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  THE PUSH

  THE PUSH

  A ROCKFISH ISLAND MYSTERY

  BOOK II

  BY J.C. FULLER

  COPYRIGHT © 2020

  BY JENNIFER C. FULLER

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  All characters and event in this book are fictitious.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the author and publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is dedicated to my father, Larry F. Fuller.

  Your absence is felt every day, every hour, every minute, every second.

  Thank you for being the best daddy.I wanted to extend some overdue acknowledgements. Thank you to everyone who has read my work and especially to those that have encouraged me to continue. Your words are written on my heart and

  I am thankful for them.

  I would also like to say a huge THANK YOU to my Beta readers: (Heather Garent, Kathy Tripp, Laurel Sorenson, Jeannie Russell, Stephanie Bryson, Doug Jones, Bob and Jane Hutchinson, Wanda Fuller, Jessica Dickinson, Mary Westfall, Roberta Goodboy, Susanna Fuller, Anna Fernandez, Sandra Harvey, and Lisa Lambert) All of you have endured countless rewrites and atrocious un-proofed manuscripts. Also, a huge thank you to Jim Goodboy for the cover help!

  Thank you all for your patience and kindness.

  The Push

  Chapter 1

  Birds exploded from the trees below, their wings furiously flapping against the damp air. Her feet stuttered to a stop and she watched as they scattered, startled by the loud noise as much as she. Was someone behind her? Another hiker, perhaps? She heard, more than saw, the swaying of motion further down trail. A heavy movement against the bushes.

  There again. Closer. Another crack, a snapping of branches underfoot. She sharply turned her body towards the sound.

  “Hello?” she called out, a friendly lilt to her voice.

  Adjusting the strap around her neck, she waited for a reply. There was nothing. Only the sound of pattering rain drops bouncing off the plastic protecting her camera. Nervously, she adjusted the strap again and took a halting step forward, straining to see through the shrouding morning mist. Was something there? It was hard to tell. She fidgeted with her pony tail, leaning unconsciously forward, her eyes raking across the scenery below.

  The trees and bushes, as if sensing her full attention upon them, sat motionless in the settled silence. An eerie silence she suddenly thought and then scolded herself for being so dramatic. She was alone.

  Relaxing her stance, she took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. It must have been nothing. The wind tossing and creaking the branches of a tree. A chipmunk or squirrel jumping from one limb to another. Nature simply being nature.

  Even so, her sense of unease still lingered. Keeping her eyes down trail, she anxiously fumbled her cargo shorts. Feeling the familiar lump, she pulled a can of bear spray from her pocket and curled her thumb over the safety clip.

  Rumor was, there had been a bear attack earlier in the year, around spring time. She hadn’t seen any bear tracks in the mud. However, this didn’t mean they weren’t around. Not to mention, there were cougars to be concerned about as well. Yet. Here she was, up there all alone, with just a can of bear spray. Or was she?

  Curtly dismissing the thought, she suddenly felt silly. She was being paranoid and wasting time. Standing there, peering at nothing while clutching a can of bear spray wasn’t going get her to where she needed to go.

  Shoving the can roughly into her pocket, she gave the slate gray sky an appraising look before tugging her windbreaker hood further over her forehead and trudging ahead. There was still half a mountain to climb and not a lot of time to do it in.

  So far, the morning mist layering the rugged terrain had made it hard to see her footing and the steady drizzle of rain was making it hard to keep it. Both did little to hamper the young woman’s mood. The fact that this was her third morning climbing up The Mole Hill, a local nickname for the 5,372-foot mountain, with no sign of a mountain goat to be had…However, did dampen her mood quite a bit. Especially since, this was to be her last day before heading back home to the grind of the Emerald City.

  Instructed to visit Rockfish Island by a local Seattle activist magazine, she had gone in hopes of attaining a few picturesque photos of the goats atop their craggy rock perches. The idea had seemed simple enough. Scramble up the rocky terrain. Find a few large, white haired, black horned herbivores. Snap a few pictures and then down the mountain she’d go. But the large goats weren’t as plentiful or as easy to spot as she had imagined they’d be. This was in part, she was finding out the hard way, because the goats hadn’t taken to the island. At least, not as well as they had in more conducive areas.

  According to her research, the mountain goat population had been introduced to the Rockfish National Park back in the 1920s, at the same time as their introduction to the massive Olympic National Park, where they flourished. So much so, several decades later, the Olympic National Park was wanting to re-home the goats to their natural habitat in the Cascade Mountains.

  The magazine, which had contracted her agent for the photographs, wanted to stop the relocation. With their strongest weapon of opposition having always been the public, the magazine strategized the need to pull on people’s heart strings. A good picture could do just that.

  Janie, as most people called her now, intended to go to the Olympic National Park at first. However, her new agent and the pushy magazine editor suggested Rockfish National Park instead. Stating it was a far better example of how a small community could live in harmony with its wildlife neighbors. They also knew her aunt lived on the island and figured it'd save the nonprofit magazine a hotel bill. Begrudgingly agreeing to their plan, Janie now found herself hiking up The Mole Hill once again.

  Having kept a steady pace for the last twenty minutes, she broke through the thick tree line and found herself staring up at open skies. At her feet, the ground blanketed under muddy layers of pine needles and crushed pine cones, had unexpectedly turned bare and rocky. Boulder-like rocks, iced with lime green moss, speckled the new landscape. Ahead, freed from the masses, sparse and looming trees boasted their towering height with their tip tops swaying lazily in the breeze. At their stumpy bottoms, feathered ferns sprouted flamboyantly, taking root where they could in the rocky terrain.

  Janie walked a few paces over to the largest tree and gratefully plunked down her knapsack against its trunk. She needed a breather and leaned up against the old tree, looking up at The Mole Hill's peak with an exhausted sigh.

  “I swear, this mountain gets taller every day,” she declared, flipping the spout on her water bottle. “But the rain has lightened up. So, I’ve got that going for me.”

  She started to bring the bottle to her mouth, then suddenly stopped, placing it carefully on the uneven ground. With eager tension, she grabbed the camera dangling from the strap around her neck and brought it up to her right eye. Squinting the other eye closed, she fiddled with the focus rings till she was able to bring a large nanny goat into view.

  “I should’ve brought the other lens,” she scolded herself. Even with the zoom feature at full tilt, she knew it was not the crisp, clean, up close, and personal perspective the magazine was asking for. She was still too far away.

  “At least I finally found them,” she said, giving herself a mental pat on the back as she lowered the camera to her chest.

  Suddenly from behind, an earsplitting snap broke the stillness,
echoing up from below and jerking her to attention. It sounded as if several branches were breaking at once. Her first thought was a tree had fallen, but as she twisted to peer into the dense tree line she’d come from, she could almost see it. Something was coming, something big.

  In one quick motion, the camera was back to her eye and she peered through the viewfinder, zeroing in on the thick berry lined brambles. There was a patch of black. It appeared through the swaying bush and then disappeared. Janie held her position and when she saw it again, her index finger automatically pressed down. The camera made a long shuttering noise, capturing repetitive shots in succession. She lifted the finger and fretted her bottom lip. Was that a black bear?

  Unsure of what she saw, Janie tried to think of options as she pulled the bear spray from her shorts pocket once more and scanned her immediate area. There was the looming tree behind her. Maybe she could climb that? No good. Bears could climb trees extremely better than she. Quickly, she gauged the distance to the large uphill boulders. She might be able to hide behind one of those? She immediately nixed the idea. Bears were scary fast. It would be a short chase.

  Fighting down panic, Janie shot a fleeting look at the can of bear spray in her hand and made up her mind. She gripped the camera and spray awkwardly and peered through the viewfinder catching another brief glimpse of black. Letting the camera heavily drop to her chest, she braced herself before squeezing her eyes shut and letting out a large, throat wrenching yell. It wasn't a panicked scream, but a throat burning bellow.

  “GO AWAY!”

  Janie waved her hands in the air and began to jump up and down, whooping and hollering as loudly as she could.

  “GOOOOO AAAWWWWAAAAY!”

  She knew she was bringing attention to herself, but that was the whole point. She wanted the bear to know she was there and hopefully, all the noise and racket she was making would force it to head in a different direction.

  Down trail, the swaying of the bushes abruptly stopped. Janie dropped her arms and brought the camera up. She was breathing heavy now, adrenaline vigorously coursing through her veins, the camera trembling in her hands.

  “Go away...go away...go away…please go away,” she chanted to herself. Another flash of black appeared.

  Keeping her eye to the viewfinder, she watched intently as the brush suddenly parted. She let out a surprised, “OH!” as she found herself looking at a man. He was wearing a black jacket and black baseball cap with a black knapsack on his back. He was also looking up at her with great concern.

  The new arrival, having seen her yelling and waving at them like a crazy person, called up to her.

  “You okay? Do you need help?”

  Janie dropped the camera with relief and let out a nervous laugh. She began to shake her head no, then realized the hiker might not be able to make the motion out very well.

  “I'm okay! Thought you were a bear!” she hollered down in an apology.

  The fellow hiker waved as if he couldn't hear Janie and started to make his way towards her.

  Feeling greatly relieved and more than a little foolish, Janie quickly gathered up her water bottle, stuffing it into her knapsack. She hoisted the bag onto her back and took a quick glance downhill. The hiker was making excellent progress. By the time she had gotten herself situated, she could make him out clearly.

  “Uh, Hey!” Janie said, her heart skipping at the moment of recognition. “I didn't realize it was you.” She dropped her head back in relief, letting her hand drop from her heart. “Hi!”

  “You okay?” he asked, a warm smile on his face.

  “Yeah.” she laughed, “I'm fine. Thought you might be a bear. I was trying to scare it off.”

  “Well, you sure succeeded in scaring ME!”

  “I suppose, I probably did.” Janie laughed again, more relaxed. “Sorry about that, Brent. How...how have you been?”

  “I've been good. Heard you were in town visiting your aunt. Whatcha doing all the way up here?” Brent removed his knapsack, unclasping the dangling water bottle from the side. “Just out taking pictures?” He had nodded towards her camera before taking a drink.

  “Sort of. I've got a piece to do on the mountain goats,” Janie explained, shaking her head no as he offered her a drink.

  “Any luck?”

  “Spotted them for the first time today. They’re elusive little buggers. All my yelling probably scared them off. I'd just spotted a nanny when I heard you.”

  “Have you been coming up this trail the whole time?”

  “Well, yeah. It's the easiest way up.”

  “That's your problem. You need to cut over more east. It's way rockier and the climb is harder. But you'll find more goats.”

  “Yeah. But I’d rather—”

  “I can show you. I know another trail. We'll have to watch our step, especially with this light drizzle. But you're a good climber, right? You can handle it.” Brent gave her a confident smile, lightly patting her on the shoulder.

  Janie paused at the offer and looked at Brent warily. He was a very good mountain climber. She was so-so.

  “Uh, okay. Sure.”

  “Great! This will be nice. Gives us a chance to catch up while we walk.” Brent clipped the water bottle back onto his pack. “By the way, you can put away the bear spray. Pretty sure you've scared every bear off the mountain.”

  Janie looked down at the can of spray still clutched in her hand and blushed prettily.

  “Yea, guess so.” She stuffed it back in her pocket and stepped aside to let him lead the way.

  Chapter 2

  “Careful here, you don't want to roll an ankle!” Brent called over his shoulder, barely out of breath.

  “I know!” she yelled, her foot slipping on the lose rock as soon as the words left her lips.

  Dark grey scales of shale slid, continuously tumbling down the steep slope taking her with them. Brent started to turn around and Janie wobblily regained her footing in time. She yelled, “I'm fine!” before he could even utter a word.

  The two had been hiking for roughly a half an hour, making polite chit chat as they crossed the mountain sideways and upwards towards the crest. Janie was guessing it was probably late morning by the sporadic growls of protest coming from her persistent stomach, reminding her she’d started the climb without eating breakfast.

  “Can we stop for a break soon?” she asked, over the rumbling of her tummy.

  “Sure. We just need to get over this small ridge here. Not much farther.”

  They both worked their way through the shale, finally coming to a heavy rock, which then turned into a smoother stone surface. Here, the moss covered a good portion of the footing, with ferns growing in between the tiny cracks and crevices.

  The pair stepped up, onto the top of the smooth ridge, and looked down. There was a sheer drop off and Janie took a tentative step back, sucking in a startled breath.

  “Wow! We're really high!”

  “High as the mountain goats. Look over there.”

  Janie’s eyes roamed to the rock ledge across the way, spotting several white mountain goats speckled against the dark wall of jagged rock. Up to her right, a few big boulders away stood more goats who were waiting their turn to hop across the crevice. Even without the camera zoom, one could see them clearly as they slowly picked their way along the rocky ledge.

  A few small kids, frolicking around their ever-patient mothers, were shadowed by two billy goats. The two elder goats, their black horns menacingly stark against their white-furred faces, plodded a little closer. If in warning or curiosity, it was hard to tell.

  Janie instinctively brought her camera up to her eye and started to move to her right, searching for a good angle on the nannies and their kids.

  “Careful! Don't get so close to the edge! That’s a six hundred-foot drop!” Brent lightly grabbed her upper arm, pulling her back towards safer ground.

  “Thanks,” she said dismissively, and then in earnest, “I mean it. Thank you, Brent. T
his is great.”

  “Glad I could help.” Brent stepped back from the cliff’s edge and turned towards the two large goats standing uphill, tracking them closely. “Don’t forget to keep an eye on these two. They’re a bit close.” He looked at Janie, trying to catch her eye as she walked past him towards the goats. “Mountain goats have been known to be aggressive, even attack climbers. They’re nothing to mess with,” he said, a little louder. Janie, clearly not paying attention to his advice, moved even closer. He tried again. “They like the salt off your skin, you know. So, don’t let them—.”

  “Uh-huh. I know. Read all about it!” Janie hollered back, cutting him off impatiently. She was still trying to find a good angle and though she was grateful for his help, he was quickly becoming a bothersome distraction. “Don’t mother me, Brent. I’m not a little girl,” she scolded, scrunching down on her haunches and snapping a few shots of the grown goats before turning her back on them, heading back in his direction. “I’ll be just fine.” She gave him a smart smile, walking past him.

  Brent, frowning at her cavalier attitude, glanced back at the billy goats. They in return, watched him with bland interest and continued to stand their ground. Giving his head a shake of frustration, Brent let his backpack plunk down heavily onto the ledge. Apparently, he’d have to be the one to keep a wary eye out. Janie was paying them, and him, no further attention.

  Engrossed in her shoot, Janie crawled atop one of the large boulders angling for a better shot. Finding a good spot, she juggled her camera as she sat herself down, her legs tucked beneath her. Satisfactorily arranged, the only sound for several minutes was the mechanics of the camera shutter.

  Quickly growing bored, and satisfied the two billy goats were finally losing interest, Brent decided to follow her lead. Carefully, he sat himself down on the edge of the ledge, his long legs dangling over the side. There he watched Janie, amused by her intensity.