Grey Skies in Mourning

© 2010 Mr. David R. Dorrycott

Chapter One

edited 12/12/2012

Eight figures had worked their way up the hiking trail as sunlight steamed from the sky. They were all friends, co-workers and families. Each July 4th holiday they would climb the mountains North of Meeker Colorado and make camp. There they would share songs, dreams and watch the fireworks from above the city. It was their own special holiday adventure. One that most of them had shared since their High School days. Up here over a mile above sea level the air was usually crystal clear. One could watch the skies for falling stars, making wishes as the colored trails passed over. But it was the fireworks that they made this trip for. Fireworks and the privacy. Tonight though, they would be delighted not only by the fireworks of Meeker’s display, but a wondrous display from the skies as well.

George Carter was the first to wake. Normally the grey wolf was the last, taking into consideration his love of all things alcohol. Last night though the fireworks display Mother Nature had provided had been so stunning that he had forgotten to drink. Instead he had crawled into his shared tent with his wife and soon fallen asleep. Now though his body demanded that he awaken, so careful not to awaken his wife he slipped out of the tent, then made his way the hundred yards or so sightly downhill to where the group had dug a latrine many years ago. Just before closing the tents heavy canvas flap he looked one last time at the face of his wife, a face angelic in sleep, then taking a small pack and his gun he left to answer Mother Natures call.

Sometime later Henry Brown and his wife awoke. They too needed to answer Mother Nature so following George’s lead they both prepared to leave the camp, their long bushy fox tails entwined as they walked. Only married two months ago both were still madly in love and not afraid to show it. As they left, the mouse Tracy Carter came out of her tent, smiled and as she stretched and promised to have breakfast ready when they returned. “And when you find my husband, tell him to hurry back. I need that walk myself” she called lightly. Promising to do so the two walked away.

Tracy had just built the fire enough to cook with when the rest of their group stepped into the morning light. Even in high summer, at seven thousand feet it was still a cold morning and in the thin shadows frost still could be found. Soon the five were in deep conversation, preparing a hot breakfast while waiting for their friends to return. But they didn’t return and calls by all five went unanswered, so worried the two remaining men agreed to find out what was going on. Gathering their own weapons they headed out, grumbling that if this was some kind of joke those three wouldn’t get any coffee.

Worried, the three remaining women looked at each other. There were still the occasional bandit in the area and once in a while a mad prospector with a bag full of Fools Gold to protect but certainly not here. Why, the only thing within miles was the abandon Sampson mine and it had played out before the turn of the century. Still they waited, nervously drinking their coffee while wondering what had happened. Abruptly there was a shot, then another shot. A third shot followed a moment later. Finally blood curdling screams filled the air. Horrified the three grabbed what they would need to get down the mountain and started running. The men could take care of themselves as none of the women had a single weapon between them.

That had been two hours and fifteen hundred vertical feet ago. Tracy Carter had fallen behind her horrified friends because of her shorter legs. That and only that saved her. As she rounded a bush she had a view of a small valley a hundred feet below her. It was the shortest route to their cars, the other taking an extra three miles. But it was what she saw that stopped her in her tracks. It was huge, black and it was swallowing what had to be the gazelle Elizabeth Minor. For a brief moment Tracy watched as those long, shapely legs slid between the creatures lips, then the hump of a still struggling gazelle as it moved down the things throat. On the ground before that monster lay Rebecca Downing, the rabbit curled up in fear. Frozen in horror Tracy could only watch as one of her dearest friends was engulfed by that vile mouth, her unresisting body soon following the gazella’s down that black throat.

Rendered near mad by what had just happened in front of her eyes the mouse turned and ran blindly down the longer trail. How she survived that mad run no one would ever know. But it was the Sheriff who found her, laying under her husbands car, shivering in fear, unable to tell what had happened. All she would say was “It ate them. It ate them.” Over and over and over.

Much later, and in silence the large dire-wolf watched as ambulance men carefully lead the shattered mouse away. Only after the hearse/ambulance drove off did he make his decision. Turning to the his four men, all well seasoned hounds he spoke. “We better check this out” Sheriff Haskel announced. “Paul, get Franklin, Jamison, Anderson and Sykes up here right now. Tell Sykes to bring his dogs, and bring your rifles. All of you.”