Tall Shadows in the Darkness

TALL SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS

TALL SHADOWS IN THE DARKNESS

J.C. HOLMES

New Harbor Press

RAPID CITY, SD

Copyright © 2019 by J.C Holmes.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

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Tall Shadows in the Darkness/Holmes. -- 1st ed.

CLIFFHANGER

Today 5:08 AM

Rubbing his pounding head, he slowly managed to move to his knees and then pulled himself up to his feet. Although he’d taken yet another blow to the head and everything in his peripheral was cycling, he knew who he was better than he had in a long time. He knew where he was. He knew who had been behind it all. And he knew what he needed to do.

Checking to make sure all his faculties were about him and no one was around, he gathered his backpack and began moving with a purpose toward the west. He was tired of it all. The deceit. The danger. The frustration. The thought of facing the entire cartel himself sounded good compared to what he was planning, but he knew it had to be done. Someone needed to set them free.

The pace was swift, but he stopped periodically to check the night vision and make sure he didn’t have the type of company he’d unfortunately become accustomed to having in the matter of days that felt like months.

His head throbbed, his legs were bruised, and his arm was bleeding again. He wiped the blood on his cargos and pulled another compress out of one of his many pockets. But he didn’t stop because he knew that he had to arrive at just the right time. The sunrise was nigh upon him and he knew they would depart before the sun. Tall shadows in the darkness disappeared at any hint of daylight. At least that’s what the world thought. But they were going to find out soon enough that the shadows never really just disappeared.

As he moved closer, he felt the hairs standing up on his arms, his legs, and his neck. Salty sweat found its way into his eyes and the uneven deer trail that was already swirling transitioned to uneven, rocky ground which became barely visible.

The crack of a branch just off to his right only heightened the angst. Crouching behind a pine, his quick scan on the therm showed nothing. But that was nothing new by this point and he remained poised for another ambush.

His instincts served him well.

The smell staggering. The roar rattling. Somehow, he managed to keep his cool as just to his left he saw an approaching figure dressed in all black get a sub-machine gun knocked from a firm grip before its owner was pummeled and pulverized.

To think it was something he wouldn’t have believed just a few days earlier. The man cracked a slight smile gratefully acknowledging that some were still free. But he didn’t have time to stay and spectate.

He checked his camera to make sure it was ready. His memory card had plenty of room. This is it. It’s going to end here, he said to himself. Making a few easy extra bucks playing hide and seek turned out to be a horror movie come to life. And I don’t even like frickin horror flicks, he cursed under his breath.

Lost in his thoughts, he nearly missed the entryway. Ducking under the overhanging branches, he almost slipped as he moved inward. Mumbling to himself, he began the painstaking task of stepping in just the right spots lest he take an unintended final dip in the Pacific.

As he cautiously proceeded through the inky blackness, he knew he was getting closer. He could smell it. A pungent mix of BO and the steak you accidentally left in your car while unloading groceries on a ninety-degree day in July, mixed with a hint of salinity.

He was almost there.

As he rounded the bend, he thought he heard footsteps right behind him and paused for a moment, afraid to breathe. But he was going to do it or die trying. He’d had enough.

Around the bend and all clear. Just a few more paces and then...

There they were. They don’t all look the same, he whispered quizzically to the darkness as he looked down on them and checked his camera one more time, ready to prove it for real.

With the cliff ledge on one side and the limestone wall to his back, he inched along to get the right angle and began rolling just as a familiar voice hissed. You’re a fool. You can’t just leave well enough alone, can you?

You sent that hitman after me? Why?

Sorry stud. If it’s any condolence, apparently that wild man met his match in the real deal. Guess it’s like they say, sometimes the only way to get a job done right is to do it yourself.

Who are you really? You’re like Jekyl and Hyde. Choose light. We can make history together, the young man implored.

No, sadly I’m afraid history is what you are, his pursuer replied matter-of-factly with a familiar maniacal grin and pulled the metaphorical rug out from under him.

Camera in-hand still rolling, he tried to sidestep the swipe and shift his weight on the stone, but it was too late. He managed to get one foot on sturdy ground, but the other was balanced precariously on a clump of grass at the edge of the cliff. For a moment, he thought he had his footing while almost doing a split, but a gymnast he was not, and another slight nudge of the ground left him frantically grabbing anything to keep from going down, but there was nothing there to hold him.

He was falling, falling, falling…

CHAPTER 1

Last Sunday 10:00 AM PDT Coos County, OR

It wasn’t late enough in the day for the morning sun to be too much, but it was getting surprisingly close. Fortunately, the breeze off the deep blue Pacific with but a few wispy clouds in the sky made the conditions just right. Stiff after a long flight in coach, the jet-lagged man in cargos and a navy-blue Tommy tee stretched his tall, muscular, six-foot-two frame across a small pier while his dreamy, keen blue eyes enjoyed the view.

Fishermen in weathered, but sturdy boats built to endure the strength of the vast ocean, moored to docks and prepared to unload their haul. A few chefs from nearby restaurants waited eagerly to see what they would be able to put on their menus that afternoon and evening.

The man, his already blonde hair continuing to get lighter courtesy of the sun, admired the array of boats which lined the marina. There were small row boats, catamarans, fishing craft, and yachts mixed in with sail boats which rocked gently in anticipation of an open sail like those already dotting the horizon. After a few moments relaxing and sipping a Mountain Dew while munching on some cashews, he felt himself beginning to finally drift-off when he heard the slam of a hatch followed by a scream.

His eyes popped back open just in time to see a tall stunning brunette make a hasty exit from the black forty-plus foot Sea Ray he had been eyeing with appreciation just a few minutes earlier as it reached the harbor. No sooner than the woman’s feet hit the dock, two darkly-complexioned men emerged from the cabin of the boat in apparent pursuit of the woman who was now taking long strides down the pier.

Instinctively, the man observing leapt to his feet and began running toward the woman. Although the woman appeared to be fit and agile, she was trying to dodge the combination of boating and fishing equipment as well as people lining the length of the pier. Meanwhile, her pursuers did not seem to give any second thought to pushing things and people out of the way, even into the water in some cases, and were quickly closing the gap. Similarly, the tall man demonstrated clear athleticism as he began to do the same.

Just before their paths converged, he surveyed his surroundings and nimbly grabbed an oar with his left hand and then another with his right without so much as slowing. No time to think, he swung high with his right hitting the man in front along his jaw line and swung low with the left taking the trailer’s legs out from under him. Unable to stop the resulting momentum, the second man tumbled forward into the other and they both landed in the harbor with a loud splash.

Without breaking stride, the tall man caught the woman by the arm and led her in the direction of the lot where his rented Jeep waited as he heard a mix of Spanish and English expletives coming from the water. Picking up speed as the shouting grew louder, the man yelled Get in, opening the door and jamming the clutch into gear.

Where to?

Take Cape Arago into town and then bear left onto Empire.

Not a whole lot was said as they both were catching their breath after an impromptu race. Finally, the man turned to his right almost to have his breath taken away again when he had a chance to take in her beauty up-close.

Are you okay? Those guys looked like they wanted to kill you. Probably me too now.

I’m fine. Let’s just call it a bit of a miscommunication.

"From my experience, a miscommunication is more of a ‘Sorry, I thought you were picking up dinner’ kind of thing, not a jump off a boat and run for your life kind of a thing."

Really, I’m okay. Yeah, they weren’t too happy before I left. You gave them a bath too which didn’t help, but I’ll be all right and so will you as long as you aren’t planning to make a habit of spending every day hanging around their slip.

That was never in the plans and it’s definitely not now. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the police station?

No. Like I said, it’s all good. I’m just gonna give it a couple of days to blow over. My place is three up on the right.

I don’t feel right leaving you here after all of that.

I’m good. Really. Besides, I don’t even know your name.

Umm Jim.

Well thanks, umm Jim, she said over her shoulder as she quickly opened and shut the passenger door before gliding up the walk."

Wait, was all he managed to get out just as her front door closed.

CHAPTER 2

Sunday Noon

Jim Jensen stopped for a moment to wipe his dripping brow. So much for the cool temperatures of the Pacific Northwest, he muttered to himself. It was only early June, but the thermometer was pushing ninety and that Mary Manchester on Channel Twelve Portland said the region could expect record-breaking temperatures for the better part of a week.

Sometimes he wondered why he was even out there. Initially an anthropology major while at Towson University in Baltimore, Jensen had been interested in the unknown long before he joined the collegiate ranks.

He spent many a childhood night after he was supposed to have been long asleep flying through the pages of the books he had checked out from the local public library. The Bermuda Triangle, The Loch Ness Monster, UFOs, pirate’s gold. They all captivated him and left him wondering, What’s really out there?

However, nothing enthralled him more than the quest for the great hairy beast of the wilderness. Bigfoot, sasquatch, yeti, or any other name. Depending on who you talked to or where you were, the name changed, but the basic description rarely did. A giant beast covered in brown, black, gray, or sometimes reddish hair, standing on two legs, and measuring between six and ten feet tall while tipping the scales at as much as eight hundred pounds. And then there was always the smell. Each person claiming to have closely encountered the creature always talked about a putrid smell permeating the air with a stench akin to rotting flesh or some type of refuse.

Jensen had often imagined what it smelled like and swore to himself he caught a whiff of it while hiking on a family camping trip in the mountains of Western Maryland. Jensen’s family made the trek at least once a summer from the Baltimore/DC metro to the camp ground near Deep Creek Lake for what his father liked to call a little R and R. Jensen however, often had other things in-mind.

After his first trip to the region, Jensen decided that the landscape was much like that of the areas described in the accounts of the bigfoot sightings he had read. So, while the other Jensens enjoyed their R and R, Jim planned his course of action.

He would first hike the narrow winding paths that snaked through the forests of the state park by daylight, venturing off the path periodically as to become familiar with the terrain. At night, he would wait for the sound of his father’s peaceful snores coming from the Jensens’ old Coleman pop-up, and quietly unzip the door of his four-man dome tent so as not to wake his brother Drew.

On one occasion, Drew had awakened just as the elder Jensen boy was zipping up the flap after slipping out of the tent. Naturally, he wanted to know where his brother was going, and Jim mumbled something about going to the bath house because he forgot to brush his teeth.

After that, Jim was careful to make sure everyone was long asleep before he attempted his escape. Then he would slink away with the Maglite and reporter-style tape recorder he had asked for while sitting on Santa’s lap at the town mall on his seventh Christmas. He was also sure to bring his old Kodak camera that had been given to him when his parents had sprung for the new thirty-five millimeter before their trip to Disney World.

The first couple of nights Jensen was terrified and didn’t venture far from camp. As time progressed, however, the growing familiarity of the trail, and his burning desire to be the one to solve the mystery of the hairy woodsman fueled him onward. He always made his way down the path that led toward the river because he remembered reading something about that and figured the enormous lining of boulders and cliffs, coupled with the ample supply of water, would provide the perfect place for the great beast to call home.

Although he never actually saw one, the crackle of brush, the eyes of animals silhouetted against the black wall of the forest like glowing moons, and that unforgettable odor, left him convinced that he was right on the heels of bigfoot.

Now, in the heat of the afternoon, it was an entirely different story.

Stupid childhood fantasies! I can’t believe I actually convinced myself that bigfoot was real, Jensen said aloud to himself. I’m twenty-eight. What am I doing out here?

Of course, he knew the real reason. It was green, and it definitely didn’t grow on trees.

Now a Psych.D. candidate nearing the completion of his dissertation at Loyola University in Baltimore, Jensen had developed a true understanding of the phrase money talks. He had applied for several government and private positions in preparation for his pending graduation, but he needed the cash now.

When Dr. Hendrickson had first approached him about the opportunity, Jensen wasn’t so sure. Old Hendrickson had been his favorite undergraduate professor, but Jensen’s opinions about life, and a specific component of it in this case, had changed long before completing his bachelor’s.

As an eighteen-year-old wide-eyed freshman at Towson U, Jensen was still sure it was only a matter of time before he made his big discovery. Naturally, he took an immediate liking to his Anthropology 101 professor that first fall semester.

Harold Hendrickson was an excellent teacher, but it was very easy for him to slip away from the material outlined in the syllabus, and into lucid descriptions of the great beast. And, while most of the other students enjoyed the fun-loving professor’s class, they rolled their eyes and watched the clock as Hendrickson babbled on, while Jensen listened intently from his front row seat, asking as many questions as he could.

Hendrickson seemed to appreciate the interest and enthusiasm young Jensen displayed. I like your style Jensen, he would often remark.

From there, a definite bond formed and the two spent countless hours discussing their favorite subject. Many a Saturday was spent searching throughout the woods, meadows, and bogs of Maryland and other nearby states for what they knew was hiding in the shadows just beyond their reach. The week after Jensen’s twentieth birthday, Hendrickson took him to Koco’s for the best crab cake in the capital of crab cakes and surprised him with exciting news. He was planning a trip to the left coast the coming summer for an expedition to prove the existence of the sasquatch once and for all. And, he was going to pay for Jensen’s costs. Jensen was elated, but the professor ended up being unable to swing it that year due to familial obligations, and it simply didn’t happen.

Meanwhile, over the years, Jensen’s opinions slowly changed. As he grew older and each so-called sighting proved to be a hoax or a joke, he grew more disenfranchised.

Shortly before he was to begin his junior year, Jensen finally answered another calling which had been burning inside of him and enlisted in the Marines. After finishing at the top of his class during basic, he was quickly promoted and began drawing the attention of both his fellow enlisted and superiors alike.

Deployed to Afghanistan not long after basic, he continued to impress with his marksmanship, his intellect, his people skills, and his instincts throughout. He was a born leader and was encouraged to apply for a special forces position.

During his second tour in as many years he was being guided by a superior officer who happened to be MARSOC. Three months into the tour, he was informed that he had been accepted into the MARSOC, or special ops, training program and was to return stateside.

One week before he was scheduled to report to Camp Lejeune in Carolina, Jensen was on border patrol when the Humvee he and five of his buddies were riding in