Cold Cat Mountain: The Peak (Cold Cat Mountain Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Matilda’s evidence was currently leading the charge in the world of cryptid academia.

  She smiled and took a long drink of her coffee. “However, I am anything but available for communication. Being good at what I do does not interpret into needing my ego stroked. Also you saw me present. Public speaking is not my strong suit. The press, talk shows and late night interviews had me on the run. I lost all privacy and became a recluse.” She glanced back toward Blaze.

  “Hard to believe, right?”

  Blaze nodded and pulled another article from the wall. Matilda sat back down. “With offers arriving daily to fund expeditions, money and equipment aren’t an obstacle. Grant money purchased the field jeep we’ll be using. And, it covers our research expenses. Generally it takes months to generate authentic finds. Years, even. Which is really no surprise.” Matilda handed Blaze a laminated article she’d pulled out from under the stacked papers on her desk.

  The photo in the second National Geographic article portrayed a more confident scientist. Matilda stared back at the world, leaning against a rock with her arms crossed. The article read that aside from the tooth, which had been analyzed, carbon dated, genetically tested and compared to prehistoric human and animal remains, Matilda had produced an uncompromising foot print. She was guarded about the original of the prints location, obviously. The article went on to state Matilda Bough’s latest feat had caused a tail spin within the scientific community. Matilda had most recently produced a skull extracted from a bear den. The tiny skull, obviously from an infant, was clearly not that of a homo sapiens. The find catapulted Matilda into notoriety.

  She held out her arms, indicating her office, well hidden within a warehouse district.

  “I needed to be close to my colleagues, but not in an obvious way.” Blaze considered herself to be an astute reader of people and felt herself liking Matilda, although reluctantly. Her disarming child-like sense of wonder ran in opposition to Blaze’s preconceived notions of a staunch scientific mind. When Matilda’s cell phone rang again Blaze stood up and wondered the spacious office. Standing by the window she studied the scenery. The office had a view of nothing but other warehouse buildings. It was eccentric, and not where someone would look for a Sasquatch Detective.

  Matilda raised her voice, pulling Blaze’s attention back. Whoever she was arguing with seemed to have a problem taking no for answer. “People think "monsters" are born without origin. But it is the monsters that have the greatest stories to tell...”

  ― Charles Lee

  ~Eight~

  Matilda rushed to explain every nuance of her research to Blaze. Apologizing, she also explained her need to have Blaze assimilate quickly due to the looming project they were scheduled to leave for in Montana. She'd called the location Cold Cat Mountain. Tucked away in her memory Blaze promised to research the area on her own.

  As two weeks passed and melted into three Blaze made her own professional contacts, and began to understand the demanding rhythm of cryptid research. Matilda took Blaze to interviews with people who had called in sightings within their Pacific Northwest vicinity and offered tutelage both to and from those interviews. Blaze came equipped with her own internal lie detector from her years in social work, which immediately brought value to their teamwork. Blaze scrutinized facial expressions, ticks and eye contact for signs of truth versus fabrications. She and Matilda acquired a solid routine which daily ended up readjusted. Flexibility was key as cryptids were not respecters of schedules. The work became somewhat challenging for Blaze in that Matilda demanded passion, not perfection. It was a strange twist for Blaze considering her first impression of Matilda. During her lecture she had come across as almost devoid of emotion. Also, Blaze had spent the past decade responding without passion, purposefully, to protect herself and the children she served. Emotion was dead weight in social services. Clear headed logic was often all that separated the grief from order. If grief took over a case, and guided with emotion, the case itself was already lacking resolution. Considering all that Blaze had seen in the past three weeks it made sense Matilda had developed an effective boundary herself when presenting to the public. In fact it was a facet of Matilda’s professional demeanor which surprised and impressed Blaze. Her critics were absolutely brutal. Arrogant males, skeptical females, and sometimes the two were reversed. Both approaches were daunting. Blaze stood by, absorbing Matilda’s responses, observing her facial plains. She never faltered. If someone did happen to ruffle her feathers she waited for the proper time to vent, away from the other party.

  Much like social work, their calls came in at all hours during the day and night. Both Matilda and Blaze took the calls forwarded from the office to their cell phones after hours. Sightings were dutifully recorded and documented for follow up. Blaze began to develop an appreciation for the candor with which people spoke once they admitted to themselves they were certain they had sighted Sasquatch. Fervently confessed encounters spilled through the phone line in the dark of night, often after midnight. Because their monsters seemed less scary to her than her own Blaze was effective with listening and attuning. Being objective was simple when one did not believe in the shadows creating bumps in the night. Blaze soon began keeping her paperwork next to her bed, along with the airline ticket Matilda had given her their first evening together. The ticket was becoming an image of freedom. A departure from her past and into new territory. Territories that she had been fearful would not emerge. Territories far from the abuse and hostility of social services. Occasionally following late night calls, Blaze would hold her ticket, running her fingers over the destination point. Kalispell, Montana. Matilda had been offered a grant to study for six months in the Iron Ridge Mountain Range. Specifically Iron Peak.

  Following her own hunches, Blaze researched the area in the evenings. Indeed, it was also referred to as Cold Cat Mountain. Its haunting past and chilling number count of the missing tugged at the corners of Blaze’s resolve. While she hadn’t compiled an actual number of missing persons on her own, she had read enough about the area to know people didn’t return from the mountain range often. Specifically, Cold Cat Peak. Several internet sites illuminated the Cold Cat legend, bloggers shared their views too, speculating the snow leopard had to have died years earlier, following its release from captivity when Edith Merger had gone missing. It was a fascinating subject Blaze returned to again and again. The snow leopard had made several appearances over the past few years while Search and Rescue teams scoured the mountain for individuals who had stepped onto the peak and not returned. In each search event, a member of the Search and Rescue party reported the same feeling of being watched. In succession, each described turning to see the snow leopard standing either above or near them, watching. On each of those occasions the missing party was not found. Not even a footprint.

  While they prepared for their imminent departure Blaze admitted to Matilda she was shocked by the amount of money required to search for the boogie man. Matilda sharply responded with a request Blaze never use that reference publicly. Knowing that Blaze did not believe in Sasquatch was a primary motivator for Matilda in asking her to join her research. However, Matilda explained individuals who actually had experienced encounters were passionate, sometimes defensive and agitated even for having to endure the mocking disbelief of others. Blaze acknowledged the perspective, silently chuckling. Who was she to question other people’s monsters? She was too busy trying to subdue her own.

  Because her medicine only minimized the potential affects her own monster could wreak on her nervous system, Blaze began waking after her nightmares, apologizing to the little faces that haunted her. She apologized for not being able to bring effective change to their lives. She mourned their outcomes and admitted she was powerless in creating change on her own. Powerless to the point she’d become ill in the process of trying to find a solution the world did not seem to want. Often she found herself throwing up afterwards, but it was followed with a certain relief. Her psychologist
encouraged her to continue facing hardened facts. The world was filled with monsters, indeed. He added however, that the only monster capable of killing her was the one she had loosed on herself. The one her unconscious had released in defense against the trauma Blaze daily saw among abused children; children who openly shared their truth if anyone listened: Monsters were real, and they didn’t like children.

  Listening too closely revealed all manner of monsters if one simply let a child visit without interruption. Sinister monsters almost always lurked near innocents. Often, children had drawn pictures of those monsters in Blaze’s office, while gripping goldfish crackers in their free hand. Sometimes, with their little mouths full, they would point to their drawing with innocence, declaring that their picture of the six armed giant was in fact their uncle, or cousin. Persons who scared them and made them feel alone.

  Ironically, taking the calls from shocked citizens who claimed a Sasquatch was in their yard, out the window, and sometimes in their pool, was becoming therapeutic. One caller claimed the creature was on his roof. Twice she’d taken horrified calls from men who had left their hunting camps because a growl hadn’t seemed right. One call even arrived from a sheriff’s deputy. He stated that he was patrolling a back road in Washington State and had just turned onto the adjoining two lane highway when a dark figure stepped from the trees, stopped and turned toward his vehicle. Standing on two feet it watched him, then pivoted and disappeared back into the tree line. While it was an organized and detailed account, coming from a deputy who was trained to write reports and observe, Blaze’s skepticism remained intact. Some nights she would fall asleep asking herself what the hell she was doing. Other nights she replayed the calls in her head, scanning them for false information. Either way, taking calls from people frightened by a monster had somehow managed to calm her own monster, a peculiar development. It had slept soundly for weeks, perhaps preoccupied with the stories from callers who she was beginning to think were completely insane, and alone. That part she understood. Trigeminal Neuralgia had taught her being alone in an experience was devastating. Especially when no one identified with the levels of pain Blaze and others with the diagnosis endured. Beyond that, she was envious of the callers, even if she was skeptical.

  At least they could see their monsters.

  “Men do not fear swords...they fear monsters.” ― Dracula Untold

  ~Nine~

  Gordon eased from his saddle, holding his reigns steady in a gloved right hand. The air was glacial at the current elevation. His breath hovered and dissipated into bitter cold. Stamping, Storm shifted nervously, moving his ears back, edging away from where they’d stopped. Soothing the animal, Gordon cautiously knelt, sifting through the frozen dirt. An outline appeared. Tracing it with his gloved finger Gordon transferred the gelding’s reigns to his other hand. The print was a few days old. Lying a stick on the ground next to it Gordon estimated the track to be about twenty inches in length, if not longer. The heel pushed deeper into the earth than the other regions of the track. The digits had barely caused a disturbance to the ground. He knew it to be a weight bearing track. Looking up he raised the fleece collar of his leather coat, his ice blue eyes scanned the canyon below.

  “You’re getting’ sloppy.” His whisper was amplified in the cold. The creature hadn’t left a track in the fifteen years Gordon had begun riding the mountain. Breathing in the chill he felt his lungs expand, the air was sweet on his tongue when he exhaled. Montana was his home. Until he’d retired the strange occurrences on the mountain near where he’d built his home had been tragic incidents he hadn’t been able to invest in. They’d only spent summers in their mountain home while he’d completed his last years in Wyoming with the Sheriff’s Department in Laramie. Now, he knew he was in the right place at the right time. His senses were lit with an alert pulsation he’d often felt when he tracked in Laramie. Felons mostly, and he’d never returned empty handed. Search and Rescue had accused him of letting his Native spirit guide do the work of twelve men. This was his calling. He knew in his gut that everything he’d done prior to his retirement had simply been a practice run for tracking a creature no one had ever seen. Or at least returned from seeing. The adversary on the peak across from his home eluded him for over fifteen years. Until today there’d been nothing. No prints, no blood, no trails.

  Gordon wondered if it was aging. Desperate.

  Storm pushed impatiently against his back with his muzzle. Gordon rose to his feet. The brush near them had been pushed down. He dropped Storms reigns and withdrew his rifle from the scabbard. Approaching with stealth, he pushed aside the bent and twisted brush with the tip of his rifle. Just inside the thicket a drop of blood stained one of the brush. The dirt there had been disturbed where something heavy appeared to have been drug into the thicket. Pausing to check his animal, Gordon advanced into the dried foliage. A twig snapped under his boot. Cautiously he took in the scene, stalking the dried blood and disturbed dirt. Ahead, just beyond a copse of trees he spotted a hoof extending toward the slate colored sky.

  Decomposing slowly in the chill, an elk stared blankly into nowhere, its tongue hanging from its open mouth. Gordon moved toward it, carefully observing the ground for tracks. The elk was partially consumed. Entrails had seeped blood onto the dirt and rock floor of the mountain peak until cold had congealed the fluids. The elk had put up a fight. In the matted and now frozen sweat of its fur was a print. Gordon tilted his head, leaning in. On the animal’s chest a hand print remained. Removing his glove Gordon extended his own hand, letting it hover just above the print on the elk’s chest. It was twice the size of his hand. Shifting back to the balls of his feet he stood, pulling the rifle in close. It had been feeding recently.

  Retreating, with his rifle in position, he moved backward, watching the trees. Storm stomped his hooves, agitated. Next to his horse he placed his foot in the stirrup, taking his seat in the saddle. Dancing with anxiety the large dark horse breathed steam into the air, flaring its nostrils. Switching his ears back Storm pranced and gained purchase on the reigns, moving away from the kill zone.

  Gordon pulled back when he heard something unfamiliar. At the edge of the high ridge, with Montana spread out below him, he listened in the arctic air. The sound rose again. Standing in the stirrups Gordon pulled the rifle snug to his chest, taking aim at where the noise came from. Storm moved restlessly. Turning his head Gordon leaned forward.

  A whisper was carried on the bleak subzero current. His hair stood up on the back of his neck as he narrowed his eyes. Beneath his legs the horse refused to stay put, its muscles bunching and contracting beneath the saddle. With caution Gordon slid the rifle back into his scabbard and took the reins. Storm obliged and moved swiftly down the side of the peak. Gordon looked back over his shoulder.

  Nothing moved. “People who have monsters recognize each other. They know each other without even saying a word.”

  ― Benjamin Alire Sáenz,

  ~Ten~

  Blaze stood in the elevator in her long black coat. Her wild dark hair, which was never tame, kept falling into her eyes. Impatient she pushed it back. She reached up and scratched her neck.

  Matilda smacked her hand away.

  “You have got to be kidding me right now. Get poised Blaze. This is no place for hives.” Being a few years older than Matilda didn’t prevent Matilda from treating Blaze like a child, occasionally Blaze glared at her as the elevator rose to the eighth floor of the sleek modern building where the radio station waited.

  “I don’t even know why you brought me. I know nothing about Cryptozoology. I’m going to look like an idiot.”

  Matilda smirked. “No, you might sound like an idiot but no one see’s you on radio.”

  Blaze craned her neck first to the right and then and then the left to ease the mounting tension. “Just let me sit in the sound booth or something.”

  Matilda tapped her foot impatiently. Her black and white striped tights had made Blaze laugh uproariously unt
il Matilda told her she looked like a suburban den mother.

  Blaze frowned at her outfit in the elevator reflection.

  Wonderful.

  When the elevator doors slid open to the lobby of the radio station Matilda marched forward to announce herself at the front desk. Blaze knew as she sat quietly next to her she was nervous. She was sharing a radio interview with her former employer, Randall Sterling. Blaze had trolled google enough to know he was Matilda’s antitheses.

  Blaze suspected that the broadcast interview would be intense. Two contenders, two different approaches to the world of Sasquatch research. The show would have thousands of dedicated listeners buzzing for weeks.

  A gentlemen appeared and greeted Matilda, politely going through the motions of an introduction to Blaze. He quickly turned away and ushered Matilda forward. His head set was slipping and he re-adjusted it as Matilda explained Blaze would be contributing to the interview. A frown pounced on his brow and he shook his head. Matilda leaned forward and whispered to him, holding lightly to his lapel.

  “She’s absolutely brilliant.” His eyebrows shot up and soon they were both promptly seated at a white round table. Matilda placed her headset on, moving it precisely into place. Blaze struggled with hers, feeling her face turn red as the gentlemen assisting probably wondered why someone brilliant couldn’t adjust her own head set.

  Scurrying feet, bustling in and out of the sound booth with doors slamming dominated the room’s atmosphere until people began settling in to prepare for the broadcast.

  And then it suddenly became silent.

  The three of them were left in the room at the table as the door clicked shut again. They waited for their host, in an uncomfortable silence. Matilda had donned her professional mask. She was unreadable and her saucy disposition was gone. Blaze felt a quickening in her chest. This was a new political game. One she’d never been a part of. Social service employees generally said what they felt.