Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe or its characters. Sadly!
Rated T for some violence and gruesome imagery. Us writers, we live for reviews, Man. Please help the next one be better.
TOBACCO ROOT MOUNTAINS, MONTANA
"Come on Jack, we'll be up here all day unless you pick 'em up and put 'em down a bit faster." Roger Wells continued up the trail towards the upper slopes of Thompson Peak, the warm July afternoon sun warming his back and causing Jack, his assistant and chief bag carrier, to sweat and gasp the air into his overworked lungs. Wells had been a forest ranger in South west Montana for 30 years, and knew the Tobacco Root Mountains as well as anyone alive. He was getting close to retirement age, though and he felt the pain in his knees and lower back on cold winter nights more than he used to. He knew the time was coming when he would have to call it a day, so he was anointing his successor through his own variation of trial by ordeal.
The mountains were at their best in the early summer. This high, the snowmelt was only a month gone, and the bitterroot were coming into brilliant, purple bloom. Butterflies flitted from plant to plant and the odd bee buzzed past, going on its relentless business oblivious of their presence. The pinion and lodgepole pines suffused the air with a fresh astringency that seemed to add freshness to the summer heat. They were well off the beaten track here, away from the lakeside tourists, water skiers, mountain bikers and trail runners. This part of the mountain range was off-limits in the summer to everyone except employees of the National Forestry service for a very good reason. This reason, in fact, explained why they had hiked up the mountain in 80 degree heat and the burning, relentless July sun. Bears.
Wells stopped at the end of the trail, and sat down on the trunk of a wind-felled pine and took a healthy swig of water from his canteen, wiping the sweat off his brow and the back of his neck with his bandana. Behind him, puffing and groaning like an underpowered steam train, Jack staggered the last few feet of trail and collapsed, bags scattered around him. He took a swig of water and lit a cigarette. Roger wrinkled his nose.
"If you plan to make a career out of this, you might want to quit." Jack grunted but continued to draw on his cigarette and admired the view over the massive wooded gorge that opened up in front of them. Here and there the trees were carved away from the slopes on the opposite side of the gorge by the long abandoned gold mines that had been worked in these mountains since the 1960's and now stood testament to the harshness and temporary nature of man's place in these endless horizons of wilderness. Behind them and all around where they sat, the air was filled with the noise of rushing water as the last of the winter snow melted on the slopes above them. It was quite beautiful.
"Takes your breath away doesn't it?" Roger gazed over the majesty as he spoke. It seemed as if the whole world was clad in pine trees, raging mountain peaks and grey-topped jagged peaks.
"Well it takes one of our breaths away" Jack muttered. Roger slapped the younger man on the shoulder and laughed.
"You'll thank me for this one day, Boy" he said jovially. Jack eyed him carefully.
"Yeah, me and my hernia surgeon." Roger ignored the sarcasm because it was far too beautiful a day for his spirit to be dented by the less than joyful attitude of his young companion. Plus, there was work to do and this was as good a place to start as any.
"Pass me the spotting scope, will you Jack?" Jack searched one of the three rucksacks he'd carried up the mountain and pulled out a small telescope and a tripod, handing it to Roger, who assembled it and started to scan the far slope. Jack watched him for a while, then got up.
"I'm off to take a leak."
Roger never took his eye away from the spotting scope eyepiece.
"Be careful and watch where you step, it's a long walk down on a broken ankle."
"Yeah yeah." Jack stepped into the trees, eyes on his feet despite the nonchalance with which he greeted Roger's advice. After a few yards of dense pine growth, the woodland opened out into a small glade. He went to unzip when he saw it, lying in the sun, surrounded by cotton grass and rocks.
"Hey, Roger!"
Roger sighed and moved his head away from the scope's eyepiece. He was starting to get the impression that this wasn't going to work out.
"If you're lost, just retrace your steps!"
"Roger, get over here, you need to see this!" Roger sighed deeply and got up, walking into the woods following the route Jack took. He caught up with Jack who was stood on the edge of the glade and caught sight of what Jack was staring at. He took out his bandana and wiped his head nervously.
"Jack" he began, eyes not leaving the centre of the glade and the object lying in it. "Go get the radio. We're gonna need some help up here."
BISHOP APARTMENT, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
The phone ringing woke Peter up. He clawed blindly for the digital clock on his nightstand and groaned deeply when he read the time. He turned on the lamp by his bed, snatched up the phone and answered it in a voice still thick with sleep.
"Bishop."
"Hey Peter", it was Olivia. "So I was wondering, are you an outdoors kind of guy?" Peter was confused.
"What? Am I what? Olivia, it's 4 in the morning!"
He sat up in bed and wondered whether she was ringing because she was having trouble sleeping again. "Are you OK?"
"I'm fine Peter. We've got a case. Bring your hiking boots. I'll pick you up in 15 minutes!" She sounded far too excited for someone who should have been asleep.
"Bring my what? Olivia?"
She'd hung up. Peter looked at the handset accusingly then dragged himself out of bed and trudged over to Walter's room.
"Walter, time to get up, Olivia's picking us up in ten minutes."
Walter turned over and shook himself awake.
"Peter, it's 4 in the morning!"
Peter looked at him, before shuffling off towards the shower.
"I know. We have a case. We'll pick up some pancakes or something on the way," Peter mumbled, heading off the next complaint before it arrived.
"On the way to where?" Walter got up and followed him into the corridor.
Peter paused before closing the bathroom draw.
"I have no idea Walter. She just said to bring hiking boots."
Walter smiled.
"We're going camping. I love camping."
COUNTY CORONERS OFFICE, BOZEMAN, MONTANA.
It was a hot, sunny afternoon and Olivia, Peter, Astrid and Walter were stood outside the locked Coroners Office with the Bozeman County Sheriff, a lanky, moustached, leather-skinned man called Nelson and Angie Leeds, the head forestry service ranger for South West Montana. She had long red hair tied up in a bun and a gentle sarcasm that was immediately endearing. Olivia was clearly in her element. She'd swapped the normal work wear of plain business suits for jeans, hiking boots and an Northwestern running top. Peter had ribbed her mercilessly on the flight over, and even that hadn't dented her mood.
"Where is the guy?" Peter stood in the shade of the roof overhang of the small log-built building, increasingly uncomfortable in the heat and still tired from being woken up at such an early hour.
"He'll be along presently." Sheriff Nelson eyed Peter carefully from under the brow of his hat as he chewed slowly and deliberately on his gum. "What is it you do again, Mr Bishop?" Peter fixed the Sheriff with a steady gaze that was neither aggressive nor servile.
"I work for the FBI, Sheriff. You know, the people you called?"
Olivia watched carefully. In spite of his work with Fringe division, there was still an edge to Peter around police. Most of the time he was able to hide it completely, but when he was tired or pissed, it did rise to the surface. Sheriff Nelson had picked up on it pretty much immediately and Olivia could see it had bothered him, so he'd pressed a little. It was good to see, it always helped when local law enforcement were good at their jobs, made her life much easier. As for Peter, well she knew better than anyone that he was perfectly able to look after himself. Nevertheless, there was no point to an argument now. She walked over to stand next to Peter.
"Sheriff, is there any way we can speed this up a bit?"
Nelson looked at Peter and turned his eyes on Olivia.
"I guess he'll turn up when he turn's up, Agent Dunham. What's the rush? The guy on the table ain't goin' nowhere."
"But I am Zeke, if Len doesn't haul his ass out of O'Leary's bar and get over here in the next two minutes." It was Ranger Leeds, who appeared to be as pissed at the situation as Peter was. "You might have all day to stand round on the street in 85 degrees of hot and dusty, but I've got work to do." She looked at Peter. "I gotta show these folks where we found the poor son-of-a-bitch." The Sheriff grunted and picked up his radio.
"John? Go find Len Wallace - he's probably in the bar at O'Leary's. Drag his ass back to his office will you, he was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. Oh, and you drive him here, don't let him drive himself - he's been there since 12 I'll bet."
After a couple of minutes, a Bozeman county Sheriff Department cruiser pulled up in front of them and Coroner Leonard Wallace almost fell out of the back. He fumbled with his keys and unlocked the office door as he mumbled apologies to everyone.
"Terribly sorry - I could have sworn we agreed to meet at three, not two. Most sorry, I was eating my lunch!" Nelson and Leeds shared a knowing glance that Peter and Olivia both caught. Wallace was a short, plump man with a bald head but wisps of white hair clung to the sides of his head like clouds. His red nose suggested to Peter that 'lunch' at O'Leary's was a pretty common event. Once he'd got the door open and turned the alarm off, Wallace ushered them in.
"Come on through, the body is in the mortuary." They followed the doctor through the building and down a flight of stairs and into the cool of the mortuary. Wallace turned all the lights on and Leeds waited outside. Peter leaned over to her.
"Squeamish?"
She smiled sadly at him, then scrunched her face up at the memory.
"Not normally, but I've seen it once today, thanks. I'll wait upstairs."
They stood around a metal table, covered in a white sheet. Walter was sucking on a smoothie as his eyes darted eagerly over the sheet, waiting for the secret to be revealed. Somewhat more alarmingly, Wallace seemed almost as eager to show Walter as Walter was to see it. Like a good showman though, he built the tension up first.
"The body was recovered from the upper slopes of Thompson Peak late last night by Ranger Leeds and her team, with assistance from the Sheriff department. By my order, the area where the body was found has been cordoned off, and crime scene officers from Missoula will arrive later today to collect evidence."
"So it's a homicide?" Olivia looked from Wallace to Nelson and back again. Wallace answered.
"In my mind, no doubt about it." He looked over at the Sheriff, who remained taciturn. "Sheriff Nelson, however doesn't share my opinion. Nevertheless, the circumstances are somewhat unusual, so I contacted a colleague in Helena who contacted an FBI colleague in Seattle who I suppose contacted you."
Nelson butted in at this point.
"Just so as we're clear, I ain't sayin' this ain't weird, because it is, I'm just sayin' that if Doc Wallace here is right about cause of death, I have a hard time believing someone could carry out a murder this…." he chose his next words very carefully. "…complicated."
"Well?" It was Walter, his patience for small talk wearing thin. "Let us examine the mortal remains shall we?" Suspense built, Wallace whipped off the sheet. Both Astrid and Olivia gasped and took an involuntary step back. Peter winced, Nelson's eyes twitched under his hat and he rubbed his moustache nervously. Walter, on the other hand, almost hooted in delight.
"My God! What on earth did this?" He looked up at Wallace, eyes twinkling. "It's extraordinary!"
The corpse was of a man who could have been anywhere between 18 and 70, though the shock of blonde spiky hair suggested to Olivia, when she could bring herself to look, someone perhaps in their early twenties. The hair and the feet and ankles were the only parts of the sagging, swollen, corrupted sac of flesh and fluid that looked even remotely human. The flesh was grey and when Walter poked it with a scalpel, the surface rippled like he was touching the skin of a rice pudding. The surface of the skin was covered in bumps and ridges of various sizes and the limbs were hugely swollen around the joints. The facial features were long gone.
"Quite extraordinary" echoed Walter as he watched the skin on the corpse roll like the surface of a water body.
"What the hell happened to the guy?" Peter asked, picking up the Coroners report.
"Is it a virus, Walter?"
Olivia had become acutely aware of her own mortality.
"No." Walter had taken a pair of tweezers and plucked something tiny from the corpse. He held it over a magnifying glass, so Olivia could see. "Bee sting. When I get the body back to our lab, I'll know more."
Wallace opened his mouth to protest but Sheriff Nelson waved his hand and the Coroner shut up. Nelson adjusted his hat and coughed nervously.
"Len, if these nice Federal Agents want to remove this..." he struggled to find adequately descriptive words, "...whatever the hell this thing is, then there ain't much either of us can do."
Walter smiled apologetically at Wallace then went back to examining the body.
"I don't understand."
It was Olivia, still staring at the bee sting under the magnifying glass. "If the guy was stung to death by bees, it's not really our domain, is it?" She looked to Peter for support.
"She's right, Walter. There are 4 deaths in the US from bee stings every year, it's rare, but it's hardly a Pattern event."
"When I was 8, we lived in Alabama for a while." It was Astrid, who was staring at the body and talking in a low, unsteady voice. "One day, me and Cally, my best friend, we went to play by the river. She dropped something by an old log and got bitten by a cottonmouth. Her hand blew up like this guy's joints. They had to cut it off..." She trailed off and Walter put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry Astrid. You are right, though. This body shows evidence of envenomation by snakebite too."
"No cottonmouths up here though." It was Nelson, who was eyeing Walter carefully.
"No, but there are prairie rattlesnakes. I counted 16 separate bites."
Wallace looked from face to face.
"I've never seen anything like it."
Olivia snapped her phone open and asked Broyles to organise transportation for the body back to Walter's Lab. When she finished, she gently placed the sheet back over the remains.
"Walter, You and Astrid will accompany the remains back to Harvard. Peter and I will follow you when we're done."
Peter looked at Olivia quizzically.
"What are we doing?"
"We need to see the scene."
