Project Hannibal by Kathryn Hoff (books suggested by elon musk .txt) 📕

“I told the kids about jazz funerals back home, and about second lining. I don’t think they believed me. They all think I’m from fairyland or something. They’re always giggling when I talk—is my accent that strong?”

Estelle laughed. “Think how one of them would feel if they were plopped down in the middle of Bourbon Street.”

“They wouldn’t like it,” Sera said seriously. “Most of them have never even been to a town bigger than this one. Do you think we should stay for the funeral?”

Estelle shook her head. “We’re outsiders—funerals are for the community. Besides, tomorrow evening I have to fly Annie to Fairbanks for her heart valve replacement.”

“Good,” Sera said. “I’ve had enough of funerals.”

CHAPTER 16

Bigfoot

Wildlife Trooper Robbie Kanut figured this assignment was some sort of cosmic punishment for making fun of that army major.

As soon as he’d walked into work Thursday morning, the sergeant had said, “Heads up, Kanut. We got a spate of Sasquatch calls overnight from up Dirty Dog River.”

“So? We’ve got better things to do than run down hoaxers.”

“One of them described the creature he saw as ‘big as an elephant, only hairy.’ Sound familiar?”

Every trooper in the squad room had grinned, except Kanut.

The sergeant wasn’t amused. “They upped the ante on those characters the army was looking for, Anjou and Kim. Now they’re wanted for questioning in connection with theft of government property. So go up to Cody and see if they’re hiding out up there with those hairy elephants. And take your rifle—the army says the animals are dangerous. Keep your eyes open, too—there’s somebody up there wholesaling juiced-up pot.”

So as soon as roll call was over, Kanut had flown the A-Star up to Cody. Before landing, he did a quick recon by air. Growing a few marijuana plants for home use was legal in Alaska, but the state still went after unlicensed commercial operations, especially the growers who genetically enhanced their product. But trying to spot an acre or two of cannabis in the middle of a forest was like trying to find a deer in a herd of elk.

There wasn’t much to the town of Cody: a few log houses clustered around an old supply post, a bar, and a Pentecostal church. The town had been there since Gold Rush days, long before the region had been designated a wildlife refuge.

Since the bar didn’t open till noon, Kanut started with the general store. Its dim interior was crammed with everything from sacks of rice and beans, to guns and ammo, to tools and hardware, all at inflated prices.

None of the people lounging around the store had seen anyone that looked like Anjou and Kim, but half a dozen earnest residents were eager to share their Bigfoot stories.

Kanut had heard his share of Sasquatch tales—every trooper in Alaska had. They tended to be second- or thirdhand, long on speculation and short on verifiable detail. But the mere fact that Cody’s homesteaders were willing to talk to the law at all convinced him they’d seen something—something that scared them more than the average grizzly. Maybe Major Butterick hadn’t just been blowing smoke about those “small, hairy elephants” he’d wanted destroyed.

A man named Frank—none of them offered a last name—was the most insistent. “It ain’t Bigfoot, it’s a bear, a giant bear. It was walking away from me and I saw it real clear: brownish-red fur, real shaggy. It walked like a bear—you know, knees jointed forward on the back legs. But I swear, its back was as high as my head. I turned and ran, as fast as I could.” As soon as he’d got over the shakes, he’d come to Cody to stock up on ammunition.

“It’s a grizzly sow with cubs,” said another man, who declined to give any name at all. “I saw ’em go by, just glimpsed ’em through the trees, and there was at least three of ’em.”

“It’s no bear, it’s Bigfoot,” said a thin young woman with a toddler in her lap. “Ask Lou. He chased it out of my garden during the storm. And Bran—he’s got a picture of a footprint on his phone. They’re a couple of hikers . . . you know, a couple.” She batted her eyes to be sure he took her meaning. “We let them stay with us during the storm. Nice fellas.”

Kanut smiled at the woman. That sounded like useful evidence, at last. “I guess I’d better talk to Bran and Lou, then.”

The shopkeeper directed him to a space behind the church where the hikers had pitched a two-man tent, an expensive, light-weight model that popped open easy and folded up small. It was closed tight, flaps zipped shut.

Kanut kicked at a tent peg. “Anybody in there?”

“Go away,” a man’s voice growled. “We’re sleeping.”

“Sorry to bother you, sir. State trooper. I need to ask you some questions.”

After some muttered curses, the flap unzipped enough for an unshaven face to peer out. “Shit. All right, give us a minute.” The scent of cannabis drifted out.

More hushed muttering, and movement that shook the little tent before the door unzipped and two men crawled out. One man tall, one short. Both were dark-haired, rumpled, wearing whiskers that hadn’t been shaved for several days. Tall was about thirty, six-three, one hundred eighty pounds. Short: late thirties, five-ten, one forty.

Kanut relaxed a little. Neither of these men was old enough to be the missing Dr. Henri Anjou, and for damn sure they weren’t Dr. Ginger Kim. “Sorry to wake you. I need to ask about the animal you saw.”

The men exchanged a glance.

Tall fidgeted and cleared his throat. “You mean Bigfoot? Is that a state police matter?”

“Wildlife trooper,” Kanut said. “We got a report of a