What I Discovered in the Alaskan Wilderness Will Haunt Me Forever
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I stood on the lake shore, watching as the float plane taxied away on the hazy, turquoise waters. Behind me, sitting on a log and packing his backpack with supplies the plane brought, was a man named Jason Carver. The plane hadn't just brought us food. It was also taking away two of the searchers who'd been called back by their boss. The two rangers we'd been in the woods with for the past four days looked at me from inside the plane.

One of them, Lawson, raised a hand. I turned away, heading over toward Carver and my backpack. I was going to be carrying half of the supplies, mostly food. Despite the circumstances, Carver was keeping it together surprisingly well. He was a stoic kind of guy, which I respected, but I knew that if we didn't find his sister soon, he would have to find a healthy way to deal with the grief. Otherwise, he would become like me.

I spent so much time alone in the woods, I felt like I was losing my mind. I barely knew how to interact with people anymore, and those I did interact with seemed to want to get far away from me as soon as possible. I had let my grief take over, and it ran my life almost entirely. It was as if I had no free will anymore. All I knew how to do was search for people in the woods. Sure, I was pretty good at it,

but I knew that the only reason I wasn't dead had more to do with luck than skill. If you go traipsing around in the woods for long enough, you're bound to get into a position that you can't easily get out of. To make matters worse, I was allowing Carver to stay with me to continue the search. I told him he should go with the rangers, take a break, and sleep in an actual bed for a couple of nights. Of course, he refused, and I didn't put up much of a fight. That scared me.

because although Carver was clearly an experienced outdoorsman, I knew I was risking his life as much as my own by remaining out here as August marched toward September. With all the dangers the Alaskan wilderness presented, it was paramount that we keep our wits about us. But I could already feel myself slipping, some dark urge inside calling to me. I'd been having dreams about simply walking into the forest and disappearing.

And when I woke up to find that I hadn't, I always felt a heavy sense of disappointment. Now I was responsible for Jason Carver. I couldn't let myself slip. Not until we found his sister, or at least her body. Barring that, I at least had to get Jason out of the wilderness alive before I could act on any dark impulses that seemed more attractive with every passing day.

Our first week had yielded no clues, but the nature of Serena Carver's disappearance was anything but common, if Jason's story could be believed. "Tell me again," I said as I crouched next to my pack to load my half of the food. "Again?" Jason said. "I've already told you five times." "No, six." I looked up for my work and into Jason's brown eyes.

The 29-year-old had the suntanned face of an avid outdoorsman, complete with the tan line around his eyes and on his temples from sunglasses that now dangled from the strap around his neck. His hairline had receded unevenly, which I could only see because his normally shaved hair had grown out during the nine days he'd been out in the woods. He wore a mid-range outfit of breathable materials, and his expensive jacket hung off a nearby branch because of the afternoon heat.

"Tell me again," I said after a long moment. "From the beginning." "From the very beginning?" he asked, capitulating. "Yes." Jason Carver sighed and then told me the story of his sister's disappearance, starting from the beginning. Jason Carver and his sister Serena had grown up with adventurous parents.

From a young age, they were exposed to camping, hiking, fishing, and other outdoor activities. Over the years, their love of all things outdoors grew, and they were soon taking one major trip a year together. They were both capable, and big sister Serena, at 32, was especially adept at navigation and map reading. Coming up to Alaska and going on some off-trail hikes had always been a goal, and this was their first time in the state.

They started at Lake Clark and hiked out from the lodge on a cloudy Sunday morning, heading for Twin Lakes. About 10 miles as the crow flies, they expected the hike to Twin Lakes to take them two or three days, given the lack of trails, the terrain, and their plan to catch and eat plenty of sockeye salmon because it was the middle of their spawning run. But just a few hours after setting out that day, they both had the feeling they were being followed.

They kept hearing sounds from behind them as they hiked. At first, they chalked it up to wildlife, but the sounds continued. They weren't much: the snapping of a branch, the shifting of a rock, or the crunch of a footstep on gravel. Since there were so many bears around, both Jason and Serena remained acutely aware of their surroundings. They had bells tied onto their packs for noisemakers. They each had a can of bear spray, and they both carried rifles.

but they had never heard of a bear stalking a human for miles into the woods. That was the kind of thing only other humans did. Despite their concern, they kept going and made camp on the northwestern edge of Lake Clark, which they'd been hiking along all day. Because they both often liked to be prepared with their own supplies, they had each brought a small one-person hiking tent with them. They got camp set up, ate salmon, and went to bed with the sun.

Jason woke up in the middle of the night to a strange sound, like a muffled cry. The cry was followed by the sound of branches snapping, as if someone was rushing through the trees, heading away from the lake. Immediately on edge, Jason got out of his tent with his flashlight and rifle. Serena? He asked. Seeing that her tent had been torn open, a large rip ran down the length of it. He shined the light around, searching for his sister, heart thudding in his throat.

When he didn't see her in the camp, he moved toward the woods, where he thought the sounds had come from earlier. He trudged through the woods, shining his light around and calling her name, but there was no answer, no sign of his big sister. After retrieving himself from the edge of panic, he made his way back to the camp, dug out the sat phone he brought along for emergencies, and called the local ranger station at the other end of Lake Clark.

In the morning, while he waited for the rangers to reach him, he looked around for footprints. Strangely, he only found large bear prints on the ground around Serena's tent. There were footprints from him and Serena, obviously, but none that he didn't recognize, other than the bear prints. Since he was camped on the lake shore, it didn't take long for the rangers to get him by boat. Once they did, they listened to his story and started their search.

By nightfall, when they hadn't found anything of note, they called me and told me the story. I flew up the next day, joining the rangers and Jason Carver on their search. We spent four days in the woods, taking the route Jason and Serena had planned to take to Twin Lakes, but we found no sign of her. Now that the rangers had been called back, it was just him and me. Neither of us was ready to give up, but I was losing more and more hope each day.

As Jason finished his story, we were both done packing our bags. The details of his story had remained the same with every telling. I didn't really think he'd had anything to do with his sister's disappearance, but I still wasn't ready to rule it out. After all, I only had his word that something mysterious had happened that night, six days ago. Granted, I had seen the bare tracks around Serena's tent when I arrived, but I had noticed something that both the rangers had also noticed about the tracks. They weren't deep.

The average male grizzly in this part of Alaska during the summer weighs nearly 850 pounds. The average female weighs around 450. The tracks around Serena's tent were large enough to belong to an average male, but they didn't have the depth I would have expected. My theory was that someone had been wearing bear paws on their feet as they took Serena away, or more likely, to someone's.

I doubted one man could have easily subdued, then disappeared into the woods with Serena in the time between Jason hearing the commotion and getting out of his tent. I had studied Jason's face closely when I first told him about this theory and wasn't surprised when he said he thought the same thing. It was the only thing that made any sense because real bears didn't carry people off into the woods like practiced kidnappers. And if they did, they left them in a bloody mangled heap not far from where they started.

But I still clung to the most likely explanation, which was that Serena had been abducted by a human or humans, which didn't bode well for her at all, especially after so much time had passed. That didn't mean I would give up. In fact, I couldn't give up. It was an impulse I couldn't dampen, a drive I couldn't direct. So I got my pack on, packed up my rifle, and looked back out at the lake one last time.

The float plane with the two rangers was long gone, flying them back to Anchorage to make their report. Unable to sleep the night before, I had sat up in my tent and studied maps of the area with my flashlight. Thinking like an abductor wasn't that hard for me. I had years of experience hunting down people in national parks, and a good number of them had been abducted and killed. So I had a solid idea of where I wanted to check next. It was so obvious I was kicking myself for not considering it before.

and I worried that my slowness at realizing what likely happened could have very well gotten Serena Carver killed.

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We found the abandoned camp not even a mile from the site of the abduction. It wasn't much of a camp, really. There were a few telltale signs that clued me in. Like the divot in the shore where a boat had been parked, the flattened areas of ground where people had lain, and the broken branches on the edge of the clearing where those same people had ventured off into the woods in the middle of the night to abduct their victim. Jesus. Jesus.

"How stupid was I?" I muttered, looking from the boat divot toward the other side of the lake. "They camped here," I said. "The men that took your sister. They camped here and waited for you to go to sleep." Jason shook his head. "How do you know that? Look at the boat divot, and the branches, and the flattened ground." "So? It could have just as easily been a couple of fishermen stopping to take a leak. How many better spots did we pass on our way up here?" I asked.

We had hiked along the lake shore, passing through several ideal clearings where evidence of fishermen had been, like fish guts in the trees and the occasional discarded beer can or piece of broken fishing line. Look at this spot, I continued. It's well hidden in this little cove. The tree branches hanging over the lake would have blocked a small boat from view. Now, this is a spot that was chosen carefully for its proximity to your camp and for its concealment.

"It still doesn't make sense," Jason said. "I told you, we were followed through the woods. These people had a boat." "One of them followed you through the woods," I said. "When he saw where you made camp, he called his buddy and found a good place for them to stop with the boat." "Okay," Jason said, looking ill. He dropped his backpack to the ground and stared past me at the shimmering lake. "So they didn't take my sister off into the woods. They took her to this boat.

"What then? Where did they take her?" "Where do you think?" I asked. "Back to the comfort of civilization, where they could have their fun with her." "Back to the village?" Jason asked. "Think about it," I said. "It makes sense. Someone spotted you two in the village and decided to follow you out. There can't be more than 200 people living there. You think they would risk bringing her back?"

"That's what I aim to find out," I said. "Now call the ranger station and ask them how many women have gone missing in this area in the last 10 years." Jason's face went white, but he produced the sat phone and called the station. Ellsworth Village was little more than a collection of buildings that catered to tourists.

There were four lodges, a tiny airport, a post office, one market, two bars, four restaurants, a boat rental business, and several for hire guides operating from the small village. It was the hub of Lake Clark, where everyone flew into, usually from Anchorage. There were a couple of other lodges on the shores of the lake that drew tourists during the warm months, but Owlsworth was the only village.

It was a seasonal town, and pretty much everyone cleared out before winter hit, going back to wherever they were from. For most business owners and employees working in the village, they went back to Anchorage or some other town in the area that had the infrastructure to help people make it through the harsh Alaskan winters. But as Jason and I arrived at the docks by boat, tourist season was still in full swing and would be for another month. There had to be a good 400 people in the village.

It was approaching sunset as we arrived back, so most of the sightseeing and fishing boat tours were getting back from their trips around the lake. The waterfront restaurants were filling with hungry tourists. The two bars were already packed. And that was where I was going to start. The bars. I stepped off the boat just as soon as Ranger Benally guided the vessel against the dock. "Hey," Jason called. "Where are you going?"

"To find a room," I said. "I suggest you do the same, and lie low while I do my thing." "No goddamn way," Jason said, jumping from the boat and nearly falling into the water as he did. "I'm not leaving your side until we figure out what the hell is going on around here." I ignored him, walking toward the nearest lodge. My thoughts were focused on what Ranger Benelli had confirmed once he picked us up. Six women and four men had gone missing in the area over the last ten years.

Only two bodies were ever found, both belonging to men. The other eight were still unaccounted for. Just enough to prevent too much suspicion, I thought. After all, this is the Alaskan wilderness. People go missing in the wilderness. That's just a fact. But these guys have gotten brazen. Or sloppy. Maybe something went wrong when they abducted Serena. Maybe their plan was to kill Jason. Or take him too.

Maybe Serena woke up and started fighting, so both of them had to focus on her. "Hey!" Jason said, grabbing my shoulder. "Are you listening to me?" "No." "What is your plan, dammit?" Jason asked. "Get a room, take a shower, dress in some decent clothes, and then go out for a night on the town." "You're kidding me, right?" I stopped and turned, looking into Jason's eyes.

You're kidding!

"Just lie low, kid," I said, turning to resume my walk to the lodge. "Let me do my thing. You'll know when I've found them. And if your sister is still alive, I'll find her too." Jason stood where I left him. I could sense him staring at me, but I didn't turn around. I needed him to know that I was serious about this. If he started poking his nose around, he might get himself killed.

better to let me do it. And if I got killed, well, that wasn't such a big deal. Jason could go do his thing then. He would go to the constable or maybe beg the FBI for help. But if I still had air in my lungs and blood pumping through my veins, then I wouldn't stop searching for the assholes who took Serena Carver. By the time I stepped foot into Big Bear Bar, it was nearly nine o'clock.

The rustic charm of the place was dampened by the smell of stale beer and greasy food. There were four pool tables placed around the space, with a U-shaped bar in the middle. Booths lined the walls, except for a place for darts in one corner. About half the booths were occupied, and about three quarters of the stools were taken around the bar. All the pool tables had games going,

I scanned the area, eliminating the tourists with their new-looking outdoorsy clothes and their fresh sunburns and their drunken smiles. I was looking for a local, and I found a few to choose from. A stooped old man sat at one end of the U-shaped bar, chin nearly in his beer mug, eyes swimming as though he'd been sitting there for hours. He probably had.

Everyone else seemed to be giving him a wide berth, and I found out why as I took the stool beside him. He smelled of pungent body odor. "Buy you a drink?" I asked as I settled in beside him. "Eugh, me?" he asked, head coming up and eyes struggling to focus on my face. "Yeah," I said. "Why?" he asked, suspicious. I smiled. "I figure you live here, right? I'm looking for the best fishing spots, the little known ones."

I was hoping you'd oblige. A gap-toothed smile spread across the old man's face. I'll have a beer and a shot of Jameson, he said. You got it, I replied, getting the bartender's attention. Even before the bartender delivered the drinks, the old man introduced himself as Jonah and delved into the little-known fishing spots around the lake.

By the time 10 o'clock rolled around, he was dishing the little village's dirt. Mostly, the stuff he told me was your average small town gossip. Who was sleeping with who? Which person was the town deadbeat? Who was feuding with who? I let him go on like this with a little prompting for a good while longer. Then I tried to bait the hook gently. "What about serious crime?" I asked. "Anyone here ever assault anyone else? Any man a little rough with the ladies?"

Jonah rocked back on his stool so far, I thought he was going to fall off. He eyed me with one roomy eye, his other one completely closed, probably because he was seen double. "Why do you wanna know about that kind of stuff?" he asked. I shrugged. "I just find these little remote villages fascinating. It's like the frontier out here, and I wonder about frontier justice." Jonah snorted and leaned back towards his half-finished beer. "More like no justice," he said.

"What do you mean?" He shook his head and muttered, "Nothing." "You mean someone has gotten away with stuff like that around here?" I asked, trying my best to sound like a soft, stunned suburbanite. Jonah's grizzled head swiveled as he surveyed the bar with one open eye. "They're not here tonight. Probably off somewhere torturing animals or something." "Who?" I asked, trying to keep my excitement down. This was exactly what I was looking for.

the Yazzie brothers, Jonas said. Although they ain't really brothers and their name ain't really Yazzie, that's a native name and those boys ain't native. I don't know what they are, but they certainly ain't native. Just as I was about to follow this up with another question, a hand fell on my shoulder. I turned to see Jason Carver standing there. "I need to talk to you," he said. I could feel the people around looking at us.

The bartender studied us with a crease in his brow. "Who's this?" Jonah asked with obvious suspicion. Jason was wound up and everyone could see it. "Be right back," I said, standing from my stool and taking Jason by the arm, leading him toward the front door. He tried to talk to me, but I told him to keep quiet until we got outside. As we reached the front door, I glanced back at Jonah. The bartender was leaning over and talking into Jonah's ear.

It wasn't the typical bartender-customer conversation. It looked serious. I cursed under my breath. "You better hope you didn't just mess this whole thing up," I said as we got outside. "What the hell are you talking about? You're supposed to be out looking for my sister, and I find you in this bar getting drunk?"

Do I seem drunk to you? I'm gathering information. That guy in there may have just pointed me in the right direction, but I need more from him before I can make any kind of move. So let me get back in there before he passes out. What kind of information? What did he say?

I dragged a palm down my face. I'm not telling you jack shit until I know for sure it's real. God knows what you would do if I did tell you. This is bullshit, Jason said. Stop treating me like a child. I need to know what's going on. Listen, I said. I know this isn't easy, but you have to trust me. I've done this before. I know what the hell I'm doing. Do you? How many missing people have you found? That shut him up.

"Just go back to your room and let me figure this out. I'll come to you when I have something solid." Looking like a sullen teenager, Jason nodded and told me what room he was staying in. Then he turned and walked away from the rustic bar. I hurried back inside, only to find that Jonah was gone. Figuring he was in the restroom, I took my seat again and waited. But he didn't come back. After several minutes, I went and checked the bathroom. Worried I'd given the guy too many drinks,

But he wasn't there. Back at the bar, I called the bartender over. "Where did Jonah go?" I asked. "Said he was calling it a night," the big and tall bartender said. "Said to say thanks for all the drinks. You might want to call it a night too. Either that, or stop snooping around in our business." I put my full attention on the big man, staring into his eyes.

He didn't flinch, neither did I. Finally, someone shouted the big man's name, which happened to be Bear. Before he moved away to serve the impatient customer, he said, "Careful on your way back to your room, Mr. Cole."

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Now that's pretty good. Learn more at fidelity.com slash baskets. Investing involves risks, including risk of loss. Fidelity Brokers Services, LLC. Member NYSC SIPC. I thought briefly about staying in Big Bear's bar, trying to chat up other locals, but I figured it would provoke a violent response from the man behind the bar, and I wasn't sure I could come out ahead in a fight with him.

Instead, I ventured out and hit the one other bar and four restaurants in the tiny village. But it seemed that word had spread quickly. Everyone I talked to refused to say more than three words to me. And those three words were some variation of "leave me alone." But that in itself told me something. I had struck a nerve. The Yazzie brothers were either well connected or they were just crazy enough that they'd made the entire village afraid of them.

I had been hoping to find out where they lived, but that possibility seemed unlikely now. And there was no way I could check over a hundred homes without drawing unwanted attention to myself. As I wandered the poorly paved road that served as the village's main street, I spotted the post office. It was a small wooden building that looked one step up from a shed. It was closed, the two windows gleaming darkly in the old-school halogen lamplight.

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching me, I hurried around the back of the structure, already resigning myself to the fact that I was about to commit a felony by breaking into a US post office. The computer system proved to be more of an obstacle than the flimsy back door, which I shouldered open with relative ease. My experience had little to do with computers, quite the opposite in fact. So I quickly hit a wall trying to sign into the post office's internal systems without a password.

Instead, I did things the old-fashioned way, looking through the incoming and outgoing mail. I had been searching for about 10 minutes when I came across a package destined for Eli Yazzie. I pulled out my ancient smartphone and punched the address in. According to the map, the residence was about a mile outside the village, tucked away by itself. I left the post office and headed that way, jaw clenched in hopeful determination.

What I didn't know at the time, what I should have known, was that someone was following me. The Yazzie place was more like a compound than a single structure. Tucked amid a womb of trees at the end of a two-track dirt road, the place was anything but neat and tidy. It featured a central one-story cabin, which looked as if it could have been a hundred years old. Although the windows were intact and the roof looked somewhat new,

There were tarps strapped here and there over the walls, covering some unseen issues. Two single wide mobile homes flanked the house, one on each side and at a distance of about 20 yards. These trailers looked about five years old, and I wondered if the men were living in them instead of the house. The area around the three structures were littered with random items. A haphazard pile of cut wood sat out front, near a cutting station complete with a large tree trunk and ax.

A couple of ATVs sat parked under a leaning carport. A single pickup truck sat face in toward the house. Nearby, there was a boat trailer, but no boat. The shell of an ancient pickup truck rusted on one side of the property. Water jugs and piles of trash waiting to be burned took up one distant corner near the wall of trees. Yellow lights burned in the two trailers, but the cabin windows were completely dark.

I saw no sign of movement from anywhere on the property as I crouched in the trees flanking the driveway. I hadn't brought any supplies because I was just planning on doing a little recon this trip. I wanted to get the lay of the land before heading back and taking time to prepare for my search of the property. The only weapon I had on me was a pocket knife I always carried. No rifle, no pistol.

Although it was common for people to carry sidearms around with them in the village, I had left mine at the lodge because I wanted to appear as unthreatening as possible while I pressed the locals for information. Now, as I heard movement through the woods not far behind me, I suddenly wished I had brought a gun with me. Still crouching, I turned around and peered through the dark trees, reaching into my pocket for my knife as I scanned for hostiles.

Then I saw the man, about 15 yards away. That was pretty good. He had gotten a lot closer to me than most other people would have without alerting me. I breathed a sigh of relief and put the knife back in my pocket before standing and moving over to Jason. "'The hell are you doing here?' I asked, although I already knew the answer. "'Do they live here? The people who took my sister?' "'I don't know yet, dammit,' I whispered. "'I told you. I would let you know when I knew.'

A new sound came from nearby, so close that I was sure it couldn't be from a human. No human could get that close to me without me knowing, but the sound is unmistakable.

It was the rushing of footsteps as someone ran toward us. I turned and looked, seeing a man dressed in black, with stringy black hair hanging down past his shoulders. He launched himself at us, mere feet away, swinging some kind of club as he came. I shoved Jason away and got my left arm up to ward off the blow. But the man hit me with such force, he knocked my arm down and hit my upper shoulder with the top of the club. The pain was immediate.

Shocking, and not what I had expected from the ball-shaped tip affixed to the top of the weapon. Soon, I saw why. As the man pulled the club back for another blow, I noticed a small post sticking out from the ball-shaped tip. A post that had stabbed into my shoulder with the blow. In a fraction of a second, I realized I had seen one of these weapons before.

They were called "Ball Head War Clubs" and they had been used by several native tribes in Canada and America. The post projecting from the ball was intentional and meant to do damage. As I stumbled away, trying to regroup while reaching for my knife, Jason attempted to tackle the man to the ground, but the man shifted smoothly, his movements sure and confident, like those of an expert predator.

He twisted as Jason reached him, bringing the butt of the war club down in the middle of Jason's back with one hand while guiding him past with the other. These moves and their precise performance caused Jason to grasp weakly around the man's legs before tumbling away without completing the tackle.

As I finally got my knife out, the man stepped casually over and slammed the end of the war club into the back of Jason's head. The stiff post was only about three inches long, but all three of those inches penetrated Jason's head as the club cracked his skull open like a pumpkin dropped on a sharp rock. Although a flash of dismay traveled through my mind, I knew I didn't have time to dwell on any sort of sorrow or regret about Jason's death.

because the man was already turning back toward me, lifting the war club for another killing blow. It might have seemed at first to me that Jason's death was without meaning, but a much deeper part of me knew better. I had seen the man move as he parried Jason's attack. I had watched as he took little more than three heartbeats to dispatch the young and healthy man,

And although the murder was brief, too brief for me to do anything about it, the information that I gathered and incorporated could mean the difference between life and death. Because as the man came at me, I had valuable information on how to defeat him. And I aimed to use it to do just that.

As he took a step toward me, I threw myself at him, taking the same strategy Jason had used. Well, almost the same. I aimed for his upper thighs in a textbook tackling posture, hoping that the man would do exactly what he'd done to Jason to avoid the tackle. It was an all or nothing move. If he changed things up on me, I didn't think I would survive. But it was also my best bet, because he was much younger and much faster than me.

Going one-on-one against him in a straight fight would have been 70-30 in his favor. As it was, I would be lucky to get a 50-50 shot at defeating him. Luckily, he acted as I hoped. He twisted, using one hand to guide me away from his body and the other one to slam the butt of the club into my spine. The blow hurt. Bad, but I had expected that.

Like Jason, I wasn't able to finish the tackle, and I fell to the ground not three feet from my companion's body. Then again, the tackle hadn't been my ultimate goal. I flipped around onto my back as soon as I could, half expecting to get my eyes up in time to see the club swinging at my face. But the man stood where he'd been when I tried to tackle him. He was looking down at his legs as if they didn't belong to him.

Then he reached down with his free hand, feeling along his left inner thigh. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood. His black clothes prevented me from seeing the damage I'd done, but I could tell by the way that the man acted that I'd gotten him good with the stubby knife I still held in my right hand. I stood up, which seemed to break the man's stupor.

He lurched toward me, swinging the club wildly. I ducked it easily and then dodged back as he swung again. I kept this up, dodging his sloppy swings until he collapsed to a kneeling position. I moved forward and kicked the club out of his hand. "Where is she?" I asked, kneeling a good distance away from him and looking into his face. His skin, tanned and full of life when I first saw him, was now sickly and sallow. He was bleeding to death.

harlow will kill you the man said so you must be eli he didn't answer he just sat back propping himself up on his arms where is she harlow will kill you when you go inside eli said he's much faster than me much stronger you better just go back to where you came from and leave him alone i don't believe you eli smiled and his arms gave out he collapsed onto his back and went still

I picked up his war club and looked at Jason. I didn't have to feel for a pulse to know he was dead. His skull was split open. I looked toward the three structures in the clearing, ignoring my bleeding and pain-ridden left arm. I loped through the woods, determination providing the energy now coursing through my body.

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The most logical place to keep Serena Carver, if she was still alive, was the cabin. So that's where I started. The heavy front door was locked and I saw nothing but impenetrable darkness when looking through the windows. I soon realized that there was something blocking each window from the inside, something solid and painted black. I couldn't tell for sure, but I thought the windows had been boarded up from the inside. I skirted the structure, looking in the windows on the side to no avail.

But when I came around the back, a rectangular maw of blackness greeted me. The back door stood wide open. Above the door, a bright light shined down, casting illumination outward. Sure it was a trap, I hesitated only for a second. I wanted nothing more than to go retrieve a gun from my lodge room, but that would have given time for Arlo to escape. Whether or not Serena was dead, I couldn't let the man get away.

I clamped the knife blade between my teeth and put both hands on the war club as I eased inside the dark cabin. The putrescent stench hit me like a blow to the face, making my nostrils flare in objection. I had smelled enough dead bodies to recognize one simply by its stench, but this wasn't the odor of one dead body. It smelled like dozens.

The light outside had temporarily damaged my night vision, something I was sure had been intentional. So I stood still just inside the doorway to let my eyes adjust. It was a mistake. There was a faint thrump and an arrow flew out of the darkness directly ahead. Seeing it at the last moment, I jerked my head to the left, feeling the sharp implement slice into my right cheek and through my right ear as it traveled. I threw myself to the left through a dark doorway, sure that another arrow would be coming soon.

Landing on my forearms, I cried out as a strip of nails affixed to the floor penetrated my flesh. The knife fell from my mouth and hit the wooden floor. Moving without thinking, I yanked my arms up, pulling them off the upward-facing nails. I got to my feet but didn't dare move for fear of another trap waiting to be sprung. My eyes were adjusting and I could see that I was in a kitchen. Rotting animal carcasses littered the countertops. Most of them cleaned of the edible meat, leaving only the heads intact.

Piles of fly-spotted guts sat here and there. I looked down in my forearms, but couldn't see the extent of the damage thanks to the long-sleeved plaid shirt I wore. I felt the side of my face where the arrow had cut a gash that bled freely. Wincing, I felt my ear, realizing it had been sliced in half. I was losing blood, and fast. For a brief moment, I thought about running out the still-open back door, but it wasn't anything more than a momentary cowardice in the form of the instinct for survival.

I thought about my wife, who'd gone missing many years ago without a trace while we were on a camping trip in Rocky Mountain National Park. Then I thought about Jason, lying out there with his skull smashed in. I wasn't going to run away, but I was losing blood fast, so I had to make this quick. "Your brother's dead," I called. I killed him easily, and I cut his dick off, then I shoved it in his mouth.

A grizzled roar ripped from the depths of the cabin, sounding anything but human to my ears. A finger of deadly fear ripped up the length of my spine. "It's just a man," I told myself. "Only a man." But I wasn't so sure. My left arm was all but useless now, thanks to the blow from the war club outside and the nails to my forearm just now. As I gripped the war club in my right hand, pain radiated up from my forearm.

I clenched my teeth and bolted back into the hallway, moving to the right and then quickly to the left. I heard that faint thrum again, and I dove to the right as an arrow came out of the darkness and thudded into the wall where I'd just been. I threw the club as hard as I could at the patch of darkness where the arrow had come from, hearing a satisfying grunt in return. Wasting no time, I rushed further into the dark house. Thankful I had spent so many years out in the woods using my night vision.

A hulking black shadow moved, dropping through the floor ahead of me. It didn't seem possible, and I was certain I was dealing with something other than a man. Then I got closer and saw that there was a hole cut in the floor. A faint, flickering light came from down there, allowing me to see the dirt floor and one rudimentary boarded wall of the basement. I looked around the living room I stood in and saw more rotting animal carcasses. I didn't see the war club, nor did I see any bow or crossbow.

The only conceivable weapon I saw was a pair of deer antlers, still attached to a deer's severed head. The deer's eyes were gone. Maggots squirmed in the sockets. Flies swarmed on its sickly fur. There was a wolf carcass nearby, along with several beaver carcasses and a few dead raccoons. I grabbed the deer's head up and tried briefly to break one antler off. It was no use.

Holding the deer in my right hand, I grabbed the wolf carcass with my nearly useless left and dragged it over to the hole in the floor. Taking a breath, I readied myself for what came next. I tossed the wolf carcass down into the hole. Just as it hit the ground, an arrow slammed into it. Gripping the deer head, I jumped into the hole, collapsing to the floor next to the dead wolf and looking over at Arlo Yazzie, who wore the head of a bear affixed to his skull, the animal's fur acting as a sort of cape on his back.

They were fastened to his arms and legs with strips of dark leather.

His black skin had helped him blend into the darkness upstairs, but there were lit candles in this basement. Candles that illuminated a scene much like upstairs, only instead of animal carcasses, there were human carcasses down here. Flayed skin hung from the walls. Human heads stood on a wooden shelf like trophies. I only had the briefest of moments to register this as I got to my feet with the deer head in my hands, antlers facing out.

Arlo was busy knocking another arrow, but he gave that up, tossing the bow down and grabbing the war club from where it lay at his feet as I charged at him. He swung the weapon at me, and I brought the deer head up to block the blow. The impact cracked the top of the skull down the middle, the reverberation sending pain through both my arms. I twisted the skull, shoving the war club away. Then I swung the antlers back at him, dragging two of the sharp points across his face.

But even as I did this, he was jerking the club at my left knee. I managed to bring my left foot off the ground, lessening the impact of the blow, but I still felt the post penetrate the side of my knee. I limped away from him, my breath lost to the pain. He moved swiftly, swinging the club sideways toward my neck. I got the skull up again, and again it blocked his blow. This time, the head split completely in half, leaving me with one antler in each hand.

Using what little strength remained in my left arm, I threw one antler at his face as he moved in for another blow. He ducked it, and the antler sailed harmlessly over one shoulder. But I was already moving, stepping in, taking advantage of the split second his dodge had given me. I delivered an uppercut with the antlers. One penetrated under his chin, curving up to come out of his mouth between his teeth. Another, longer antler took him in the throat, just to the right of his Adam's apple.

I put all my weight into him, shoving him back until he hit the wooden shelf with all the severed human heads on it. The taxidermied heads fell to the floor, and I still shoved, pushing with all my rage, jamming the antlers in as far as they would go. Arlo dropped the war club and gripped the antler, trying to push it out.

But I fought him, pushing, watching him cough up blood as the life-giving liquid filled his lungs from the wound in his throat. When he finally stopped moving and his hands dropped away from the antler, I pulled the thing out and threw it aside as I collapsed. As I sat on the floor, I studied all the severed human heads scattered nearby. There were 10 of them, and they were all women. Clearly, these men had been hunting in other areas besides Clear Lake. But now, their hunting days were over.

And as I studied these heads, I realized none of them belonged to Serena Carver. Jason had shown me her pictures, so I knew what she looked like. She wasn't here. Serena stepped into my hospital room at Alaska Regional Hospital in Anchorage. She looked much better than when I'd found her in one of the trailers on the Yazzie property. She'd been chained to a bed in a room outfitted as a prison cell. Apparently, the Yazzie brothers liked to play with their prey before killing them.

She wore clean clothes and had a look of determination as she marched up and sat in the chair next to my bed. I waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. She just stared into my eyes. I stared back. There was everything and nothing to say. Her brother was dead because of me, but she was alive also because of me. I wanted to apologize for getting her brother killed, but I knew the words would be less than useless.

Nothing I could say would lessen the pain of her brother's murder. Nothing I could say would take away the awful things those two men had done to her. So I said nothing. She wouldn't accept my apology anyway, just like I wouldn't accept her thanks. Somehow, she knew this as she looked into my eyes. We understood each other. She reached out and took my right hand. I pulled it away and tucked it under the covers. Still, she stared at me, the wordless communication passing between us.

Finally, after what seemed like a long time, she nodded. As she stood up, she wiped tears away. Then she walked out of the room. I never saw her again, and that was just the way I liked things.

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