Alosha (7 page)

“Let's get to the cliff,” Ali said. “You have to see the place where I got buried.”

“We're not persecuting you,” Cindy told her.

“I feel that, a little,” Ali said.

“You just need a doughnut,” Steve said, taking one from his bag.

Ali declined his offer.

Eventually they reached the cliff. Ali pointed out the mound of dirt and rocks that had buried her. But from the outside—with the gravel spilled over the edge of the path—it didn't look impressive, certainly not deadly. She saw the doubt on their faces.

“Where's the bamboo stick you breathed through?” Steve asked.

“I don't know,” Ali said. She couldn't see it anywhere.

“Did you take it with you when you left here?” Cindy asked.

“No. I dropped it when I climbed out.”

Steve kicked a large stone. “You're lucky these rocks didn't knock you out when they came down. It's kind of a miracle.”

“Listen guys, I was trapped here,” Ali said, annoyed. “You can see the hollow space in the stone wall. I pressed against it the instant the avalanche started and covered my head. That's why I wasn't knocked out.”

Steve held up his hand defensively. “Okay. I can see that. But we're here for supersized footprints. Where are they?”

Ali pointed toward the top of the cliff. “We have to backtrack, climb up there. They attacked me from there.”

“I just had an idea,” Cindy said. “What if these creatures are supernatural? What if they didn't leave any signs behind because they aren't really physical?”

“You mean, like ghosts?” Steve asked.

“Exactly,” Cindy said.

“But ghosts aren't real,” Ali protested. “These creatures are. Look, we can argue all day. Let's climb up the cliff and see what's there.”

“I hope we see something,” Steve muttered.

Backtracking turned out to be difficult. They returned to where they had first encountered the cliff before it rose up, but the trees were thick. They had to circle far around before they were able to find a path through the forest. It took them an hour to reach a spot only forty feet above where they had been standing. By then Cindy seemed bored and Steve was outright cranky.

That all changed when they got to the cliff.

On the ground, in the soft mud leading up to the edge of the cliff, were large footprints. There were dozens of them, each at least two feet long, very wide, with four toes. Cindy and Steve got down on their knees to study them. Ali stood over her friends, feeling better about herself by the minute.

“Swear to me you didn't make these,” Steve whispered.

“Steve!” Cindy snapped at him. “How dare you say that!” She glanced up at Ali. “You didn't make them, did you?”

Ali scowled. “With what? Look how deep these prints are. The creatures that made them must have weighed at least a thousand pounds.”

Steve measured the depth of the prints with his index finger. It didn't even reach all the way into the heel; they needed a ruler. “Possibly. It would depend on how soft the ground was when they stood here,” he said.

Cindy pointed out how the prints overlapped. “It looks like they were doing more than standing around,” she said.

Ali smiled. “Of course, they were busy trying to kill me. Don't you guys owe me an apology?”

“I don't think so,” Cindy said.

“We never actually called you a liar to your face,” Steve said.

“Ha! You were talking about me behind my back!”

Steve took his camera from his daypack and adjusted the lens. “What do
you need an apology for? You're going to be famous. These prints could confirm that bigfoot is real.”

“What do you mean
could
?” Ali asked.

Steve began to snap pictures. Ali trusted his skill. He would cover every angle. Cindy got out of his way. They were all careful not to disturb the prints.

“Prints alone might not be enough,” Steve said. “They can be faked. Now I know you didn't fake these. That would have taken a lot of work and equipment. Also, your prints are not mixed up with theirs.”

“Then that's proof,” Ali said.

“No,” Steve said. “Hoaxes surround all supernatural phenomena. Just because you didn't fake these prints doesn't mean someone else didn't.”

“But I saw the creature,” Ali said.

“You caught a glimpse of something large and hairy before you were almost buried to death. Listen, Ali, stop worrying,
we
believe you. I'm talking about scientists. They'll have to come here and do all kinds of tests. We'll have to get them here right away. But I know what would help get them here, besides photographs.”

“What?” Cindy asked.

“Hair from the creatures. The trees are thick here. At least one of them must have brushed against a sharp branch, scraped off a bit of hair or skin.”

Cindy looked worried. “What if they're still around here?”

“Now she's scared,” Ali gloated.

“I'm serious,” Cindy said. “These big footprints are cool and all that but they won't help us if we're dead.”

Steve adjusted the angle of his camera, glanced at the trees behind them, worried. But he kept snapping away. He would be finished with the roll of film in seconds. Ali was glad she had made him bring extra supplies.

“She has a point,” Steve said.

“What do you suggest?” Ali asked him.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Steve again paused and looked behind him. The sun was bright and they had been exercising hard. In the distance,
below them and to the right, they could just see the logging site, but Ali doubted the men could see them.

North of where they stood, to the left, towering over the woods like a powerful king above humble subjects, was Pete's Peak. The top had to be twenty miles distant; nevertheless, the mountain's sheer bulk blotted out a large part of the sky. The peak was sharp, clothed in white, a place of cold and ice that never faded.

For Ali it was almost as if it called to her.

She had to shake herself back into her body. Steve was talking.

“We shouldn't split up,” he was saying. “But I think we should risk searching for a few hairs. You know the old saying: no guts, no glory. We might be able to follow their tracks. It's a shame we don't have any plaster.”

“Why?” Cindy asked, not happy about his proposal.

“We could make a mold of one of the footprints,” Ali said. “I should have thought of that.”

“I did think of it,” Steve admitted.

Ali laughed. “You didn't believe me! Don't worry, I forgive you! Hurry and take your pictures. But don't you need to put a neutral object beside the prints? For scale?”

“I was going to suggest that,” Steve said. “But since we don't have a ruler, I'm going to use you.”

“Use Cindy. I'm having a bad hair day.”

“It's your discovery,” Cindy said. “You deserve to be the star.”

Reluctantly, Ali moved behind the clearest footprint. Steve had her get down on her knees. “Smile,” he said. “Think, two weeks from now this picture might be on the cover of
Time
magazine.”

Ali knelt. Up close the prints were scary. Four toes? She wondered how tall the creatures were that made them. Ten feet? They would make great basketball players, as long as they didn't eat the refs.

“Whatever happens, we share the credit,” Ali said.

Cindy snorted. “So she says now. Wait until the book contract offers come from New York. We'll barely get mentioned.”

“She won't even remember how to spell our names,” Steve agreed. Adjusting his lens for a close shot, he practically stepped on top of her and one of the footprints. Pulling her hair back, Ali tried to look older and smarter.

“Not true,” she muttered.

“You're not smiling,” Steve said.

“I don't want to look like a kid.”

“You are a kid,” Steve said. “Say bigfeet.”

“Oh brother,” Cindy growled.

“Bigfeet,” Ali said.

Steve snapped another dozen pictures. Then he changed the roll of film and shot some more. He kept checking the angle of the sun; he had a good sense of lighting. Ali hoped she looked pretty.

Steve shot two more rolls. Altogether he took seventy-five photos.

“I wish I had my own dark room,” he said. “I hate to let Harry at the photo shop develop them. When he sees what they are, he might make copies of the negatives.”

“That's illegal,” Cindy said.

“Tell Harry that and he'll be sure to make copies,” Steve said.

“I thought you wanted to take the film down to Tracer?” Ali asked.

Steve nodded. “It might be worth the cost of a cab.”

Ali studied the direction of the footprints. “I think the creatures headed back the way we came in,” she said.

“I don't think it's a good idea to follow them,” Cindy said.

“The prints are a day old,” Ali said.

“Still,” Cindy said.

Ali glanced at the sun. “I think today might be safer than yesterday.” She told them about her experience with the meadow, how the creatures had stopped chasing her. She added, “If we run into them, we might just have to get out in the open, in the light.”

“If we have time,” Cindy said.

“Who knows, we might find some hair right away,” Steve said.

They had no choice, they had to get off the cliff. They started back through
the trees. Right away they lost the path of the footprints. Nor did they see any hair.

When they got down lower, however, Ali found another set of prints. They headed down the mountain, away from the peak, in the direction of the Mercer River. It was possible to follow the river all the way back to town, but it would be a long hike.

“I don't know about you guys, but I can't walk that far,” Steve said.

“It's possible bigfoot likes the water,” Ali said. “He might eat fish.”

“Yesterday, he wanted to eat you,” Cindy said.

“Let's at least walk down to the river,” Ali said. “I know this area. There's a path we should be able to pick up. It stays mostly in the sun.”

They found the path shortly. Overgrown with grass and weeds, littered with small stones, it did not make for casual hiking. Still, it was better than nothing.

They went on, the sun directly overhead. Ali kept one eye on the ground, the other on protruding branches. But she saw no more prints, no hairs. Perhaps they were wasting their time.

The sound of the river grew below them, on their left. The path wound lower, getting steeper. Between the trees they caught glimpses of the running water, until finally the path burst onto a narrow ledge that ran almost directly above the river. Fifty feet below, still feeding on last winter's melted snow, the water ran deep and powerful. In the distance was the thundering Cave Falls, where the Mercer River fell over two hundred feet in a single drop.

Ali had hiked to the falls before. This time of year they were often shrouded in whirling mist. When the angle of the sun was right, rainbows formed above the crashing foam. Yet even in the midst of the noise, Ali felt a haunting silence. The churning water seemed to talk to her, telling a tale of nature, of times before men and machines. She regretted that they would not see it today. The falls were at least a mile away. Steve's sore feet would never hike that far without major complaints.

The attack came without warning.

Cindy's water bottle was empty and she was thirsty. That was probably the reason she had wandered ahead of them. She wanted a drink from the river. Ali was also out of water, and for his part, Steve was exhausted. Ali hung back to keep an eye on him. But she wasn't that close to him, and the path continued to wind sharply. At any given instant all three of them were out of sight of each other.

Ali heard a muted cry behind her. Before she could turn, powerful arms grabbed her by the waist. The grip was vise-like; it could have burst her guts. She was not given a chance to struggle before she was lifted into the air and tossed over the side.

The water rushed toward her like a movie on fast forward. Her brain refused to accept what was happening. The river swelled like a tidal wave. Then came a cruel slap; she felt an icy sting. The sky and forest disappeared.

Underwater, tumbling, Ali saw light and shadows, felt intense cold. Yet it was the cold that shocked her awake. She was underwater! She had to get to the surface!

Catching a glimpse of blue, Ali kicked toward it. It took only seconds to reach the surface but it felt like ages. Her head burst into the bright sunlight and she gasped for air. She felt herself moving fast but did not understand where she was going.

Then she understood.

She was in the river, rushing toward the falls!

“Help!” she screamed.

It was like the avalanche all over again, but worse. She was so cold! Wiping her hair from her eyes, she searched for the shore. Below, her ankle hit a boulder and she felt a bone-jarring pain. On the ledge above, she saw Cindy running down the path, screaming at her.

“Swim toward the side!” Cindy shouted.

“Help!” Ali yelled back.

“The side! The falls!” Cindy yelled back.

Her friend could do nothing to help her. The pace of the river was faster
than any thirteen-year-old could run. Cindy began to fall behind her, growing smaller. Then the river went around a bend and she disappeared altogether. Rushing toward almost certain death, Ali was once again alone.

She had fallen into the side of the river but the currents had yanked her into the center. Altogether, the river was a hundred feet across; not too large, not really, yet it was still wide enough to keep her from the shore—at least until it could throw her body over the falls and crush her on the hard rocks below.

Ali tried swimming for the shore, toward the same side her friends were on, but her soaked pack and jacket felt like lead on her back and arms. Desperate, she reached down and unzipped the coat and unbuckled the pack, and watched them float away. But her improved maneuverability did not get her any closer to the shore.