Chapter Text
If you’d have asked Shane five years ago what his five-year plan was, he’d have said something along the lines of ‘married, stable job, a couple cats, a house and a butterfly collection’. If you’d have asked him last year even, he’d have had a similar answer; he had, after all, a lovely girlfriend, a decent job, a cat and a couple butterflies under glass. He was well on his way.
But then, because life is what it is, six months later he found himself with only that decent job, which was quickly becoming less decent by the day, and his butterflies behind glass.
Shane figures that The Rolling Stones can’t be wrong when they sing “you can’t always get what you want” as he sits alone at the diner across from his barren, shitty short-term lease apartment, because the ad in the paper feels like it was written just for him. He might, after all, just get what he needs.
This is how Shane finds himself packing up his butterflies, sketchbooks, paperbacks and as many warm shirts as he can fit in his backpack – all of his worldly possessions, as it’s shaken out – to make his way to his brand-new job, and his brand-new life.
Today marks the first day of the rest of his life : Shane’s taken a job as a fire lookout.
As he hikes up to his lookout - a full day’s climb from where the mountain funicular leaves him - he feels like this is exactly what he needs, right now. To be taken away from civilization, other people’s expectations, the weight of his own expectations; nothing better than putting some distance between yourself and the life you thought you wanted, he thinks.
The trek takes him a little longer than he thought it would, he has to admit to himself that it’s been quite a while since he’s been properly active, and even longer since he’s been out in the wilderness. But, the further he gets up the mountain, the freer he feels. With every step he takes, he feels like he’s shedding the carcass of Old Shane, and he feels like he's on his way to discover who he really is now, in one of his favourite places on earth.
By the time he reaches his lookout, it’s dark, but it could be darker: The moon hangs so brightly overhead he doesn’t even need to break out his flashlight to make his way up the creaking steps to his new home; his lookout tower that stands high over the trees and nature nearby.
The lookout is one large square room with large-paned windows ensuring a good view outside from anywhere inside. It makes the forest seem endless, the way that it looks over the rolling hills and trees in every direction. Endless, like the possibilities out here.
After hiking for an entire day, as much as Shane would like to appreciate his new surroundings, he can feel sleep calling for him. He undoes his hiking boots, kicking them aside. Dropping his bag on the floor, he feels under the bed with his foot for a moment until he locates what he was told was there: a large, flat trunk. Hooking it with his foot, he drags it out and finds the supply of linens and other household things that he’ll need in the coming months.
Shane tosses the flat sheet over the bed, covering himself in the fitted sheet and falls immediately into a dreamless sleep.
When Shane awakes the next day, it feels sweltering in his lookout, and it’s oh-so bright. He hasn’t got any curtains – of course he wouldn’t, that’s a hazard – and the fitted sheet he’d used is on the floor. He can feel himself sweating through his clothes; an uncomfortable, sticky mess of clingy fabric. He raises his arm to check his wristwatch for the time: it’s not even six in the morning.
Knowing that the heat will only get worse in this greenhouse situation he’s inadvertently created for himself, he strips all his clothes and cracks the window closest to his bed for some fresh air. It’s immediately cooling: there’s a fresh breeze being carried through the mountains, and Shane can’t help sticking his head out the window to bask in it, breathing in the fresh air.
He cracks a few more windows before deciding a shower might be a good idea before putting on new clothes: He can still feel the salty sweat sticking to his body, and he knows there’s no heater outside for the water – it’ll serve to wake him up as much as his morning coffee, he supposes.
As he stands outside, naked as the day he was born in the little makeshift shower - really, a pipe with a showerhead; no walls to speak of, but it's not like there's anyone around to see - he stares at the lever to turn the water on and off. It’s abundantly clear that there’s no temperature gauge, so it serves as a kind reminder that – yeah, this is going to be fucking cold. He psyches himself up, breathing heavily out his nose and–
Holy fucking shit that’s really fucking cold.
He jumps instantly out of the spray, and then immediately back into it to close the knob – he only has a set amount of water, so he can’t waste it. He prays that the screeching he makes going in and out of the spray has scared away all of the wildlife nearby, rather than being attracted by his inadvertent mating calls.
He lathers himself up with the spray that had managed to hit him, and steels himself up again. Shane feels only a little ridiculous about how men go to war and have real problems and some people take cold showers because they want to– none of that makes the cold spray any easier. He grits his teeth through the quickest shower he’s ever had in his life, letting out a low groan from deep within his being, turning the lever the second he can to shut it off.
Shane stands under the remaining drips of the shower, hand still on the lever, he can’t help but laugh. It starts out as a soft chuckle, but soon he can’t control the loud, raucous laughter that bubbles out and explodes from his face. He’s glad no one can see him now, because he feels like he’s finally, fully, utterly cracked.
He lets himself dry off naked in the sun; it’s already promising to be a hot day ahead of him, despite the elevation and cooling breeze. He fills with water the kitchen’s five-gallon container, pausing to take a drink straight from the spigot.
Shane puts on a soft pair of pants reluctantly as he makes coffee for the day. He’s still feeling sore from yesterday's hike, and he knows he’s not expected to go on patrol for a little while yet, so he takes advantage of the leisurely startup to his week by cooking absolutely nothing in the kitchen area that takes up one full side of his lookout. Instead, he enjoys a couple oatmeal cookies with his coffee on his unmade bed, enjoying the view of the beautiful day high in the mountains.
It was explained to Shane that his tower observes approximately 25 miles of forest in every direction - most towers are 50 miles or more away from each other for that reason - but his lookout’s nearest neighbor is an observation tower just under 20 miles away. He can see the observation tower out his window to the south, standing tall above the trees. He finds it comforting to know that there’s someone that close, relatively speaking. It would still take him a full day’s hike, but that’s closer than most folk have out here.
He busies himself post-coffee by making his bed properly, shaking out the duvet and hanging it off the railing that surrounds his lookout. He only hits the Fire Finder in the middle of the room a few times while busying himself – perpetually forgetting that, yeah, there’s something in the middle of the fucking floor here, but that thing is, in fact, integral to his job now. While nursing his soon-to-be bruises, he unpacks his clothes to put in the modest dresser next to his bed, his collection of books to add to the ones left here by other lookouts. He pursues the titles: Most of them are murder mystery paperbacks, a couple westerns. One weathered looking harlequin romance and a half-finished crossword book. A couple novels written by Jack Kerouac. A collection of poems. A communist manifesto and The Port Huron Statement.
This job really does attract all kinds, he thinks.
By the time evening rolls around and he realizes he’s ravenously hungry, the tower is starting to really look like home. There’s just one last thing, he thinks: Off to the side, opposite the low bookshelves, is a desk with a map of the area under glass. There’s a small gap between the desk and the small kitchen cooler-cum-fridge. He decides that’s the perfect place for his last, most precious possession. With a single nail and a hammer, he puts up his butterflies.
Now, he thinks, it’s really home.
He puts on a shirt once the chill of the mountain air starts creeping in his open windows and busies himself making some noodles on the propane stove.
Instead of eating inside of the lookout, at the last minute, he decides to take his plate and his single beer to eat outside, sitting on the stairs leading out of his lookout. He gazes off in the distance and sees a light on in the tower to the south. It’s dim; the light from the sun still quite bright despite the time of day, but it’s present. Shane lifts his beer to salute South Tower, and takes a large gulp before tucking in to his dinner.
He likes South Tower, he decides. It’s nice to have company again for a meal.
By the end of the first week, Shane has got his routine perfectly down. He wakes up just before six every morning, takes the quickest shower known to man, packs a sandwich, a granola bar and his canteen, and goes walking on patrol. He comes back just after three in the afternoon, uses his binoculars to check for anything out of the ordinary, and radios his report of the day down to central station.
When Central thanks him for the Thursday report, Shane realizes that he’s forgotten what day of the week it is. He knows he’s been out here for nine days, but the realization that he’s fully unaware of the date, like it’s that strange time between Christmas and New Year’s when everyone is full of cheese and nobody really knows what’s going on– he decides that’s a little too far removed from where he wants to be. He took this job to forget about his problems, not find new ones.
In the front of his new sketchbook, he takes out a ruler and makes a calendar for himself. It’s just five months long; that’s all he’ll be here for, anyway. He includes the days he’s been here already, and with a coloured pencil, he marks an ‘x’ for every day he’s spent here. It makes him feel a bit more grounded.
He’s flipping through the pages of his sketchbook when he hears it: the soft crackling of his walkie in its cradle. His eyes shoot to it, fearing the worst.
“North Tower 5,” it announces, “Come in North Tower 5, over.”
That’s him. He scrambles to respond.
“North Tower 5 here,” he says. “How can I help? Uh, over.”
“Switch to private channel 8, North Tower 5, over.”
He looks at the walkie in his hand, and switches the dial down to channel 8.
“Uh, hello?” he says. “Oh, uh, over.”
“Hey, I have a question for you.” says the man’s voice on the other line.
“Yeah, shoot?” It’s supposed to be a statement, but Shane’s so bewildered, everything he says sounds like a question.
“You’re new, right?” the voice asks.
“Yeah, I just started.” He looks down at his calendar. “On…Tuesday of last week. It’s my first watch.”
“Nice, how are you enjoying it?”
“It’s uh, it's good.” he answers. “It’s been pretty peaceful so far, so that’s nice.”
“Yeah, no news is good news and all that.” agrees the voice. “Do you know Bigfoot?”
Shane looks down at the walkie in his hand.
“I um, I think I misheard you. What was your question, again?”
“Bigfoot. Do you know him?” repeats the voice.
“What, like, personally?” Shane says, scratching his head. “I am aware of the mythos, if that’s what you’re asking.”
The man on the other line laughs openly into his receiver. “No, I’m not talking personally, though, dude. You’re tall as fuck, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you were some distant relation.”
Shane looks around as if he’ll find the other man nearby.
“What are you–”
“I’m not watching you right now, you freak. I can hear you panicking.” he says, not unkindly. “I was just asked to look for signs of life when you first came in last week, since I’m your closest tower.”
Shane looks over to what he’s been affectionately calling South Tower. “Oh, are you the observation tower?”
“Yeah, that’s me! North Observation 2.” he says. “I’m Ryan, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Shane.” He can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face. “And this is the longest conversation I’ve had in a few weeks.”
The man – Ryan – laughs at Shane again. “You mean, even before your watch? What, you’re not a popular guy?”
“Harsh,” Shane’s still smiling. “Long story. But I’ll just pretend it was practice for the job.”
“That’s fair. So, tell me what you know about Bigfoot.”
It’s Shane’s turn to laugh now.
“I mean, what do you want to know? I know there’s a museum in northern Cali–”
“The Bigfoot Discovery Museum, yes.”
“Uh, sure. Back in Illinois, I remember some folks calling him ‘Big Muddy Monster’.”
“I like that. What else?”
Shane feels both confused and fully endeared by this conversation. He decides promptly that he’s just going to go balls-deep with the weird shit.
“I remember reading about a gang of Bigfoots harassing and killing people on some farmland around here starting in the 70s all the way to the 90s, but that ‘farmland’ turned out to be a a pot farm, so it’s probably more likely that people were smokin’ what they were growin’.”
“A gang of Bigfoots–” Ryan laughs on the other side. “I love the visual. I like you.”
Shane’s pleased: He has no idea who this strange man is, but he finds that, actually, he’s glad that Ryan likes him.
“Why do you ask me these peculiar questions, Ryan?”
“Well, since you’ve asked me so nicely, it’s because I’m convinced there’s a Bigfoot in the area, maybe even a few. Especially since you’ve just moved in, too.”
There are so many things to unpack here. He starts for the obvious.
“How do you know that I’m tall, again?”
There’s a pause on the other line. “Uh, well. I was asked to make sure I could report signs of life when you settled in, remember?”
“Yeah, but like, that could have been a light. We’re still over twenty miles away from each other.”
“Well. A light could be anything." There's a beat of silence on Ryan's end. "I used my telescope.”
“You used your telescope.” Shane repeats.
“Yeah, like, during the daytime– and like– don’t make this weird,” he stammers. “There’s like, a- a code for not creeping on other wardens and shit.”
“I’m not the one making this weird,” Shane says, teasing, “you’re the one who admitted to using a telescope to spy on me.”
“I wasn’t spy– Okay.” Ryan lets out a self deprecating laugh. “I wasn’t, I promise. The morning after you got in, I just used my telescope to check in, make sure you were alive. I called in confirmation to Central, and that’s it. Haven’t touched it since, except to look at the stars.”
Shane thinks back to the day after he arrived – the fiasco with the shower, where he was basically nude for the whole day – he can feel the flush high on his cheeks.
“Cool, I uh, yeah.” He stammers. “I uh, I hope you enjoyed that show.”
Ryan laughs, but mercifully leaves it alone.
“If it would make you feel better, I bet the sun is low enough that you could see me pretty clear with your binoculars. I give you permission, on this date at this time. If you’re looking to even the score.”
Shane chuckles back, and contemplates. His binoculars are hanging right in front of him and – well, fuck it. He’s curious.
“Alright. Zoomin’ in.”
He stands and focuses his binoculars on Ryan’s tower - The sun is quite low now, and it’s lit interior is not unlike a lighthouse; a beacon in the dark. As he twists the focus knobs, he can just make out the other man: Ryan’s standing in the middle window of his tower. He can’t make out what the man looks like in any great detail, but he can tell that he’s wearing a neon orange beanie and he’s – yeah, he’s definitely giving Shane the middle finger.
Shane cackles.
Ryan seems to recognize the laughter as Shane having seen him, so he waves out the window.
“Nice to meet you.” Shane says, waving back.
“Same to you, big guy.” Ryan agrees. “I’m gonna start getting ready for bed, but if you need anything, nobody uses private channel 8, so like, if you need me, just, you know. Feel free to call.”
“Thanks, I’ll, uh,” Shane finds himself flushing, feeling warm - though he’s not quite sure why. Maybe spending so much time away from people has started playing tricks on him. “I’ll do that. Good night.”
“Over.” – and like that, the radio beeps with the call ended.
Shane puts his walkie back in the cradle to charge, and goes to sit down on his bed.
What a remarkable man, he thinks.
He doesn’t hear from Ryan again for another few days. He’s out on a hike patrol when he hears his radio beeping.
“This is North Observation 2 to Shane, you around?”
“Hey, yeah.” He clambers for the radio at his hip. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”
“Hey, Shane.” Ryan says, conversationally. “Are you from Illinois?”
“Uh, yeah. Why?” He resumes his hike. “How did you know that?”
“You mentioned Bigfoot was called ‘Big Muddy Monster’ in Illinois.” Ryan answers. “I was just wondering what brought you out to California.”
“Oh! Uh, well. Long story short, I moved out here to work.”
“What’s the long story long?” Asks Ryan. “If you haven’t noticed, we have nothing but time out here.”
“That's fair.” he scratches his chin. “I guess, um. Well, I moved here for work, but it didn’t work out. I met my partner, stayed for her. Found another job. And now I’m here.”
“I think that’s still a very jot-notes version of the story,” hums Ryan. “Try again.”
“Jesus, what if I don’t want to tell you? What if it’s personal?” he laughs.
“Is it? Do you not want to talk to me?”
“Shut up.” Shane answers, after a moment. “Okay, fine. I moved out here to work in film. I got a few little jobs here and there, but it wasn’t sustainable. I met my girlfriend on set, though. She was a PA. So, I left the industry, but I kept the girl.”
“Better.” Ryan heckles, “Keep going.”
“Uh, right. So I found another job. Stuck around anyway. But it didn’t work out with the girl, so.” Shane shrugs, despite being alone in the woods. “Now I’m here.”
“Sucks.” Ryan says, unperturbed by the personal story. “Why do you think people in Illinois call Bigfoot ‘Big Muddy Monster’? Are there swamps in Illinois?”
Shane laughs loudly. “I never thought about it. Why do people here in California call it ‘Bigfoot’? Or ‘Skunk Ape’ in Florida?”
“That’s easy,” Ryan says. “He’s got giant feet and he smells like shit.”
“You are a strange man, Ryan.”
“Thanks.” He says.
A moment passes before Shane realizes that was the end of the conversation.
“You still there?” he asks.
“Yeah, I didn’t say ‘over’. What’s up?”
“Oh, um. Are you from around here?”
“These woods specifically?” Ryan asks, and Shane can hear him smirking. “No. But I am from California. I’m a southern boy.”
“Oh, neat.” Shane grunts, having reached a section of terrain with a steep climb. He has to use both hands, so he turns his radio switch to auto-on, saving him from having to hold down the communication button.
“‘Neat’, he says.” mocks Ryan. “What year is this, 1952?”
“Alright, buster. I could call it ‘Rad’.”
“I’m not sure if that’s better.”
Shane surveys his surroundings. He has two choices to go up; either he’ll climb straight up a rock face, which actually doesn’t look too bad given his height, but will require a lot of upper body strength, or along the steep dirt incline, where he’d have to use the root system.
“Quick, Ryan. A or B?”
“Uh, A?”
“Rock face it is.” He says. “So what brings you up north here? Why’d you want to be a fire watcher?”
“I told you,” he says. “Bigfoot.”
“Oh, so you’re serious about that?” He drags his long body up the boulder, swinging his legs up to give himself - literally - a leg up. He rolls onto the plateau when he finally gets his entire body on the natural platform.
“Jesus, you alright?”
“What? Oh, yeah.” He huffs into the walkie. “Sorry, I snapped the radio's hold-on button. I just performed a feat of unbelievable strength. You shoulda seen it.”
“I’m sure you’re absolutely right.” He says, and Shane pretends not to hear the patronizing note in his voice. Shane resists the urge to pout.
“So, Sasquatch, huh? What about him informed your life decisions?” he asks instead.
“Well, ever since I was a kid, I was always interested in paranormal stuff, right? Mostly cryptids and all of that. You know, mothman, bigfoots, jersey devils.”
“Sure,” Shane gets up to tackle the next plateau while he listens. He turns off his side of the communication so that Ryan doesn’t make fun of his grunting - the more Ryan talks, the less he has to say, anyway.
“Well, I want to write a book about cryptozoology. And I thought what better place to do that than where Bigfoot themselves have been seen?”
Shane pulls himself up onto the next plateau. “Tell me more,” he says, holding the radio, trying not to sound like he’s quite as breathless as he is from the physical exertion. Jesus, he’s out of shape.
“About what, my book?” Ryan acts as if this is the first time anyone’s ever asked him that. “I mean, I have loads of case files here from across the country. When I get to go on leave in another month and an half, I’ll collect some more and work my way through them. Most of them deal with Bigfoot, but I’m interested in any sort of cryptid local to the states. We have a lot of them.” After a beat, he adds, “Maybe I’ll look into any reports of the ‘Big Muddy Monster’ up in Illinois.”
Shane can feel the growing excitement in Ryan’s voice as he talks about his book. It's - charming, actually. He makes it up onto the last plateau and lays down on the cool rock surface once more.
“That sounds really interesting,” he says, not covering up how out of breath he is. “Like, actually. I’ve never heard of anyone doing something like that before.”
“Thank you,” Ryan says, and Shane can feel how genuine it is. “You know,” Ryan continues after a moment, “You are a lot cooler than the other Tower 5 wardens.”
“Thank you?” Shane says, sitting up to look down at the canyon he’s just climbed up. God, he’s being paid to be here. How fucking great is this? “What were the other lookouts like?”
“Well, two summers ago, we had a guy who was fresh out of rehab. Thought he would be less tempted out here. I don’t know if it worked for him, but he seemed nice.”
Shane gets out his sandwich and canteen, he decides this is as good a time as any to have his lunch.
“The year before that we had this older guy who was writing a manifesto, I’m pretty sure. He wasn’t very fun to talk to.”
“I think I found some of his literature in my tower,” says Shane around his mouthful of peanut butter and jelly.
“Nice. Feel free to use that as kindling.” laughs Ryan. “The last person we had was a lady who was obsessed with rewilding the area.”
“What’s that?”
“When you reintroduce plants and shit that have disappeared. It’s a good idea, but we’re not really missing anything out here. But she was convinced we were. I dunno. She wasn’t very fun to talk to either, but for other reasons.”
“How many summers have you been out here?”
“This is my eighth.”
“Wow, you must really like it out here.” Shane whistles.
“I do. The weight of everyone’s expectations feels a lot lighter out here.” he says, and Shane feels like he’s been punched in the gut.
“Tell me about it,” Shane says, without pushing his walkie button. He doesn’t need to be that raw and open with Ryan just yet.
“I’m glad you took the job.” Ryan says, when Shane doesn’t answer him. “You’re fun to talk to.”
“You too.” Shane says, and finishes his sandwich. “I’m gonna finish my patrol and head back. I’ll catch up with you later?”
“Sounds good. Hike safe, over.”
As Shane looks over the canyon, he stretches his long body, hearing his joints pop and crack. It’s a bit cooler today, and now that he’s sat on the cool rock face, he can feel the chill starting to creep in. He stands up to feel the sun soaking into his skin, taking his hat off to wipe the sweat from his brow. He looks around him to decide the best course of action is to finish out his patrol in order to shake the coolness, when his eye catches the observation tower.
He can’t help but smile while looking at it. He’s feeling warmer already.
Shane’s sketching comfortably in his bed a few days later, kettle on the propane stove heating while he’s got his bed-side lamp on. It’s late, but Shane saw a gorgeous bird while on patrol, and he really wants to finish sketching it while it’s fresh in his mind. He idly thinks that he should probably start bringing a sketchbook with him while he walks.
He jumps a little when the crackling of the radio comes to life.
“This is North Observation 2 calling North Tower 5,” Ryan calls.
“Hey, Ryan.” He says, getting up to prepare his teabag. “What’s up?”
“Please don’t call me a creep,” he prefaces, and Shane smiles. “But I saw that you were still awake. Want to see something cool?”
“What’s that?”
“We’re in for a meteor shower in the next ten minutes. It’ll be most present to the southeast. I was gonna watch it through my telescope, but you should be able to see it with the naked eye.”
“Sir, how do you know the state of my eye’s undress?” He jokes. “Methinks you are, in fact, a voyeur.”
“Shut up, Shane.” Ryan says, but there’s no heat to it. “As if I would move my telescope from its prime spot right now. I can see your light with my own two eyes. Judging from the last time I saw you though, I could probably just throw a wild guess as to your state of dress, though.”
“Uncalled for.” Shane can feel the tips of his ears burning. “If I knew I had an audience instead of being fully alone in the woods, I’d have had a more appropriate costume.”
“We’re never fully alone in these woods, man.” He puts on a spooky voice. “There are bears in these here woods.”
Shane laughs as he prepares his cup of tea.
“Whatcha doing up so late, anyway?” Ryan asks.
“Ah, nothing.” Shane stirs in some honey. “Just doodling a bit. I saw a cool bird today.”
“A bird in the forest?” Says Ryan blankly. “Revolutionary.”
“It was red! He was beautiful.” he laughs, bringing out his cup of tea and a blanket around his shoulders to sit on his steps facing south-east.
“I’ll take your word for it, pal.” Ryan huffs. “Show should be starting soon.”
The radio goes quiet. Out here, the night sky seems infinite; it’s easy to feel so small and insignificant looking up at this boundless sky, in all of its vast, cosmic glory. Shane gets lost in it before he even starts to see the first few streaks shooting across the sky.
Shane’s never seen anything like this before: The light pollution of the suburbs of his youth always too bright.
It starts off slow: a single trail of a shooting star in the night sky. Then, another, from a different direction. And again– and again–
It’s like these rocks from far-off space are chasing each other in the heavens; an interminable game of tag in a measureless universe.
It’s intense.
“What do you think?” Asks Ryan, softly.
Shane wishes he was a writer so that he could describe how this celestial dance makes him feel. He wishes he could wax poetic about the unfathomed, the untold, the prodigious. How he would write songs that contained the multitudes his words could not.
In the end, the only way Shane can sum up his feelings is in a single, breathless word: “Wow.”
“You got that right, bud.” Agrees Ryan. “Thanks for staying up to watch it with me.”
“I should be thanking you for telling me about it.” says Shane, still absolutely absorbed by the last few streaks in the sky. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. It was like– I don’t know. Divine fireworks.”
“That’s a really nice way to put it. And– uh, yeah. It was my pleasure. It’s nice to have someone to share this with. Sorry I interrupted your bird time. Have a good night.”
“Have a good night, Ryan,” he says. And then adds, “Over.”
He turns off his radio and sits to watch the night sky a little longer. He understands why people believe in things greater than themselves; God, other deities, even cryptids and aliens. Maybe we’re all just searching to be a little less alone in the universe.
Shane’s glad he’s found Ryan in this infinite world. Ryan somehow makes it feel immeasurably bigger, and at the same time, abundantly more beautiful.