Culloo Page 3

  They were a long while running before Dason cried out that his legs were killing him. Before them stood a large clearing fenced in by tall pine trees interspersed with huge sections of flat rock. Thick clusters of goldenrod and clumps of tall grass bursting with seedpods surrounded the rock formations.

  Tala dropped her knapsack on the nearest rock and plonked herself down.

  “Culloo country,” she said, leaning her head back to look up at the blue tip of the mountain that poked through the top of the trees. This was their preferred place to picnic when Tom brought them out on the trails. He often told them his favourite story of the giant black bird that nested on top of the mountain. Thinking of the Culloo brought her closer to Tom, as if he sat right there on the rock beside them.

  Dason snuggled up to her. “I can’t see it. Do you think it’s hiding somewhere waiting to dive down and snatch us up?” he said, scanning the sky.

  Even though her stomach still felt raw and queasy, she managed a smile.

  “Not if we stay close to the trees,” she said. “It needs a big open space or else the wings get tangled in the branches.”

  She wet her thumb in her mouth and rubbed the streaks of dirt his tears had left on his cheeks.

  Dason sat up straight and scrunched his nose. “What’s that yucky smell?”

  A soft breeze ruffled the tall grass and Tala caught a whiff of rotting meat. It came from somewhere in the middle of the field. Dason got up to investigate and she followed. They discovered the source of the stench behind a thick bunch of tall goldenrod not far from where they had been sitting.

  “Yuck,” Dason stepped back pinching his nose.

  About a dozen large fish lay in a slimy heap on the ground, hungry black flies buzzing around their gaping eyes and mouth.

  “How did that get here?” he said, his hand clutching his stomach.

  Tala noticed the soil around the pile of fish had been disturbed and raked flat.

  “Stay away from that, there might be a bear trap hidden under there,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. A hungry bear can smell this from a long way off.”

  They turned and hurried back to where they had been sitting. When Tala bent down to pick up her knapsack, she noticed a quick movement behind the tall grass beside them. She turned in time to see a chunky shadow disappear behind a big boulder.

  “What the heck was that?” Dason said.

  “You saw it too?” she said with a shrug. “Could be a wild turkey.”

  She glanced back at the boulder and stood staring at it for a few moments. “Time to move on.”

  “Where to now?” he said. “My feet hurt.”

  It dawned on her how little he had complained since they’d left earlier this afternoon. She had to admit he’d been pretty good for a pesky kid, yet she knew they’d have to stop to rest soon. She had wanted so much to find Tom that she hadn’t focused on a plan yet. The thought of that hunter sneaking behind them with his big rifle sent shivers up and down her shoulders and arms, and the idea that a large bear might be sniffing its way towards the pile of dead fish made her quicken her pace.

  “We’ll stop when we’re far away enough from this horrible smell,” she said, as they continued through the section of the field bordering the woods. They were almost at the end of it when they came across a trail of flattened grass in front of a tall wide boulder. Tala slowed down and glanced around her. If the wind were strong enough to flatten grass like that, then the whole field would be flattened, not just a patch of it. Something or someone had to be heavy enough to stamp the grass down so hard it couldn’t bounce back up again.

  There was no turning back. The trail behind the boulder led straight to where they needed to go through the woods before reaching the mountain. They couldn’t risk getting lost by leaving the trail. Soon they’d have to find a safe place to camp in case they didn’t find Tom before dark. She paused a moment, reached back into the side pocket of her knapsack, and clutching her tiny birch canoe, closed her eyes.

  “Spirit of the Canoe, please give me strength to walk by this boulder,” she said, her voice shaky. She then took a deep breath and stepped forward.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The large brown bear lay dead on its side, the bottom of all four paws and part of its underside matted with dried blood.

  Dason grasped Tala’s hand and peered at the woods.

  “What happened to it?” he said. “How come it got hurt like that?”

  “Now we know what’s in that stupid cooler,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Idiots,” she said. “They killed this beautiful bear to sell its body parts. That’s why they’re after Tom. He must’ve caught them.”

  She dug her fingers into his hand and took a deep breath not to cry. Dason jerked his hand away and stepped back.

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to squeeze so hard.”

  He stared at her a moment and lunged forward, throwing his arms around her. They stayed wrapped around each other for a long while before Tala released her grip.

  “Give me our best apple,” she said.

  He dropped his knapsack, reached in to pull out the apple that seemed less bruised than the rest, and handed it to her. Tala held the apple with both hands and kneeled down to place it on the grass beside the bear’s head. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer to the Spirit of the Bear, imagining it to be happy and fierce, wrestling and growling with other bears.

  “You hear that?” Dason said.

  Snapping of twigs and dead leaves crackling. Tala leaped up and darted towards her bag. The noise continued a little ways behind them in the woods. They ran out of the clearing and bolted up the trail.

  “What do you think that was?” Dason said, jogging alongside. They had slowed their pace down after they had left the bear far behind them.

  “That stupid poacher, maybe.” Tala said. “Or another poor bear going for that pile of dead fish. Whatever, I’m just glad we’re no where near either of them.”

  The trail was steep here with more rocks and fallen branches to dodge. They continued jogging for a long while, stopping to catch their breath, and plunging on. Tala noticed the sun was hidden behind dark clouds. She had a sinking feeling there was no way they’d catch up to Tom before nightfall. He would’ve known where to find cover in case of rain. They had camped under the stars before, but never without Tom. Respect the spirit of all living things around you; animals, trees, plants, rocks; and they’ll protect you, he’d say.

  They stopped to rest on a flat boulder alongside the trail. Tala closed her eyes to listen to the forests sounds. The trees grew further apart as the trail got nearer to the big mountain. Except for the occasional squawking of birds flying from branch to branch, the woods were silent. They were far enough away now from whatever had scared them below.

  “You must be beat, I know I sure am,” Tala said as she massaged the back of her neck.

  Her stomach wasn’t ready for food yet, but she knew she needed to fill-up on energy to continue. Her shoulders slumped from the weight of her knapsack, and her feet and legs ached.

  “There’s no way we’ll get to the river before dark. We’ll need to find a safe place to rest and—well—I guess we’ll just have to continue as soon as the sun comes up again.”

  Dason sighed, jabbing the ground with the end of a small branch while Tala leaned forward to rest her head in her hands. It was then she realized the tiny birch canoe was still tucked in the palm of her hand. She pressed it to her forehead and closed her eyes; she’d need all the help she could get.

  “It’s O.K. Tala, Anjij can see us, remember?” he said, stroking her arm.

  She straightened up and nodded, forcing a tired smile. She couldn’t let on how frightened she was of staying in the forest after dark, or how worried she was of choosing the wrong trail. They had come to a fork where the trail spilt two ways. Should they take the shorter one that cut through the woods, or the
one nearer to the mountain wall? Both would be filled with scary pitch-black shapes, creatures crawling unseen in the dark and strange noises that kept you awake. Visions of the Culloo, that ferocious black bird, who snatched up people with its long claws and brought them up to its nest on top of the mountain, twirled in her head. The Stone People—fat, frog-like bodies with tiny legs and arms, sneaking around and playing tricks on them while they slept.

  She couldn’t let those images take over; they belonged in stories for little kids. They might be fun to listen to, but not helpful here in the woods when you had to camp out alone after dark. She was the one responsible for getting them out of this mess—letting the Culloo and The Stone People and any other story character dance in her head wouldn’t help her find Tom. She slipped her tiny canoe back into the pocket of her knapsack.

  “Let’s follow that arrow,” Dason said, pointing to the flat edge of the boulder beside his feet.

  Tala squinted at the small arrow carved in the hard granite; it pointed towards another crude carving of two trees in front of a tall mountain. They both stared at each other in silence. Who could’ve cut deep into the hard rock like that?

  “Can’t be a pirate,” said Dason. “His sword would break.”

  “Maybe Tom leaves clues in case his clients get lost,” she said, not remembering him ever mentioning doing something like that. Most took a special telephone with them if they went this far in the woods. Tom often got calls from them when they were unsure of which way to go.

  “It’s the Stone People,” Dason said in a hushed voice. “Nannie says they can draw pictures right in the rocks just like we do in sand.”

  She traced the carvings back and forth with her finger a few times and pushing herself up, glanced up at the darkening sky. “We’ve got to move on, may as well go in that direction,” she said.

  They slipped their knapsack back on, and following the direction of the arrow, continued trudging towards the mountain. It wasn’t long before they were out of the thickest part of the woods. The path continued along the side of the high mountain wall, and they soon came upon a narrow opening to a cave almost hidden from view by the lower branches of two tall pine trees a few feet apart from each other.

  Dason came to a stop and pointed at the trees. “That’s the rock picture.”

  Tala let her knapsack drop to the ground and stared. Dason was right; it was a perfect place to rest. Having grown in the shadow of the mountain wall, the upper branches were few and far between, but the lower ones were thicker and twisted around each other. If she set up the hammock between the two trees, they’d be hidden from view by the lower branches. The opening in the mountain wall could be good protection in case of bad weather; though powerful images of all the weird creatures that might live in those dark places surfaced in her head. To camp out in the hammock, high enough from the damp ground and its crawling critters seemed a better choice to her. It all depended on which direction the rain came from, if it fell slanting into the mountainside, they’d be drenched.

  Tala offered silent thanks to whoever had left the message in the rock. Had she stuck to the trail cutting through the woods, they wouldn’t have found this perfect rest spot. She rooted in her knapsack to pull out the nylon hammock. Unfolded, she saw it stretched out wide enough to hold both of them. She secured each end to the trees; happy to see the hammock hung at the same level as the tangle of the lower branches. She then placed the plastic tarp on the branches above them; if it did rain during the night, she’d be able to pull it down to use it as cover.

  After munching on a granola bar and sharing their last orange, they hung the knapsacks on a high branch, climbed into the hammock and snuggled up. Before she knew it, Dason was snoring into the back of her neck while she lay resting, still very aware of her surroundings.

  She had a clear view of the trail and the nearby woods through the branches and considered reaching up to pull the blue tarp down. It didn’t blend in very well with the greenery, making it easy to spot through the top branches. Her movement would probably jerk the hammock and wake Dason, so she listened instead to all the wood noises, keeping her eyes on the path in case someone appeared.

  Sleep didn’t come to her though she was too tired to even wriggle her toes. Little frog-shaped people puffing on tiny pipes and tweeting like birds. In all the old stories the Stone People liked to smoke and sounded like birds when they talked. She tried to push them away and replace them with ordinary thoughts. They popped right back in and interrupted while she tried to figure out the snacks and water they had left, or reminded herself to make Dason change his socks in the morning. It came to her then that if The Stone People had really carved that arrow in the rock, the right thing would be to trust them, not be scared of them.

  A blast of cool wind made the hammock lurch. Tala groaned as she reached up to pull the tarp down, when without warning, the sky went jet-black. She swung her arm out in wide, frantic circles trying to get a hold of the tarp until her fingers rubbed against what felt like a continuous wall of something warm and velvety. The hammock shook with the earth-shattering thunderclap.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Tala woke up to a loud chorus of birds. She had slept longer than intended. The early rays of the sun filtered through the green pine needles and heated her face and hands. She felt hot and clammy in her hooded sweatshirt. Last night’s problem she had pulling the tarp down came back to her. She glanced up and saw it was dangling sideways from a nearby branch a little ways from where she had placed it above the hammock.

  Branches all around them and nearby plants appeared drenched, and large puddles had formed along the trail. The air smelled fresh and green as if all the plants and trees were giving thanks to the rain. She turned to check on Dason and the hammock started to rock; a cascade of cold leftover raindrops splashed down on his face. His eyes popped open and he sat up.

  “Did it rain?” he said, touching his face.

  “Guess so,” she shrugged. “I just remember a loud crash of thunder.”

  The silky warm feeling she had felt on her fingers just before falling asleep came back to her, and she stretched her arm high to pull the tarp down. It had the usual dry plastic feel to it as she folded it.

  “Funny how it’s not even wet,” she said. “The branches must’ve kept the rain out.”

  “Where did that feather come from?” said Dason.

  She turned to see him holding a long black feather that reached upwards from his waist to way past his head. She reached out to touch it and he pulled back. “Finders keepers,” he said, and springing out of the hammock, tipped it over, making Tala tumble out right smack into a large cold puddle beneath them.

  “Nice going, brat,” she said, controlling her urge to take a swing at him before stepping onto drier ground. She scraped her mud-caked shoes on the grass and glanced around.

  “Looks like it rained real hard everywhere else,” she said. “Strange, though, how we didn’t get wet.” She leaned back to peer up at the tree and saw the branches had wide gaps between them. The flat pine needles were nowhere dense enough to keep out much rain. Why didn’t the tarp at least get the tiniest bit wet? That silky feeling she had felt on her fingers came back to her again and she spun around to face Dason.

  “Let me just feel that thing a minute,” she said, grazing the feather with the tips of her fingers. “That’s it. That’s what I touched before the thunder struck.”

  She glanced up at the tree again. “But it couldn’t just be that one feather, it felt like a whole wall of them.”

  “Maybe there was a bird up in the tree with us,” Dason said.

  Tala stared at the feather. “That would be some monster bird.”

  “Maybe it was the Culloo,” he said, stuffing the lower tip of the feather into his back pocket and flapping his arms around.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “You know those things only exist in stories. In any case,” she said with a shrug. “It’d be too big to fit in the tree.”


  “What if it stood on that ledge, right there behind us on top of the mountain opening?” he said, pointing behind the two pine trees. “Just one big wing could cover the whole tree.”

  She paused to examine the feather again before heading to the pine tree to tug on the strings of the hammock.

  “Help me untie this so we can get going,” she said. “No time to talk about feathers.”

  To pleat the hammock back into its original folds required a lot of effort on her part as she glanced around and behind her all the time. Her thoughts raced like crazed rabbits caught in a thunderstorm. That arrow carved in the rock, the longest black feather ever and to top it off, Dason’s Culloo story. None of that made sense, yet something deep inside of her told her it might be true. All this talk of the Stone People and the Culloo gave her the jitters. She needed to keep her cool to find a way out of this mess; the sooner they were away from here, the better.

  “Do you smell smoke?” Dason said.

  At the exact moment she was just about to reach up the tree to pull down her knapsack is when she smelled it too. She spun around to face the trail. Tobacco smoke. Could be a hiker ignoring the no-smoking warnings, or worse, the poacher they had left behind. She stood poised, listening for the crunch of footsteps. All she could hear was a soft chirping close to the ground, like birds poking around for food. She turned back to reach up for her knapsack again; neither hers nor Dason’s were hanging where they had left them.

  “Over here,” Dason said from behind the trees.

  She grabbed the tarp and hammock before charging in his direction. A few feet past the two pine trees and a small area of tall reedy grass was the narrow opening in the mountain wall. Tala lowered her head to enter the small cave. The tobacco odour was much stronger inside, sweeter than ordinary cigarette smoke, and reminded Tala of Grandpa’s pipe when he sat in his rocking chair telling them stories.