Read Online Frozen Stiff by Sherry Shahan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sherry Shahan
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expect from something found in the old cabin. The drawstring was coarse braided hair.
She might have been weakened by fever, but her mind was working. “How come we didn’t see this and the jerky before?”
Derek didn’t answer. He was under the spell of the parading icebergs.
She followed his gaze. Even in the moonlightsome of the bergs sparkled. And they were so unbelievably blue. They had probably come off the glacier Cody and Derek had watched calving days before. The bergs were so tightly packed it looked as if someone could ice-walk to the other side of the fjord.
The air seemed surprisingly mild for a clear night this late in summer. Thirty-five or forty degrees. Or maybe she’d just gotten used to the cold.
She wondered if it was clear in Yakutat too.
Had their mothers returned to the empty cabin and found her note on the milk carton? She checked her watch, her eyes slow to focus on the numbers: 3:00. She pictured a group of volunteers in the tavern getting last-minute instructions for the rescue operation. She’d seen lots of search-and-rescue teams on the news out of Juneau. Hikers, mountain climbers, sometimes bush planes. Most of those missing were found in a few days.
Three A.M . At first light they’d be on their way. Bush planes with pontoons for a water landing, packed with survival kits. And food.
“He left it,” Derek finally said.
“Who? Left what?”
“You know, Bigfoot. But he’s really just this big guy.”
She looked at him, still puzzled.
“He left the food, Cody, and I saw him.” His next words sliced through the air. “I even talked to him.”
Suddenly she knew who he meant. The shadow. It. Him. The up-to-no-good man. “You talked to him? What did he say?”
Cody crawled back inside the tent, snatched the damp cloth, and pressed it against her swollen eyes. She must have stared too long at the parade of icebergs. Even without any glare, she could feel the strain. Daylight would be utter torture.
He must be making it up
. “You want to be a writer. And this is a story, right?”
Derek rezipped the tent flap. “I don’t think he wanted me to see him. I just did, at the cabin.”
She pressed the cloth harder against her eyes; the pressure caused a play of colors behind her lids. She remembered the stack of skins under the boards. The pile of bones. “Were those his skins we found?”
The outfitters had talked a lot about poachers, about men who killed animals for their hides and sold them to other countries. Animals hunted without permits, slaughtered out of season. Even animals on the endangered lists. The thought of poachers made her sick.
“Maybe he followed us,” she said, considering another possibility.
“I think he was already here. He just saw us, that’s all. Knew we were in trouble, knew we needed help.”
The same person could have scared off the bear at the waterfall. Maybe the bear had ruined his plans of sneaking up on her. Cody didn’t want to think about that.
That had been days and miles behind them. There weren’t any roads or trails out here. Except for the maze of trampled brush made by bears. Unless someone else had been on the water. Surely she would have seen a kayak or canoe. Then she remembered Derek spotting a shadow on the far side of the fjord. Maybe the shadow was on this side now.
All at once it was as if the pages of “Hansel and Gretel” were unfolding. Two kids lost in the woods, following bread crumbs to the wicked witch’s house. “He’s a poacher, Derek. I’d bet anything.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
Cody dropped the cloth, waiting for her eyes to focus. She could see that some of the scabs from Derek’s mosquito bites had been picked off. There were small white spots on his forehead, a stark contrast to the dark circles under his eyes. The blisters on his nose had dried. Now half peeling, the skin underneath was raw and pink.
“Why else would he be out here this late in summer?” she
She might have been weakened by fever, but her mind was working. “How come we didn’t see this and the jerky before?”
Derek didn’t answer. He was under the spell of the parading icebergs.
She followed his gaze. Even in the moonlightsome of the bergs sparkled. And they were so unbelievably blue. They had probably come off the glacier Cody and Derek had watched calving days before. The bergs were so tightly packed it looked as if someone could ice-walk to the other side of the fjord.
The air seemed surprisingly mild for a clear night this late in summer. Thirty-five or forty degrees. Or maybe she’d just gotten used to the cold.
She wondered if it was clear in Yakutat too.
Had their mothers returned to the empty cabin and found her note on the milk carton? She checked her watch, her eyes slow to focus on the numbers: 3:00. She pictured a group of volunteers in the tavern getting last-minute instructions for the rescue operation. She’d seen lots of search-and-rescue teams on the news out of Juneau. Hikers, mountain climbers, sometimes bush planes. Most of those missing were found in a few days.
Three A.M . At first light they’d be on their way. Bush planes with pontoons for a water landing, packed with survival kits. And food.
“He left it,” Derek finally said.
“Who? Left what?”
“You know, Bigfoot. But he’s really just this big guy.”
She looked at him, still puzzled.
“He left the food, Cody, and I saw him.” His next words sliced through the air. “I even talked to him.”
Suddenly she knew who he meant. The shadow. It. Him. The up-to-no-good man. “You talked to him? What did he say?”
Cody crawled back inside the tent, snatched the damp cloth, and pressed it against her swollen eyes. She must have stared too long at the parade of icebergs. Even without any glare, she could feel the strain. Daylight would be utter torture.
He must be making it up
. “You want to be a writer. And this is a story, right?”
Derek rezipped the tent flap. “I don’t think he wanted me to see him. I just did, at the cabin.”
She pressed the cloth harder against her eyes; the pressure caused a play of colors behind her lids. She remembered the stack of skins under the boards. The pile of bones. “Were those his skins we found?”
The outfitters had talked a lot about poachers, about men who killed animals for their hides and sold them to other countries. Animals hunted without permits, slaughtered out of season. Even animals on the endangered lists. The thought of poachers made her sick.
“Maybe he followed us,” she said, considering another possibility.
“I think he was already here. He just saw us, that’s all. Knew we were in trouble, knew we needed help.”
The same person could have scared off the bear at the waterfall. Maybe the bear had ruined his plans of sneaking up on her. Cody didn’t want to think about that.
That had been days and miles behind them. There weren’t any roads or trails out here. Except for the maze of trampled brush made by bears. Unless someone else had been on the water. Surely she would have seen a kayak or canoe. Then she remembered Derek spotting a shadow on the far side of the fjord. Maybe the shadow was on this side now.
All at once it was as if the pages of “Hansel and Gretel” were unfolding. Two kids lost in the woods, following bread crumbs to the wicked witch’s house. “He’s a poacher, Derek. I’d bet anything.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
Cody dropped the cloth, waiting for her eyes to focus. She could see that some of the scabs from Derek’s mosquito bites had been picked off. There were small white spots on his forehead, a stark contrast to the dark circles under his eyes. The blisters on his nose had dried. Now half peeling, the skin underneath was raw and pink.
“Why else would he be out here this late in summer?” she
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