The Spirit

“You don’t need Rangers here,” said Wallace. “You need a plumber.”

Although the entrance was small, the cave itself was large. Stones had been piled against the floor, forming a sort of staircase. Drake saw stalactites hanging from the ceiling. The chart had said Colby was full of limestone. Under the action of water, limestone dissolved into caves.

“If I’m not back in five minutes, flush the thing,” said Drake. Jones played out the rope as he slipped, rifle first, through the opening.

“It’s like a church,” said Drake, his voice booming. The interior was a good fifteen feet high. The walls were smooth and curved. On the opposite wall was a small opening leading to another tunnel. “It’s clean except for the smell. It’s dry, too.”

Drake could not pin down any particular detail that told him the cave was used frequently, but that was what he sensed. Somewhere he had read that living things leave a memory of their presence behind, like a battery charge. It might have been technical nonsense, but he trusted his instincts.

“Everybody tie yourselves together and let’s go in a little ways,” said Drake. “Stay behind me.”

The wind receded to a faint whistle as they followed Drake single-­file into the tunnels. Unlike the mine, which was filled with the drip of water, the cave system was quiet. Dry and quiet. Silence was an unnatural state of nature, Jones thought. It meant you were being watched.

The tunnel branched, and they walked to the right. All of them smelled the smoke at once. “Taylor was right,” said Jones. It was not thick or visible. It was an old odor, as if given off by a deposit of soot on the walls.

“Hickory smoke,” whispered Wallace. “Now what in hell . . .”

Drake rounded a corner and aimed his light at the floor. Twenty feet ahead they saw the tattered remains of Lester Cole lying in a gush of dried blood.

Drake examined the body. “His head’s gone,” he said quietly. He flashed the light around, as if expecting to find it lying somewhere close by.

They carried Lester down the mountain in a tarpaulin and deposited him in the back of the truck. Drake called the state police. “We’ve found him. I want you to do something for me. I want you to take samples of all the blood in his trailer and find out what kind of an animal he was carving up in there, if that’s really what he was doing. Okay? Ten four.”

He stood outside the truck, breathing in great drafts of fresh cold air. He turned to Jones and said, “Now what, Jonesy?”

“I can’t see them doing anything in the middle of a snowstorm.”

“On the other hand,” Drake drawled, “if they were going to do something nasty, a snowstorm is the perfect cover, isn’t it? Anybody been up to the lodge over the weekend?”

Nobody had.

“I’ll run up there myself. Helder won’t be happy about being evacuated, so I guess it’s only courteous for the boss to tell him.”

Martha Lucas found herself standing next to John Moon as Helder called the guests together. Moon seemed so shrunken that his hair was the only substantial part of him. The rest was just a ghost.

As Drake stifled yawns of exhaustion, Jack Helder spoke tonelessly to his guests. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have been ordered by the Forest Service to evacuate Colby Lodge immediately for the duration of the storm. There is a very serious problem with bears at the moment—” A titter of laughter rippled through them. “Please! One of our kitchen workers was killed over the weekend. I’ll ask you to have your bags packed and ready to go beginning at four this afternoon. Lodging will be furnished for you in Garrison. Thank you.”

After that speech Helder entered his office, locked the door, and would not answer it.

Martha intercepted Drake at the parking lot. “It’s them,” he told her. “They got Lester Cole. I don’t know why. Where’s Mr. Jason?”

“I haven’t seen him all day. He must be in his bungalow.”

“As far as you two are concerned, it’s still bears, understand? I want to see you both at the station tomorrow morning.” He tipped his hat as he walked to his truck.

She found John Moon heading into the woods and called to him. “John? John?”

“Yes, ma’am.” There was a dark-­blue swelling ringed with little scabs on his hairline.

She faced him, trying to hold his eyes. “John, do you know who wrecked the ski lift?”

“How should I know, ma’am?”

“John, listen to me. It doesn’t have anything to do with you personally. Have you ever, ever in your life come across any kind of”—she made movements with her hands —“gorillas in the woods?”

His gaze drew back and focused on her. “Why, no, ma’am. That’s silly. They ain’t nothing like that in these woods.”

“What about spirits? Have you ever seen any spirits?”

His eyes widened in pleasure. He smiled at some secret knowledge within himself. “Why, yes, ma’am. Why, a day don’t hardly go by that I don’t see spirits!”

He pushed out the door into the wind.