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  Christine wondered what other things were going on up here that she, or anyone else for that matter, wasn’t aware of. Regardless, she decided to do a little poking around for Angus's tracks after questioning Watkins.

  After about a quarter of an hour of legwork, she located a set of tracks heading up the mountainside that had been left behind by the massive predator. She stood at the edge of the darkened forest that backed onto the corner of the resort. The mist swirled past her face as she unslung her Remington .30-06 from her shoulder and checked its ammo. The magazine was fully loaded -- she was armed and ready.

  Pulling a GPS unit from her parka pocket, Christine marked her current location before she began following the tracks up the mountainside through the dense fog. Eventually, the tracks came out at a power line access road. She followed it for another kilometre before veering back into more thick brush.

  Soon, a dense stand of Douglas Fir trees towered above her. The pungent scent of decomposing conifer needles hit her nostrils as she moved forward. She noted that the massive fir trees blocked most of the daylight trying to filter through, leaving the way ahead only a dim, grey limbo. Progressing into this gloom, it appeared that the dense network of branches not only blocked the daylight but moisture as well. Very little precipitation had penetrated through to the ground during the course of the winter, leaving it spongy and thick with moss and needles. Underneath these tree’s thick cover it almost appeared as if it might be spring already. She admired the canopy of trees for a moment, or at least what she could see of it overhead, due to the limited visibility.

  Her breath suddenly caught in her throat.

  Three metres up the trunk of one of the towering firs, barely visible through the fog, four huge furrows had been carved into the ancient tree trunk, each one over a metre long. There was no doubt in her mind that the gouges in the tree trunk had been left by the huge beast using its sword-like claws to mark its territory.

  “My God, Angus,” she said in a slightly shaky voice. “You truly are enormous!”

  But disappointment followed her shock once she started to examine the ground around her, looking for more prints. The dark, mist-filled forest stretched into the greyness in all directions, and she was at a loss to find any further signs of the creature in order to continue tracking it. Once the beast had started to move through this area of soft, springy moss and decomposing needles, it seemed to have vanished.

  The thickness of the fog suddenly overwhelmed her, making her feel boxed-in and claustrophobic as she moved slowly forward. Visibility was down to less than two metres all around her now. She stopped and listened, straining to hear any sound, but heard only the slight drip of melting snow as it fell from the thick branches high above.

  “Dammit!” She was frustrated that she couldn’t follow the beast any farther. There was some good news --however, she now knew the general direction the animal was coming from thanks to her portable GPS unit. She was glad she’d brought it along as she would have surely been lost in the fog on her return journey without it. She turned to head back down to the resort when a twig snapped in the mist behind her.

  Her body became wire taut, her breath held as she listened intently.

  Nothing more happened for several moments, and then came the crack of a second twig breaking under the weight of whatever was approaching her in the fog. Mindful of being silent, she unslung the Remington from her shoulder. She brought it to bear in front of her, chambering a round in the process. Releasing the rifle’s safety, she froze in place and waited.

  There was only more silence.

  Standing tensely, she felt the rifle feel getting heavier and heavier the longer she held it out in front of herself anticipating another sound. Her attention suddenly became laser-focused when a third twig snapped, this time much closer to her current position. Another followed it in short order. Whatever was out there was approaching her directly from the front.

  She lowered the .30-06 to hold it at chest level. There was no point in trying to use the sight since she could hardly see past the tip of her rifle at the moment. If she had to shoot, it was going to be from chest level height at point-blank range.

  Ready to fire, she was literally vibrating, both from tension and the stress of holding the weapon for so long.

  A dark shape stepped out of the fog directly in front of her.

  Her finger came within millimetres and milliseconds of pulling the trigger, but she hesitated at the last moment and said, “Well hello, deer.”

  Like an ethereal spirit, a tall, graceful creature came out of the fog, seeming to float toward her. It stopped and looked at her, tilting its head.

  Little more than an arm's length from her rifle’s muzzle stood a fawn, it’s large, brown eyes reflecting back Christine’s tense, ghostly-pale face in the weak daylight. The beautiful animal stood frozen in front of her. It was most likely as startled as Christine was to come across something else so close by it out in the fog.

  Christine lowered the rifle and re-engaged the safety, speaking softly to the animal so she wouldn’t startle it. “You might want to watch your back out here in these woods for the next little while. There’s a big, nasty-assed bear out here in this fog that likes to eat sweet little forest creatures like you, and city folk like me, amongst other things. So you’d better run along now and find a safe place to hide, deer.”

  The creature tilted its head as Christine spoke as if listening to her words. Once she had finished speaking, the fawn nodded its head slightly, seemingly in acknowledgement of Christine’s advice, then turned back and disappeared into the fog.

  “Well, that was a rush,” she said quietly, slinging her rifle back over her shoulder. She pulled her GPS device from her pocket, tagging her current location and selected the resort as her new destination.

  Many foggy minutes later, she climbed behind the wheel of her truck and texted Austin that she’d like to meet up with him later for a coffee, her treat. She decided she wanted to go over some maps of the area when the day was done to see if, together, they could possibly figure out the location of the creature’s lair. Smiling, she saw Austin text back almost immediately. He agreed that it would be a great idea and said he’d meet her at the conservation office after dropping Alex off to hockey practice at 6:00 P.M. He also attached an emoticon showing a thumbs up and a steaming cup of coffee at the end of the message.

  With a small smile, she said, “Well, I guess it’s a date then.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “Sleep well, little one,” Austin said, as he turned out the light and pulled the sliding steel garage door shut. The howitzer was now safely stowed in its second home at the secured storage shed at the resort. Standing behind Austin, Trip shook his head long-sufferingly, then pulled out his keys to secure the lock.

  “Time to sew some signs, my friend!” Austin said, patting Trip on the back as he headed to the truck.

  After planting several signs around the main building of the resort, they made sure to stop at the entrance to the property and inter a few more diamond-shaped ‘Bear In Area’ signs next to the Sphinx and Eiffel Tower. Austin held the stake as Trip pounded it into the frozen ground.

  Trip looked at the silhouette of the bear on the diamond-shaped warning sign as he worked, thinking how it needed to be much, much bigger. But, he figured that if there were anyone silly enough to want to go wandering around out here in the fog, maybe they’d at least bump into one of the neon-yellow signs as they toddled off the property and perhaps rethink their foggy perambulations.

  “Do you think Chance will leave these here?” Trip asked, tossing the sledgehammer he held into the back of the truck.

  “Well, if he does remove them, there’s a fine from the Ministry of Conservation, or so Chris told me,” Austin said, climbing into the passenger side of the truck.

  “I guess if anybody can afford a fine, it’s Chance,” Trip observed.

  “You’ve got that right,” Austin said, nodding in agreement
.

  With Trip behind the wheel, they made their way back down the mountain road toward Lawless, stopping every half-kilometre or so to install another bear sign along the way. They made sure to install several near the entrances that accessed cross-country ski and snowmobiling trails. Both men knew it went without saying there would always be those adventurous souls who chose not to heed the avalanche hazard warning still in effect.

  Driving through the drab, grey twilight that passed for daytime in Lawless this time of year, they listened to the local radio station. After a series of predictably similar pop songs ended, the noon newscast started. Austin reached over and turned up the radio.

  “This morning, the Ministry of Conservation issued a bear alert for the citizens of Lawless and surrounding areas. There is a large predatory bear in the vicinity that may be responsible for at least two disappearances that have been deemed suspicious and are being investigated by both local and provincial authorities. The Lawless Police Department and the British Columbia Conservation Officers Service are advising residents to use extreme caution when out in the surrounding forests. This warning includes the Lawless city limits and extends to the Gold Mountain resort area as well. Once again, residents have been advised to use extreme caution when…”

  Austin turned the radio back down. “Well, it looks like Christine was able to get the go-ahead for a radio announcement.”

  “That’s great news,” Trip said. “At least with all the signs and the radio, we should be able to keep most people out of the forest until we can find this thing and deal with it.” He squinted through the mist-covered windshield as he spoke. The intermittent wipers made another pass, and suddenly Frostbite Fred’s resolved out of the greyness. “Looks like lunch!” he said. He mentally ran through the menu in his head. Thanks to several hundred visits to the pub over the past few years, he had memorised the establishment’s menu. Trip was, as owner, Norm would say, ‘a repeat offender’. As soon as he pulled the truck into the near-empty parking lot, his stomach began to snarl at him, and he mentally chided it, telling it food was coming soon.

  Frostbite Fred’s was a public house located halfway between Gold Mountain Resort and Lawless. Back in the day, it had primarily catered to skiers, but now, the tourist trade from skiing had dried up, and the business’s clientele had changed. These days, it was mostly mill workers and local foodies. But in winter, thanks to its large, utility trailer-friendly lot, they also saw quite a few hungry and thirsty snowmobilers stopping in to refuel after an adrenaline-filled day of alpine sledding. These regular and seasonal customers were the reason Frostbite Fred’s was doing more than okay. And it certainly didn’t hurt that they served some killer in-house smoked roasts and ribs, along with lip-smackingly good micro-brewed beer and cider.

  Before breaking for lunch, they planted several signs around the pub’s property. It was a quarter past twelve when they finished, and both men had worked up a sizeable appetite. They pushed through the heavy pine doors into the heavenly smelling interior. Freshly baked bread and the scent of slow-roasted, baby-back pork ribs assailed their nostrils. Trip felt his salivary glands begin doing their old Pavlov’s dog schtick and he discreetly sucked back some of his surplus saliva.

  Mathilda, one of the owners, waved and called out, “Hey Trip! Hey Austin! You boys can sit anywhere you like, and I’ll be right with you!” The tip of her white-haired head was just visible over the top of an archaic-looking Bunn coffee maker near the kitchen.

  “Great, thanks, Mattie!” Trip said, waving back. After successfully reining-in his salivary glands, he now felt his stomach doing its usual ‘Feed me, Seymour’ routine, which invariably started mere seconds after he walked through the front doors of Frostbite Fred’s.

  Austin and Trip took off their parkas and placed them over the backs of a couple of swivel stools bolted to the floor in front of the gorgeous, antique mahogany bar and sat down. The stools, like all of the tables and chairs in the pub, were bolted to the floor in order to stop the patrons, once in their cups, from hitting each other with them.

  Back in the day, the pub had a reputation as being a bit of a rowdy place, as there was a donnybrook either in the bar itself or out in the parking lot almost every night. The blue and white cars of the Lawless Police Department were a regular visitor to the bar, more often than not, their emergency lights flashing merrily away as one patron or another was escorted away in handcuffs to the warm, welcoming confines of the Lawless drunk tank for the night.

  Fred’s owners, Mathilda May (Mattie to the regulars) and her husband, Norm were both pushing seventy if they were a day. They kept themselves young running Frostbite Fred’s Public House, just like they always had for the past forty-plus years since they’d opened the doors for the first time. Not being night owls, they had a shift of younger people working in the evening who were more patient and able to handle the rowdy types that sometimes ‘came out of their shell’ after a few too many drinks. Mattie always said, “It may be a small town, but they’ve got a big thirst and a short fuse!”

  After a couple of minutes, Mattie, ambled over to see what she could get them to eat. “Afternoon Trip, Austin, how are you boys doing today? I hope you’re good and hungry.”

  “Always,” Trip said, earnestly, still unobtrusively hoovering back more saliva, his stomach growling ever louder, as if eager to corroborate the fact.

  “I’m still surviving, but some of your delicious food would hit the spot,” Austin said with a smile, listening to the gastrointestinal concerto currently performing in Trip’s stomach.

  “Great! What can I get you boys today?”

  “Well, I’ll start with a coffee and the menu, please, Mattie,” Austin said.

  “Make that two coffees and one menu, please,” Trip added. As much as he would have loved a beer at the moment, he was on duty and took his position with the city of Lawless very seriously so coffee it was for now. He knew he would be back later that evening for a wobbly-pop or two (as he liked to call beer), so he was content to wait until then.

  “That’s right; you never use the menu, do you, Trip?” she smiled. “All right, that sounds good then. I’ll be back before you know with the ‘Joe’,” she turned and walked sprightly away toward the coffee station.

  “Thanks, Mattie” Trip said, righting his overturned, white ceramic coffee cup in anticipation of the upcoming java. That done, he lined up a half dozen sugar packs next to it, along with almost as many plastic cream capsules from a nearby dish.

  While Mattie was occupied grabbing the coffee pot and a menu, Austin and Trip began to discuss the bear situation. When Mattie came back, as she carefully poured the bracing brew for the boys, she said, “I’m sorry to interrupt, fellas, but I saw you putting those signs around the property out there before you came in for lunch. And just a little before that, I heard a warning on the radio. Now I hear you talking about some bear out in the forest, what’s happening?”

  “That’s right; it looks like we have a bear on the loose that’s extremely dangerous -- possibly a man-eater.” As he spoke, Austin poured cream into his cup from several plastic capsules he’d already opened. “Might have attacked at least two people, maybe more,” he concluded. He added another cream to his steaming cup. The coffee was so dark and thick; he thought it might be in danger of being mistaken for chocolate pudding.

  “No! You don’t say! Anybody local?” As she poured Trip’s coffee, Austin noticed Mattie’s hand shaking slightly as if nervous at the thought of what might be lurking out in the forest behind the pub, especially being located out in the middle of nowhere as they were.

  “Not that we know of at this point, but a couple of snowmobilers visiting from the coast might be missing,” Trip replied, opening more cream for his coffee. In addition to the six sugars, he had upped his creamer count from six to eight when he’d seen the consistency of Austin’s coffee as Mattie had poured it. As the old expression went, he reflected with a smile; you don’t go to a bar for its coffe
e.

  “My, that’s just too bad!”

  “Yes, it is,” Austin replied, using a paper napkin from a dispenser on the counter to mop up a small puddle of spilled coffee around the base of his cup.

  Putting the coffee pot down, Mattie put her hands on her hips and turned to Trip, “Jenny Smith was waiting tables last night and told me you were here when that poor Wilson boy came in raving about monsters and all?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Trip nodded.

  “Is he all right?”

  “We don’t know. Apparently, he’s in a drug-induced coma in the hospital right now. I think he came unhinged by whatever he saw. Might have witnessed his dad getting killed. Could have been pretty traumatic. I hope he’s going to be okay. He’s a good kid,” Trip replied.

  “Let’s hope so. Jenny said the poor dear looked like he needed some help for sure. Now, on a lighter note, what’ll it be for lunch, boys?”