Way To Go
Vern threw his empty beer can into the snow. He felt a little better, but his head still thumped. He slammed the door on his pickup and turned to look down the hill.
The research camp was laid out below, lit sparsely by electric lighting in the continuing darkness. He had been familiar with the original plans when he brokered the lease of the site. However, after months and months of intense activity, and accidents above and below the headlines, the layout of equipment and temporary sheds was confusing.
"It looks like a disaster area," he thought. He slung a long messenger bag over his right shoulder and let his feet slip-slide down the frozen slope to the largely unguarded perimeter. About halfway down he noticed an unevenness in the sparkling snow and stopped.
"Footprints," he guessed. But they were light and smudged. There was no definition to the edges that would suggest a wild animal. A person had wandered past carefully in recent hours. He decided that he would follow the trail after a short, but important visit to the compound.
:::
"What are you doing here?" asked Vauxhall. He was sitting up in the medical bed, but had been near to sleep on the pile of pillows behind his back.
"I came to check on my investment," joked Vern quietly. He placed a six-pack of birch beer on a side table. "Some of what I've been hearing is making me nervous. And I have a little family matter to deal with out this way."
Vauxhall tilted his head to the side and laughed curtly. "You should have told me there was something odd about your lake, Vernon. We paid a lot of money - keep paying a lot of money - to do our research without interruptions and nosey neighbors."
"I thought you were a little more adult than that. Your team here have worked underwater before, haven't they?" he sighed. "There's a lot of garbage talked by sailors and sub-mariners. Get over it. If you had wanted an introduction to our family legends, you could have given my father a bottle of bourbon and sat him in the corner there." He pointed at the portable television over by the wall. "I also know a guy who could give you a discount on a highly informative video tape series."
"A lot of things have been going wrong under the water," Vauxhall continued. "And that's a bad place to make mistakes. I had some further research done, Vern. Things have been going on for decades in these waters, maybe even centuries."
"Yes, I read the tabloids. In reality, people who go out onto lakes sometimes get into difficulty. People who dive under water take chances. But when you have a little smudge of paint nearby on some cave wall, suddenly it's all because of the Devil, or spaceships or monsters."
"Don't insult me, Vernon. I'm not talking about superstition. Of course, things happen on the water. But the geology here is all wrong. We can't predict the stability of any of the rock formations."
Vern spread his hands to show they were empty. "You picked the lake, I arranged the best spot for your compound. I couldn't even tell you what sort of rocks these are."
"I think we may have to pull out," announced Vauxhall.
:::
Allbright walked in briskly with a folder of print-outs. He raised his eyebrows at Vern, but did not show surprise. "This is not a good time for collecting brown envelopes, Vernon. I need to speak to my boss. In private." He nodded to the door to suggest Vern should leave.
Vauxhall looked at Vern. "I think Vernon wanted to discuss terms with us, Weed. Unless something is crawling out of the water and eating the furniture?"
"No, not exactly. We can talk about Stokes downing tools later. And we have an intruder, but I'm sure that can wait for the bribing of a petty local official."
Vauxhall rubbed his forehead. "Not today, Weed. I meant that we might want to reconsider the benefits of staying. Maybe Vern could persuade us to extend our stay?"
Vern had enjoyed the extra cash from his mysterious visitors. But today he was worried about his father. He was not in a mood to make a deal or chase an extra penny. "Stay or go," he said. "This is just real estate to me. You don't like the view? I keep your deposit and you can find another quiet cove where there's no facilities. I think things might be easier that way."
Allbright shrugged without effort. "That obviously wasn't going to go very far, sir. We're not moving out. Not now."
Vauxhall scowled again. Allbright had revealed too much. "Can you leave us for now, Vern? Have something to eat from the galley, then let us be. We'll arrange a proper meeting - in town - where we can discuss our continuing residency."
"I told you I've got a better reason for being here. My father's an old man. He's gone off on a crazy walk to see the first sunrise of the year. I think he passed by here. Tell your men to watch out for him. He's very sick and very weak."
Allbright looked up at Vernon, then across to Vauxhall. "Maybe he's been and gone, Vernon. That's what I was trying to say to you. I thought it was a kid or some hippie protester wearing a robe and a mask. We saw him up by the trees in the past hour."
"Can you show me?" asked Vern. Allbright looked to his boss for confirmation. Vauxhall nodded reluctantly.
:::
Back in the center of the compound beside the covered parts of the saucer vehicle, Allbright pointed up to the gloom of the tree-line. "Up there. Wearing some kind of wooden mask. Like a bird with a big beak."
Vern figured that if the person, probably his father, had traveled from the footprints he himself had crossed to the point that Allbright was indicating, the direction was right.
He was about to leave when he heard the road of many approaching vehicle engines and the criss-cross of intermittent headlamp beams. "Looks like you've got trouble coming."