, there’s going to be a twenty, thirty man search team accompanied by tracking dogs and helicopters leading the ground crews.” He glanced in Skaggs direction, “Isn’t that right Rick?” Skaggs nodded. “You see, Mrs. Demora, we have everything covered as far as that goes. Wherever they are, wherever they’re going, they’ll be trackable as long as they’re still in the general area and haven’t strayed too far or taken deep cover somewhere. Grizzlies are pretty rare in this area and should be easy to spot.”

“Particularly if they’re still in a group,” Skaggs added helpfully.

“The best way you can help us now is to show us where you last saw Amy before she disappeared into the forest with the bears.” He paused a moment to gauge her reaction. “We’ll take you back to scene of the crash and you can show us, if it’s all right with you, where that is so we can begin the search.” He scanned her face for any encouraging signs but she remained silent and walled-off; giving nothing away.

“It would mean a great deal,” he insisted, kneeling in front of her, hands over bended knee. “Show me where and what direction they went, that’s all I ask.” He glanced over at her husband who had stopped staring at his wife and was now staring at him.

“I’ll tell you,” Mr. Demora said in a rush, “we chased ‘em as far as I could. Don’t know what got into us!” head shaking vigorously. “We both could’ve gotten killed. But my little girl!” His face took on the shape of primal fear. A fear that reverberated through his muscles and pulsed in his veins like a black paralyzing ooze morphing on his face into a rage turned inward. Falcon, however, was pleased at this development. He was at least moving out of shock phase and into the grief-stricken one.

“They took her up in the mountains, east of where we crashed, about half a mile from the site.” He tried moving his wrist to no avail. Falcon studied the large bandage on his head, bulging over a purple bruise and a large neck cast where his collarbone had been fractured. He seemed very much incapacitated at the present time.

“How’d you feel?” Falcon said mildly.

“I know what you’re thinking, ranger. I’m okay to travel, to go anywhere in fact. My head’s still a bit sore, my wrist is broken and the stuff the doctor gave me for my collarbone has knocked me out a bit—but I’m fine—I can do it. The doctor gave me the OK to travel if I’m very careful and I need to find my daughter!” He let out a deep, wistful sigh typical of the personality type, which at the moment, Falcon found mystifying. More mystifying still, from his perspective, was the fact that he was married; that some woman had put her faith and trust in this man.

“I’ve been in worse shape than this and able to do much more,” he added as further evidence to support his case and also of his masculinity. “I’m a veteran.”

Falcon ignored the obvious macho undertone; paying close attention to him with guarded scrutiny, “And you believe you’re okay to travel with all these injuries?”

Mr. Demora nodded with impressive dignity. The gravity of the great campaign.

“They carried her into the high elevations, didn’t they Daniel?” a struggling voice intervened and they both glanced at each other in silent conflict. Ostensibly over who had the floor which had shifted suddenly in Mrs. Demora’s favor. When their three faces met a cavern of personal tragedy, anger and despair lay between them crossing swords.

He snapped, “Of course they did! You were there.” And he broke away from her mirrored gaze abruptly, facing the ranger with the remnants of a scowl still on his face.

“Alright, the bear took her up into the mountains,” Falcon repeated with a quick glance at Skaggs that amounted to eye-rolling without the act itself. Skaggs smiled briefly then returned immediately to blankness. “That much is established, I believe.” Then giving them both a cursory nod that the meeting was almost over, he rose from his chair slowly.

“Then that’s where we’ll concentrate our efforts...,” he explained to them, “...you’ll show us where you lost them and we’ll get the dogs to pick up the scent from there.”

“Mr. Demora would you like any assistance?” Skaggs inquired noticing at the laborious undertaking rising from her chair had been. The instant wave of anger that washed over the husband’s face made Skaggs realize he’d made a serious mistake—too late; touched on a very sensitive nerve of the man’s psyche. The sensitivity emerged, most likely, from a combination of feeling impotent to save his kidnaped daughter in the first place and his present dependency on others to get her back.

He grumbled bitterly, “I’m going to get a gun and kill those monsters myself!” spit shooting out of the sides of his mouth and facial features jiggling like rubber. “If you don’t find my little girl, I’ll find her myself if I gotta hunt down every goddamned bear in these mountains! Find my little girl!” he screamed desperately at Falcon, “I don’t care about anything else!”

Falcon waved Skaggs back as he attempted to handle the gesticulating dad who was clearly having no trouble with mobility now. He relayed calmly, “In your shoes I would undoubtedly feel the same way, but I suggest for everyone’s sake—including your own and your little girl—we work together. We’ll get your daughter back much faster that way.”

“Just get my daughter back, I don’t care how you do it...” He spoke in the same imperious tone; bordering now on aggravation and staring pugnaciously at the two bewildered rangers. Immediately following this outburst Mr. Demora’s expression softened slightly, perhaps from exhaustion more than anything else or embarrassed by the “stir” her spouse was creating; he seemed a man prone to such outbursts and one almost expected many more in the future.

“The most important thing right now is to stick together...,” Falcon repeated, “...put in a concerted effort and use our resources wisely. None of us running off on our own because that can only make things worse.”

“My feeling is…” he continued after hearing no protests, “…we should join up with the search team which ought to be up to full strength soon if not already. “Mr. and Mrs. Demora you can come along with me and my partner Rick Skaggs will join us. Together we have a pretty good idea where the bears have taken her. The feeding grounds aren’t too far from the crash site but we’ll wait and see where the dogs lead us.

Falcon left for a minute and disappeared into the back office to pack some gear for the trip. Inside a medium-sized shoulder bag he put a GPS unit, maps, compasses, flashlight, knives, food and first-aid kit in case there were any mishaps in the field. He removed a 9 mm. gun on his hip, locked it up tightly in the safe and replaced it with .45 magnum and holster. The new weapon better equipped for close-range fighting with bears.

When he returned he found the couple in the middle of a protective huddle against the world, their arms encircling each other as if they’d never let go. Their huddled bodies like a shrunken cocoon, a protective barrier of life and love. Something was beginning to crowd in on them from all corners of the room as their grief matured by degrees into morbid resignation and the need for positive action. Skaggs waited a few moments, observing them closely, and after an acceptable period asked if they were ready to go now; crouching with intent before their attempts at bolstering each other, signaling them to leave ahead of him and following at a distance.

To get the couple conversing again and ease the tension, Skaggs instructed Mr. and Mrs. Demora to tell him of any additional details about the kidnaping along the way. Anything recalled now might greatly influence their chances of success he explained. What the bears looked like, any distinguishing features, marks, scars, special character traits, or if they split up making their escape. Thinking about it now, he wondered, and asked, if the bears had separated in different directions when they disappeared as that seemed terribly important now. Mr. Demora explained he wasn’t able to see very well at the time, the rain and all, but the bears were still together when he lost sight of them.

This information was important for determining how many bears they might eventually come across when and if they were ever located. Any pertinent details may turn into something important prior to going out there and save lives. An enemy, in this case, endowed with a bad temper, enormous size, intelligence, teeth and claws.

Falcon collected two rifles from the gun cabinet in the back room, brought them out to the truck and locked them in compartments alongside the bed. He, the Demoras, and Rick Skaggs took their seats inside and prepared for the long ride into the unknown.

The sun was up and the rain was over. A ghostly mist lingered in the gray air reflecting sunlight to the ground in glistening aureoles. The air was passive and whispers from the towering treetops seemed to convey their journey in forewarning as they passed along the dewy, quiet roads.

“Mr. and Mrs. Demora,” Falcon addressed them, “You’ll be sticking with Mr. Skaggs and myself during the entire rescue operation. Hope you understand. I suggest remaining as close to us as possible for your own safety but also so you can keep abreast of all the latest developments as they happen.”

Hitched to the back of Skaggs’ truck were a couple of ATV’s for covering a lot of ground in a hurry—chasing a bear through rugged terrain for example—if it became necessary. The only drawback being that, effective as they are for tracking game through the forest and getting to the scene in the first place, they become major hindrances for making critical shots because driving and taking aim are nearly impossible to do at the same time. Stopping suddenly and grabbing rifles at close-range isn’t a particularly desirable option either because its leaves one open to attack.

“I’ll radio the search party and tell ‘em we’ll meet up with ‘em at the accident scene. That way they’ll know we’re on our way. When we get there, the manpower will probably be split into groups and take different ways up the mountains so every possible route is covered.”

He was said this for the benefit of the couple in the backseat who, he felt, would be more amiable companions if informed and involved in the process throughout. At this moment, however, they only stared at him with wide eyes and a grim pondering silence of the strange things they might encounter in the care of this odd forest ranger. Falcon returned their gaze with severe intent, seeking a certain level of understanding among them.

“Is that clear?” he said prompting them to nod in agreement. Well, that’s it, then...,” turning back to the front window, “...we’ll be there shortly.”

Chapter 2

The first three hours turned up nothing and some people were already showing premature signs of discouragement—especially the parents. The search party comprised twenty-four state policemen along with a variety of rangers from other parks nearby and ten bear-tracking dogs all hot on the heels of four renegade bears. During this time and the hours that followed, the bear dogs had picked up the scent and lost it, picked it up again and lost it again, appeared to find it yet again, leading their human counterparts on a wild two hour long chase through rigorous terrain, then finally turned tail and retraced their steps back to the beginning where they were now.

Multiple rivers and streams and mounds of thick, impassable forest lay in front of them preventing the dogs from maintaining an unbroken trail of scent. Skaggs mentioned in passing that it was possibly a deliberate tactic by the bears who sensed instinctually they’d be followed. Bears, he explained, are particularly adept at throwing enemies off their scent with an impressive variety offensive and defensive tactics.

The helicopter reported back from the bird’s eye view every twenty minutes and so far all the reports were negative. The sound of it passing overhead every twenty minutes was beginning to grate on Falcon’s nerves like a whispered remand as he spied the crushing appearances of the Demoras whose faces looked to be coming apart at the seams. Morale was lagging and aggravation was quickly replacing all hope and optimism among the searchers. They carried on bravely but with each passing hour the actions of the group were no longer driven by the high expectations at the beginning.

Falcon tried to shield the poor couple from the contagious discouragement of the others by engaging them in every aspect of the search and keeping them distracted. He explained the purpose of each step along the way and what it meant to the overall effort but was simply postponing the inevitable and knew it. The tactic wouldn’t work for long unless something tangible—a break—was forthcoming.

The rain began a light sprinkle again as Falcon sloshed through the mud with loud sucking sounds following hard on his heels. Pools of stagnant, brown water rushed to fill in the holes made by his boots seconds after he left them and rows of miniature lakes were left behind. In the near distance, he heard the dogs yipping and barking with a haunting sound that chilled him more than the rising gusts of morning wind. Perhaps, even they were bemoaning the hitherto lack of success. Shadowy outlines of Ponderosa pine were framed against white rocky slopes and shifting human shapes capturing the hazy sunlight as footsteps and falling raindrops formed a humming backdrop.

Falcon stood beside Skaggs scratching his head in frustration under a thick splay of pine, shouting at Skaggs, “Where the hell did they go?” as if expecting an honest answer. In the distance, the lonely howl of a wolf rose above the trees filling the air with hopeless longing. Together, they poured over plastic-coated topographic and floral maps of the area trying to determine where the distribution of landforms and forest density might present opportunities for large animals to conceal themselves. Also taking the time to mark off the areas already searched in order to determine what was left over.

The Demoras waited by themselves, separate from the others in a four-seater AT straight-backed, speechless and still. They were no longer offering each other comfort which, at this point, would have been reassuring. Their daughter might be dead and it would be better if they started adjusting to the idea at least a bit. Facing the possibility.

They hardly looked at each other at all as they sipped coffee and shivered from the chill, whispering in conspiring tones and casting accusing glances at the others.

Rick Skaggs returned to his truck with the intention of placing a call on the CB. He hoped that some of the other law enforcement agencies might turn up something; there was nothing to lose. He was attempting to reach Brian Gaines, Captain of the Colorado State Police Commission in northern Colorado who had offered assistance on disappearance cases before.

“Hello, this is Rick Skaggs at White River...,” into the radio, “...I’m trying to reach Capt. Brian Gaines, is he there?” He paused for an answer, removing his finger from the button. Noone answered immediately but trusting somebody had heard him, he elaborated, “I’m calling to find out if there’s anything yet on the missing girl case? Over.” He waited; and after about twenty seconds a grainy voice came on the line.

“This is Captain Gaines. Rick, how are you? You old son-of-bitch!” the broad amiable voice greeted him. We ain’t found nothing yet, sorry to say. It’s a shame—a real shame! Baffling too. Imagine a bear kidnaping a child. Still can’t get my head around that!....but you’ll be the first one we call if anything turns up. Over.” Skaggs felt his heart sinking in his chest. He said thinly, “Thanks, Brian, talk to you soon. Over.”

He face was despondent. “We may have to keep searching through the night. There’s no way we can call off the search or postpone it with bad weather and a little girl’s life at stake. How would that look?” He asked of Falcon who was now standing before him, arms crossed, awaiting any good news. “Nothing,” he replied in answer to Falcon’s hanging expression about the call. “May be time to call in another helicopter and some more men.”

“Yes and yes,” was Falcon’s simple answer, “As much and as many as we can get. We’ll surely need both. Too much time has already been wasted and nothing’s turned up yet. Call the state police and have them send twenty or more men and another chopper immediately. The one with the infrared scanners and motion sensors this time—from the army—never mind the cost. If they’re using it for something else, tell them this is much more important. We’ll be able to cover about a thirty- to forty-mile radius every hour in that machine.”

Falcon glanced at the parents who were still seated in the back of his AT staring blankly into space. After Skaggs completed the request for additional help, Falcon said to them, “Alright, let’s go and join the rest of the searc