Sasquatch Lake

by Eric S. Brown

  “Told you so,” Marcus replied to Stansberry without emotion.

  “Get one of the guys to clean this mess up and dispose of the body. If anyone comes checking, we’ll stick to the truth. He quit and we haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Worked last time,” Marcus’ expression was feral.

  “Still don’t fix the real mess though, does it?” Stansberry returned to his chair, picking his cigar up again. “This Hewes, he and his need to be dealt with.”

  “They’re walking into those hills without a clue of what’s up there. I’d say they’re done for already,” Marcus squatted beside Jason’s body, wiping the blade of his knife clean on the kid’s uniform.

  “Be that as it may, how do you think our friends up there,” Stansberry pointed out the window at the hills beyond it, “are going to feel about being paid a visit from those kind of folk? It’s all we can do now to keep things quiet down here. You know as well I do, they’ve been coming closer and closer to this station and the town these past few months. Remember the Robinson boy?”

  Marcus flinched. “Ain’t taking the blame for that one. His mother never should have let him go wandering that far by himself at night.”

  Stansberry stared at Marcus. After a moment, Marcus said, “What are you thinking, boss? That Hewes has money and power. You can bet whoever he’s taking up there with him is gonna be the best of the best. Not sure we can handle them.”

  “We have no choice, Marcus,” Stansberry ground out his cigar on the top of his desk. “If not us, who?”

  “We’ll need everyone for this then,” Marcus cautioned.

  “You’ll have them. Call in every ranger we got.”

  “Still might not be enough.”

  “It will be,” Stansberry assured him. “It’ll have to be.”

  Marcus headed for the door to get the others but Stansberry stopped him.

  “Oh and Marcus, I’ll be coming along, too.”

  Marcus shot Stansberry a questioning look but didn’t argue. “Understood,” was all he said, then he was gone.

  The beast ran. The long strides of its legs several times of that of man’s. It was unaccustomed to fleeing. Usually it was the hunter, not the prey. Blood slicked the coarse hair covering its shoulders from where one of its foes’ claws had dug deep. Numerous similar wounds covered its chest and back. There was a chunk of muscle missing from its right thigh where the last of the others the beast had slain had taken a bite before the beast stomped it to nothing more than a bloody pulp, staining the forest floor.

  The fight had taken a lot out of the beast and the blood loss from its wounds were finally taking its toll. The scent of the others was powerful as its nostrils flared and its breaths came fast and hard. The beast knew they couldn’t be gaining on it. The others were slower even the humans who ventured into the hills from time to time.

  One of the others dropped from a tree onto it as it passed under it. The others’ scaly flesh gave way to the might of its thick fingers. They drove into the others’ body as the beast got a good hold on the creature and then flung it from its back into the wide trunk of a nearby tree. The cracking of the creatures’ bones echoed in the otherwise still area of the woods.

  The beast took pride in its kill. Alone, the others were no match for its kind. Unfortunately, the others continued to grow in number and it feared soon, it would be they, not itself and its brothers, who ruled these hills.

  “Sensor readings are going nuts, boss,” Jeremy informed Hewes. “I got non-human life readings all over the place.”

  Hunter did his best not to laugh as he nudged Jeremy. “It’s the woods, you idiot. What did you expect?”

  Hewes did chuckle. “Weed through them more carefully, Mr. Hickman. We’re not up here hunting bears.”

  The three’s hike into the woods thus far had been uneventful and nothing more than tiring. The group had found no evidence of anything supernatural or otherworldly. They hadn’t even found any Bigfoot prints, a fact that left Cassidy utterly fuming. The man seemed set on cutting a Sasquatch’s heart from its still breathing body.

  “Go easy on, Mr. Hickman,” Michael chimed in. “As I said, there is something out of balance in this place. Danger could come from anywhere.”

  “Do ya have to do that?” Cassidy whined.

  “What?” Michael asked, looking indignant.

  “Sound so freaking snooty all the time?”

  “I was unaware the manner in which I speak bothered you so, Mr. Cassidy.”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t if I didn’t know you better,” Cassidy glared at Michael. “You ain’t no better than the rest of us ‘merc’ slobs. Only difference is you don’t use a knife or a gun.”

  “We each have our own talents,” Michael answered Cassidy’s taunting.

  Cassidy made a show of sniffing the air around Michael. “Suppose we do. Drinking sure is one of yours. Why don’t you tell us how much you kicked back before you finally decided to honor us with your presence?”

  “Mr. Cassidy,” Hewes interrupted, “I do believe that will be enough from you as well.”

  Cassidy whirled around to face Hewes, the barrel of his shotgun aimed squarely at Hewes’ chest. Cassidy caught himself just short of squeezing the trigger as he saw Hunter and Charles’ rifles pointed at him.

  Rage burned in Cassidy’s eyes, but he lowered his shotgun. “Sorry, Mr. Hewes. My temper gets the best of me sometimes.”

  Hewes laughed, totally devoid of any fear from his close call with death. “And that is why you are here, Mr. Cassidy. I like a man with passion. Now gentlemen if we could resume acting like the professionals that we are, perhaps we could locate the thing that killed my son and soon to be daughter-in-law.”

  “This just hiking into the hills isn’t getting us anywhere,” Charles said. “Unless whatever is out there decides to come to us, we aren’t going to find it like this.”

  “Agreed,” Hewes looked over the members of his team. “Options?”

  “Sorry, sir,” Jeremy said, “The data from the drones is just a big jumbled mess at this point. It’s almost like there is some sort of interference with the drones’ sensors. I can see that there’s a lot of stuff out there, but can’t get the kind of clear readings I need to tell you anything other than general locations.”

  “That leaves you, Michael,” Hunter told the mystic. “Time for you to earn that pay of yours.”

  Michael’s eyes grew wide. “I’d rather not open myself to this place.”

  “Yeah, why’s that?” Cassidy spat into the grass. “Is it because what is out there this time is real?”

  “More like powerful,” Michael explained. “Opening myself to it would be…dangerous.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Hewes took a step towards Michael. “You’re the only option we have right now. Do it!”

  “At least let me set up a circle first,” Michael protested.

  “Thought all that ritual stuff was just for the viewers’ sake,” Charles snorted.

  It was Hewes who spoke in answer, not Michael. “It’s not Charles. Very much of what Michael does is as real and potent as that gun you are holding still…Time is of the essence. I’d wager those rangers we sent packing are busy coming up with a means to get us clear of this area.”

  Hunter, who had met the rangers also added in, “You could just tell those gents were covering something up. Something they’re likely to go to any means to hide if you catch my drift.”

  “Let ‘em bring it,” Cassidy giggled. It was an unnerving sound in the dimness of moonlight that was creeping into the night sky above the trees.

  “Michael?” Hewes urged.

  “Everybody move back and let him do his thing,” Hunter ordered the others.

  Michael sat down, cross legged in the grass. His gaze focused on some distant point known only to him. His breathing slowed as he forced himself to relax and opened himself to the spirits of the woods surrounding them.

  They had all seen him
do this before, both for real and for the audience of Hewes’ show. Generally, he zoned out, chanted some, his eyes rolled up and he spoke in a voice not his own. No one was expecting what happened this time.

  Michael eyes snapped on, blazing as if they were on fire. His pupils were swirling masses of orange flame. He sprang to his feet with superhuman speed and grace. “Nrrgatha, Chi’rah!” Michael howled, flinging himself at Jeremy, who was the closest to him.

  Jeremy squealed like a girl and drove from Michael’s path as Charles moved in between the two of them. Charles brought his rifle, body-checking Michael with it in an effort to stop the thin man in black. Michael ripped the weapon from Charles’ grasp, flinging it away into the trees.

  “Hey!” Charles shouted, but suddenly Michael’s right hand was around his neck, cutting off his breath and lifting him upwards into the air.

  “Ctha Ta Faggith!” Michael roared as his fingers sunk into Charles’ throat. Blood flowed down the length of Charles’ twitching body as the others snapped out of their shock.

  “Kill him!” Hewes snapped, not caring who carried out the order so long as it got done.

  With a gleeful bounce, Cassidy closed in on Michael, his shotgun booming as he moved. Cassidy’s first shot blew Michael’s right arm from his body at the shoulder joint. Cassidy had already pumped a second round into the weapon’s chamber before Charles’ body flopped onto the ground at Michael’s feet. His second shot caught Michael full on in the chest. Flesh separated from bone leaving a nasty section of Michael’s ribs gleaming in the moonlight. Michael staggered but didn’t go down. He continued to chant in a language that made the hair on the back of Hunter’s neck raise up in a primal response.

  Jeremy had managed to somehow bring his AK-47 to bear on Michael from where he lay. It chattered on full auto, spitting a stream of high velocity lead into the mystic’s body. Michael danced and jerked about as the bullets ripped away entire sections of his skin and sunk into his heart, lungs, and tore apart what remained of his ribs.

  Finally, Michael fell. He hit the ground with a dull thud and didn’t move again. Hunter rushed to where he lay, ramming the barrel of his rifle against the mystic’s blood-splattered forehead. He pulled the trigger and Michael’s skull burst like an overripe melon.

  “Holy fragging A!” Jeremy wailed. “What the Hell was that?”

  “That gentlemen,” Hewes said, his demeanor shaken but not panicked, “was what we came up here to find.”

  “You sure we’re going the right way?” Hank complained to Marcus. Hank and the other rangers were none to happy to be called in on such short notice and dragged up into the hills. All of them understood what had to be done, but it didn’t mean they were happy about it.

  A glare from Stansberry was all it took to shut Hank up. Hank knew how Stansberry dealt with those who got out of line as far as their job working for him went. Whoever this Hewes guy was, Hank figured he was lacking some brain cells. No one went up into these hills unless they had to. Hank also knew that what really had Stansberry, up here himself even, wasn’t whether or not Hewes and his people would run into one of the local Sasquatch, but that they’d venture over the hills to the lake they surrounded. That lake was off-limits to everyone. The old man didn’t even let the federal folks near it. Stansberry lied, greased pockets, blackmailed, whatever it took to keep folks away from that lake. The locals kept away on their own. So many had died or went mad from going there when the town was young that not even many of the town’s rebellious teenagers were stupid enough to try. Those that did usually ended up as Sasquatch meat before they ever reached it. Hank wasn’t sure how the Sasquatch were connected to the things living in that lake, but the hairy giants certainly did a super job of making sure not one got there alive.

  All his life, Hank had heard stories about the lake. The simple folk claimed it was cursed or haunted. The more educated ones preferred not to dwell on it much less talk about it. There were all sorts of tales around the town about the Sasquatch too, but most wrote the beasts off as just one of the drawbacks of living where they did. No one in town doubted their existence. Most had even seen one with their own eyes at some point. As long as you left them alone and didn’t venture too far into the hills, the beasts left you alone as well. Of late though, the distance one had to travel into the woods before getting the beasts’ attention was growing shorter and shorter. That fact wasn’t widely known yet as Stansberry and Marcus were experts at keeping secrets and sweeping things under the rugs. Hank even had heard a few stories of the beasts coming into town now but they didn’t bother him. He was single and slept with a 9 mil on his bed stand and kept a loaded shotgun on the coffee table in his living room. Back when he started working for Stansberry, he had gone up against one of the Sasquatch with another ranger. As strong and fast as the thing was, it had still bled when he’d shot it. A second round had sent the monster running, disappearing into the trees, wailing as it went. The Sasquatch weren’t native gods or something out of a nightmare. They were just beasts and if one was careful, they could be dealt with like any other animal.

  Marcus and Stansberry weren’t being careful tonight though. Freaked out as they were by the chance of this Hewes guy making it to the lake, they were pushing everyone too hard and rushing headlong into the hills at a breakneck pace. The Rangers and the Sasquatch held to unspoken truce, for the most part, over the years, but with everything dropping into the pot as it was tonight, Hank wasn’t exactly reassured by the past. There had been instances where the beasts came after Rangers too, which was something he could personally swear to.

  Every single Ranger was here tonight and armed to the teeth. If Hank bought into the whole safety in numbers bit, he knew he would feel better about it all. The truth though was that no one, not even Stansberry and Marcus, knew exactly how many of the Sasquatch lived up here in these parts. There could be an entire army of the beasts. There was plenty of woodlands to house it and plenty of wild game to feed it as well.

  Marcus came to a stop, where he was on point, signaling for everyone else to stop as well. Hank felt sick. This was how bad stuff always started in the horror movies he loved to watch. He and Stansberry were closest to Marcus, the others fanning out behind them in a loose marching formation.

  “What is it?” Hank couldn’t stop himself from whispering at Marcus.

  “Don’t know,” Marcus answered. “Something just don’t seem right.”

  “We’re being watched,” Stansberry told them.

  “You think Hewes and his men doubled back on us?” Marcus gave Stansberry a concerned look.

  “No. I don’t,” Stansberry watched the trees around them carefully.

  “You think it’s the Sasquatch?” Hank stammered.

  “Let’s hope it’s by the Sasquatch,” Stansberry frowned.

  Hank shivered, swallowing hard. His grip on his rifle grew tighter. The temperature must have dropped suddenly because all of a sudden he could see his breath in the night air.

  A wet, squishing sound came from somewhere up ahead of the Rangers’ position. The breeze carried to them an odor that stank like stagnant water mixed with a distinct and powerful fish smell.

  There was a whispering in the darkness around the Rangers like a chorus of raspy voices all chanting the same black mantra. Hank couldn’t make out the words. He wasn’t sure he would understand them even if he did. The voices didn’t sound exactly human to his ears. There was something alien and utterly evil within the sounds they made.

  “This shouldn’t be happening…” Stansberry muttered as pair after pair of glowing yellow eyes became visible in the trees, gazing at them.

  If the old man said anything else, Hank never heard it.

  “Take those things out!” Marcus shouted, “And don’t stop shooting until you’re sure they’re dead!”

  Shotguns thundered and automatic weapons chattered as the Rangers let loose with everything they had. Hank spun to his left, picking a target. He squeezed the trigger of
his shotgun and fired at the pair of yellow eyes that were watching him intently. Not being able to tell if he had hit whatever body rested below those burning eyes or not, Hank pumped a fresh round into his shotgun’s chamber.

  Then the world really went to Hell. Something akin to a cross between a fish and man came charging from the trees. It plowed into Marcus, knocking his weapon from his hands. The thing stood nearly six feet tall, even partially bent over. Its back was hunched and its naked body covered head to toe in slimy scales. Marcus went for his sidearm but the creature was faster. The claws of its three fingered hand slashed open Marcus’ throat from one side to the releasing a spray of blood that spurted forth anew with each beat of Marcus’ slowing heart. Marcus reeled about, his lips moving as if he were trying to speak, and then collapsed.

  More of the fish-things burst from the trees. There were so many of them that they seemed to be everywhere at once. Hank heard the cries of his friends dying around him as he jerked up the barrel of his shotgun level with the chest of a fish-thing that came bounding towards him. He could see the transparent webbing stretched thin between its fingers as its hand swept through the air in an arc aimed toward his face. Hank blasted the thing, point blank, his shotgun bucking in his hands. The blast sent the creature sprawling, its chest now an open mess of mangled tissue. Blackish blood oozed and blood from the carnage sprayed about in bursts.

  “No!” Stansberry was howling, his drawn pistol cracking rapidly, over and over, as he fired at one of the creatures. “Damn you to Hell! No!”

  The fish-man’s corpse thudded into the grass only a few feet from where Stansberry stood as his pistol clicked until empty.

  Hank wasn’t a fool. He knew the only way he was going to see the sun come up was if he made a run for it. Stansberry be damned. That man had led them into this massacre. If God wanted to have mercy on him, he could, but Hank sure as the devil wasn’t about to risk his life to try and help.