I Solve Disappearances in National Parks, but This Case Might Be My Last | Part 2
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Stay there. I call to Monroe, who stands where I left him. What is it? He asks, unable to see over the ridge. It's the girl, Cyril. I say, pulling my back off. I sling my rifle across my chest and pull my python out, keeping the revolver pointed at the ground as I scan the area around the running girl. She's no longer screaming, but she's running fast. And now that she's closer, I can see she's pretty beat up.

Her expensive looking hiking getup, water resistant pants and a similar shirt, have slashes through them, exposing shallow cuts on the skin underneath. Her brown hair is in frazzled braids that bounce off her back as she springs up the trail. I wave her toward me, still keeping my eyes peeled for any pursuers. Something about this is wrong, I think. No, everything about this is wrong. I feel like a thousand pairs of eyes are watching me from the woods all around.

The young woman slows as she reaches me, more out of exhaustion than relief. She stumbles into me, and I grab her to keep her from falling. "Please," she says, pointing behind her. "Please, you have to help them." "Where are they?" I ask. "What happened?" "There's a creature," she gasps, eyes wild. "A creature? What do you mean?" She shakes her head. "They're still alive." "Where are they?" "A cave on the mountain. Please, we have to go get them."

Monroe comes up behind us, but he just stares at the girl, saying nothing. I turn to him. You need to get her out of here. I'm going after her family. Cyril shouts. No, you'll never find them without me. I have to show you. I think about our missing sat phones and GPS trackers. The girl doesn't know what she's saying. Despite what I've seen in the woods near the lake, I can't accept that there's some demented creature out here. It has to be a man. Maybe he's wearing an outfit to scare her.

A man took our GPS trackers and sat phones. A man is behind this. Is he messing with us? Is this a sick game? I scan the trees near the lake. He knows we're here. He's probably watching us right now. Everything about this feels wrong, but I have no choice. I have to go find the rest of the family. "What should we do?" Monroe asks.

We're going to get her cleaned up and checked for injuries. Then I'll get her to draw me a map. No! Cyril says again. I'm okay. I can show you the way. But we need to go before he kills them. If he gets back and finds me gone, he'll kill them all. Monroe and I share a look.

"Okay," I say. "You hike out. Drop whatever you don't need out of your pack and move as fast as you can. You won't get out before dark, but you need to keep going. Get law enforcement up here as quick as you can, you get me?" "You want me to leave you?" Monroe asks. "That's what I'm saying! Now go! You're losing light!" Cyril and I reach the point on the trail where the ranger in the tree is visible, but we continue past the body without stopping.

I glance at it, but I don't call attention to it. If Cyril hasn't seen it, she doesn't need to now. I need her calm, as calm as I can get her anyway. She munches on a protein bar I gave her, walking quickly ahead of me. I have my pack on again, my revolver holstered, and my Remington in my hands, ready to go. I want to ask Cyril more questions about the man holding her family captive, but it's better if we're as quiet as possible while we move through the woods.

Back on the ridge, I asked her if the man had guns. She said it wasn't a man. She said it was a creature and that it had taken over her parents. I dropped it, refusing to give into her psychosis. I'll just have to go in blind. I've done it before. Cyril promised to tell me when we were getting close so I could scout the area and maybe come at the cave from some direction with plenty of cover.

When I asked her if we would get there before sunset, she said she thought we would. As we came to a small clearing, I look up at the sky and see that the sun will be down in two hours, give or take. We keep going, plodding along, not speaking. After another mile or so, Cyril turns and tells me she needs to rest. "You can't keep going?" I ask. Without responding, Cyril turns her back on me, doubles over, and retches.

Black goo comes out of her mouth and splatters on the trail at her feet. At first, I think it's just the protein bar coming back up from an upset stomach. But as she pukes again, I catch a glimpse of what looks to be squirming roots dangling from her mouth. She suddenly straightens up, her back to me, spine stiff and arms rigid at her sides. "Are you okay?" I ask, the image of those writhing roots hanging from her mouth still haunting me, making me think twice about approaching her.

Two thin roots whip around from either side of her face, moving past her ears and digging into the curve at the back of her head where her skull meets her spine. The tendrils dig around under her skin for a moment before they stop moving and go taut. Cyril turns around to face me, and I see that the roots are coming out of her mouth, pulling the corners of her lips up and giving her an artificial grin like the one I saw on the ranger's face before he went into the lake.

"What the hell?" I whisper, stepping back and raising the rifle to my shoulder. Cyril steps toward me. "Don't!" I say. "Stay back!" She doesn't listen. She steps closer. I put my finger on the trigger, but I already know I won't be able to pull it. I have no idea what's happening here, but I know I can't shoot this young woman any more than I could shoot my own wife if she was the one standing here. So I do the next best thing. I turn and run.

I haven't made it four steps when the sound of branches snapping erupts from the woods to my left. I glance that way and see a large, dark creature moving through the woods on all fours. It's far enough in that I can't tell what it is, only that it's fast and powerful. As I round a bend in the trail, I hear the creature burst out of the woods, heavy footfalls thudding on the trail behind me. I still have my pack on, so I quickly ditch it as I run, hoping it will slow whatever is coming after me.

It's no use. The thing is getting closer. I have to turn and fight. If I keep running, I'm dead. I come to a halting stop on the trail, spinning around to see a massive grizzly bear bounding toward me. But it's not just any grizzly bear. It has roots sprouting from its hide here and there. Brown leaves sticking up from them. A network of roots cover its face, branching out from the eyes and mouth, revealing its large, sharp teeth.

The first shot I fire hits the bear in the chest as it's in mid-run, but it doesn't even slow the creature down. It's only 15 yards away now and closing fast. I jack the bolt back, ejecting the spent chamber and loading another round. The second shot hits it in a foreleg, blasting a large chunk away. Still, the bear doesn't slow. Backpedaling, I drop the rifle and pull out my .357 Python.

I take aim and fire. The revolver kicks in my hands and the top of the bear's skull flies off. Before I can get another shot off, I trip over a rock and go sprawling onto my back. Then the bear is on top of me, rearing up, roaring, and swinging a massive paw down toward my face. The last thing I feel before losing consciousness is the breathtaking sensation of its claws tearing into my flesh. I feel like my head is on fire.

Waking up is like stumbling out of a numb nightmare and into hell. I quickly realize I'm standing up. Well, that's not exactly right. I'm being held up against a craggy cave wall by a man I recognize from photos as Jim Loudark, patriarch of the Loudark family. Two roots extend from his mouth to the back of his head, pressing his ears back and pulling his lips into a crazed grin. Aside from the roots, he looks like he's dying.

No, that's not exactly right. He looks like he's drying. His skin is wrinkled and seems to grip his bones like dried papier-mâché over a styrofoam skeleton. To my left, dwindling sunlight tries weakly to infiltrate the cave through its roughly oval entrance, allowing me just enough light to see my dim surroundings. My pack lies on the cave floor nearby, but there's no sign of my guns.

Bringing my hands up to grab Jim's wrists, I struggle to free myself from his grip. But I'm too weak, and he's too strong. Stronger than any man his size and age has any right to be. Still, I try to free myself, pain-filled head whipping right and left as I take panicked stock of the cave. To my right, the uneven ground fades to darkness. But there's something over there, in the darkness. Something wet and breathing.

sounding like a hundred asthmatic old men snoring softly in unison. Standing off behind Jim's right shoulder is the loud-arc matriarch, Lauren. She looks slightly better than her husband, but the dry skin and the roots make her hard to look at, even in the dim light. I see no sign of Cyril or the brother Cyrus. I peer around, looking for the bear. As I do, I let go of Jim's wrist and reach one hand up to my skull, wincing as I touch the gashes in the side of my head.

But the wince of pain quickly turns to panic as I feel something soft and organic there. Ignoring the pain, I run my fingers along the gashes. Then I dig in and rip out a chunk of the stuff. I scream out in pain, then look at what I've torn from my wound. It's moss. There's moss growing in my wound. As panic swirls in my mind like a hurricane, I rip at the moss, tearing it out, feeling hot blood pour down the side of my head.

"Stoo!" Jim says. He can't close his mouth to speak properly, so it comes out as a wordless shout. Lauren moves up and grips my wrist, slamming it back against the cave wall to make me stop tearing at my wound. "Yo yo, Cadu!" Lauren says. I try to yank my hand out of her grip, but she's as strong as her husband, and I can't get it to budge. I have no idea what she's trying to say to me, and I don't care. I can feel that I no longer have my python at my hip.

It's probably back on the trail where the bear attacked me, but I need to get out of here. Something occludes the light at the tunnel entrance, and I look that way to see Cyril. She still has roots coming out of her mouth, and she carries a backpack I've never seen before. I stop fighting and watch her. Cyril stops nearby, at a wide place in the cave. She slings her pack down and opens it up, pulling out a camelback water bladder. She brings it over to her father, who turns his head up.

Cyril dumps the bladder over his face, getting much of it in his mouth, while the rest of it goes streaming down his body. I watch in amazement as the man's dry, wrinkled skin seems to soak up the water like a sponge, taking a good 20 years off him. Cyril then retrieves a water bottle from the pack, my now jean, and gives it to her mother. Lauren takes it in her free hand and dumps it over her face.

But since the Nalgene doesn't hold as much water as the Camelback, the transformation isn't so drastic. Still, it's noticeable. Movement from the back of the cave catches my attention. It's the bear. The injuries I inflicted on it are still apparent, although there's no blood and the exposed flesh doesn't look right. There's plant matter growing in the wounds, much like the moss in my injuries. Cyril retrieves another water bottle from the pack and pours it over the bear.

but it doesn't do anything. Not that I can tell in the limited light anyway. The roots snaking through the bear's fur still look dry, the leaves still brown. Cyril then takes the receptacles, puts them back in the pack, and then heads out of the cave again. The bear comes over, gets behind Jim, and stands on its hind legs. It puts its paws gently on the man's shoulders and stares over Jim's head at me. "What is this?" I ask, still feeling the blood seeping out of my head wound.

No one answers, not with words. But I notice that one of the roots coming from Jim's mouth is shifting. The tip of the root suddenly appears, moving smoothly through the air, coming around Jim's head and heading toward me. "No!" I say, turning my head away. "No!" Jim stiffens, something like intelligence coming back into his eyes. The bear grunts behind him, pushing down on the man's shoulders as if to keep him in place.

I start struggling again, trying to get free as the root extends toward my face, then continues toward the back of my head. I slap my one free hand over the back of my head, but a movement later, I feel a sharp pain as the root digs through my hand. Grunting in agony, I can do nothing but wait for the thing to invade me. Jim looks into my eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks, only to be absorbed by his skin.

"Kill me!" he pleads. His words are a little strangled, thanks to the one root still going around the back of his head. But I hear him just fine, and then the root enters my neck, and I spasm. A moment later, it enters my brainstem, and I'm ripped to a hellish landscape that threatens to tear my mind from the tenuous stems of sanity that hold it in place. I'm still aware of my presence in the cave.

Of the hands pressing me to the wall, of the grip on my right wrist, and of the massive bear standing not three feet away. But I have to fight hard to keep that awareness, because some other force is invading my brain. I feel as though I'm some small part of a vast network of semi-sentient beings that reach under the surface of the earth, almost all the way to Elk Lake. Those beings are plants, I realize, but not plants as they are.

Plants as they've come to be as a host for this... thing. They are all separate individuals, these plants. But they're also part of a hive mind. And that alone is enough to cause potentially irreparable harm to my mind as I try to fathom all the parts. There's one predominant voice that runs through it all. But voice isn't quite the right word for it. Consciousness is more accurate, although it still misses the mark.

Because this thing doesn't communicate with me in words, it uses images to communicate. And that's its purpose in invading my mind. It wants to tell me something. It promises me abundance in the form of endless crops, protection from predators and shelter. It shows me images of all these things, and I see myself in them, speaking to a crowd of people as some kind of shaman or preacher.

But these images are ancient in their details. In them, I'm wearing crude clothes fashioned of animal pelts. And the shelter I live in is a hut made from living trees formed into one simple room. I realize it sees itself as a god of sorts, and it wants me to proselytize for it. It needs to be worshipped. It needs people to care for it so its strength and power can grow.

but it doesn't seem to understand the modern world, or that riches in the form of crops aren't the most important form of wealth. I realize it has been trapped up here, in the mountains for centuries. Only now that it has been able to capture several humans and feed itself does it have the power to seek new worshippers. I wonder what it would do with more power, but that avenue seems to be closed to me. It wants an answer.

And if I don't give it the one it wants, I know I will be fully invaded. Becoming another of its slaves. Slaves who need constant care and attention just to stay alive. Slaves who can't venture far from their master without dying. There's no question. I can't hide my true feelings from it. And my answer is a resounding no. But just as that simple concept is coming to the fore of my mind, something happens in the cave.

It takes some effort to pull my attention back to reality, but as I do, I see Jim thrashing and the bear trying to hold him still. Jim lets go of my shoulders and my legs take my weight as I struggle to keep myself present in the cave, even though the thing in my mind is trying to stop me. My left hand is still pinned to the back of my neck by the root, and Lauren still has my right hand against the cave wall.

But I soon feel the presence in my mind retreating, and I know it has to because it's losing control of Jim. He's fighting back. I take a huge breath as the root pulls out of my brain stem, allowing my full self to come back. But with it comes the pain of the gashes in the side of my head and of the small hole through my left hand and my neck. Fighting through the pain, I know I have to do something.

The bear growls as it shoves Jim down to his knees. Now that the root is out of me, the move pulls it down with Jim. I see it immediately going for the back of his head so I can regain control of him. Lauren lets go of my right wrist and turns to help the bear. I know there's only one way I can help him. It's a long shot.

But maybe it will help me too. I reach out and grab the root in my injured left hand, gripping it as hard as I can, keeping it from going back inside Jim's brain. "Fight it!" I shouted Jim just before the bear takes one huge paw off his shoulder and swipes at my left wrist.

The claws slice through my flesh like sharpened knives through soft cheese, knocking my arm away and releasing the root. I stare down for a long moment at my left arm, certain I saw exposed bone before the wound filled with blood. I'm barely cognizant of Jim slipping away from the bear thanks to my distraction.

He has one hand up, gripping the root that still has yet to re-enter his brain. He lunges at Lauren, tackling her to the ground. Rolling off Lauren, and still somehow holding the root in his hand, he lurches up. Stumbling toward the back of the cave, Jim reaches up and yanks the other root out of his neck. Meanwhile, the bear backhands me as it turns to go deal with Jim. I smack into the wall, the impact knocking my breath away before I come to rest on the cave floor.

Stunned, I look toward Jim in time to see him run directly at a rock jutting from the wall. He's shouting insanely, both hands holding the squirming roots as they work their way through his flesh so they can take control of him again. But apparently he'd rather die.

because as he approaches the jutting rock, he leaps into the air and jerks his head forward like a professional soccer player going for a header. The sound of his skull smacking into the rock echoes through the cave, leaving no doubt in my mind that he's done what he set out to do. I see my pack nearby and crawl toward it, blood leaving my body at an alarming rate. I go directly for a side pocket on my pack, unzipping it and pulling out a black and orange can of Jetboil fuel.

A glance behind me reveals the bear pawing at Jim's limp body, but Lauren, who is now standing, stares at me. I can almost see the communication pass from Lauren to the bear as the burly creature turns its eyes to me. Pulling myself up into a sitting position, I set the fuel canister in my lap and reach into a cargo pocket for a lighter. I always carry a lighter, matches, and a manual fire starter on me when I go into the woods. Fire can save your life.

I find the lighter in my pocket as the bear lumbers toward me. My left hand is weak, so I have to do this with my right hand only. As I pull the lighter out, I fumble it, dropping the device to the rocky cave floor. Leaving it there, I grab the gas canister, using my teeth to pull off the plastic cap. Then I reverse the canister and slam its top into a nearby rocky outcropping. I can hear the gas hiss out of the broken valve.

Setting the canister in my lap, I search for the lighter. The bear is closing in, and this time I think it means to kill me. I don't think I can take another hit from it. My fingers find the lighter. I bring it up, my thumb working it. A small flame sprouting from the tip. The gas spewing out of the canister ignites immediately. I drop the lighter and pick the flame spewing canister up, thrusting it toward the bear as it arrives.

The bear roars as the flames dance across its face, igniting the webwork of the roots there. It shakes its head, turning away. I'm surprised as the flames continue to work their way over the bear's body, igniting the fur like it's a field of bone-dry grass. Afraid that the canister will blow up in my hand, I throw it at the retreating bear, immediately turning back and reaching into my pack for the tool I know is in there. Because now Lauren is coming at me, and I don't think her intentions are much better than the bear's.

I pull my parang out, which is essentially a weighted and curved machete designed for chopping, and slide its sheath off as Lauren arrives. "Stay back!" I shout, bringing the weapon up to ward her off. A concussive boom sounds from farther in the cave, making me flinch and look that way. The canister exploded, and I can see that the bear is now rolling around, trying to put out the flames.

Shifting my attention back to Lauren, I realize it's too late. She gets me around the neck before I can fend off her attack. For a moment, I think about slamming the parang into her, killing her, but I know it's not Lauren doing this. So I go for the next best thing, raising the blade and dragging it across the back of her head hard enough to sever the roots there. Lauren suddenly goes stiff, eyes wide and face blank as the thing inside her loses control momentarily.

but I can see the roots morphing, sharpening where I severed them, getting ready to take control of her again. "It won't let me live," she says before the roots can stretch her mouth wide again. "Kill me, please!" Then her lips are stretched wide again, and she resumes choking me. Knowing I have no other choice, I slam the blade as hard as I can into the side of her neck. Blood pours down on me. She keeps choking me. I do it again. More blood.

She doesn't let up. I cut into her neck two more times before hitting spinal cord, at which point she stops, hands going limp as she wavers and falls next to me. I get to my feet as quickly as I can, swaying and lightheaded as I stumble toward the bear. Its fur is completely gone, burned away, leaving only scorched skin. Its left forepaw is injured, presumably because of the fuel canister that exploded little more than a minute ago.

Wasting no time, I come up behind the thing and swing the parang into the back of its already damaged skull. Dark, watery liquid spews out. It roars and swipes at me, sending me crashing into the wall again. But it's weak, and the blow to its head has made it weaker. This time, I straddle the bear's back and chop into its head and neck until it stops moving. Breathing hard, I look into the wound, barely able to see by the fading light outside. But what I can see is not normal.

Instead of veins and tendons, there are tubers and roots inside the bear. The muscles are still there, but the meat looks dry and brittle, as if the roots have sucked up most of the moisture from them. The breathing sound coming from the back of the cave has increased. It has been there the whole time, but it faded into the background while I was fighting for my life. Now, I know I have to go investigate, but first I have to stop my arm from bleeding.

I go to my pack and get my first aid kit out, along with a compact camping lantern. It takes me a few minutes to get my left arm wrapped in gauze. While I work, I glance up, expecting Cyril to come into the cave any minute, and maybe her brother too. I haven't seen him yet. Maybe the ranger I saw going into the lake is still alive, if you can call that living, judging by what I saw when Cyril brought water back. I'm guessing he was going into the lake to soak up moisture.

But no one comes into the cave, and nothing comes from the back other than that sound like a thousand old men huffing like they're running a marathon. I gather my supplies, my last canister of fuel, my lighter, my lantern, and the parang, and I venture toward the back of the cave. As I come up next to the bear, I stop as I see a patch of fur remaining on its inner arm. Putting the parang down, I touch the fur, realizing why the bear caught on fire so swiftly.

The fur doesn't feel like fur at all. It feels like bone-dry grass. I wonder how long it took for the organism to take over the bear's body like that. And I shudder to think it almost happened to me. Resuming my journey, I head toward the sound of huffing. I come to a drop off, easing forward to look into the chasm before me.

As I hold the lantern out and peer directly down, I glimpse a network of root systems a good 30 feet below me. But it's not just roots down there, I realize. Kneeling to get a better look, there are odd protrusions coming up from the roots, like those strange thermal vents found on the ocean floor. Only these have flaps that rise and fall at the top as the organism breathes, if that's what it's doing. The roots are all tan, and the vents are the color of dry straw.

I count dozens of them, and they must each be at least two feet tall and a foot in diameter. As I inspect these things, a wet gasp sounds from directly ahead of me. I jerk back, bringing the lantern up in my left hand. The light spills across the wall, directly across the drop-off from me, illuminating a young man, or at least pieces of a young man.

Despite his deformation, I recognize his face from the pictures on social media. It's Cyrus Loudark. He's stuck to the cave wall with roots that penetrate his arms and legs so much that he doesn't even have hands or feet anymore. Smaller roots have invaded his skull and the other parts of his body. But unlike the others, he doesn't have any coming out of his mouth. He's different somehow. His breathing in unison with the vents below. Eyes full of pain. Mouth hanging open.

He looks me in the face, huffing, pleading silently. Then his eyes dart down to the fuel canister in my left armpit. He's telling me what to do. He's begging me to do it. I nod at him once, putting the parang down, and grab the canister, setting it in front of me. Then I fish the lighter out of my pocket, just like I did before. I remove the lid and bash the top of the canister into a pointy rock. Fuel spews out.

I light the fuel with the lighter and then hold the flaming canister out over the drop-off. If I don't get this right, there's no telling what will happen. I time it, waiting until the vents close. I aim for one, and just as they open again, I drop the canister. It tumbles down, the flame changing its trajectory more than I anticipated.

but as it spins, the spewing flame acts as a sort of rudder, bringing it back toward the vent as it tumbles. Then it falls directly into the vent a split second before all the lids close again. I move back from the ledge and pick up the parang. Moments later, the canister explodes. A massive fireball shoots up from below, much bigger than should have been possible from that little canister.

I stumble back and trip, covering my face as the fireball licks across the ceiling. There's a flash of heat, and I cough from the smoke. But soon the danger is over. Getting to my feet again, I ease toward the edge, lantern still in hand. The first thing I look at is Cyrus. His eyes are still open, but they have lost their intensity. They're the blank eyes of a dead man. Plus, he's no longer breathing. I can't hear that huffing noise anymore.

What I can hear is the crackle of a fire. I peer over the edge and see that what's left of the vents is still burning. The acrid smoke makes me cough more, and I back away from the ledge, turning to leave the cave. When I get outside, the sun is almost down. The cave entrance is somewhat hidden behind some trees, but as I skirt them, I see Cyril lying face down on the ground, wearing the same pack she had on earlier.

I rush over to her, yanking the back off. It's heavy with water bottles and a camelback bladder. Then turn her over to feel for a pulse. She's dead. That much is abundantly clear. But I pull those damn roots out of the back of her neck anyway. I try to yank them out of her mouth, but they don't want to come. They travel all the way down her throat, and they're probably inside her organs. I pull her into my lap, crying even though I don't know this girl at all.

I'm crying because I don't see Cyril's face. I see my young wife's face. A face I saw for the last time in a place much like this one, before she disappeared forever. The motorized helicopter hoist brings me up to the hovering aircraft. A search and rescue worker grabs the harness and pulls me into the helicopter. "Is there anyone else?" He calls over the sound of the rotors. I shake my head. "Ranger Monroe?" I say. "Did he make it back okay?"

"Yes, sir. He's the one who told us where to look." I nod. Thankful at least Monroe made it, and I look out the open door toward Elk Lake below. I've just spent a touch-and-go night on the ridge overlooking the lake, thinking that was the best possible spot for me to wait. By the time I went back into the cave and gathered my gear, it was fully dark out. I hiked back to the lake in pitch dark. Using my compass and the map Hoover gave me to get back on the trail,

I kept expecting someone or something to come out of the woods for me, whether it be another possessed bear or the ranger who disappeared into the lake, but nothing ever did. It was a small miracle I made it up to the ridge, considering how much blood I had lost. As the temperature dropped, I got into my sleeping bag, ate a protein bar, drank some water, and then passed out. When I awoke to the sound of helicopter rotors, it was already light out.

As I get situated in the helicopter, I glance out the door at the lake below. I'm hoping to see a body floating in the water, but I don't. Soon, the helicopter banks, and the lake is behind us. I wonder if that man was just going into the lake to replenish his body with moisture, or if he had some other purpose for going into that body of water. I picture him on the bottom of the lake, large roots sprouting from his body and sinking into the rich lake bed.

I picture the roots digging through the soil, slowly heading up toward the cave, searching for more of their kind. After all, if there's one thing I know about destroying invasive weeds, it's that you have to destroy the root systems, or they'll keep coming back.