Where is The Suzie-Q?

The fall weather was unseasonably warm, the sky cloudless, and the foliage on the upper slopes of Mount Katahdin was tinged with rust, so Baxter State Park, resplendent and remote, was overflowing with day-hikers and campers, everywhere abuzz with anticipation for the arrival of Konika’s Comet. 

Five plain white vans arrived at the Ranger Station carrying forty-three passengers, each with close-cropped or shaven heads, wearing androgynous black slacks and turtleneck sweaters, the mix of age and sex obscured by sameness. Sitting stiffly, staring blankly, they had the general appearance of clones or cyborgs.

Ranger Amber Flood, being by disposition a jovial, chatty, sort, greeted the lead vehicle with rustic good-will, “here to see the comet?” she asked, only to be unnerved by the driver’s inert expression.  Grim and doughy faced, he presented the reservation papers to Amber, and closed the window, spurning any advancement of the conversation, so Amber went back inside the Ranger Station office to check the credentials. “Come look at this” she whispered to Lorna Grayson, her fastidious gate-duty partner, “It’s the Church of The Next Level”. Ginger-haired Amber and raven-haired Lorna leaned out the window like movie stars of the golden age, “Jeez, that’s a grim bunch”, said Lorna. 

As Amber handed the driver the parking permits, she offered guidance regarding fire hazards and campsite rules, but was interrupted by an old woman that sat in the front passenger seat. “Tell the Feds that we don’t need any advice”, she said in a raspy overused voice, looking straight ahead. The driver acknowledged Amber with a perfunctory smirk as he closed the window, “We don’t need your advice” he said, and Amber’s ensuing protest went unheard as the vehicle slowly advanced onto the logging road. 

Lorna, petite and nerdy, joined her athletic fearless colleague outside to watch the convoy rumble by, they peered into the vehicles at the odd-looking passengers, most of whom seemed stoically uninterested in the park Rangers or the surrounding forest. “That’s just weird”, said Lorna. Amber had a frown on her freckled face; one of the passengers, a young woman or girl, had clasped her hands together as if pleading for help. 

“Boss, I think we’ve got a problem”, said Amber into the Motorola handset, “It’s the Chimney campsite reservation. I think it’s a cult, and I think something bad’s about to happen”. The park superintendent was skeptical; the two young women at the South Station were by-the-book sticklers, prone to an excess of caution that just created more work for him. Also, he was in a big hurry to get to the big Comet Party at the Moose Bar & Grill in the nearby town of Millinocket. 

Amber screwed up her nose and slapped the radio handset onto the desk, “He told me that we should use our own initiative. Frankly, he sounded a bit distracted and irritated”. She was a bit irritated herself; she had a date-night lined up with the young, handsome, and newly available police chief.

Lorna was ahead of the curve, “Why don’t you go check the campsite, I’ll deal with stragglers here and see if I can find out some more information on this church? If we hurry, we should be able to meet back here before the comet arrives, and you can still make date-night” she teased.

Amber tucked her ginger hair beneath the regulation Stretton hat, rushed out to the green pickup truck and drove the bumpy six miles to Chimney Lake, arriving in the late afternoon light. The white minivans were lined up with military precision in the grassy clearing in front of the lean-tos and cabins. The orderliness of their arrangement seemed unfitting to the surrounding wilderness, as did the milling-around black-clad campers, all wearing identical unbranded white sneakers. The whole scene was unsettling.

The Next Level zombies advanced on her as a group, limp-limbed and lethargic, led by the elderly woman, distinguished by a very long braid of silver hair that hung across her shoulder and swayed rhythmically down to her knees. The doughy-faced driver, a large obese man, stepped forward as if protecting the elderly woman, “Why are you here?”, he asked. There was a murmur among the congregation. Amber was momentarily disoriented, even a little intimidated, but she shook it off, “We are conducting a quick check of all the campsites to make sure we’re not overbooked”, said Amber, improvising.

The elderly woman had bright pale blue eyes which conveyed an ethereal, other-worldly quality, her manner regal, also set her apart, “tell her that they are not needed here. She should go”, rasped the old woman waving a clawed hand toward Amber’s truck, her fingernails, each more than six inches long, curved like hoary talons.

In the background, Amber could see rows of unused white-trim black backpacks, a quart-sized red water cooler, tiny plastic cups, all neatly laid out on a picnic table like corporate swag for the company outing, as if imagined by an unhinged accountant. If they were going on an excursion, at night, it looked doomed from the outset.

“Are you planning to hike Katahdin tonight?” Amber persisted, “I see you’ve made some kind of preparations”, she pointed at the backpacks.

“Katahdin?” said the dough-faced man, apparently ignorant of the granite massif that loomed beyond the trees.

Amber was dumfounded by his ignorance, “You don’t seem very well prepared”, she said disdainfully, looking down at his brilliant white sneakers, the kind that her mother wore about the senior home, “and a night-hike is out of the question, strictly forbidden.”

The old woman intervened, “We have no intention of ascending the Mountain, we have other, bigger concerns, so, you should go now, before it’s too late”, she croaked loudly. 

It sounded like a threat to Amber, who unarmed, outnumbered, and without the authority to enforce laws, felt helpless. Unsure of how to proceed, she was grateful for the buzz of static on her two-way radio.  Lorna was calling her, and it sounded urgent. 

“I have to leave now”, she said to the old woman, “do not leave the campsite under any circumstances, the woods are treacherous even during daylight, and the climb up Katahdin is potentially deadly. We will come back in the morning to help you plan out a more suitable hike”. She returned to her truck under the watchful eyes of the congregants of the Church of The Next Level.

“Go now!” said the old woman with her grating voice. Overhead, the sky was turning indigo, the first stars visible.

Amber hit the gas, and the truck tires thew dirt against the side of one of the vans as she exited the parking lot. Driving back to the Ranger station, as night closed in, the vehicle’s headlights illuminated the enveloping forest canopy so that Reid felt like she was driving through a narrow tunnel, behind her total darkness. Behind her also, hiding beneath a blanket on the back seat of the pickup, the youngest member of the Church of The Next Level was shivering with cold and fear.

Lorna had just returned from the ranch outside the State Park, where she’d connected to the internet and done some sleuthing. “The Next Level is a wacko church that’s based in Pennsylvania, and its leader, known as ‘Doti’s daughter’ is the only known survivor of the Heaven’s Gate monastic cult that committed a horrific mass suicide back in 1997, coinciding with the arrival of the Hale-Bobb comet”, Lorna explained.

The blood drained from Amber’s face as painful and confusing memories rushed at her. She was only six years old at the time, but she vividly remembered the cold February evening, the sensational TV reports on that fateful day, the day that her father had died. She’d often imagined him astride the comet on a trip around the universe, but as she got older the thought turned darker as she contemplated the fate of the cult members. She didn’t think her father’s soul deserved their companionship.    

Heaven’s Gate cult members had been found dead in a group, with backpacks, full of provisions for their trip aboard the comet. The red cooler! “Oh, jeez” said Amber, slumping heavily into a wooden chair.

The outside door rattled loudly as someone bare-knuckle rapped upon it. It was not unusual to have a wayward camper turn up looking for help, but they hadn’t heard or seen a car approach. The door opened suddenly, and a young pale-faced woman inched into the office, dressed in black, wearing white sneakers, “save me from myself”, she said theatrically, then slumped to the wooden floor in a feint. It was the girl with the clasped hands.

Lorna radioed the duty officer at Millinocket police station. Amber collected a flashlight, her radio transceiver, and tore open a pack of zip-ties. “Be careful!” said Lorna, giving her partner a hug, “the police and ambulance service are on the way”.

As Amber drove back along the access road, she formulated a plan. Approaching the campsite she cut the headlights, and parked unnoticed behind a clump of trees, then she trekked a short way through the woods to the edge of the campsite, where she crouched behind the undergrowth. Scarcely visible in the starlight, she could see the red cooler next to a single backpack on the picnic table, but the plastic cups were gone, the lid of the red cooler was resting on the surface of the table. She was too late! 

The night sky began to glow behind the hulking mountain, Katahdin’s dark profile was surrounded by a halo of gold, and then suddenly Konika’s magnificent comet appeared, tearing a scorched path that obscured the heavens and bathed the mountain and forest in a warm glow. A single melodious voice broke out singing “Doti-Do, Doti-Do”, which was quickly joined by other voices, “Doti-Do, Doti-Do”. Amber watched the Next Level congregants form a line, kneel on the ground, bend forward as if supplicants in prayer, chanting, chanting. Amber heard a familiar but disembodied voice, “Where in God’s name is the watcher? Where is the Suzi-Q?”, the old woman was standing alone, arms extended, as if lost, as if in need of guidance.

The comet disappeared as suddenly as it had arrived, and the darkness was complete, the Next Level cult, the forest, everything everywhere was still and silent.  Then moments later, headlights of fast-moving vehicles flickered through the trees, through the forest, illuminating here and there the distant mountains and hills. Two police vehicles slid to a halt on gravel and turned into the parking area, throwing beams of light across the empty campsite. 

Amber sat, stewing in thought, in the warmth of the pickup truck watching the police inspect the camp site, the adjacent trails and woods, their brilliant flashlights sweeping here and there through the pines, maples and birch trees, projecting giant shadowy phantoms, and revealing ambient caves of green and gold beneath the canopy.

The police chief, Kurt Ray was trying to keep cool, but Amber could tell he was mighty pissed. His officers had scarcely witnessed the comet, were missing the fun in town, and Kurt’s prospective outdoorsy girlfriend had turned out to be a hysterical loon. Officer Ray stood tall, “We’ve searched everywhere. There’s nothing, the campsite is clean as a whistle. You need to go back and get some rest; we’ll file a report and talk in the morning”. Date-night seemed over.

“What about the vans?”

“They must have driven out of the park when you weren’t looking!”, he was getting angry now, “you guys need to tighten up your operations”, he said loudly. 

Amber ignored the insult, “but that’s impossible, they must be here” said Amber, but she could tell that he wasn’t much interested in her opinion. The police cars sped from the campground, and Amber drove back to the Ranger Station, knowing that Lorna, her partner, would have her back when the shit hit the fan in the morning, but when Amber got back to the Ranger Station, things were a mess there too. 

An EMS technician slammed the door of the empty ambulance and seeing Amber emerge from the pickup truck, shouted out “You guys need to get a grip on things”. Amber ignored him and walked into the office, which looked like it had been slammed by a hurricane; the furniture was overturned, papers were strewn about, the windows had been bust open, from the inside! Lorna, her arms bandaged, adhesive covering a cut on her forehead, ran to Amber and started sobbing.

“I swear, I tried to keep her here” she said, “I hung onto her ankles, but I just couldn’t stop her”.

Amber guessed that the girl had changed her mind and left.

“She flew up through the window”, said Lorna. 

“What?!”

“She said they needed her help, that she was the watcher, the navigator and that she was the Susie-Q, other weird stuff. I thought she was having some kind of psychotic episode, because none of it made any sense”, Lorna continued, breathlessly, “and then I saw the glow of the comet in the sky, and she suddenly levitated, and drifted up through the window, I grabbed her around the ankles, and I started to go up into the air as well”.

“Lorna, you’re not making any sense!”, said Amber, for whom the visitation of another comet was turning into another nightmare.

“What happened out at the campsite?” asked Lorna, struggling to stay calm.

Amber’s mind was racing to make sense of it all, how to salvage something from this ridiculous predicament: their reputations, their sanity, and not least their jobs. 

Amber looked out the open window, up at the starry night sky. There seemed to be a celestial commotion, a cluster of stars, thirty, forty or so, were moving randomly, above Katahdin’s peak, and on closer inspection she could see five white box-shaped UFOs, bumping around too. 

Amber hoped her father was on the far side of the universe by now, a long way away from this madness.

“Nothing happened at the campsite. They just up and left”, said Amber, which seemed to mollify Lorna, at least for the time being.