Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(23)

And then they flew away, startled by the same sound that made me jump. I saw the ferns ahead and to the right of me whipping back and forth. They were moving in a line, too fast for me to react. Something burst out of the bushes right in front of me. It was small and brown and I’m pretty sure it was a rabbit, although it was gone in a split second. Two quick leaps shot it across the trail and into the opposite underbrush. It didn’t stop, or even slow. I watched the motion line recede, and started to wonder if maybe something might be chasing it.

Then I smelled it. Just a quick whiff in the breeze. Rotten, like eggs and old garbage. It brought back a memory from last night’s meeting, when the group was breaking up. Carmen had complained about a horrible smell, a trace of sulfur when they’d opened the window. Reinhardt explained it away as gas emissions from the volcano. He’s probably right. That’s what I thought as the smell wafted away.

Then the howl, faint, distant. Not a wolf, or, at least, not like the wolves I’ve heard in movies. I know what coyotes sound like and I’m pretty sure that wasn’t one of them. I’m still not sure it was an animal. It could have been the wind shifting through these tall trees, or some trick echo across the mountains. What do I know about what sound does up here? The howl faded into a trio of short, deep grunts, the last one sounding just a little bit louder, or closer, than the others. I didn’t move, holding my breath, listening for another sound. Any sound. The whole forest seemed to go still.

Then I felt eyes on me.

I know you’d say it was all in my head, and I can’t think of any reason to argue. Standing there, all alone, under that eerie, smoky sky with a guilty head full of apocalyptic musings. But I’ve had that feeling before, on the playground or when Mom judged my outfits from across the room. That intuition is how I met Dan, freshman year, through the crowd and the music. I just knew. I felt. I looked up and there he was.

I didn’t see anyone this time. Even when I turned back to the house. I didn’t run. I’m proud of that. I just walked slowly, purposefully, and the feeling was gone halfway home. And now all I feel is embarrassed. I can’t believe I freaked out for no reason, that I let imaginary monsters pollute my happy place. I feel ridiculous, sitting at the kitchen table, looking out the back door, hearing Dan snore blissfully upstairs. The wind’s kicked up, the sound of the trees is so soothing. Maybe I should go back out there, finish my walk on a high note.

Nope. Just tried. Legs like oatmeal. Mmmm, oatmeal. I just finished an instant pack. Half, actually. Enough to quiet my stomach.

I can feel the irritation coming on. Dieting angst. I’m still not 100 percent sure that I should be torturing myself with Mostar’s batshit “rationing.” Even if she’s right about being cut off. How long can we possibly expect it to last?

I really need to sleep. Crawl in bed next to Dan. With earplugs. And maybe half an Ativan. A good night’s, day’s, rest. Give the world a chance to get itself together. And if it hasn’t, at least I can get myself together with a nice evening stroll in the woods.





From my interview with Senior Ranger Josephine Schell.


I call it a “Massoud Moment,” connecting the dots only after it’s too late. I got the name from Ahmad Shah Massoud. He was this Afghan guerrilla leader who fought the Russians and then the Taliban. I don’t expect you’ve ever heard of him. I didn’t until the day he died. I’d just gotten into New York. It was a late flight, like one or two in the morning? The cabdriver at JFK was listening to the BBC World Service. They were talking about how Massoud had just been assassinated by terrorists pretending to be journalists. I wasn’t paying much attention and I think I might have even asked the driver to switch stations. I mean, c’mon, I was just starting my vacation. I’d never been to New York, my friends were waiting. We had Producers tickets.

That was September 9, 2001, and I only learned later that killing Massoud was the opening act of the World Trade Center attack. I couldn’t have known that at the time. Nobody would’ve expected me to connect the dots. Still, I think about that moment a lot, about connecting the dots. I’ve thought a lot about it since….

She glances up at the map.

We found these bones. Pieces of them. Smashed fragments, like someone’d gone crazy with a hammer. You could tell they were deer, hooves, a few teeth, patches of fur. There wasn’t much left. No meat. Licked clean. Same with the leaves. Just enough residue to tell they’d been splashed with blood. I remember seeing this rock, big…

She holds out her hands in the size and shape of a soccer ball.

…with blood, marrow, bits of brain on one side. And it was reasonably fresh, a few hours maybe? But I didn’t stop to check. We didn’t have time. Remember this was Day Three after the eruption. None of us had slept, all those missing people…that’s why, looking back, I didn’t think much of the tracks. I probably wrote them off as ours, everybody just tramping sloppily through, nobody paying attention to anything except getting where we needed to be.

It wasn’t until after we’d discovered Greenloop—shit, it wasn’t until after I’d read her journal…that entry about discovering the remains? That was when I started asking around. And some of the other rangers, guardsmen, a few civilian volunteers, they had this “oh yeah, right” moment. And when I began to map and time-stamp everyone’s recollections…