Escape Royale

On October 31st, most Michiganders were donning costumes and preparing for trick-or-treaters. Sally Tello, however, was watching nature pitch a pre-blizzard fit at her post in boreal Isle Royale National Park. Flanked by walls and floors of warm-toned, rustic hardwood, Sally was preparing to close up shop at the Windigo Visitor Center for the extreme Michigan winter. She only had a little left to do before her seaplane was scheduled to arrive and return her to the mainland. While everyone else vacated the island much earlier, Sally volunteered to stay behind at one of the three visitor centers until the park officially closed, just to say goodbye to her first full season as a park ranger. Outside, gunmetal ripples rose and curled on the gunmetal surface of the surrounding Lake Superior.

"Sally, there's a freeze rolling in up north. Start packing up now and prepare to close down early. Nobody's entered the park within the past five days, and all the campsites are clear, so when you're done, you can go home." The voice of Sally's commander, Paul, scraped through her walkie. "Prepare as quickly as possible. The seaplane has moved pickup time up to noon today, and if you're not there, the storm will keep any further air traffic away for at least three days."

"Roger, Paul," Sally replied. "It's already starting to look bad out here. With the visitors gone, there isn't much left to do. I'm sure I'll be ready in time. "

"Sally," the radio buzzed, "be there."

Sally filled her canteen and packed the last food rations she had in the unlikely event of an emergency on the short flight to the mainland- a few foil packets of precooked rice, English muffins, one can of black beans, and a can of crushed tomatoes, just in case. All she really needed was enough to last her several hours, she'd calculated. Other essentials, like a sturdy fishing net, made their way in last. She donned her black parka and buckled on her pack, camouflage against the surrounding terrain. A smooth pistol found its way into her pocket, her contingency plan. Then, as planned, she looked out the window and waited.

For several nearly silent minutes, nothing. Then, drops of sufuric yell0w percolated between branches at the bottom of the treeline. The bright mist rolled along the ground and threaded fingers into the freezing air. Sally snapped her head towards the disturbance, the rustling heave of wet breath carrying through the cold- whatever thing was in the woods, watching, born pulsing in the spring and growing hot and restless in the summer. She dashed out of the visitor center towards the billowing cloud. The scent of crushed juniper carried her through the trees, pulling her towards the pulsating shadow with its humid breath, its sharp teeth, its halting form unsuspecting and conspicuous.

The five hour hike to the fire tower could be accomplished in four and a half if she pushed, four if she ran. Along the southern edge of the island path, each rock and dead branch was deftly avoided with the swiftness only born of familiarity. Her heavy pack weighed her down a little, but she had factored in what she couldn't practice this trail carrying, and she gained on the nebulous presence escaping back into the forest. It thought it was luring her. She would show it how it felt to be hunted.

The creature turned its head and Sally ducked behind a tree trunk. She slid her pistol out of her pocket with deliberate slowness. She heard its breathing. It thought it had lost her. It was waiting for her to catch up. She whipped around the tree trunk and shot twice, but the bullets melted right into its flesh. Sally stepped back in a calculated imitation of surprise. It started running again. Sally fell into step behind it.

Inside Feldtmann watchtower, thick blankets and a month's stash of rations awaited her, siphoned supplies that were more than enough to help her survive the hunt. Sally knew that when she had her chance, there'd be no time to prepare. The thing she watched grow in the heat would die in the cold, and now that it thought she didn't know how to kill it, she could bide her time, build her trap, and be rescued whenever she pleased. She would not be chased off this island. She flicked off her radio and waited, watching for sunshine in the dark.

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This is a submission for the Ekphrastic Challenge by Mackenzie Davis:

*Great thanks to the National Parks Service for the abundance of information available through their website on Isle Royale National Park, the setting of this story.*