The Land of Death and Devil’s Club, page 10
“This is mostly national forest, so he’d know as well as anyone. We’re going to trust his judgment.”
I spot the bay in the distance, the trees marching almost clear up to the water, but we turn away from it as Dolly steers us through a narrow pass. I hold my breath—the trees and rocks seem near enough to scrape the windows. She sees something she likes under us and noses toward it. I close my eyes as the trees envelop us. When I open them, I swear I can touch the pinecones, but there is a pretty clear patch of land beneath us.
“Hang on, this is going to be tight.”
That’s an understatement. We’re going fast and there’s a rock wall at the other end of our landing strip. Dolly leans forward in her seat and adjusts our angle slightly. I grip the sides of my seat and lean back, wanting to close my eyes again but needing to see. It’s almost like Dolly’s landing a helicopter—it feels like we’re coming straight down even though the forest speeding past says otherwise. That rock wall is coming in hot.
“Dolly—”
“I got this.”
I grit my teeth. My mother might have said a prayer right now. Tails pokes his head between me and Dolly. “Tails, lay.” He immediately curls up on the back seat, but when I turn, I can see that his head is still up and looking out the windshield.
“Brace.”
I brace myself as best I can while also stretching my left arm to grip the back of Dolly’s chair—a barrier in case Tails goes flying. I hope to hell my seat belt is in good working order.
The landing gear comes down and the wheels hit the ground. The brakes come on so fast that Tails bounces into my arm and lands on the floor behind me, where he thankfully stays. I take in the deepest breath I’ve possibly ever taken, hoping it won’t be my last. We’re still moving forward. Next to me, Dolly exudes calm confidence. Ahead of me, the rock wall approaches. I can see its full stratification, all the silver and copper and granite lines clear as day as the sunlight glints off them. Beautiful, but not what I want as my final view of the world. Dolly is pressing the brakes hard, and momentum is pulling me forward. I grip the seats, pressing my head into the rest.
“Come on!” Dolly shouts. The brakes suddenly catch, and the plane comes to an abrupt stop, sending our torsos lurching forward so hard my spirit temporarily leaves my body. There’s complete silence, then we all seem to realize we’re still alive.
Dolly landed mere feet from the rock wall.
“That’ll be an interesting takeoff.”
It’s all she has to say about her genius piece of aviation work.
Chapter Twenty
I clip a leash onto Tails’s harness. He looks at me with slight indignation, but I have no idea where we are or who might be lurking. I prefer he be as close as possible by my side, and I want us to travel in complete silence. No voice commands.
Dolly leads the way, GPS in hand, using hand signals to indicate our movement through the trees. I reach down several times to carefully disentangle Devil’s club from my hiking pants. Hard to believe this same vicious plant has been lessening the pain in my back for the past week or so. We hike through the forest for two miles, each of which takes most of an hour to cover as we fight through new growth and pick our way over stones covered in slick moss, around which frigid water rushes. At one point, we must cross a fallen tree to pass over a wide flow of unknown depth. I still feel the dizzying effects of the concussion as I concentrate on not falling. Tails crosses with ease just in front of me. On the other side, Dolly holds up a hand and we stop.
The town is there in front of us—or what used to be the town. There is one large building and several smaller ones between us and the bay water. The buildings sit in an area that was cleared at one time, but which is starting to become overgrown with vines and trees again. I’m glad—we’re not as exposed as we would be if it was still nice and tidy. The only part of the landscape that’s super exposed is a short expanse of beach and a pier. Along most of the shoreline, trees and boulders provide potential cover should it be needed. In the distance, mounds of rounded-top mountains await on the other side of the lagoon. There’s no sound but chirping birds and the occasional rustle of a small animal in the brush.
We head toward the large building, keeping concealed as well as possible. I draw my weapon. To my surprise, Dolly pulls a handgun out of her waistband too. I have no doubt she’s expertly trained to use it. Most rural Alaskans learn how to shoot a gun as soon as they’re old enough to properly hold one. It’s just basic safety here, given the wildlife.
We keep tight to the wall of the large building, sliding around the corner until we reach its front door. I go ahead of Dolly, listening for anything inside. After several minutes, I nod briskly. The door is unlocked, and I push it open without showing my body, listening again. Then I lead the way inside, my gun a hard barrier between me and anything that happens to be lurking.
There’s light in the building. Part of the roof has collapsed in, and sunlight streams in, dust particles dancing in the green-gold beams. Leaves, pine needles, and twigs form a mound on the floor. Desks are lined up against the walls, and where the light shines on them, they look ready for a new class of pupils to come sit. I run my left hand over the surface of one, feeling where the name Jack has been carved into the surface.
This is exactly the kind of place that would draw people in.
Alaskans love adventure, and if there’s one thing we love more than adventure, it’s a mystery. Something in the landscape is conducive to imagining violent deaths, and many people here find that promise. This place should be crawling with ghost-hunters and game hunters alike, not to mention groups of teens on dares and random hikers. But there’s no evidence of anyone at all now, at least not here in the biggest and most obvious building in the town. There’s not even a beer can.
I look at Dolly and scowl. She’s also frowning. She shakes her head quickly. Nothing here. No indication of Ryne. I lead the way back into the copious daylight. The next building we come to is a modest home right next to the school. There are pots outside like there was a container garden here at a point. When I enter the house in the same way I entered the school, I find furniture still in place. There’s a plush sofa that’s been eaten through in several places by wildlife, and a rug on the floor that, though covered in dust, looks to be in good shape. A large mirror hangs over the small fireplace. Something about it feels feminine.
This place, like the schoolhouse, seems oddly undisturbed. The roof is intact, though the windows are blocked off by shrubs, meaning little daylight is finding its way through the dirty panes. I crouch to examine the floor while Dolly stands by the door with her gun drawn. There’s nothing out of place here, but I notice long streaks through the dust, as if someone hastily swept. It’s hard to tell how long ago that would have been. The air isn’t circulating despite one smashed-in window, but new dust also hasn’t settled in the path.
Still, there are no signs of Ryne, or of anyone aside from the home’s previous owner. Tails does a thorough investigation with his nose. The buildings all seem endlessly interesting for him, as his nose rarely leaves the floor, but he never alerts me to anything peculiar.
The next building shows the same broom marks, but in this one I can tell they’re recent because the roof of this building is virtually gone, as are most of the windows. This building is closest to the harbor, and cool breezes reach us inside. Someone swept here recently. Who hikes or boats into a remote ghost town with a reputation for men meeting violent deaths and cleans up dilapidated houses?
I wave Dolly over to me. “Someone’s cleaning up after themselves.”
She frowns. “Why?”
I can’t answer that, but I indicate the broom marks. She looks around and realizes the same thing I did. “No trash.”
I nod. She shakes her head. Since neither of us voices a theory, I indicate that we should keep going. As we finish our search, I hear a distant plane, but by the time I get outside there’s nothing to see. It’s impossible to know whether it took off from our area or whether it’s just one of the many low-altitude private flights moving around the peninsula passing by.
All of the buildings are empty, all clear of any hints of human occupation, and of Ryne in particular. We don’t find a broom anywhere, or any bags of trash.
We retreat to the denser forest to plan our next move in a defensible position. Dolly pulls out a map of Portlock.
With our heads together and our voices low as possible, we decide to investigate along the water. The only logical ways to get here are by plane and boat, and often small craft land near harbors instead of trying to find space in the forest. As long as we steer clear of the area around the pier, we should be able to investigate the coastline without exposing ourselves too much.
Chapter Twenty-one
We walk along the shoreline north of town, where a mist has gathered. The trees also start back up in that direction, so we won’t need to be so exposed. It’s a warm evening, and Tails wades into the cold water as we go, soaking his leash. I let him splash around a little as we walk along searching. We discover several new-looking fishing lures and hooks tangled in the trees near the water.
Suddenly the tug on the end of the leash stops.
“Tails?”
I squint at the sun on the water and see the ridge of his back. His head is beneath the surface. Suddenly his head pops up with water streaming off his fur, and he looks at me. I put my hand up so he won’t bark. He refuses to budge even when I tug the leash, so I remove my footwear, roll my pants, and prepare to follow him out. Dolly’s eyebrows are knit in confusion, but she just watches. I continue until the water is waist high, wondering how much I’m going to regret conducting the rest of this search in sopping-wet clothes. I remove my button-up camp shirt and throw it toward Dolly. I am now in just a tank top.
Tails is in the same spot, and he dips his head under again to show me what he found. I reach down and feel it immediately. Plastic. There’s a black mass under the surface. I pull up a garbage bag, tied tight at the top. I half-drag, half-float it back to shore, where I tear it open. It’s full of trash, including the wrapper for a peanut butter granola bar, which is likely what caught his canine attention. I sigh and glare at Tails. Not exactly what we’re looking for.
I get my bag and extract Ryne’s pillowcase, presenting it to Tails so he’ll get back to business.
Dolly is at my side, speaking low. “Should we throw it back? If someone sees it, they’ll know someone was here.”
I nod and start to tie the bag back together. As I do, I note the trash more carefully. There are mostly soda cans, with the occasional beer thrown in. The contents all look pretty new though. There are some candy wrappers and a few sopping newspapers. The dates are sadly illegible. A magazine offers the clue I’m looking for. Its soaked spine still reads June 2009. This trash was dumped recently. I present the magazine to Dolly, who notes the date and nods. Back with the trash it goes, and then back into the water.
Tails still splashes along the edge of the water, but he doesn’t seem to be tracking Ryne’s scent. If he was tracking Ryne, his head would be down, and he’d be moving more deliberately. Instead, it looks like he’s just having a nice time cooling off. He looks around, his eyes occasionally falling on me. At one point, we find ourselves in a secluded cove where the tree roots come right up to the rocks that line the water. The ground under my feet is marshy, and my boots sink into it enough that I indicate to Dolly it’s time to turn around. We’re far from town anyway. Tails is out in front of me, and I whistle low for him. The mud is halfway up his legs. He turns to look at me, then wags his nub. His single, sharp bark echoes before I can hold up my hand again for his silence.
“Tails, come,” I growl. He wags his back end harder. I sigh deeply. If this is more trash, I swear…
I signal for Dolly to hang tight while I investigate. She’s not into the muddiest bit yet, and there’s no point in her joining me in potentially getting stuck. As I get closer to Tails, he starts digging in the mud, flinging slimy chunks of muck onto my still-damp shins. The mud stinks, so I keep my breaths short and shallow. It smells more foul the closer I am to Tails—a stench like decomposition—mushrooms, oakmoss, and something sour and not quite nameable.
To my horror, Tails sticks his muzzle straight into the mud.
When he pulls it back out, he’s got a hand in his jaws. A human hand.
I turn my head to the side, away from the unexpected sight of my dog holding a severed human hand. As I regain my composure, I remind myself that maybe this discovery isn’t all that unexpected. This isn’t the first time the dog has presented me with the hand of a deceased person. Clearly, we need to talk about his matchmaking endeavors. I’m reluctant to leave the hand in the mud, where it can sink or shift.
“Louisa!” Dolly whispers as loudly as she dares. I wave her toward me. Dolly can handle this. She’s seen animal attacks, which aren’t pretty. Tails resumes his dig and alerts at several other spots in the muck. More body parts. The mud sucks at Dolly’s boots with each step, trying to pull her down. When she is with me, I show her the hand. Her eyes grow huge, but she immediately draws the same conclusion I have.
“Not Ryne’s.”
“No, but also not good.” I place the severed hand carefully at the base of a tree not far from where Tails found it. It should be easy to find again.
Dolly helps me and Tails sift through the mud, and soon we’re all a uniform dark gray color and reeking. We do our best not to move anything while still trying to get an idea of what we’re looking at. We’re able to spot what looks like part of an arm and a likely torso. As we uncover new remains, I note their locations with coordinates.
Dolly stands up straight and wipes her hands on her pants. “I have to keep looking for Ryne.” Her expression is stern.
“We will keep looking, I promise, but I have to get Anna and her team here as fast as possible. I need to notify the authorities for this area too.”
Dolly is breathing hard. As worried as I am for Ryne, I can’t imagine how she’s feeling—especially having seen what we just saw. They’re in extreme danger.
I put a muddy and disgusting hand on her muddy and disgusting forearm. “I promise. Just let me call and we’ll get right back to it. I’ll give her the coordinates so she can find it even if we’re busy.”
Dolly nods.
I keep the conversation with Anna as brief as possible, but I do tell her what she’s in for. She will need her team’s help this time. She promises me she’s on it, and that it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. I’m not so sure about that. I also let her know what led Dolly and me to Portlock. I ask her to wait for Mikey. I don’t want her out here without official protection, and Dolly and I need to keep searching for Ryne. As soon as I hang up with her, I call Mikey. He promises he will have Anna flown out in the department’s plane, and he plans to come along.
“Do you need to contact the Homer station?” Portlock is much closer to their jurisdiction, but I’m hoping that until Ryne is found, we can keep this as quiet as possible. We still don’t know why the plane is here or what we’re dealing with, and the larger the presence, the more likely the pilot is to catch on and disappear—with Ryne.
Mikey hesitates. “Technically, yes, I should call them…But maybe it can wait until we have a little more information. I’m pretty sure Portlock isn’t exactly their territory anyway. Besides, I’m guessing you’ll be calling in the FBI.”
“I will at least try to get them here. I’m not a real agent, so the best I can do is try to convince them that this is worth their while.”
“Which you will. And if you tell them what you’ve found, you know they will barge in full force with helicopters and a million agents.”
“Not necessarily. Remember, they do undercover well.”
“But it’s at least one additional plane landing there and likely boats coming in too.”
“True.”
“If anyone is out there—and if you’re finding hidden trash and cleaned buildings and a bunch of body parts, clearly someone is camped out there—the FBI will scare them off immediately.”
“Dolly and I will keep looking for Ryne. Maybe I should see what we discover first and then call them in. After all, I don’t want to seem trigger happy. Mensel told me that I’d have to have something rock solid to get them involved.” I squint into the sun, starting to doubt myself. “But then again, if Ryne is here and the FBI rolls in, they’re going to find them. No question.”
“Right. But if Ryne’s not there, and if you haven’t found them yet, then it’s really likely they’re not, and the FBI rolls in…” Mikey seems to be talking to himself more than me. “Well, if someone sees the FBI, they’re going to know they’ve been found out. And if Ryne is their brand-new recruit…well, whoever has Ryne is going to want them dead on the spot for giving up the operation.”
We don’t even know what the operation down here is yet. I was just starting to get a handle on the Seward operation, but this may be something much different. And Mikey’s right. If the FBI swoops in full force, which they’ll want to do given what we’ve discovered, my odds of being able to learn more will be zero. I’m just a liaison. Mensel will take over the entire operation, and Ryne won’t be his priority. Sure, the FBI will work to find them and keep them safe, but they’ll also be busy dismantling this whole town trying to find more body parts.
Maybe subtle is better. Just for now.
“I’m just thinking, maybe it’s better to call them in as soon as Ryne is found,” Mikey concludes. “After all, you don’t know that Ryne is there. You said their bike was at the airstrip. You don’t know they got on the plane at all. Didn’t they know you were tracking it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why would they bother getting on it?”
I pause. I wish I had time and space to think this through, but I don’t, and Mikey is making me question what I’ve assumed. Mikey is good at that, and it’s not always a bad thing. Like my challenging him, it’s what made us good partners for each other.
