by George Wier
“I’m curious as to why you want to find him,” I said. We were on our second cup of spiked coffee, and Wolf had come to the end of his story.
“I’m not so sure myself,” he said. “All I know is I want to...have a talk with him. I want to let him know that he and I are okay.”
“I imagine there might be a language barrier of sorts,” I said.
“I realize that. I don’t know exactly how I’ll communicate with him, but...”
“You’re going to try.”
“I have to,” Wolf said.
“What do you mean, ‘okay’?”
“That I’m...good. That I’m good with him. That I’m good with what he did to me and my house. That I hope he’s okay now with what Ferrell and I did to him. I want to know—”
“If there’s anything more? More amends you have to make?”
“Something like that.”
“Did you ever think that maybe he wants to be left alone?” I asked. “I think his kind are antisocial by nature.”
Wolf tossed off the last of his Irish coffee, set it down on a little end table near our folding chairs. “Maybe so. Probably so, actually. It’s just that...I keep having these bad dreams.”
“Tell me about them,” I said.
“I don’t really remember them well. In the dreams he’s in pain. He needs my help. He doesn’t understand something. I think he’s confused about something. He needs me, but I just stand there and let him suffer. It’s not like me to let someone suffer like that. I mean, it’s not like I am now. Maybe before, when I wasn’t...good. They’re just dreams, though.”
“You’ve come over from the Dark Side, haven’t you, Wolf?” I asked.
He nodded, then smiled. “When you say it like that, it sounds both stupid and right at the same time.”
“Uh huh. All truths are simple. Why is the Old Man in pain?”
“I don’t know. It’s something. And I think it has to do with this dig.”
I sat back and thought about it for a bit. What could a Karankawa burial site have to do with a ten foot tall, six hundred pound Sasquatch? Why was he on the rampage about it? If they do indeed exist, and are out there in the few sparsely-wooded areas remaining east of the Texas Big Thicket, how old to they live? I had a feeling I would find more questions than answers along the way, if indeed this all came to a conclusion. Sometimes they don’t, you know. Sometimes things just...are.
“Do you have a plan?” I asked Wolf Dillard.
“Yeah. As I see it, they’re getting close to the center of the mound. Probably they’ll be there some time tomorrow. I think that...”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I think tonight is the night. I don’t think he’ll just smash equipment and toss the campgrounds. I think if people are here—and I’m pretty sure the excitement is such that no one’s gonna want to leave the dig for town tonight—I think that anyone who stays will be in danger.”
“Except you?” I asked.
“Except me.”
“Because of the bond you have with him,” I said, not as a question.
“Something like that.”
I nodded. “I’m sort of worried about that Randy fellow,” I said. “He seems to be wound a little...tightly.”
“Yeah. This is supposed to make or break his career, from what I’ve heard. He’s got some strange ideas. He thinks these are burial mounds for Karankawa chiefs. I’ve spent some time here and at the library in town over the last few weeks, studying up on the mounds around East Texas. They’re similar to the Mississippi and Ohio River Valley mounds. Randy thinks there’s a connection between the two. He aims to prove it. Tomorrow.”
“With videotape rolling,” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Randy doesn’t believe in the Old Man.”
“Yep, you’re right. And that’s plumb stupid of him. All of these people have heard the screams in the night. They’ve seen the tracks. They’ve seen the handprints on their vehicles and tents. They know what he’s capable of.”
“Some people can’t see what’s right in front of their noses, just because it conflicts with their world view. In a way, I can’t blame them for that. What is something you hold dear, Wolf?”
“I don’t know. I suppose if anything, it would be America. The Flag. Land of the free. All that stuff. It’s about the closest thing to a religion I have.”
“Okay, and what if someone were to come along and start giving you a long song and dance about how all that stuff was just brainwashing and that you’d been fed a pack of lies since you were in grade school. That it was all about corporate greed and shadow governments and stuff. How would you feel about that?”
“I guess I see your point,” he said. “I’d probably hit ‘em in the face.”
“Yeah. Me too. Sometimes you have to allow people to rise to the full height of their ignorance.”
Wolf chuckled. “I rather like that.”
“I think I want to camp out here tonight as well,” I said.
“I don’t know that I would recommend that.”
“Well, what if you see the Old Man, and you’ve got no one to back up your story?”
“I don’t have anything to prove to anyone,” he said. “But you’re welcome to camp out. It’s not the most comfortable place, down here in the swamp, but it’s not too bad. The mosquitoes are the worst enemy, but I’ve got a tent with good mosquito netting. I’ve even got an extra bedroll. You’re welcome to share my tent, once I get it set up.”
“I’ll help you,” I said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I called Julie on her cell phone to let her know I would be spending the night at the campsite.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“I’m not sure about anything. All I know is, I met Wolf Dillard. He seems to think that something will go down tonight.”
“Because?”
“Because Randy and his crew should reach the center of the mound sometime tomorrow, probably about midday. There’s no telling what they’ll find there, if anything. I get the feeling they’ll never reach that center.”
“Bad vibes?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“What about the Bigfoot? Seen anything so far?”
The ghostly image of the handprint on the quarter panel of Wolf’s truck and the symbol drawn there came into my mind. “I’ve seen some...circumstantial evidence that someone or something may be out there. Wolf doesn’t strike me as the kind of fellow to stage an elaborate hoax. He’s not in it for the media attention. Also, he tells a compelling story. He’s hunting for this creature. He calls it the ‘Old Man.’ He and the creature seem to have a bit of a history, of sorts.”
“Hmm. I don’t know. I think you should come back to the hotel and let this thing take its natural course. We were supposed to come and get in communication with Cathy. We’ve done that. We’re free to go home now.”
“I know. By the way, how are the kids?”
“I just talked to Jessica, and got turns with each of them on the phone. They’re good. I’m missing them something awful.”
“Me too,” I said. “I’m hoping we can wrap this up tomorrow and go home.”
“Let’s do that,” she said. “Franklin is wondering where you are. Bill, this dog eats all the time. When he’s not eating, he’s—”
“I know,” I said.
A silence ensued. We hung there together, orbiting each other’s thoughts in the dark spaces of our minds.
“I love you,” she said.
“I love you, too. I’ll be all right. I promise.”
“Keep your head down,” she said.
“I will.”
“Good night,” she said, and then without further word she hung up.
*****
It had been awhile since I had “roughed it.” Sleeping in a tent, even one with a net for keeping out mosquitoes, and on a sleeping bag that could cushion a lunar landing, is not exactly like staying in the local Co
nrad Hilton or the Four Seasons. There’s still no thermostat, and regardless of the mylar protection overhead, the elements will have their say. I was set up with a sleeping bag in one half of Wolf Dillard’s tent. Fortunately the night was cool and we could hear animal calls. Thus far there had been no screeches, no ghosts and no appearances from any creatures larger than a ground squirrel, for which I was thankful. I had my doubts about the whole ghost business, anyway.
As I lay there, listening, I thought of Purcell Lee. Or rather, what was left of him. I wasn’t sure what had happened to him, but something had taken all of the moisture from his body. I had to rule out electrical shock, because his hair looked natural—at least for an aging ne’er-do-well—and current makes the hair stand out, curls it on the end, and even—depending upon the dosage—can make it catch fire. But one shouldn’t think of the grisly before closing their eyes for the night. I forced my thoughts back to Julie and Franklin in the hotel room and hoped they were getting along all right. The dog was getting older, and had to be taken out for a walk a little too often. I thought about Julie’s smile, her soft touch and her voice. And somewhere along in there, I went to sleep.
*****
Wolf shook me awake.
“What?” I asked.
“Something,” he whispered. “Something bad wrong.”
I sat up and listened for a long moment. “I don’t hear anything,” I whispered back.
“That’s just it. Nothing. No snoring. No sounds of anything. I think the camp is deserted except for us. I don’t like it.”
We couldn’t see each other worth a damn, so I grunted a quiet acknowledgment.
“Let’s go check out the other tents,” he said.
“I’m right behind you.”
We emerged from the tent in pale moonlight.
Wolf was right. The campsite was deserted. I didn’t have to look in either of the other two tents to know. One knows when life has withdrawn from a place. I could feel it on my scalp and the dry spot in my throat.
“Why didn’t someone wake us up, I wonder?” Wolf whispered.
“I have no idea. Maybe they had to cut out in a hurry, quietly. All I know is, I don’t like it.”
“Uh huh,” he said.
The moon was high in the sky directly over the mound, and it cast a silvery sheen upon the water pools close by. I looked from the moon toward the mound and caught movement.
I tapped Wolf’s shoulder, and pointed.
“Oh shit,” he said.
“What?”
“It’s him. It’s the Old Man.”
My eyes adjusted to the dim light and the distance, but I quickly saw what he meant.
He came from around the mound, first his head and torso, then the rest of him. He was tall, very nearly as tall as the mound itself. The moonlight made an aura around his frame, as if it caught and reflected the moonlight perfectly. I could see why they thought he was a ghost. He was a ghost, in every sense that a person thinks of one except density. Even at fifty yards I could tell that he was thick and solid.
And then the physical reactions began.
I felt the sudden urge to run.
“Bill.” Wolf said, “Do not run, even though your feet are telling you to.”
“Who’s running?” I asked.
I saw Wolf’s eyes in the night. They were alight with wonder, and something else. I couldn’t peg it, but I knew I would soon enough. Meanwhile, fear had seized me.
“He does that,” Wolf said. “Even from fifty feet away he is working his way into your nose. It’s racial. It’s primal and it’s his self-defense mechanism. Even bears fear him.”
“Bigfoot,” I said.
“He is the Old Man,” Wolf said. “And he’s the only friend I ever had.”
We watched as the Old Man stopped before the black gash in the mound. He tilted his head back and let forth with a high-pitched roar that made every muscle in my body freeze up. The roar was a blast of sound that filled the night as clearly as a sack of sugar will fill a cup. It rolled on, over and through everything. They would hear it in the town, and several hundred people would sit bolt upright in bed, as I had last night.
“He’s really ticked off,” Wolf said. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
The roar continued—a guttural howl that contained definite meaning.
“It’s not right. He knows it. It’s not just what they’ve done to her so far. It’s something else. It’s—”
I caught the word ‘her’ in what Wolf was saying, even as my muscles warred with my brain, and the implications of it touched off little fires in my head. Half of me was stuck in a muscle-locked deep freeze, the other half was fighting with the frozen half to run as far and as fast as my legs could carry me in any direction except...his!
The howl ended. The second it was done, the trap was sprung.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The air around the mound was alive with large, bat-like things. They converged on the mound from several directions at once and fell upon the Old Man. He let out a loud, bass grunt of surprise and then squealed. It was like the teakettle scream of terror one feels bubbling up from the chest and caught in the base of the throat while coming up from the trap of a horrid nightmare.
“NO!” Wolf shouted, and ran in the direction of the mound.
My muscles gave way to the immediacy of the situation and I sprinted after him.
The Old Man flailed and cried as we ran towards him. There were words somewhere in there, but couldn’t make them out—couldn’t tie one set of sounds to another in order to make sense of them.
Three sets of twin lights, six in all, came bouncing toward the mound. Wolf and I would get there first, however. The gravity of the situation became all too real. They were trapping him. I knew it was Randy Marshall and his graduate students. It all came together for me in a twinkling. The rumors around town. The dig. Randy and his “scientific mind” and his funding issues. His purported disbelief in everything. All of it had been a ruse. The Old Man was interested in the mound because of her, whoever she was. And they knew this about him. I knew that they knew, and it boiled my blood. They were lucky I didn’t have a gun or I would have started shooting at them during our flight to his side. Another part of me—the hidden, wholly cold and analytical part of me—spoke softly from the back of my mind. It said, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Bill? You’re racing to save a Bigfoot. He’ll probably kill you if you get within ten feet of him.” But before I could answer we were there and mere inches away from him.
The skeins of rope were thick about him. The surprise and the weight of them had caught him off guard and toppled him to the ground. He shuddered. He gurgled and moaned. He strained and pushed himself to his knees.
“Old Man!” Wolf said. “It’s me. It’s Wolf. I’ll protect you.”
“Uuuuulllllfffeeee,” the beast said. I heard it clearly, distinctly. It was a response and a plea and affirmation, all rolled into one.
I looked to see that men with the flashlights had slowed and ranged themselves around us, mere footsteps away. Their lights shined on us and in our eyes and onto the trapped being at our feet.
Wolf raised his arm into the air and a shot rang out.
He brought his arm level and aimed it at each of the men in turn.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Wolf?” Randy Marshall asked.
“I’m saving my friend,” he said. “You have no right to trap him.”
“I doubt he’s got what you’d call citizenship papers,” one of the grad students said.
Wolf pointed his revolver at the student. The flashlight faltered and the kid took a step backwards.
“Point those damned lights at the ground or I swear before God, I’ll shoot one of you right now.”
I noticed slow movement from Randy Marshall, but I didn’t like it.
I tapped Wolf and gestured. Wolf swung the gun on Randy. A shot rang out. Randy dropped the flashlight and something else
at the same time. He grabbed his hand and began cursing in pain. I took a step toward him, picked up the flashlight and the gun he had dropped.
“Everybody,” I said. “Take two steps backwards.”
Randy’s gun felt good in my hand. It felt big like a forty-five. I felt for the safety and thumbed it off. I put the flashlight under my arm, pulled the slide and put a round into the breach.
“You’ve never fired one of these before, have you?” I asked Randy. He was on his knees and shaking his hand. I shined my light down at his hand. There wasn’t any blood. Wolf had shot the gun out of his hand, at night, without seriously injuring him. Score a point for Wolf Dillard.
Randy nodded.
“I have,” I said. “Okay, Wolf. You’re in charge here. What’s the game plan?”
“Any of you other jokers have weapons?” Wolf asked.
I shined my light all around and got slow, dismissive head shakes all around.
“Good,” he said. Okay. I want everyone to form a line and walk back to camp. I’ll be watching. When you get there, go in the trailer and close the door behind you. Capiche?”
Each nodded in turn.
“Somebody help Dr. Marshall to his feet. Take only one flashlight with you.”
When they were started on their way, I followed them with my light for a minute, then shined it down at the old man. I saw a pair of large, intelligent golden eyes blinking back at me between the black ropes and a coat of silvery hair from head to foot.
