Page 26 of High Frequency

I’m not going to lie, it’s a bit creepy up here by myself. No one was parked at the trailhead but since I abandoned the ATV, I’ve occasionally heard these noises. Sounds of something other than me moving in the forest.

Of course, there’s plenty of large wildlife up in these mountains. Elk, moose, mountain lions, and black as well as grizzly bears. I don’t particularly want a close encounter with any of those.

There it is again; this time it sounded like a branch snapping.

My hand automatically goes to my hip, where I carry my service weapon as I slowly spin around and scan the woods around me. I stare into the trees for a good minute or two before I resume my hike. I’m starting to second-guess coming out here on my own.

It’s Jason’s fault I’m freaking myself out. He mentioned the fall black bear hunting season opening in two weeks and asked for me to keep an eye out for fresh scat. I spotted some when I got off the ATV. I’m pretty sure they’re black bear droppings, they were mostly berries. Now that I think about it, I started hearing stuff after that.

Pissed at myself for letting some poop rattle me, I pick up the pace.

When I finally get to the gorge, I take off my backpack and first fish my cell phone from the side pouch to check for a signal. I have two bars, which is better than nothing. I leave the camera and the extra lenses in the backpack for now, but grab the binoculars and take my phone. Then I move to the edge.

I transferred several copies of the image in question to my phone so I have the original picture but also a few cropped close-ups to help me locate the actual spot. I pull the full image up on my phone, take a good look, and start walking along the edge to find the right angle.

Of course, I keep a safe distance from the drop, I have no desire to end up at the bottom of the gorge, but when I think I’ve found the location, I drop down to my stomach and inch closer to the edge. In the picture, the yellow blob appears right at the base of the cliff, so I have to get close to the edge if I want to pinpoint it with the binoculars.

Ignoring the sudden wave of vertigo when I first glance down, I scan the drop below. Nothing really jumps out at me. On my phone I flip through the close-ups, comparing the rock formations with what I can see with the naked eye.

Then I see it—not right below me, but about fifty feet to my right—a flat boulder leaning upright against the base of the rock wall. A small glimpse of yellow appears to be stuck at the top. Keeping my focus firmly fixed on the spot, I slip my phone in my back pocket, and lift the binoculars to my eyes.

At first the view through the lenses is blurry, and I’m momentarily disoriented. Luckily, Jason showed me how to adjust the focus, and I manage to get the image to clear. I’ve lost my spot, but it doesn’t take me long to find the tall, flat rock again.

Then I pan up a tad and refocus on the splash of color. It’s a coat, at least, that’s what it looks like. One of those puffy winter coats. One of its sleeves appears to be caught on something and the rest of the coat is hanging from it. I follow the streak of canary yellow down to where the second sleeve dangles what is probably a few feet off the ground.

It isn’t until I zoom out a little that I see it; a hand, reaching up.

The sight startles me so hard; the binoculars slip from my hands as I scramble back from the edge. Luckily, I have them on a strap around my neck, or they would’ve ended up down below.

Like that body.

I need my camera.

Getting to my feet, I walk over to my backpack and pull out the Canon. I don’t think the larger lens I brought will do the trick but I’ll give it a shot. Otherwise, I can try using the binoculars as magnification for the camera. It’ll require some dexterity, but I’m determined to bring back photographic evidence.

My mind is already spinning with the measures that will have to be taken to retrieve that body. But the first step would be for me to get down there and gather whatever evidence I can. For that I need my boss’s support—hence the photographic evidence—and a tracker to guide me.

I lie back down on my belly and first try with the lens mounted on the camera, but I can’t zoom in close enough to see the hand. It’s also impossible to see through the small viewfinder, and the digital screen isn’t much better. Still, I shoot a number of pictures before I remove the lens and try taking a few shots through the binoculars. That looks more successful in terms of magnification, but the quality may have suffered.

Next, I’d like to see if I can’t view a bit more of the body if I look down from above. There’s a bit of a rock outcropping directly overhead, creating a shelf jutting out over the drop. A tree is perched right on the edge, its roots spreading wide as they cling onto the rocky surface. I’ll have to watch where I put my feet, I don’t want to trip and lose my balance.

No sooner am I stepping over the first obstacle, when I hear a loud grunt behind me. Unfortunately, in my haste to spin around at the sound, my left foot gets hung up on a protruding root, and I feel myself going down. I barely manage to prevent doing a full face plant by catching the brunt of the impact on my forearms. Ignoring the jab of pain, I snap my head around to see if whatever made that sound is getting ready to jump me.

Yikes. It’s a black bear, but it appears to be more interested in my backpack than it is in me. It looks young. I wince when I hear a loud rip and watch the content spill on the ground. Extra lenses, my crime scene kit, a box of gloves, and a couple of granola bars, which is apparently what it was after.

I stay as still as I can until the animal is done eating and rummaging through my things, and—with a nerve-wracking long look in my direction—takes off into the trees. Then I drop my head down on my forearms and take a deep, shaky breath, blowing it out slowly.

I give myself a minute, scanning my suddenly aching body for serious injury—I don’t think I broke anything, but I’ll probably have a few scrapes and bruises—before I carefully push myself up to sitting. Next, I check the equipment. Both the camera and binoculars are still around my neck and show some scratches, but appear intact. Thank God for that; my sparse savings wouldn’t be able to take the hit if I had to replace either or both.

Since I’m already on the ground, and only a foot or two from the edge of the rock shelf, I inch my way closer until I can only just peek over the side. From up here the yellow fabric is not hard to spot, but it’s too high up to see much else. Once again, I lift the binoculars to my face and adjust the focus, zooming in closer.

The hair on my neck stands on end and goosebumps break out all over my skin when I see what is below.

Staring up at me is a face, with just a pair of black holes where the eyes used to be.

Dead eyes.

Dan

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