What a day, he thought, shaking his head. What a hell of a day.
Chapter 18
Bailey Mills swallowed and a large slug of mud slid down her throat. She gagged on it. Her eyes snapped open. Immediately, she lifted her face off the wet muck. Coughing and choking, she swallowed down the disgusting hunk of soggy dirt, earthworms, and blades of crushed grass.
She sank her palms into the mud until they struck a firm surface. Then she curled her outstretched legs beneath her. Pushing upward, she lifted her torso off the ground.
“Welcome back.” The hipster’s voice, soft and frazzled, rang softly in the damp, still air.
Her head rotated to the right. The hipster sat on his rear, knees propped up and arms circled loosely around them. “Where…?” She sputtered, choking out more mud. “Where…?”
“If you’re asking about the saber, I don’t have a clue. If you’re asking about the others, well, that’s easy enough.”
Following his waving hand, Mills twisted her neck to the left. Brian Toland lay on his back, staring sullenly at the sky. Mud coated his gray beard. More mud was smeared across the lenses of his thick glasses.
A few feet away, Tricia Elliott lay in a crumpled heap with knees close to her chest. Grass stains covered her loose-fitting jeans. Her green sweatshirt dripped with muck. Despite her yellow dye-job, all the mud in her hair made her look like a brunette.
“By the way, I’m Travis,” the hipster said. “Travis Renjel.”
“Bailey Mills.”
“I know.” He smiled. “I see your picture everyday.”
Great, she thought. A perv. Guys were sooo predictable. Most wanted to romance her, sweep her off her feet. As if she cared about some stupid flowers or fancy meals. But a decent-sized minority — the perverts — preferred to gross her out, to tell her they stared at her picture when they did… well, themselves. Men — boys, actually — who needed them?
“Wow, I’ve never heard that one before,” she retorted. “You must be a real hit with the ladies.”
His smile faded. “Wait—”
“No, you wait. People like you make me sick. I get it. I’m beautiful. Lots of guys want me. But that doesn’t give you the right to—”
“I’m a reporter.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I’m a journalist with the New Yorker Chronicles.” His smile came back at full wattage. “You know, the paper that practically stalks you.”
She blinked again. “But you said—”
“I said I see your picture everyday. And I do. You’re a fixture in our pages.”
Mills’ face heated up. She gave Renjel another look. Mud splatter covered his unadorned face. Same with his skinny jeans. His t-shirt, the one with the cartoon T-Rex, had been ripped and shredded, giving her a good look at his well-toned abs. “What happened to your glasses?” she asked.
“I ditched them,” he replied.
Her eyes widened.
“Don’t worry.” His smile transformed into a wry grin. “They weren’t exactly prescription.”
She nodded in understanding. “So, you’re a journalist, huh? Then you must know Brian.”
“Don’t insult me,” Toland said. “I’m a writer. Not a journalist.”
“What’s the difference?” Mills asked.
He sat up. Glared at her. “I’m an author, you dolt. I write books. You know. Those things with spines.”
Tricia Elliott stirred. Groggily, she sat up. “What… what happened?”
“We passed out,” Renjel said.
“At the same time?”
Uncomfortable silence greeted her. A few seconds later, Elliott clapped a hand over her mouth. “Randi!” She struggled to stand up. But her knees wobbled and she sank back into the mud.
“Don’t be stupid,” Toland said. “It’s not like you can help her.”
Tears eased out of Elliott’s eyelids as she assumed a sitting position. Carefully, she wiped them away with her palms. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod… this isn’t happening… it can’t be happening.”
Mills detected a distinct note in the woman’s tone. “You knew her?”
Elliott managed a nod.
“How?”
“We… we worked together.” Elliott’s shoulders quivered. Lowering her head, she began to sob softly.
A blurting noise, full of force and energy, trumpeted across the clearing. It sounded familiar to Mills, but she couldn’t quite place it.
Toland turned his head, locating the sound. “What the hell was that?”
“Don’t know, but it came from the northwest.” Renjel gained his footing. “I’ll check it out.”
“Wait for me.” Rising unsteadily to her feet, Mills followed Renjel into the ancient forest.
The trees were thick and packed closed together. Coupled with the darkness, her visibility was limited to a few feet at a time. But her sense of touch had no limitations. Each step was like a journey into hell. Her heels ached. The soles of her feet felt like someone had jabbed them full of needles. And her toes hurt so badly, she couldn’t put her full weight on them.
Renjel glided to a tree trunk. Then he worked his way forward. After a short walk, he stopped behind a tall, curving tree. Peeked out.
And froze in place.
Mills stayed back and waited for him to move, to say something. But he just stood there, still as a statue. Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer.
Her sore feet squelched across the muddy terrain as she half-limped, half-ran from tree to tree. Along the way, she glimpsed hints of a field. Tall grass. A gurgling stream. Plenty of flies.
She pulled to a stop behind Renjel. Listened to his rapid and shallow breaths. Then she leaned out.
And saw them.
Six four-legged creatures occupied the clearing. They averaged nine to ten feet in height. Broad tusks curved out from either side of their single-domed heads. Their long trunks, the likely source of the blurting noise, waved in the air. Thick fur covered almost every inch of their bodies.
Mills swallowed thickly as she watched the creatures. They looked a little like elephants. But unlike elephants, these giants didn’t project an aura of gentleness. Instead, they swarmed in a tight gathering, interlocking trunks and using their bodies, heads, and tusks to deliver ferocious strikes upon one another.
Mills winced as she turned her attention to their old scars, their fresh gashes, their bloodstained fur. All six creatures had suffered tremendous battle wounds. And yet, none of them showed even the slightest interest in backing down. Instead, they continued to fight with a frenzied bloodlust that frightened the hell out of her.
“Woolly mammoths,” Renjel said with awe in his voice. “Goddamned woolly mammoths.”
The name triggered a memory in Mills’ head. “They’re extinct, right?”
He nodded. “They vanished from the Americas some 11,000 years ago. Right at the end of the Pleistocene epoch.”
“Isn’t that when sabers supposedly went extinct?”
He exhaled, then nodded again.
She grabbed his arm and gently pulled him away from the field. “Why are they fighting like that?”
“Maybe that’s what they do. Maybe that’s why they died out in the first place. Maybe… I don’t know.” Pausing, he stared hard at the woolly mammoths. “I don’t even know where we are.”
Mills inhaled some damp forest air. It smelled of blood and sweat. But underneath that, she detected a certain freshness. Even fresher than her collection of Morning Forest scented products from Cander Luxuries.