Yeti Unleashed Read online

  “Let’s continue on,” Lowell said. “Once we get to the terminus, we can decide our next move.”

  Yarak found it first--a vein of quartz embedded in the solid rock. It appeared in the right-hand wall and ran down the shaft at shoulder height.

  “Look here!” he exclaimed. “A vein of quartz with yellow flecks in it.”

  The men gathered around, stared at the glistening crystal.

  “Is that the gold inside?” Garby said.

  “We’ll see,” Lowell said. He retrieved a knife from his pocket. “Break off a piece of that quartz with your pick,” he said to Garby.

  The man complied and began hitting the vein with a rock hammer. When a small piece broke free and fell to the ground, he picked it up, handed it to Lowell.

  Lowell used his knife to pry into the piece of quartz and mashed a gold fleck.

  It flattened.

  “Yep, it’s gold all right. See it’s soft, malleable. Good, this must be the vein the old miners were working on. Now we need to follow it on down and determine whether the gold gets better or fizzles out. Sometimes, it can be a solid line of pure metal embedded in the rock.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for,” Garby said. “A vein of pure gold.”

  Terkel looked at the metal in Lowell’s hand. “Doesn’t look much like gold.”

  “Impurities,” Lowell said. “Need to refine them out.”

  “I can see that it’s easier to pan and sluice the streambeds than do the back-breaking work, digging a hole into solid rock,” Yarak said, now moving at a brisk pace ahead of the others.

  “Sure,” Lowell said. “But the riches are up here. If you can find a vein of solid gold, you’re way ahead of those stream-based prospectors.”

  “The Mother Lode,” Garby said. “You’d be rich.”

  “Early miners used this quartz and gold combination to find most of the hard rock mines throughout North America, usually near streams. When they found pieces with rounded edges, they would work their way back upstream until the rock and mineral combination chunks got bigger. Those telltale samples occurred commonly but some had sharp unworn edges. Early prospectors used to get excited when there were only small amounts of pannable gold in the stream if those samples were present. They knew the gold hadn’t had time or distance to be eroded free from the quartz so the hard rock location had to be close by.”

  “I hope we find solid gold,” Terkel said.

  “So keep an eye out for nuggets getting larger inside this quartz,” Lowell said.

  Farther on, they stumbled onto an old rusty ore cart sitting on the railway. It gave Lowell an eerie feeling poking around deep in the dark shaft, stumbling across relics of other men’s work and dreams. Those old miners weren’t so much different from himself, searching for riches. And the techniques he used weren’t much different either--hand tools and back-breaking labor. But if they could locate a pay streak, it would all be worth it.

  “This looks promising,” Yarak said, running a hand along the rim of the cart. “At least someone was mining in here in the past.”

  A hundred feet beyond the cart, Yarak stopped, peered closely at the vein in the wall, and ran his fingers over it. “Boss, come here!” he said in an excited voice.

  Lowell hurried to his side and the two men stared, unbelieving, at the vein of solid yellow before them. The gold glistened under their floodlights. Garby and Terkel stumbled alongside Yarak for a look.

  “Damn,” said Lowell. “We’ve found it. We have found it.” He set his duffle on the shaft floor, sat beside it with his head in his hands. “I can’t believe it. Can’t believe it.”

  “All this work, boss,” Yarak said, a broad grin on his face. He slapped Lowell on the back, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “You did it.”

  Lowell looked up at his companions. “Well, gentlemen,” he said. “In the immortal words of Walter Huston, how does it feel to be men of property?”

  ***

  Harold Peabody ambled out the door of his vintage gas station in the tiny town of Grant, Nevada, to unlock his two pumps for the start of another business day. The street was vacant and the sun just cleared the horizon, sending golden streaks over the high-desert plain. The morning was cool and the distant peaks had a look of indigo so familiar to Harold.

  After returning the pump keys to his pocket, he turned, but hesitated a moment, for he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something he couldn’t quite make out. He stood and stared, the sun at his back making long shadows across Main Street.

  At first he couldn’t discern what they were, thinking they were two teenagers in fur coats, but then as they lumbered closer, he thought they were bears come into town. Grant had had its share of bears that came wandering into its midst from the nearby mountains and canyons and causing panic among its citizens. Usually, the sheriff from Elko or the local police were called to run the animals back to where they came from.

  Occasionally, animal control deputies were necessary to tranquilize the bears for transport back to their original habitat.

  But today was different.

  Closer, the forms took shape. They were animals. Harold could tell that much, but exactly what kind he couldn’t say. They trudged in an upright fashion, never once falling down on all four legs.

  One of the animals held something in its large hand, a child’s doll. He could hear them grunt, a strange, low, guttural sound that gave him the creeps.

  When they were across from his gas station, Harold made a remarkable discovery. The animals were not bears. In fact, they were unlike anything he had ever seen. The animals were huge, over eight feet tall and possessed a massive head that sat atop thick rounded shoulders. As he watched them, fascinated by their presence in Grant, one of them shot a glance in his direction. Harold was shocked to see two red, glowing eyes fixed upon him. The large animal stopped, turned, then lumbered across the street toward the gas station and Harold. The second animal followed suit.

  Harold swallowed hard, ran inside, and locked the door. He located the pistol he kept in his desk and checked to be sure it was loaded. No sense keeping an unloaded pistol around. They were useless in an emergency. He dialed nine-one-one and, when the dispatcher answered and inquired the nature of his emergency, he replied, voice shaking, “Ma’am, there are two large animal creatures going down Main Street. Not bears. They are over eight feet tall. I’ve never seen anything like them. Please send help. There will be people out and about very soon.”

  The dispatcher said she would send someone to investigate so Harold hung up. Through the window, he saw the animals sniffing the gas pumps. His pulse pounded in his head, his stomach churned. He felt like vomiting.

  A crash echoed from outside. Harold saw that one of the creatures had overturned a gas pump and gasoline spilled out over the concrete and into the street. God, he thought, if that catches fire, it will explode.

  A shadow appeared at the door window. One of the beasts peered into the small office. Their eyes locked for a moment. The creature rattled the door and tossed its huge head from side to side. Its piercing eyes were like glowing coals. Harold felt a warm, wet trickle run down his leg. The beast growled a ferocious roar and continued to rattle the door.

  Both beasts were now at the gas station door. He backed toward the rear exit, keeping his eyes fixed on the front door. The rattling was more intense, and Harold thought the beasts were going to tear the door from its hinges.

  An occasional car drove past the station but not one stopped for gas, and the creatures seemed oblivious to any movement behind them. Harold knew they were coming for him.

  He could smell them through the door, an odor much like rancid meat assaulted his senses.

  With another loud crash, one if the beasts stuck a giant hand through the glass, sending shards flying through the small office. Was it a hand? Harold wondered. It certainly looked exactly like a human hand, only about three times the size. And black. The beast was reaching for the lock. My god, he
thought, it knows exactly what it is doing. And if I stay in this office I will die.

  Harold turned and ran out the back door. But as he turned to run, one of the great beasts was upon him. He emptied his revolver into the animal but it kept coming. He threw the pistol down and turned to run but felt a large hand grab him by the neck. Twisting, Harold turned and looked into the most hideous face he had ever seen. The beast growled, bearing its long, yellow fangs, a hot, fetid breath escaping its giant maw. Harold struggled but it was no use, the massive beast had him firmly in its clutches.

  Harold fought, fought for all he was worth. At first, it seemed like the beast toyed with him, torturing him for its sordid pleasure. The claws on its hands dug deep into his flesh sending waves of nauseating pain shooting though his body. His heart raced. It felt as if it would burst from his chest. He tried to scream but no sound issued from his mouth. He could hardly breath.

  Harold felt its fangs close around his head and, in a searing bolt of pain, all went black.

  Chapter 17

  Harry sat in Dr. Radner’s expansive office, settling himself into a polished leather chair. The research facility director sat at his desk, a piece of paper in his hands. Harry knew what this meeting concerned as Dixie had already prepared him. He eased back and let Radner spell it out.

  “Dr. Olson,” Radner began, “I realize that I am solely responsible for events of the past few days. If I had been more diligent with respect to seeing policies were followed, I doubt we would be in this mess. Mr. Winkleman’s death weighs heavy on my conscience, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the young man’s parents instituted legal proceedings against the university. His death and the Yeti’s escape are solely my fault, and it is for this reason, I am submitting my resignation.” He passed the paper over to Harry and continued. “So, I hope you will accept it without further discussion and make it official immediately.”

  When Radner finished, he fell back into his chair and exhaled.

  Harry looked over the resignation letter for a few moments then looked Radner in the eye. “Miles,” he said, a smirk on his lips. “Miles, you may be the world’s biggest jerk but you are not responsible for what has transpired here. Due to a young man’s inexperience and hubris, a tragedy occurred. Jimmy Winkleman is solely responsible for his own death and the escape of the Yeti.” He waited for his words to sink into Radner’s head. Then he continued. “So you see, Miles, I cannot accept this resignation from a man whose only crime is that he is an insufferable bore.” He stood and tore the paper in half. “You do good work here. I only wish you could treat the little people with more respect.”

  Harry threw the paper on Radner’s desk and sauntered out of his office. He walked over to the security office and found Drayton. The man was cleaning his rifle and looked up when Harry entered.

  “Hello Chief,” Harry said, closing the door behind himself.

  “I just received a call from Buck Calder in Elko,” Drayton said, still rubbing a cloth over the length of the gun’s barrel. “A gas station owner in Grant was viciously killed by two large animals prowling the vicinity.”

  “Yeti?” Harry said.

  “Sure sounds like it.”

  “When?”

  “Earlier today. The person who called nine-one-one said they were unlike anything he had ever seen--over eight feet tall.”

  “That’s them all right. The sheriff going over there?”

  “Yeah, and he wants me with him. So I’ll be meeting him there in a few minutes.”

  “I’m coming,” Harry said. “And I’ll get Siscom and his tranquilizer darts.”

  “Okay, meet me back here in ten minutes. We’ll take my jeep.”

  After he found Siscom, Harry located Dixie and explained the situation.

  “I’m going too,” she said.

  “I don’t think Drayton will allow that, sweetie. He’s awfully preoccupied right now.”

  “Doesn’t matter, I’m going.”

  “Don’t blame me if he hollers at you,” Harry said, smiling. “Dr. Siscom is bringing is tranquilizers.”

  “Oh, Harry, I’m starting to have a bad feeling about this. I pray it goes well, for the animals’ sakes.”

  “We’ll be there to see that it does. Let’s go find Drayton.”

  ***

  Dixie didn’t receive much of an argument from Bruce Drayton. He did warn her of the potential danger, but she shrugged it off with her usual flair. She and Harry piled into Drayton’s jeep along with Dr. Siscom and his tranquilizer gun and, together, they headed down Cinder Mountain. As Drayton pushed on the accelerator, the little jeep sped over the rocky road, bouncing from one side to the other. Dixie felt her stomach doing flip-flops but soon they came to the smoother road at the foot of the mountain, and Drayton accelerated even more.

  “Like riding a roller coaster,” Siscom said from the back of the jeep. “Reminds me of my childhood on Coney Island.”

  Everyone laughed. Drayton nodded and continued to steer a course toward the town of Grant. They sped over a sand and mesquite plain, punctuated by short gnarled Joshua trees and stubby prickly pear cactus.

  “You very accurate with that rifle, Gerald?” Harry said over the roar of the jeep. “You may only get one shot at each of them.”

  “I usually don’t miss, Dr. Olson,” Siscom said. “But I admit, the pressure is on now.”

  “How is it used?” Dixie asked. “What drug do you use?”

  Siscom held up the rifle with its walnut stock. “This is the Pneu-Dart Air Rifle,” he said. “It uses compressed gas to propel a .50 caliber dart. The dart is essentially a ballistic syringe, loaded with an immobilizing drug, and a hypodermic needle. The dart is stabilized by a tailpiece, a tuft of fibrous material, making it behave somewhat like a badminton shuttlecock in flight. On impact with the animal, the momentum of a steel ball at the rear of the dart pushes the syringe plunger and injects the dose of barbiturate or other drug into the animal. Pretty simple, really.”

  “What drug do you use?”

  “It’s a combination of clonidine and ketamine. It is used for sedation, anesthesia, muscle relaxation, and analgesia in large animals. Fairly rapid onset of action.”

  No one spoke for a long while as Drayton pushed the jeep closer to Grant. Dixie marveled at these men who put their necks on the line every day, at least the veterinarian and the security chief. Working with large animals always carried a certain degree of risk--one never knew what might happen. The anesthetic could wear off before the work was done or not take effect at all. The wrong dose could kill or harm the animal. Dixie felt a large degree of respect for Siscom and Drayton.

  Grant was a two-block town of about two hundred residents. Main Street through Grant was reminiscent of many older, rural towns containing turn-of-the-century storefronts with diagonal parking in front. It had one stoplight at its main intersection that was not necessary but was a gift of the son of Grant’s founder, Horace Grant. Most of the town’s residents worked in nearby Elko or eked out a living, ranching cattle.

  From a distance, Grant appeared on the horizon as a scintillating apparition through the heat waves rising off the desert floor. Dixie’s heart beat faster when they reached the outskirts of town.

  The middle of town looked like a disaster had struck--several cars were overturned, a gas pump looked as if it had been ripped from out of the concrete, numerous windows were broken, and a body lay to one side of the main intersection.

  Drayton stopped in front of the town’s only gas station, and Dixie noticed that its front door was missing. Harry, Siscom, and Drayton joined her beside the jeep and looked in awe at the destruction around them.

  “Holy cow!” Dixie said. “Looks like a war zone here.”

  Siscom walked around to the front of the jeep. “Is this where we’re to meet up with the sheriff?”

  “Yes,” Drayton said. “He should be arriving any minute now.”

  Just as he said those words, an Elko County Sheriff’s jeep scree
ched to a halt beside them and Sheriff Calder jumped out. Undersheriff Hardin was behind him.

  “Jessums Christ!” Calder said, craning his neck up and down Main Street, surveying the damage. “Is that a dead body down there?”

  “We just got here, Sheriff,” Drayton said. “The body hasn’t moved any so I presume he’s dead, but I haven’t checked. Like I said, we just arrived.”

  “My two deputies are on their way,” Calder said, walking up to the gas station door and peering inside. “Once they get here, we’ll fan out and search the town for the beasts.”

  Dixie stepped past Calder into the station’s interior. The place was in shambles. The office was all but destroyed, counters crushed and their contents strewn all over the place. Chaos was everywhere--overturned furniture, broken glassware, other items ripped apart and scattered over the floor. Several large bloody footprints dotted the floor.

  “Sheriff, in here,” she said and pointed Calder to the footprints.

  He whistled, a low note. “Look at how large those are,” he said. “They’re huge. Yeti, obviously.”

  Dixie continued through the small office and out the back door. A grisly scene confronted her. “Sheriff! Out here!” She was panicked. Her stomach rebelled.

  Calder was at her side in an instant, and the two stared at a lifeless body, lying face down in a dark pool of blood. His arms and legs had been torn from their sockets, one arm was missing entirely. Half of the man’s head was missing, leaving what brain that was exposed to glisten like congealed jelly. Flies swarmed in droves around the corpse.

  Dixie turned her head and wept in short spasms.

  “I need to see the other body out on Main Street,” Calder said, turning abruptly and hurrying through the station.

  Dixie followed. She found Harry and buried her face in his shoulder while Calder crossed the street and examined the dead body. When he returned his face appeared contorted with his jaw clenched.

  “Well, this does it,” he said, driving a fist into his other hand. “These beasts are as good as dead. As soon as my deputies get here, we’re gonna hunt these beasts down and get rid of them for good.”