Rogue Angel - Footprints Part 1

Footprints.

Rogue Angel.

by Alex Archer.

THE LEGEND.

...THE ENLISH COMMANDER TOOK.

JOAN'S SWORD AND IT HIGH.

The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and s.n.a.t.c.hed the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd.

Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.

Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are reborn....

Chapter 1.

Annja Creed ducked around another thick pine tree and paused. A cool breeze blew through her hair, which she'd recently had cut, thinking she should take a chance and go for a new look. After her stylist had taken a good six inches off, she realized she'd made a mistake.

"You're always on the go," Rachel said, looking almost guilty. "It's so much easier to take care of it like this, and besides, a lot of guys like short hair."

"Yeah, but I'm not sure I do," Annja said.

Rachel smiled at her and shrugged. "You can always grow it back."

Two days after the haircut, Annja hid out in her Brooklyn loft, desperately wondering how long she could get away with her self-imposed hibernation. She didn't have any urgent commitments and she wasn't due to film another segment of her popular cable television series, Chasing History's Monsters, Chasing History's Monsters, for a few weeks. She realized that having a lot of downtime made her restless and led to rash decisions like ill-advised makeovers. Then the e-mail had arrived that changed her plans and suddenly she was flying out to the Pacific Northwest. for a few weeks. She realized that having a lot of downtime made her restless and led to rash decisions like ill-advised makeovers. Then the e-mail had arrived that changed her plans and suddenly she was flying out to the Pacific Northwest.

Now she stood in the forest on a trail that the guy who ran the combined gas station and grocery store had a.s.sured her would lead all the way to a small encampment hidden deep in the woods.

"Stay on the trail," he'd said sternly. "Don't get off it-whatever happens."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Annja asked.

He'd smiled at her. "That forest is like a maze of pine trees and vines that'll trip you up and suck you under where no one can find you. You stay on the path, you'll be all right. Venture off, and you'll be lucky to be found by next spring."

She could see what he meant. Since parking her rented Jeep at the entrance to the trailhead, she'd had a hard enough time just trying to find the trail itself. It was incredibly overgrown, almost as if the woods themselves were desperate to reclaim it from civilization.

The crack of a branch somewhere behind her caused her to freeze. Was someone coming up the trail behind her?

Annja hadn't gotten the impression that this was a busy recreational hiking area. And the appearance of the trail itself didn't exactly make a convincing argument about its popularity. So who else might be wandering in the woods?

The e-mail Annja had received was from an old friend named Jenny Chu. She and Jenny had taken many undergraduate courses together and their friendship had blossomed over in-depth discussions about American folklore and legends. Jenny's pa.s.sion was for things like the Lake Champlain monster and the legends of the Sasquatch.

The Sasquatch legend was why Annja was traipsing through the Oregon woods. Jenny's e-mail suggested that she'd found new evidence of the creature's existence. It was evidence she wanted Annja to see, as well, in case she wanted to do a segment about it on Chasing History's Monsters. Chasing History's Monsters. Annja didn't believe for a second there would be any proof of a giant hairy creature roaming the woods, but her producer, Doug Morrell, was a sucker for those types of stories. Besides, Annja figured, I can buy some time before anyone I know sees my hair. Annja didn't believe for a second there would be any proof of a giant hairy creature roaming the woods, but her producer, Doug Morrell, was a sucker for those types of stories. Besides, Annja figured, I can buy some time before anyone I know sees my hair.

Annja smirked, thinking about the last time she'd seen Jenny, and their debate. Jenny had gone on and on about how it was anthropologically possible for a giant ape-man to exist in the farthest reaches of the forest of the North American continent.

Annja hadn't been swayed. "You're talking about a missing link, here, Jen. And it's just not possible. Not with the technology we have nowadays. You'd think we could float a satellite over certain areas and just get readings if there was anything there."

Jenny, her hair in two braids with her gla.s.ses slung low on her nose, had fired back. "You trust technology way too much. It's not the magic bullet you think it is."

"I don't think it's a magic bullet, per se," Annja said. "Just that we have to acknowledge it could solve mysteries that we've created for ourselves."

"I'll prove you wrong, Annja. One day. You'll see."

Was this the day Jenny had forecast? Annja smiled and started walking again. She'd have to wait and see. Jenny's campsite was supposed to be set up about two miles farther down the trail.

Annja took another five steps and paused again. She didn't hear anything but something didn't feel right.

She turned and looked back the way she'd come. How many times, she wondered, had she suspected that someone had followed her? The feeling was so ingrained that it had become the norm.

Still, she couldn't discount it. Her safety might well be in jeopardy. It often was these days. And that meant she'd have to take precautions.

The words of the gnarled shopkeeper rang in her ears. "Stick to the trail."

Annja frowned. If she stuck to the trail, there was a good chance that whoever or whatever was following her would overtake her.

Whatever?

She caught the mental slip and frowned. Was she already supposing that some giant creature might be tailing her? She chuckled. It couldn't be helped. Despite the sunny start to the day, bloated clouds had moved in, threatening to drench the forest below. The forest itself had gone quiet, almost as if the animals and insects knew what was coming.

Or did they?

One thing was certain-if Annja didn't make some progress and reach the campsite, she was going to get soaked to the bone and face the threat of hypothermia. Even though the day was relatively warm, it was still early spring and she knew that temperatures could fluctuate rapidly. In the s.p.a.ce of a few hours, alone, wet and cold, Annja could easily become disoriented and disappear. Unfortuately, she knew such things happened all the time.

Not the best way to start off the trip, she decided.

Ahead of her, she spotted what looked like a redwood tree, its ma.s.sive trunk almost too large to even attempt to hug. It's been here for hundreds upon hundreds of years, Annja thought. Too bad Jenny can't ask the tree what lives here. I'll bet it could clear up the whole big-foot mystery right quick.

She walked around the tree, marveling at the sheer size of it, its branches reaching toward the heavens.

Fantastic, she thought. This alone was worth the trip.

She heard the noise as a twig snapped again, about thirty yards back.

Annja whirled. I need cover, she thought.

Another twig cracked. She spotted a clump of bushes and ducked toward it, squeezing her tall frame under the overhang until she could just about peer out from under the foliage.

She sensed movement farther back on the path. Was it the creature Jenny had been hunting for?

Or something else entirely?

She spotted a set of boots and relaxed somewhat. The last she'd heard, the Sasquatch didn't wear trendy hiking boots. The feet were moving along at a casual pace. There wasn't any sense of menace.

Annja poked her head out from under the bush and heard a shout of surprise.

The hiking boots belonged to a boy of about fourteen. His jet-black hair spiked out of his head at odd angles and he toppled back, landing on his b.u.t.t as he reacted with shock to seeing Annja's head emerge from the bush.

"Who are you?" he asked.