The Loch (27 page)

Entangled in the sleeping bag, I kicked my way out and half crawled, half stumbled from the tent into the pre-dawn gray, my racing heart threatening to leap out of my chest.

Calm down! Breathe! You're okay, Wallace… just another dream.

I paced the campsite, frantically speaking my thoughts, forcing myself to refocus on the images of this bizarre new night terror. "I was underwater… but not as a child, this time as an adult. And I was dead. How did I die? Why was I naked? Was it a vision?"

I stared at my hands, which were still trembling, then suddenly I froze.

Something was moving through the woods!

Like a frightened deer, I looked left to right, right to left, the forest damp and still. Traces of gray mist still cloaked the ground, waiting to be burned away by dawn's first light.

And then my eyes caught movement.

There were three of them, shadowy figures, all cloaked in black, following the stream in the direction of the Loch.

I searched for my hiking boots. Shoving them over my bare feet, I tugged on the laces, then hurried after the three intruders.

They were well ahead of me, their dark tunics the perfect camouflage, though every now and then I caught a glimpse of a flashlight's beam.

The Black Knights?

The mountainside steepened now, the creek widening as it raced to empty into Loch Ness. The leaves were wet, the rocks by the stream covered in heavy moss, making the going treacherous. I rolled my ankle, yelping in pain, then paused, quickly tying my laces for more support.

That's when I noticed the blood.

Patches of crimson streaked the tops of several rocks, as if a bleeding corpse were being dragged along the brook's path.

I hurried on, jogging down the slope, then heard the telltale whine of an outboard motor.

By the time I emerged from the forest, the Zodiac was racing away from shore. In the dim light I made out three men aboard the craft, all dressed in black, a heavy burlap sack between them, soaked in blood.

* * *

The eastern bank of Loch Ness is so long and straight that, looking north on a clear day, one can see the surface meet the sky. This view stayed with me over the next three hours as I followed the tree- lined shore, making my way slowly toward the village of Foyers.

In my backpack were several swabs of blood taken from the rocks. The lab in Inverness would tell me if it came from an animal or human, and then I'd confront Alban MacDonald.

In due course, the sun's rays crept over the Monadhliath Mountains, taking the chill off the crisp morning air. From the south, a dull throbbing echo bellowed into thunder as the research vessel,
Nothosaur
, rumbled by, its twin engines sending heavy mud-colored wakes crashing to shore. As the boat passed, I could make out several dozen sonar buoys lined up behind the transom. Hoagland's crew were launching the underwater listening devices every mile or so, creating their own sonar array. I knew they were not alone, that at least two other expeditions were completing similar tasks.

By nightfall, Loch Ness would be "Loch Mess," pinging like an amusement park video game gallery, distorting every underwater contact for miles.

I arrived at a boathouse around eight-thirty that morning, already feeling exhausted from lack of sleep. With Foyers still several miles ahead, I decided to stop for breakfast. As I sat on the edge of a pier, munching on processed cheese and crackers, a small fishing boat approached from the north, two local women on board.

The craft made a wide turn toward shore, then docked along the boathouse pier.

"Morning, ladies. How's the fishing?"

"Fish are no' bitin'," replied the shoulder length-blonde. "They havenae been bitin' a' season."

"Hey, Marti, is he no' that scientist? Ye ken, the one in the paper."

The blonde perked up. "Oh aye, ye're right! Pleased tae meet ye, Dr. Wallace. I'm Marti Evans, an' this is my friend, Tina. Ye headin' tae Foyers then?"

"Yes."

"We've jist been. Best be hurryin', afore the Polis remove the body."

My skin crawled. "Body? What body?"

* * *

I could see the crowd a quarter mile away as I neared the Foyers River Inlet, and it took me several minutes to pick my way through the throng of locals. Reaching the police barrier, I waved at Sheriff Holmstrom to get his attention.

Holmstrom lifted the police tape to allow me through. "Dr. Wallace. Can't say I'm surprised. Seems every time we meet, someone's been butchered."

"What happened?"

He led me toward the water's edge to where a beached Zodiac was surrounded by crime scene investigators. The bow had been tied off, a gray tarpaulin tossed over the left side of the raft. The soaked ends of the tarp floated in the water, revealing a slowly spreading scarlet stain, pooling in the shallows.

"Yesterday, at approximately 4:45 P.M., two Alaskan tourists, Amber Joy Korpela, age twenty-four, and her companion, Justin Thomas Wagner, age twenty-five, rented this watercraft from a boathouse in Lower Foyers. The couple were last seen circlin' Cherry Island, sometime around nine. Accordin' tae witnesses, the Zodiac beached itsel' between six an' seven this mornin'. Prepare yoursel'. This one's gruesome; even worse than the last, but I think ye'll want tae see."

The sheriff lifted the edge of the tarp.

"Oh, Jesus…"

Unable to pull himself from the frigid water, Justin Wagner had managed to loop both his wrists around the Zodiac's guide rope. His upper torso had dangled alongside the raft as it motored, pilotless, across the Loch, his lower torso dragging through the water. There was no telling how long the victim had been in the water, but the exposed flesh on his arms, neck, and face appeared bluish, bordering on translucent.

What was frightening was Wagner's facial expression, a frozen mask, revealing both pain and terror. The glazed eyes were open and bulging, the purplish mouth grimacing, the teeth bared.

The rest of the victim's body was covered by the raft.

Holmstrom nodded to one of his men, who, with gloved hands, pushed aside the raft while carefully lifting the remains of Wagner's shirt, exposing his waistline.

The sight caused me to gag.

There was no lower torso. Whatever had bitten Justin Wagner had consumed his hips, buttocks, and legs in one devastating bite, its teeth leaving behind puncture marks along the circumference of the jagged wound. A trail of unraveled waterlogged intestines drifted back and forth in the wash, the rest of the victim's internal organs having fallen away long ago from the void where Wagner's waist had once been.

I staggered back, the scene sending the blood rushing from my face. Holmstrom signaled for the tarp to be lowered, then followed me up the embankment. "Are ye okay?"

I shook my head. "I'm about a million miles from okay."

"Those teeth marks?"

I nodded, feeling nauseous. "Yes, Sheriff, the pattern's identical to the scars around my waist. And no, I have no clue why I'm still alive."

"Ye'll help us find it then?"

I nodded, sucking in several deep breaths, fighting to keep my breakfast down. "I'll help you, only let's keep it between us for now. Folklore's one thing, but you've got an apex predator that's gone on a rampage."

'Agreed."

Waves pounded the shoreline, causing us to turn. Another research vessel was slowly rumbling by, three tourist boats following in its wake.

Holmstrom spit. "This place is turnin' intae a bloody zoo. The A82's backed up from Drumnadrochit tae Inverness wi' campers, an' God knows whit it'll be like when word of this latest killin' spreads."

I nodded. "Worse, the Loch's becoming jammed with sonar buoys."

"The judge gave ye the opportunity tae run things. It's no' too late."

"It's not my style."

"Whit's yer plan then?"

"First, I need to finish my own investigation of the Loch. You can help by giving me access to your crime lab."

"Crime lab? Whit for?"

I reached into my backpack, handing him the plastic bags holding the swabs of blood. "Have these analyzed. I need to know if they're animal or human."

"Done. How can I reach ye?"

"I'll reach you. Give me your cell number.

He handed me a business card. "My mobile phone's on the back, it's always on." He gazed out at the Loch, then looked me in the eye. "Guess I wis one o' those that laughed… ye know, after hearin' you were afraid tae get near the water an' all. But after seein' that body, well… I can't say I blame ye."

"Analyze those samples, Sheriff. I'll be in touch."

* * *

True showed up thirty minutes later, cursing up a storm about all the traffic around Loch Ness. The good news was the lodge was booked solid, the bad being his father now needed him back in Drumnadrochit by early evening. He agreed to accompany me along the eastern bank until his sister picked him up later by boat.

Things were looking up for Brandy as well. She had doubled her tours and tripled her prices, and still the
Nessie III
was sold out for the remainder of the week.

The monster craze was alive and well, and the Highland locals were cashing in on what was shaping up to be a record-setting tourist season.

By noon, word of the latest attack had spread across Great Britain like wildfire. By then, True and I had arrived in Inverfarigaig, a village of homes scattered among managed forests of spruce and Douglas fir. As in Foyers, the rocky embankments of Inverfarigaig were clogged with thrill-seekers, their cameras and zoom lenses mounted on tripods, their camcorders and binoculars scanning every wave and shadow that skirted the surface of Loch Ness. Vans and campers, parked along General Wade's Military Road, lined the single lane tarmac clear to Dores, and many a tourist could be seen standing on their car roofs to gain a better vantage.

It was a "braw day" on the Loch, the sky high and blue, free of cloud cover, and the approaching summer beat down upon us unmercifully.

Seeking a break from the sun, we followed a footpath into the Farigaig Forest, its heavy canopy embracing us in cooler temperatures. Diverting from the path, we followed the twisting banks of a brook as it trickled down the mountain side. A carpet of moss was spotted with bluebells, foxgloves, and other wildflowers, and the scents and sounds soothed my spent nerves.

I didn't see the squirrel as much as I tripped over it.

The forests of the Great Glen are populated with red squirrels, fast creatures that feed on seeds, chestnuts, and pine nuts. This one was lying on its side by the creek, its tiny chest heaving as it gasped each labored breath.

As we watched, the suffering animal seized and died.

True bent down to give it a nudge. "Poor wee thing—"

"Don't touch it!" Setting down my backpack, I retrieved a pair of rubber gloves, a jar, and a plastic specimen bag. "Remember what I said yesterday about the Loch's food chain? This might be an important clue. Take this jar and fill it with water from the brook, while I bag our little friend here."

We collected the specimens, then continued following the stream as it backtracked up a steep terrain slick with vegetation and heavy in jagged rocks. Along the way we found more dead animals, including a half dozen osprey and a peregrine. True stumbled upon a burrow and was immediately attacked by a fox, the agitated creature circling and growling as it snapped at his boots. We managed to chase it away, but only after resorting to striking it several times with a stick.

"I've never seen a fox act like that before. Dae ye think it wis rabid?"

"Maybe. But I suspect there's something else going on, something that's affecting this whole ecosystem. Come on, let's keep climbing."

Another half mile's ascent and the forest opened up below us, revealing a breathtaking view of Loch Ness. We climbed up to the summit, then took a well-earned respite on a public bench.

"Zack, can I ask ye a question?"

"Ask."

"Whit made ye change yer mind aboot goin' after the creature?"

Reaching down, I picked a wildflower, absentmindedly pulling apart its petals. "When Brandy was hurting herself, why do you think she was doing it?"

"Doctor said it wis 'cause she wis angry."

"Maybe I'm angry too."

"Angry at whit?"

"For the longest time, I was angry at Angus. It was because of him that I took off in that rowboat. Now I'm more angry at myself, at having to deal with this whole damn thing."

"It's no'
your
fault ye were attacked. That wis fate."

"I don't believe in fate. Fate's like folklore, it's an excuse for an unexplainable circumstance. I believe in science, in dealing with reality. It's why I'm angry with myself. Had I dealt with my own reality seventeen years ago, I wouldn't be in this mess today."

"Ye were only nine, how can ye blame yersel'? Look at whit ye've been through. Two drownings now, an' still ye've survived."

"You call this surviving? I'm afraid of the water, and I wake up every night screaming."

"Dreams or no', ye're still alive, which is mair than that laddie back there can say. It wis fate that saved ye seventeen years ago, jist like it wis fate that led ye tae become a marine biologist."

"Meaning what?"

"Meanin', if anyone's destined tae figure oot whit this ancient creature is, it's you, Zachary Wallace."

"Well, I don't know about fate, but I do know about science, and science tells me this monster's not an ancient creature, at least not a plesiosaur. I think it's something else entirely, most likely a hybrid of a species that's been inhabiting Loch Ness for a long time."

"Like Angus's Guivre?"

"I don't know, but I know someone who does."

"Zack, please, dinnae start in again on my auld man."

"Just listen. This morning I saw three men, all cloaked in dark tunics, and they were carrying something in a burlap sack, something that was bleeding. I collected swaths of the blood, the sheriff's having them analyzed."