She raised her eyebrows. “You’re sure?”
“No one. I can read, you know.”
She ignored the rude comment. “Could he have gone without one?”
“Well, that’s always possible. It’s illegal, you know, but there’s not someone standing guard at the trailhead or anything, if that’s what you mean.”
“I know,” she said, sighing. “Then I guess he didn’t get one.”
“Or he lied about his name.” He eyed her intently. “He might have lied to you, you know.”
She couldn’t believe this guy. “What kind of ranger are you, anyway? Don’t you even care?”
“Of course I care!” he responded, his tone softening. “I care that you might have gotten mixed up with the wrong sort of company.” He gestured at the book. “There’s no Noah in here, so I can only assume he lied about his name to one of us or just didn’t get the pass at all. Either way, it’s pretty shady.”
Madeline fell silent. Was this guy right? Had Noah deceived her? Certainly not about the creature-that had been real enough. But had he really given her a false name? Why would he do that?
Their meeting had been so brief it was hard to be certain. But she did believe that Noah had tried to protect her.
No, she thought. Why would he lie? It didn’t make sense.
“Look. I don’t know what to tell you. I think this guy wasn’t on the up-and-up,” the ranger went on.
A sudden thump resounded from down a corridor that lay beyond the small bookshelves. They both turned in that direction but saw nothing unusual. Another thump followed shortly afterward. It was dull and heavy, echoing down the corridor. Madeline started violently. She didn’t see anything there.
“Huh,” said the ranger, wrinkling his brow. “That doesn’t sound good. I better go check it out. Sounds like the generator is acting up again.”
Hurriedly he moved around the end of the counter and filed past her, heading in the direction of the noise. Madeline waited for a few moments, then looked down at the backcountry reservation book. Maybe the ranger had overlooked Noah’s name.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the ranger halfway down the corridor, still headed away from her. Quickly she spun the book around to face her.
The instant she touched it, she saw blood.
Instinctively she pulled her hand away. She had seen nothing else specific. Just a pool of blood on a brown cement floor. Forcing herself to touch the book again, Madeline flipped back and forth until she found the reservations that had been made for the past few days.
And almost immediately she saw Noah’s name. It was even at the top of the page. Noah Lanchester.
Madeline furrowed her brow. She didn’t see how the ranger could have missed it. It had immediately caught her attention. She looked back down the hallway. He wasn’t in sight. Returning her attention to the book, she saw that Noah had taken a three-day backcountry pass and was due back tomorrow. She looked at the initials of the ranger who had checked Noah in. MZ. As in Michael Zuwalski, the same initials of the ranger she had just been talking to. Wouldn’t he remember someone he had checked in just the day before? She scanned over the names and dates before and after Noah. Only one other party had gone out besides him that day, a couple who were only going to be gone overnight. Surely the ranger would have remembered him then. And she doubted there was more than one ranger at the station with the initials MZ.
Shuffling in the corridor alerted her to the ranger’s return. She rotated the book back around and stood there, trying to look innocent. He emerged from the corridor and walked back behind the counter.
“It was the generator, all right. That thing’s always acting up.” He gave her a smile, but she couldn’t bring herself to smile back. Was he intentionally lying, or was it an honest mistake? She didn’t see how he could forget so quickly. And what about the image of blood? It was so vague. The ranger could have just cut himself slicing bread for all she knew. But her gut pulled at her. Something was wrong. She didn’t trust this guy. The same sense that told her she’d be safe with Noah was now gnawing at her to get away.
But she had to find help. Perhaps another ranger was nearby.
She waited until he reached the desk again, and then asked, “Is it possible another ranger checked him in?” She hoped he would tell her when the other rangers were on duty, or where she could find them.
But instead he only answered, “No.”
Madeline waited a long time, hoping he’d say something further, but he only watched her, tight-lipped, as if waiting for her to say something.
“Well,” she said at last. “Thanks.” For nothing, she added mentally and turned from the counter. Shouldn’t he at least have offered to assist her, if nothing else? She had suffered a “nasty blow,” as he had put it.
“Good luck,” the ranger told her. “It’s wild and woolly out there.”
For a second Madeline paused before she went out the door. She almost turned to confront him, to ask him why he was lying about Noah. But then she decided she’d go find another ranger. Something was wrong here, and her instincts told her to get away from him. Somehow she had to find help elsewhere. Noah could be out there, right then, gravely wounded.
Or worse, came a grim voice from within her. With utter clarity, the sounds of his agonized screams returned to her. She ran a nervous hand over her face and left the ranger station, stepping once more into the desolation of the backcountry.
Beyond the building she saw the lone structures of two typical National Park Service vaulted toilets, dry toilets that were a step up from pit toilets. She hadn’t stopped for anything but sleep since last night. Her bladder pressing painfully, she headed for the toilets.
The smell of pine was strong in the air as a wind kicked up, blowing down into the valley where the ranger station was settled. Overhead a few clouds had gathered during the night, and Madeline found herself shivering a bit in spite of her warm fleece. Noah’s warm fleece, she thought.
She approached the dark wooden structures and selected the one marked Ladies, surprised at how little the toilet smelled. The faint scent of citrus from an air freshener wafted in the still air, and a fly buzzed dully at a small, square window. Her boots squeaking on the smooth cement floor, she entered.
Madeline had just locked the door when something wet and warm splashed on her hand. Instinctively she jerked it back, seeing a rivulet of red dribble between her fingers. A few more splatters hit the floor in front of her.
Blood on the brown floor.
Then a thick, warm drool rained down on her head.
Gasping, Madeline reeled back, confused, and looked up. The bathroom had a high ceiling that came to a point, with rafters below it.
And hanging over one of the rafters was a corpse of a man, his face twisted in a hideous scream.
It took Madeline only a second to take in that the corpse was naked save for its underwear and one prominent piece of clothing: a hat.
A ranger’s hat.
And then, a second later, her brain registered the cause of the dripping.
The ranger she had spoken to earlier was up there in the shadows with the body, chewing on a tattered leg, digging his nails hungrily and greedily into the raw, bloody flesh.
Then she watched transfixed as the ranger’s head suddenly elongated and shifted, becoming more streamlined as the skin grew darker, darker, until it was an inky black. The fingers grew long and wiry, claws springing from the tips. It continued to tear into the body, its brown ranger’s clothes stained red, until it looked down at Madeline with the same red disc eyes that had frightened her so the night before.