The Middle of Somewhere(83)

She lifted her trekking pole in greeting. A strange sound came from her left, a good distance way. At first she guessed the high, undulating cry emanated from an injured animal, but then realized it was human. Or humanish. And a little bit musical.

She stopped in her tracks and listened for it to repeat. Dante had oriented toward the sound as well. The wind swirled in the treetops. At the top of a pine, a nutcracker squawked twice. The cry came again, pitches rapidly alternating between low shouts and falsetto. Someone was yodeling.

It was ludicrous.

From a different location, perhaps nearer, an answering call. She tried to pinpoint its source, but the steep slopes around her played with the sounds, sending notes across the valley and back again, until the cry seemed to come from everywhere.

Her pulse quickened and she hurried along the trail to Dante.

“What was that noise?” he said.

“Sounded like yodeling.”

“Like in The Sound of Music? You’re right. You think they’re doing it for fun?”

She shrugged. “It was used originally to communicate.”

“Communicate what? Mental problems?”

“Position. Maybe identity. I’m just guessing.”

Dante nodded, then frowned. “I stopped because I found something very disturbing.” He turned to indicate the trail behind him. “Someone put a marmot, a dead one, on a sign just ahead.”

“What?” Dread swam to the surface of her consciousness like a feeding fish. “Show me.”

“I took it off and threw it as far as I could. It was disgusting. But I’ll show you where it was.”

A dead marmot. Liz immediately thought of the Roots. She scanned the sparse woods around them for movement or a flash of color. Nothing. Had that been the Roots yodeling? She unbuckled her hip belt, slid her pack to the ground and followed Dante.

He led her a short distance to where the trail dipped behind a rocky ledge. A sign, similar to those they’d seen everywhere on the trip, marked an intersection. It was waist-high, constructed of metal, with the place names and mileages drilled through the metal plate, like a stencil. This one said, LAKE SOUTH AMERICA 2.8 with an arrow pointing to the right. The rusted metal was stained with blood, still wet in places. She had imagined the marmot draped over the sign, intact. A chill spread down her arms.

“Dante, what exactly did you find?”

“You really want to know?” It was a challenge as much as a question. He waited until she nodded. “Okay. The belly was split open and the head was bent over the top of the sign.” He reached into his pocket. “And whoever did it used these to hold it in place.”

Liz stared at his open palm, unbelieving. Two red tent stakes.

“I washed them in the stream.”

“I don’t understand. Hold it how?”

He hesitated, deliberating how to answer. “The stakes were driven through each paw and into the letters.” He pointed at two places either side of the central post.

She pictured the marmot’s head in the middle, the forelimbs splayed. Her stomach rolled and her palms became damp. “A crucifixion.”

His eyes widened. “Yes, I suppose it was. I didn’t think of that. I wanted to get rid of it before anyone else had to see it. Without touching it, of course. I used my poles.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Disgusting.”

Out of habit, she reached for his hand to comfort him and to thank him for removing the carcass before she got there, but he moved away and headed back to where they’d left their packs. A thick ache of sorrow passed through her as she realized he was avoiding her touch and might never accept it again. Everything had played out exactly as she had feared. She had broken his heart, and her own.

Another thought pushed to the front of her mind. She returned to where Dante stood with his pack.

“How long do you think it had been there?”

“The marmot? How could I possibly know?”

His anger was palpable, but she had to pursue the questioning. “Well, the blood hadn’t dried, for one thing.” She thought for a minute. “Did you pass three guys earlier?”

“Yes. Maybe a half hour or forty-five minutes before I got here.”

“They would’ve mentioned the marmot.”

“Of course. So, it wasn’t here very long.”

She stepped closer. “The Roots saw you coming, Dante.” A shadow of worry passed over his face. “And the yodeling happened as I arrived. They’ve seen me, too.” She reached out her hand, and noticed it trembling.