Yeti Unleashed Page 20

  “But there’s something extremely interesting about these, and it enables us to test evolution right down to the level of the molecule. On Chromosome Number Eleven, each of these copies is a set of instructions for how you build this polypeptide, the beta-globin. Five of them work, but one of them doesn’t. It’s given the Greek letters psi, beta, and then the number one. And the psi-beta-one sequence isn’t a gene. It doesn’t work. It’s what we call a pseudogene, and a pseudogene is recognized as a gene because it’s so similar to the other five in its DNA sequence, but it has some mistakes. It’s broken, and it has a series of molecular errors that render the gene non-functional.

  “Now, there are six distinct mistakes in this gene. And the reason that this is important in evolution is, in fact, simple, and it is this: these errors appear in a gene, they have no functional purpose. And you might ask yourself, what would I do, what would you do, if we were to find another organism that didn’t just have similar genes but also had a pseudogene in the same spot and had the same set of errors?

  “There’s no reason why evolution would produce a duplicate set of mistakes in two copies of things. It must mean that these two organisms are descended with modification from another organism that had the same set of mistakes.

  “And the gorilla, the chimpanzee, and the human being share the exact same set of molecular mistakes.

  “Now, why is this significant? One of the core principles of evolution is common descent. One could always argue that because the three species are all African species, that’s where they all come from, they’re all primates, and they all started out living in similar environments, that the functional parts of this gene locus, they might work the same. But you cannot argue that the mistakes should match.

  “And the fact that all three of these species have matching mistakes leads us to just one conclusion, and that’s the same conclusion that Charles Darwin predicted a century and a half ago, and that is that these three species share a common ancestor. Matching mistakes are evidence of common ancestry.”

  Drayton stood and stretched his legs.

  “So,” he said, “if you find matching mistakes in the Yeti and human genome, then--”

  “We can say,” Millie interrupted, “that both species descended from a common ancestor.”

  Chapter 22

  Sheriff Calder ambled out of the command post, stretched, and glanced at the orange glow in the eastern sky. The high-pitched call of the American Kestrel, a bird common to the Nevada desert, pierced the morning stillness, while overhead, large magenta-tinged cumulus clouds hung in the thin air. Calder waited for the arrival of Jessup and Williams of the strike force when they would again team up with his deputies and Undersheriff Hardin. Earlier, Calder and Jessup decided to expand the search area to the northwest, using the state’s helicopter, with the rest of the team following on the ground.

  Not having located the Yeti left a sour taste in Calder’s mouth and he felt the mounting pressure.

  He heard the phone ring inside the command post and soon Andy Hardin stuck his head out the door.

  “Buck, it’s the mayor. He wants to speak with you. An update, I suppose.”

  Calder nodded, stepped into the trailer, and took the phone. A loud voice banged in his ear.

  “Yes, Mayor? Sheriff Calder here.”

  The voice on the other end sounded agitated. “Buck, how is it going up there? I’ve got the Elko city council breathing down my neck over these escaped animals. Tell me you’re making progress.”

  “I wish I could, sir. Unfortunately, we’ve had no luck in locating them. Or picking up any signs either. We plan to take the state police chopper back up this morning so maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “The governor’s office has called twice, Buck. The man wants action and results. Don’t talk about luck.”

  “I understand,” Calder said. “Believe me, Mayor, we are doing everything conceivable to locate these creatures. When we do, they’re good as dead.”

  “What’s your best estimate as to where they have gone? I need to tell the governor something.”

  “North of Interstate 80 for sure. And west to northwest of Cinder Mountain. We searched all around Grant yesterday without success so we’ve enlarged the search area.”

  “I need some help, Buck. If you don’t find these beasts soon, there’s going to be hell to pay--for you and me. Like I said, the governor’s breathing down my neck and is likely to call in the national guard if you are unable to find and destroy them in the next forty-eight hours.”

  “Understand, Mayor. Rest assured, we’ll locate them.”

  “You’ve got state police help?”

  “Yes, sir. There’s a strike force here with a helicopter. I think we’ll find them fairly soon.”

  “Keep me posted then, Buck.”

  After hanging up, Calder went back outside, tried to calm his churning stomach. I’m getting it from all sides, he thought. The mayor’s problems were none of his concern but he and the man both held elected offices so if this crisis didn’t end soon, there could be serious repercussions. Like him being out of a job. And he enjoyed his job. His second thoughts about killing the animals were going out the window. He heard the whoop whoop of the chopper’s rotors and watched aircraft circle then touch down near the command post. Shortly thereafter, Jessup and Williams arrived in their state vehicle and everyone gathered around Calder’s jeep. The sheriff ran a finger over the map laid out on the hood.

  “Up here,” he said, “the terrain gets much rougher. Only a few trails for roads amid the buttes and arroyos.”

  “Any water?” Jessup asked.

  “There used to be a small stream near here,” Calder said, pointing. “And there’s a couple of hot springs in this region as well. Mostly sand, rocks, and sagebrush.”

  “And a lot of snakes,” Hardin said with a grin.

  “Fine,” Jessup said. He turned to the helicopter pilot who was leaning against the trailer. “Okay, fire up it up, and let’s get going. We’re burning daylight.”

  Once the chopper was airborne and on its way northward, Jessup climbed in beside Calder while Hardin drove Williams, Ben, and Louis. Beyond the town of Grant, they turned northwest and headed into desolate country. A single rutted dirt road meandered through the desert while Calder did his best to avoid the deeper ruts.

  The landscape now turned more remote, more desolate. Vegetation was much sparser, only an occasional sagebrush or mesquite bush lined the road. The clouds, earlier tinged with a magenta hue, were now large white puffs of cotton.

  They arrived at a wooden bridge that spanned a deep dry streambed. The bridge’s floor had all but crumbled away leaving only the support structure baking in the morning heat. Calder got out to survey the situation. Hardin stood beside him, and they surveyed the desert beyond the dilapidated impassable bridge.

  “Now what, Buck?” Hardin said.

  “No choice but to try and make it across and up the other side,” Calder said.

  “The other side is rather steep,” Hardin said.

  “Any suggestions, then?”

  “Nope, I guess not. Just hope we can make it up.”

  Jessup and Hardin got out and Calder put the jeep into four-wheel drive. The bottom of the dry streambed was lined with rounded river rock of different sizes that caused the jeep to lurch violently from side to side. Calder’s insides got a good shaking. Good thing there’s Kevlar tires on this baby, he thought.

  When he approached the far bank, Calder gunned the engine and tried to accelerate up its side. Halfway up, the jeep struggled, wheels spinning, then stopped its forward progress. The sheriff backed down into the streambed for another go at the bank but it was no use. No matter what he did, he could not make it up the steep bank of the streambed. The rear wheels only sank deeper into the sand, spinning.

  “Hold up,” Jessup said. “Should we just follow the streambed then?” he said.

  “It’ll be easier on the road,” Calder said, pointi
ng to the road beyond the bridge.

  “Then we’ll push.”

  Williams waited with Ben and Louis in the second jeep while the men got behind Calder’s jeep. When Calder gunned the accelerator again, Jessup and Hardin pushed from the rear. The jeep lurched forward and scrambled up the side of the bank, spewing sand from its rear wheels. Then Hardin got behind the wheel of his jeep and they repeated the effort. Once both jeeps were across the streambed, Calder continued on.

  ***

  Yarak stared into the red, glowing eyes of a ten foot tall animal. The beast had long brown hair, smelled like rotting flesh, and hissed at him. It took three steps toward Yarak, raised its eyes toward the tunnel’s ceiling, and let out a loud, long growl, a penetrating, otherworldly sound that caused Garby and Terkel to drop Lowell on the ground. The three men began backing out of the shaft but stopped short when another shriek sounded behind them. Yarak wheeled on his heels only to be confronted with another beast, exactly like the first, who blocked their exit from the mine. Both creatures stood on their hind legs and the stench from their putrid breath caused Yarak’s stomach to roll. The second beast was smaller than the first, but its massive head contained similar eyes, burning red like the coals in their campfires.

  Yarak felt his legs go weak, his head swoon. A creature blocked their escape to the outside while the other stood between them and going deeper into the tunnel. Their weapons were at the campsite.

  “Yarak!” Terkel screamed. “What do we do?”

  “Fight! We either fight or we die!”

  A panicked Garby attempted to run past the beast that blocked the way to the mine entrance but it grabbed him by his arm and hurled him onto his back. He screamed as the beast pounced on him and ripped an arm out of its socket. Blood spewed onto the ground and Garby shrieked in pain. While he screamed, Terkel made a dash for it. The beast caught Terkel by the throat and in one swift motion, tore his head off his shoulders. He dropped like a limp doll. And didn’t move.

  Turning its attention back to Garby the beast reached down with a huge hand tipped with long claws and slashed open the man’s torso, spilling out his internal organs. Garby’s last scream was a garbled one, blood having filled his throat.

  In the meantime, Yarak picked up a rock and threw it at the beast. Strange, he thought, but the second animal deeper in the tunnel didn’t move on him. It just watched its partner. The rock hit the creature squarely in the chest but the animal didn’t notice. It roared and ambled toward Yarak. He felt the animal as it wrapped its strong arms about him then sank its fangs into his neck. Pain shot through his body like a missile. He struggled but it was no use, for the beast had him firmly in its grasp. His head swooned and felt his bowels loosen. The animal’s hot breath engulfed his face.

  Then, as if by a miracle, the creature dropped him but stood over him for a long moment. The larger animal stepped over him, joined its partner, then the pair headed for the exit. When they disappeared into the darkness, Yarak heard one of the beasts let out a growl that echoed down the mineshaft.

  Then all was quiet.

  For a long while Yarak lay on the ground, not daring to move. His neck hurt like hell. When he touched the wound he was surprised to find that it was smaller than he anticipated. His right arm was broken, he was sure of that, and something wasn’t right about his right leg. Garby hadn’t moved in a long while and must be dead, thank the lord. At the smell of his blood and internal organs, Yarak puked up bitter bile that burned his throat.

  He could tell that Lowell was still breathing but his breaths were erratic and shallow. Yarak rolled onto his back and lay in the silent darkness, until he found himself floating in a murky haze devoid of light and sound.

  He was in Chechnya, the late 90s. Perched inside a tank along the Terek River, he waited for the signal to advance and cross the river. Beyond lay Grozny, the object of their two-pronged pincer movement. Two school busses filled with Chechnyan children rambled down the road on the opposite side. Must be coming home from school. Suddenly, out of the clouds, Russian Su-24 fighter bombers dropped cluster bombs, destroying the school busses in a huge fireball. The concussion rattled Yarak’s tank. From its porthole he watched until the flames dwindled, leaving behind only a mass of charred, molten metal.

  Yarak twitched and realized he was still in the mine. Beside him Lowell was still breathing. When he propped himself on his left elbow a knifing pain shot through his body.

  Lowell stirred and looked about.

  “Yarak,” he said, voice failing. “Is that you?”

  “Right, boss.”

  “How bad are you hurt?” Lowell rolled onto his side and stared at him.

  “Can’t tell. My arm and leg hurt but I’m alive. What were those creatures?”

  “They weren’t bears, I know that,” Lowell said, his voice still a whisper.

  “I’ve never seen anything like them. Think we can get out of this mine, Mr. Lowell?”

  “I’m going to start crawling, Yarak. Think you can follow?”

  “I’ll try. I’m certainly not going to let you leave me here alone. Those damned beasts might decide to return.”

  Lowell started crawling toward the mine entrance, pulling himself along using his arms while Yarak followed. His arm and leg ached, which made for slow progress. He knew he had a gaping wound in his neck for his blood had dried into a crust on his shirt and jacket.

  The two men inched toward the entrance--they were a good hundred yards from it. Frequently, Lowell had to stop and rest and Yarak heard him wheezing in the dark. Yarak felt his leg--it felt wet and sticky--and he worried that he had started bleeding again.

  Garby and Terkel lay dead, their bodies torn asunder by the two beasts. While Yarak crawled, the thought of leaving them in the mine caused him to wonder if either man had a family. Neither had talked about loved ones since joining Lowell. Yarak wondered also what it must be like to die alone somewhere and know that there was no one to mourn your passing. He shuddered and moved on.

  When they reached the mine opening, Yarak rolled onto his back and gulped large swallows of cool fresh air while Lowell lay on his side and moaned. Gathering strength, Yarak pushed himself to his hands and knees, crawled to Lowell’s side, and touched his face. It was matted with blood.

  “Sir,” he said. “Can you hear me? It’s Nash.”

  “Na--Na--Nash,” Lowell said through a spasm of coughing. A wave of pain bolted through his body. “What--happened? Where are--we?”

  “We were attacked by two large beasts. We made it outside the mine.”

  “Ye--yes, I remember. Have they left?”

  Yarak patted his boss on his shoulder. Lowell moaned.

  “Can you crawl back to camp, Mr. Lowell? I’ll help you.”

  “Thanks, Nash. I’ll try. I think I can make it.”

  Chapter 23

  Dr. Miles Radner sat in his office, eyeing the man across from him. Dr. Bernard Wickingham nervously adjusted his tie while Radner studied him. The research director was a man of meticulous habits, one of them being to keep a precise and well-defined schedule to his daily activities. The young doctor from the university arrived without an appointment, requesting an audience, and seemed intent on getting one. Radner, with larger issues on his mind, was irritated with Wickingham’s arrival.

  Radner reclined in his leather chair, a fountain pen in his hand. “Dr. Wickingham, to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit?”

  “Dr. Radner, I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice. When I saw you on the news, I decided to take a break from my duties at the university and offer any help I could. Have they found the Yeti?”

  “Not as yet. The sheriff has mounted a large search team that includes the state police. Dr. Olson and our security chief are out looking as well.”

  “Any victims?”

  “Four. In the town of Grant, not far from here. Where the Yeti went from there is anybody’s guess. Doctor, I really don’t see anything that you can add at this
point. I’m sorry but I believe you wasted a trip.”

  Wickingham’s eyes narrowed and his forehead wrinkled in deep furrows. The look on his face turned sinister. “Dr. Radner, do you believe Dr. Olson is qualified to lead the department? Given the events of the past few days?”

  Radner leaned forward and set the fountain pen on his desk. “I don’t understand, Doctor.”

  “As chairman of the Anthropology Department at Cal Pacific, isn’t Harry--er--Dr. Olson, responsible for the Primate Research Facility?”

  “Dr. Wickingham, I am responsible for the daily operation of the facility. I am the director.”

  “And Dr. Olson?”

  Radner shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with Wickingham’s line of questioning and where it was going. “Dr. Olson is ultimately responsible for all activities of the department.”

  “Including this research facility?”

  Radner was becoming irritated with the young doctor. “Of course. Your point, Doctor?”

  “My point is that, under Dr. Olson’s leadership, two valuable and dangerous animals have escaped and are now terrorizing the public. He is responsible for this fiasco--it should never have happened.”

  “I know Dr. Olson is extremely disheartened over these events and his responsibility weighs heavy on his shoulders. But this incident was an unfortunate accident caused by an irresponsible graduate assistant.”

  “That’s it? You plan to do nothing?”

  Radner’s skin prickled under Wickingham’s accusation. The young faculty member’s demeanor irritated Radner and he didn’t like it. The man was leading up to something. But what? “Dr. Wickingham, what is on your mind? Spill it, please.”

  Wickingham loosened his tie and smiled. “You and I ought to go to Dr. Pauling and seek Harry’s dismissal. It is only right that a blunder of this magnitude should have consequences.”