Just Another Summer in ‘95 Part Two

Read Part One here

We both drove back to the station and handed in our gear and changed. I could still smell the faint odor clinging to my uniform. I suppressed the urge to gag as I threw it back into my locker without any finesse, just wanting to get it off me. I changed into a pair of cutoff jean shorts and my UCSD hoodie.

I bumped back into Felix on my way to my car. He was wearing that stupid Denver Broncos windbreaker like it was his best suit. He looked almost as exhausted as me. We both exchanged a tired “hey” to each other.

“I’m going to Norm’s. You wanna come with? I’m buying.”

I tried to let out a chuckle, but it only came out as a weak exhale.

“That old place? Just this once… I—I need a drink,” I stammered, trying to keep it together. Last thing I wanted was to put on the waterworks in front of him. Felix’s gaze softened as he quieted for a moment.

“Me too, Ash… c’mon, I’ll drive, alright?”

I sniffled once, and he put a hand on my back and gently ushered me to his truck. We didn’t say much as we climbed into his truck, and he started to drive toward the town.

I gazed out the dim window into the dark outlines of the pines. My head pounded with the aftershock of pure adrenaline leaving my body. I clenched my fists tightly as I felt my hands continue to tremble. I let out a couple of unsteady breaths to control my breathing; it helped a little. I finally mustered up what little confidence I had and turned toward Felix. His eyes were focused on the road, but I could tell he noticed, with how tightly he clenched his jaw.

“I’m—”

He quickly cut me off before I could finish.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

I let out a quiet sigh and let myself relax a little. I wasn’t really in the mindset to argue with Felix. The one question that had been swirling in my mind:
“What… was that?”

Felix’s expression darkened as his eyes flickered to me and then back to the dimly lit road ahead.

“Between you and me… I heard some whispers from the badged rangers about this.”

My brow furrowed as more questions flooded my brain. I turned my head and quietly asked him,
“You knew about this?”

He shook his head a few times.

“I thought it was a spike in chronic wasting or rabies… or anything—not… that.”

I didn’t know what to say, but my hand slid across the center console, just short of touching him. I didn’t know why; I just didn’t want to feel alone after that, just to feel close to someone for a moment. I felt his hand squeeze my arm just for a second before he withdrew his hand.

I retreated my hand back to my seat and stared ahead wordlessly. We didn’t say anything else the entire ride into town. The small town was dead quiet in these later hours of the night. The only place that was still open was that shitty gas station and Norm’s bar.

The truck drove past the main street—if you could call it that—until we reached the edge of one of the last blocks before it turned into scattered neighborhoods.

On the street corner was our destination: Norm’s, the only place to get a drink besides the old liquor store on the edge of town that closed after seven. It didn’t look like much from the outside: concrete brick walls stained from decades of cigarette smoke and spring thaws, a slightly angled roof to keep the snow from piling up in winter. One-way windows only hinted at the warmth inside, backlit by a flickering neon Coors Light sign hanging above the glass door.

Felix parked along the curb and gave me a nod before stepping out. I didn’t move at first, exhausted in a way I couldn’t even begin to explain. After a weak sigh, I followed him in.
The bar was dimly lit—low-hanging lights casting long shadows across wood-beamed walls. A few regulars sat on worn vinyl stools, nursing nearly-empty beers and clutching half-spent cigarettes. The thick scent of tobacco hit me like a punch to the gut.

We passed through the vestibule into the main bar. A battered jukebox flickered quietly in the corner. Across the room, a doorway opened into a second space I couldn’t quite see. A woodstove, untouched and cold in the summer months, leaned close to the doorway.

Norm leaned against the back counter, the flashing Rainier sign behind him casting a dull red glow across his lined face as he wiped down a glass. Felix settled onto a seat at the bar, but I didn’t follow him—not yet. My gaze drifted to the jukebox as it quietly played For What It’s Worth. For some reason, the usually calming twang of Springfield didn’t quite sit right with me—not tonight.

I quietly cycled through the different CDs, quickly noticing it didn’t have anything newer than ’88. I grumbled softly as I cycled CDs to something my dad liked to listen to on the porch during the weekends: Gimme Shelter.

I dug into my pocket for some loose change and fed the machine a pair of quarters. My gaze shifted as I noticed the dark form of a dog—maybe a lab if you squinted—laying across his worn bed next to the jukebox. I smiled softly as I watched this dog snore softly as he rested his blocky head on his paws. The jukebox started to play my song. The dog let out what I could best describe as a grumble as he lifted his greying muzzle to gaze up at me. His ears flicked in what might have been a judgmental stare at the jukebox as it played the Rolling Stones tune.

I let myself smile as I kneeled down to him and softly scratched behind his floppy ears.
“Did I wake you? I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

His tail thumped once on the tile floor as he leaned into my hands with another grumble. I peered at his leather collar to see he shared the name of the beer of questionable quality, Busch. I let out a quiet chuckle barely audible even to myself. I patted the lounging dog once more before standing up.

As I walked back, I caught the gaze of one of the regulars just for a moment before he dropped his gaze to his beer. I didn’t linger on this as I sat down at the bar next to Felix.
Norm nodded at me as he poured Felix a draft. When he finished, he turned my way.

Definitely a local through and through—mullet and handlebar ’stache, faded denim trucker jacket, aviator-style glasses. A black hat with the outline of some Navy ship sat low on his head; the words USS OKINAWA stitched across the front.

“Evenin’, miss. What can I getcha?”

I hesitated a beat.

“Um… just a coffee.”

He raised a bushy eyebrow at the request but didn’t protest.

“Black?”

I nodded quietly. I didn’t bother asking for cream or sugar—wasn’t sure why I hadn’t. Norm grabbed the old coffee pot, probably left simmering on the burner since morning, and poured a mug full of what smelled like the same brand they left out for us at the station—burnt, bitter, and somehow still comforting. He set it down gently on the bar.

I offered a soft “thanks” and let my eyes drift to the bottles lined up behind him.

“I’ll… take a glass of Wild Turkey with it. Neat.”

Norm gave a small, unreadable nod and glanced over at Felix. The two men shared a look—brief but heavy—before he turned back and poured out the bourbon. He placed the glass beside the coffee with a soft clink.

I murmured another thank you and, without ceremony, poured the contents of the glass straight into the mug. I cupped the plain ceramic in both hands, letting the heat soak into my palms before lifting it to my face.

The scent hit me hard: scorched, cheap coffee laced with the sharp bite of mid-shelf whiskey. I took a careful sip.

The bitterness and the burn slid down my throat and bloomed warm in my chest. I let out a soft, strained exhale as the sting settled across the roof of my mouth—like I was breathing through the ache.

I heard a soft grumble from behind me. I craned my head to see the dark form of the bartender’s dog padding over from his bed. He plopped himself against my leg as he flopped over with what I could best describe as a dog sigh. I smiled into the mug and leaned and trailed my fingers along his forehead; he thumped his tail lazily in response.

Felix looked over from his beer at the dog sprawled out on my foot and chuckled a bit. “He must like you.”

“Busch usually only gets up when you drop an egg,” the bartender remarked as he stooped and dug through a mini-fridge, bringing out a bright packet of Wonder Bread.

I shrugged sheepishly and mumbled, “I guess he does—”

On the counter, two jars sat in cloudy liquid—eggs in one, jerky in the other. The brine was so murky it was hard to tell if the eggs had been in there for weeks or years. The strips of meat looked handmade, maybe bison, maybe something else. Something with too many tendons.

The rack nearby sagged under greasy snack bags, but the fluorescent light above it flickered just enough to make the colors look wrong. The pickled sausages looked almost pink in the shifting light—like fingers in vinegar.

The old cigarette machine crouched against the paneling, a faded Kool’s logo glowing faintly above it. No buttons—just brass pull knobs dulled to a sickly bronze. A paper label above the slot warned: “3.50—quarters only,” the ink blurred from years of greasy hands. Behind the warped glass, the packs looked swollen and pale, their colors leeched away, brands barely legible through the plastic haze.

I looked over at Felix as he nursed his lager. He clutched the half-full glass tightly; even now, I could still see his fingers trembling from the aftershock. He wasn’t looking at me, whether because he felt I needed space or he didn’t know what to even say at this point. I couldn’t tell. His gaze was focused on the only TV in the bar.

The blocky CRT hanging behind the bar played a game show that looked familiar, though I couldn’t quite name it. A glamorous blonde in heels and a sparkly red dress moved with the kind of easy, practiced grace that made it look effortless. She walked between glowing panels, flipping them one by one as the audience applauded every nervous guess. The woman was beautiful—tall, slim, with the kind of posture that probably took a lifetime to learn. The tinny bar speakers couldn’t keep up with the canned clapping and chimes, but it didn’t matter. She held the screen just fine without sound.

“You ever wear a dress like that, Ash?” Felix asked, still nursing his beer.

I let out a soft snort. “Please. I don’t have legs like hers.”

Felix chuckled, gave his glass a small tilt. “Didn’t break any hearts back home, Miss San Diego?”

I shook my head, a little quieter now. “Me and dating never really worked out. Not exactly a looker.”

“Hasn’t stopped the newer volunteers from running into trees around you,” he said with a chiding smile.

“They’re just dumb kids, Felix,” I dismissed with a wave of my hand.

“Kids can be pretty honest, Ash,” he replied, matter-of-fact.

“Shaddup, old man,” I grumbled, hiding a forming smile behind my mug as I took a sip.
I quickly caught a familiar smell—the kind that drifts through dorm kitchens back home at UCSD. The aroma of grilled cheese browning on a hot pan. Glancing over, I spotted the bartender cooking a pair of sandwiches on a hot plate tucked into a tiny corner beside a plain white microwave and toaster oven.

He slid two paper plates silently across the bar—one with a freshly made grilled cheese for me, the other a classic hangover special: fried bologna and cheese. I don’t even remember asking for them.

“I didn’t order—” I started quietly, but the handlebar-mustached bartender cut me off.

“Eat, girl. You two look like hell.”

When I asked how much he wanted for them, he just grunted and walked off, busying himself and ignoring my question. I looked over at Felix for help and only got a sheepish smile and a pat on the shoulder.

I looked down at the sandwich and accepted my fate as I started to peel the crusts off by hand. I looked down at my feet to see Busch still snoring away softly. I bent down and offered him some of the crusts. I felt a warm breath against my hand as he sniffed it.

Without opening his eyes, he gently took it from my hand and chomped away. I smiled softly as I fed him the rest of the peeled crusts. I took a few bites and let myself sink a little further into that bar stool.

Just as I was beginning to relax, I heard a sound I normally paid hardly any attention to, but this time it made my spine tense like a bear trap snapping shut. The sound of rotors cutting through the temperate summer air. Through the windows, I saw the shape of a helicopter flying low, sweeping the treeline. Its spotlight searched for any movement in the brush. The strobes flashed dimly as the red and green directional lights glowed steadily. The windows of the bar began to shake as its engines shrilled, drowning out any sounds of warmth.

The dark form of the bar dog raised his head and stared out at that chopper. He didn’t make a sound as he watched it comb the treelines. His ears perked and his eyes focused. The chopper finally turned, and that’s when I saw a dim blue light illuminating a golden star and dim black writing that read “Montana Highway Patrol.” It started to gain altitude as it passed over the bar with a shriek. The rumbling of the spinning blades shook my very core.

In the distant interstate, I could see the red and blue lights flashing wildly as the shapes of emergency vehicles tore down the highway toward the woods. The howling of the sirens echoed in the distance. I felt a hand grab my shoulder gently, but I couldn’t look away.

I didn’t say much after that. I finished my drink and noticed Felix had already paid the tab before I could react. We just exchanged a look and knew we both wanted to leave. We bid a muffled farewell to Norm as we exited the bar. The streets of Ravenwood still carried the distant, shrill calls of the sirens deep within the woods.

Felix offered to drive me home. I didn’t exactly have any reason to say no to him. I wish I could say something else happened on the drive back, but nothing did. I just remember staring out at nothing in particular as we passed the shadowy forms of closed storefronts and isolated houses.

When we finally pulled into the small collection of staff cabins, he turned to me as he was about to make his farewell, but I stopped him as I could feel my hands starting to shake again.

“Can you stay… just till morning—”

Felix looked at me in surprise for a moment before softening his expression.

“You sure?”

I nodded, and he let out an exhale.

“Alright, I’ll crash on the couch—”

I smiled a little, feeling a little safer knowing I wouldn’t be alone tonight despite his hesitation to stay.

As we both went inside the little cabin, I took in the familiar scent of cheap wood as I tried to make myself at home.

A cabin was a strong word. It wasn’t like the polished cabins you saw on the lake with handmade wooden furniture marketed as a romantic getaway for couples. It was basically a shack with a tiny kitchen, stuffed with furniture from the 70s that the feds bought for cheap, and a cot with a blue mattress that looked like it had been dragged from Camp Pendleton.
Felix settled on the ugly yellow-and-green plaid couch that I internally gagged at every time I set my eyes on it. I took a short shower that somewhat dampened the smell of ammonia lingering on my skin before getting ready for bed, changing into some comfy shorts and a loose-fitting tank top, and finally letting my hair down. The rancid smell was now replaced by the stale air and musty upholstery.

I looked over at Felix as he lounged in his makeshift sleeping spot on the sofa, eyeing the CRT adorned with bunny ears. His eyes flickered to me as I stood there in my pajamas.
“Heading to bed?”

“Yeah… Felix, I—”

The experienced ranger sat up to fully regard me, as he could infer I was about to say something that I had been wanting to say for a while.

“Thank you… for everything tonight. If you hadn’t been there, I probably wouldn’t be—”

He stopped me from continuing, already knowing where I was going with this.

“Ashley, there’s nothing good that will come from thinking about what could have happened.”

“I know…” I said, letting out a deep sigh.

“I’ll be here, okay? Just try to get some sleep, hun.”

“Right… night, Felix.”

“Night, Ash.”

I padded off to the little bedroom they had and tried to get comfortable in bed. The dark green wool blanket from the surplus store smelled like mothballs and not much else, but somehow…it didn’t make me itchy like it usually did.

I lay there for what felt like hours. My eyes just tried to drift away into sleep after this hellish day, but despite my best efforts, my fatigue wouldn’t take me. I couldn’t stop thinking about that thing in the woods—its endless teeth as it opened its horrific jaws, the way it thrashed and twitched after Felix shot it, the smell that clung to my uniform and my skin. I sat up, rubbing my face, the images of what I saw not leaving my head.

Giving up on sleep entirely, I climbed out of bed and wandered into the dimly lit common area. Felix still sat on the couch wrapped up in a fleece blanket, as the washy colors from the Philips washed over his exhausted face. The CRT quietly murmured a late-night rerun of Are You Being Served? I padded over and sat close by him as the sitcom whispered a canned laugh track.

“Can’t sleep?” he said without looking at me.

I shook my head, and he smiled almost sadly.

“Yeah, me neither,” he said with a heavy sigh.

I didn’t say anything, but without thinking I found myself leaning on him as I felt myself start to shiver, but not from the cold. As the actors on screen, marinated in hairspray, rattled out British culture references and jokes from the 70s I didn’t understand, I felt the blanket being draped around me, just like I did for Jess. The fridge buzzing in the background became the only backdrop besides the TV set.

I don’t know when I fell asleep on Felix’s shoulder, but whatever small comfort he brought seemed to be enough to lull me into a surprisingly restful slumber. If I had any nightmares that night, they burned away from my memory as soon as the sun rose above the horizon.
When the morning finally washed over us, I found myself making a breakfast from back home that brought a little comfort to me: Rancheros huevos. Despite Felix looking at it strangely, he ate it without protest and said it reminded him of Indian tacos. Though I wasn’t sure what that even was, it was just nice to cook for someone again.

After breakfast, Felix drove me back to the station to pick up my car. Before we parted ways, I embraced him. It felt like hours, but in reality it was probably only a couple seconds. He told me to stay out of trouble, but I couldn’t let him see my eyes when I said I would.

Instead of just leaving in my car to wallow in what happened last night, I found myself drawn to the swinging glass doors of that shabby ranger station. Every part of me just told me to leave it to the pros. I’m just a college girl who works seasonal here. What good could I possibly do after what happened? Despite all these doubts circling like a tornado, my legs marched toward those double doors. But…I know I could never forgive myself if I left.

Despite how much busier the station was than usual, I slipped past most of the rangers without any of them even asking where I was going. Phones seemed to be ringing on end as badged rangers with rifles over their shoulders hauled heavy trunks of gear in and out of the station like worker ants. I stopped in front of Jake’s office, realizing this was my last chance to turn back.

I rested my knuckles on the polished wooden door before rapping three times on it. I heard a tired murmur to enter. The scent of cheap tobacco hit me as soon as I entered the cluttered office. Jake sat behind his desk, eyes bloodshot as he cradled a landline across his neck. He lazily blew out plumes of smoke through the half-cracked window at his side. His eyes flickered to me as he gestured to the chair in front of his desk, bidding me to sit. He clenched his jaw as he listened to what was said on the other end. He let out a deep sigh before muttering a “thank you” into the receiver and hanging up.

His hand rubbed his face as he attempted to smooth over his disheveled hair. My eyes flickered to the mug bearing the arrow-like mark of the forestry service. Many rings of stale coffee colored the inside, as a few drops of tar that had long since gone cold lingered at the bottom.

We both drove into the shadowed trail, the last remnants of daylight fading behind the pines. Stephanie led the way, her high-vis vest and gear catching the dim moonlight as she moved with quiet precision. The forest was almost too still, the usual hum of insects and distant birds gone. I felt a creeping tension build in my chest, my stomach twisting with anticipation.

Suddenly, the sharp scent of ammonia hit me again. My breath hitched, and I tried to warn her.

“Steph, I can—” I began, but she cut me off in a measured, tight voice.

“Keep walking,” she said.

The smell intensified as we continued, burning my nostrils. Nausea began to rise, my legs trembling. Then, a sharp sound—branches snapping, but heavier than anything we’d expect from the forest floor. Limbs from higher up, strong and deliberate.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I turned, and regret hit immediately. Before I could react, Stephanie’s hand clamped over my mouth. Her eyes, steel-hard and unblinking, fixed on something in the treeline.

I followed her gaze, reluctantly. There it was—a nightmare made flesh. Skittering between the trees with an unnatural gait, its body composed of borrowed limbs and heads of creatures I knew too well. Spider-like in form, towering over the young firs.

Stephanie slowly released her hand, still staring at the abomination.

“Don’t run now, hun. It’ll chase you faster than a grizzly with cubs,” she whispered gravely.

My heart pounded so loudly it nearly drowned out the forest. My shaking hand went toward my holster, but Stephanie’s firm squeeze stopped me.

“Don’t— that little peashooter will just piss it off,” she murmured.

I glanced at the rifle in her hands, knees weakening.

“What do we do… can’t you just shoot it?” I whispered shakily. She tilted her head slightly toward me and let out a soft, almost amused giggle.

“Oh bless your heart… this .308 wouldn’t put something down this big. Speaking of—” She suddenly handed the rifle to me.

“W-what? What are you doing…?” I stammered, helpless, as the creature’s wolf-like head twisted unnaturally to watch us, gums pulled back in a snarl.

“Just trust me, Ashley. Stay real still now,” she said, her voice firm. She reached across her belt, drew a bulky metallic flare pistol—not a little orange plastic one like in a regular emergency kit, but the type found on a Coast Guard cutter—and loaded a shell with a soft thump.

The thing’s heads locked onto us with pure white eyes, opening their maws in unison. The sound was a horrifying symphony: a wolf’s howl, a raven’s caw, the shrill scream of a mountain lioness, the bellow of a bull elk, and the mournful call of a loon across a lake. It pounded in my chest, echoing through my skull.

The flare pistol clicked as the hammer pulled back, deafening in its sudden intensity. Stephanie exhaled sharply and raised it.

The abomination charged, strafing between trees. Its disproportioned limbs clawed at the soil and bark for leverage.

A loud crack rang out, and I flinched. Smoke trailed in the air as the flare slammed into the creature with a fleshy thud. A muted pop followed, and then a savage hiss as it ignited. The forest filled with the smell of burning fur and gunpowder.

The flare burned like a miniature sun as the creature screamed and thrashed, its limbs scrabbling through the dirt as it fled, the signal round still searing against its flesh. Its cries faded into echoes as the trees swallowed its form. My heart and ears still rang from the intensity of it all.

Stephanie stood still for a moment, then retrieved the rifle from my grasp. Her hand gently guided me back toward camp, words unnecessary. The sun set further behind the horizon, twilight swallowing the trail.

Ahead, patrol cars formed a line, their lightbars fused into a makeshift barrier. A state trooper stood in front with a shotgun across his chest, campaign hat silhouetted against the glow. Families in cars reluctantly turned around, following his wide gestures with a Maglite. Other troopers lingered, spotlights sweeping the treeline.

Stephanie and I exchanged a glance. She sighed, exhausted.

“C’mon, ain’t no use staring. Let’s get you something to eat back at camp,” she said, her voice carrying an uncharacteristic tightness.

Back at camp, we settled around a small fire. Stephanie rested in a folding chair, her hat on her knee. Her silver-streaked bun loosened, and she brought a cigarette to her lips, only for it to tumble from her shaking fingers. She cursed softly and clenched her fist. I didn’t comment and instead heated some ramen over a sterno.

I finally spoke up, voice shaking.

“How… how can you be so calm about this?”

Stephanie’s silver eyes met mine as she lit her retrieved Zippo.

“You get used to it,” she said dismissively.

“That’s it? You just get used to it?” I asked incredulously.

“Well… before all this happened, us badged folks didn’t exactly do what y’all seasonals do and go home. You ever been up to Yellowstone?”

“Maybe once, I think?” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“You know those thermal pools?” she asked. I nodded.

“Back in ’81, when I was a pretty young thing like you… a couple went off-trail near the pools to find somewhere to skinny dip. You know—”

“Yeah…” I sighed, rubbing my neck.

“Well, the boyfriend got close to test the water and fell right in. Didn’t even scream much. But she sure did when she ran to get us.”

“Was he—”

“Dead? I wish that was all he was,” she said softly, a hollow smile on her sun-tanned face.

“Jesus…” I muttered.

“By the time we got there? The pool was sludge, reeking like pennies. Nothing to pull out besides a few clumps of hair and ripped cloth… and that smell.”

“They must have closed the park…” I mused aloud, staring at the floating block of instant noodles in my mess cup.

Stephanie grinned like a shark, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Think so? Nah, all they did was add another sign and… that was that. Family tried to sue, but it got dismissed.”

“That’s… awful,” I said, unsure what else to say.

Stephanie nodded before continuing.

“Sure, but it’s just another thing to deal with. Just like the chimera, the bears, and the tourists.”

“The chimera?” I asked, finally looking up.

“That’s what we call it. Like that old Greek story. That thing’s been prowling since last April. First it took a hunter in his deer stand, then a hiker here and there. Those drunk kids are probably next. At this point, they’re probably all dead,” she stated flatly, with clear confidence in her words.

“How can this happen? Why don’t they… shut down the park?”

Stephanie finally softened, meeting my gaze.

“I wonder that too, most nights.”

I didn’t respond, staring at the campfire crackling in the night. She let out a plume of smoke before sagging her shoulders.

“Ash, honey, you should get some rest. You had a long day,” she added gently.

I managed a smile and muffled “goodnight” before plopping onto one of the foldable cots. For some reason, I was actually able to sleep better tonight. I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t care. I wished I could say that would be my worst night.

Credit: FAC