Bigfoot Abomination

by Dane Hatchell

  There was only one shoulder railgun with the inside team. Reder had it a few meters in front of Tarik. The Nu-Man stood on edge as if he were waiting for the right moment to spring into action. If they had more of the powerful weapons, they could have easily defeated the Skinks. No such luck, as the guns were modifications from a weapon housed on Skink cruisers. Only three had fallen into the hands of the rebels. Even if Reder did get off a shot, it was a sure suicide mission. That would only reduce the warriors by one, at best. If he missed, well, losing both Reder and the gun would be a tragic waste.

  To get out of this alive was going to take quick action with fear shoved out to the side, and, a whole lot of luck. “Reder! Throw me the railgun,” Tarik said.

  Reder shot his gaze toward Tarik but made no move to comply.

  “Do it now!” Tarik said; there wasn’t any time for him to explain himself.

  Zax was looking his way. Tarik knew that his friend must have been wondering why the most protected man on the team needed their deadliest weapon, but he was counting on it that Zax knew him well enough not to question his demand.

  “Give him the gun,” Zax said.

  Reder bent to one knee and placed the railgun on the floor. A quick shove had it within Tarik’s reach. He picked it up and ran from the hallway toward the nearest escape tunnel.

  “Tarik, where the hell are you going?” Zax asked.

  “Hold your position,” Tarik said. The Skink armor was a fine piece of machinery, but running in the bulky suit took concentration. He bounded through an open escape door and ran down the tube until coming to the crossway. Instead of heading toward the evac vehicles, he ran the other way until he came to the exit on the mountainside near the entrance door.

  Tarik heard the Skinks blasting away as he slowly pulled the concealed door open. He would have to use the terrain to hide his suit’s signature from their sensors for as long as he could. The warriors were only thirty or so meters away. Mountain rock would shield his approach until he was almost right on top of them.

  With swift determination, Tarik tried to push any doubt out of his mind. His plan was simple, and the element of surprise would be in his favor. Each step brought him closer until he was a stone’s throw from the Skink warrior in the rear.

  After two deep breaths, Tarik dashed straight for the aliens, covering the distance faster than he thought possible.

  His armor’s signature must have lit up their electronics because the remaining four Skinks simultaneously stopped firing toward the entrance and looked his way. Before they had time to react, Tarik dropped to one knee, awkwardly sighted in the railgun, and let the missile fly.

  Firing the weapon while wearing the armor was something he hadn’t practiced. Still, his aim was true. As he had planned, the projectile knocked a hole through his first target and his second before striking limestone. Two dead, two to go. That bit of luck he had wished for had come true.

  The rock façade above the entrance door shook at the missile’s impact and began to crash down in chunks, separating the Nu-Mans and the Skinks, and Tarik too.

  The warriors wasted no time in unleashing slugs at Tarik. Even though his armor was impervious to damage, the pounding was enough to upset his balance, and he hit the ground.

  Scrambling to get up, he set his grenade launcher ready to fire. The HUD picked the nearest target, and he shot the grenade the few meters toward it.

  In a split second the Nu-Man designed weapon hit the unfortunate alien’s armor, sounding a dull thunk. The plaz-epoxy fused the grenade into the transmetal shell.

  Tarik flattened back on the ground by his own choice this time.

  The grenade exploded, sending bits of transmetal flying, and pulsing a shockwave forceful enough to liquefy the alien’s organs.

  The last warrior was knocked to the ground but alert and agile enough to be back on his feet just in time to attack Tarik before he had a chance to make a move.

  The Skink swung with a right hook and caught Tarik on the left side of his neck. The HUD inside his suit blinked momentarily but returned to its normal function. The Skink was trying to blind him. Tarik was at a severe disadvantage. He had never trained in a hand-to-hand battle with a Skink warrior. The alien knew how to go for the weak spots. No matter, he still had more grenades. But before he could set a new one to launch, the Skink sent a crushing blow to his left shoulder, right on the grenade’s launch port. The HUD immediately registered equipment failure. The situation was not good.

  With nothing to lose, Tarik unleashed a series of wild blows on the surprised alien. The Skink skillfully stepped back and parried each punch that minimized the impact. This slimer knew how to fight. Tarik was hoping decades of peace between the two races had softened their conquerors to some degree. The luck that brought him this far was gone. He was on his own.

  On his own and feeling the onset of battle fatigue. Tarik now realized the warrior’s game. The Skink was going to let Tarik wear himself down, and then probably run a safe distance away, just enough to launch a grenade and end the battle.

  The Skink kept taking pokes at Tarik, trying to connect with the spot as he did earlier on Tarik’s left side, between his shoulder and head. That had to be a weak spot in the armor’s design.

  Tarik knew at some point the alien would outsmart him and win. Taking the only chance he thought he might have, he faked a punch to the warrior’s helmet. When the Skink’s arms went up to block, Tarik grabbed him around the waist, lifted him up, and slammed him to the earth.

  On top of the alien now, he grabbed the arms and held them to the ground, moving his shoulder gun in line with the left side of the alien’s neck.

  Point blank, he let the slugs fly directly at the target. Slugs striking transmetal made a horrendous noise. Dirt and rock flew into the air like a geyser, either from ricocheting off the armor, or just plain missing the alien and blasting into rock and dirt. He was too close to the warrior for his HUD to get the best aim.

  The Skink struggled to break free of his grip. Tarik, despite the mechanical advantage of his armor, strained with every ounce of his human muscles to keep the alien from escaping.

  The slugs kept pounding away, probably totaling in the hundreds by now. But Tarik knew it would take that many of the specially designed slugs to breach transmetal.

  The shoulder gun pumped slugs well after the Skink went still. With ammo nearly depleted, Tarik shut down the gun and waited for the dust to settle.

  The left side of the Skink’s armor at the neck had deep gashes where the slugs had worn the transmetal away. Surprisingly, the hole breaching the suit was the size of a pebble. At least one slug, or a fragment of one, had found its way in to do the job.

  Tarik rolled off the alien and relaxed his tightened muscles. It was over. They had won.

  “Tarik?” It was Zax’s voice.

  The human looked over and saw his friend and the other Nu-Mans following his path from the escape tunnel. He lifted a hand and waved.

  Seven members of his team stepped up. Zax came over and offered a hand.

  Tarik reached out and took it. Though he wore transmetal gloves, his hand was still smaller than this gentle giant’s.

  “You did an amazing thing here,” Zax said, and then pulled Tarik to his feet.

  Looking at the carnage and taking a moment to reflect on the savagery of the last several minutes, Tarik thought so too. “Yeah, it’s more of an amazing thing that I’m still alive.”

  “Are you hurt?” Zax asked.

  “No. Tired, though, and a bit shaky,” Tarik said.

  “Everyone else is gone, and we need to get out of here too,” Garrad said. “This place is going to be crawling with slimies soon.”

  “He’s right,” Zax said. “Pair up and evacuate. We’ll meet in two days at the rendezvous point.”

  As the group headed toward the tunnel, Tarik looked back at the battle scene one last time. The fragmented transmetal armor of his first two victims, and the two others spraw
led out on the ground, all in the shadow of the scout ship. He had just won an impossible battle. Breaking into a Skink facility and completing the mission dwarfed what he had just gone through.

  Tarik had survived by not thinking of the consequences and just doing what he knew he needed to do. It was going to be a lot harder to get into that mindset next time.

  Chapter 5

  The Present

  Cole headed for first-hour class on instinct alone. His mind blossomed with endless scenarios of Charlotte’s future visit. He would have to have some snacks and sodas. What did she like? Cole could eat his weight in Cheetos; the fried kind, not the baked. But if he served Cheetos he’d get cheetle, that orange dust, all over his lips and fingertips. Plus, the cornmeal product had a nasty way of finding refuge between his teeth.

  Then a strange thought dawned on him; he was maturing. Kids didn’t worry about what kind of snacks they served to their friends; that was a parent’s job. In his case, he wanted to be more sophisticated in order to impress a girl; a girl who usually hung around older boys. If he wanted to win Charlotte’s hand, he was going to have to present himself as a man roughened by life experiences who could command any situation. Who could he model himself as?

  Bond, James Bond. His dad was a big fan of the old secret agent movies. Cole had seen every one of the Sean Connery and Robert Moore flicks over five times. He liked the other actors in the 007 roles, but Connery and Moore had a unique polish. But who was he kidding? He was just a fourteen-year-old boy without even the street cred girls his age found attractive. Cole was a slightly above average kid who couldn’t rap two sentences. For things to go right tonight, Cole was going to have to put in plenty of thought.

  “Hey, young man.”

  Cole stopped and collected his bearings. His first-hour class was a couple of doors down. The halls were mostly empty, with class soon to begin. Daydreaming had greatly slowed his pace.

  Mr. Buddy stood with his back to the wall. Both of his hands were in his front pants pockets, and he darted his gaze to either side.

  “Uh, were you talking to me?” Cole asked.

  “Yeah.” Mr. Buddy leaned slightly forward. “Your name’s Cole, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, I hear that you kinda like some of the weirder things life has to offer. You know, UFOs, bigfoot, ghosts, and what all. Things that others think is all make-believe,” Mr. Buddy said in a low, even tone. He turned his head to the left and raised an eyebrow.

  “Sure. Uh, yes, things of the paranormal world.” The situation seemed a bit strange. Mr. Buddy had never spoken to him before, and the man seemed like he was always underfoot. Heck, he couldn’t remember ever seeing Mr. Buddy have a conversation with any kid at school.

  “I got something you might be interested in.” The janitor removed both hands from his pockets. One hand contained a checkered white and dark blue handkerchief. Holding the mystery before Cole, he carefully pulled the cloth open. “Lookie here.”

  The checkered pattern of the handkerchief obscured his focus on the object. With a little concentration, Cole saw it was a tooth, perhaps one from the back of the jaw. The tooth was slightly rectangular shaped. It was certainly a lot bigger than any tooth that came out of his mouth. He gazed up at Mr. Buddy. “Where’s it from?”

  Bending closer, Mr. Buddy said, “I found it. I found it deep, deep in the national forest.” His mouth widened into a hint of a smile.

  “So what do you think it is?”

  With a nod of confidence, Mr. Buddy said, “Bigfoot.”

  Well, it was a large tooth. From what little Cole knew about teeth, it didn’t look like a cow’s or a horse’s. He wasn’t sure about bear’s teeth, though, or even deer’s. “How do you know it’s from a bigfoot?”

  Mr. Buddy’s chest swole, and he raised an instructive finger. “Easy, by eliminating what it’s not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What lives in these woods? Squirrels, rabbits, deer, possums, coyotes, and bears. Nothing lives there with teeth like that.”

  “How do you know what bear teeth look like?”

  “Kid, I spend a lot of time in the library. I’m tellin’ ya, this here is a humanoid tooth. It’s too big to be a man’s. So, it has to be bigfoot’s.” Mr. Buddy accentuated the declaration with a snappy nod.

  “Did you find any tracks by it?” Cole asked.

  “No. Not there. But I’ve come across ’em before. Even made a plaster cast or two.”

  “Wow, really? I’d like to see those.”

  “That’s what I thought. People kind of look at you cockeyed when you start talking about bigfoot and such in front of them. But I knew you was different. Different like me. How’s about we do some searching on our own sometime? It’d be a hoot. We could get together this afternoon and look at my stuff. I gotta lot of books on the subject too. I don’t live far, just over in Forest Heights. I’ll drive you home afterward.”

  It was strange to see a man who mostly kept to himself this animated about anything other than his janitorial work. Maybe the old guy was just lonely. “Can’t today. I got baseball practice and a science project to complete.”

  Dejection deflated the wind out of Mr. Buddy’s cheeks. “I understand.”

  The hall was void of anyone else at this point. The bell was sure to ring any second. “Look, Mr. Buddy, I gotta go.”

  The janitor quickly folded the cloth back over the tooth. His lips tightened. “Okay, BUT, you’ve got to keep quiet about this. Don’t tell anyone. You got that?”

  The warning was stern but understandable. “No problem, Mr. Buddy. See ya!” Cole had made it only halfway to his room’s door when the bell rang. He was tardy.

  *

  The door was closing just as Cole arrived. He put his foot between it and the door jam, bringing the door to an abrupt stop.

  A beady eye maneuvered between the narrowing opening into the room.

  “It’s me, Mr. Ritzman,” Cole said.

  The eye blinked two times, and the door slowly opened. Ritzman remained fixated to the floor like his feet were buried in cement. Both the bad and good eye cast a lazy gaze. His lips might as well have been super-glued in non-expression.

  “Sorry, I had some trouble getting my locker open. It’s kind of rusty. Might need to spray some oil on it.” The excuse was much less than truthful, but Cole didn’t consider it a lie. Lying was something deceitful and something to be ashamed of. Telling a fib or a white lie was a necessary tool interjected during the day to help situations move smoothly along. There was no way Mr. Ritzman wanted to hear the dirty details of his dilemma with planning the date tonight with Charlotte or the encounter he had with Mr. Buddy. No, he made an excuse for Mr. Ritzman’s benefit. An apology coupled with an act of God. Mr. Ritzman’s conscience was free from demanding disciplinary actions.

  Behind Mr. Ritzman, a figure meandered from the back of the room and then sat at his desk. It was Dean Setters.

  “Mr. Rainwater, first-hour class starts promptly at eight a.m. Central Standard Time at Dent County High. I assure you the bell is set to ring at the correct designated moment. Every Monday I log onto the National Institute of Standards and Technology in Boulder, Colorado. The atomic clock there measures cycles of the radiation produced by the transition between two levels of ytterbium atoms. I reset the school clock and synchronize the bell, and the school is allowed to operate in an orderly fashion,” Mr. Ritzman said.

  “That’s interesting, Mr. Ritzman. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” Really, what was the man’s point? He was late by a few seconds. Get over it.

  “Very well, please come in.”

  The door opened, and Cole fast stepped in. A few heads looked in his direction. Kirk Ford gave him an upraised thumb. Most of the other kids were finding other ways to distract themselves. Typical first-hour.

  The mechanical click of the latch hitting the door strike preceded the dull thud of the door shutting.

  “Not so
fast, Mr. Rainwater,” Ritzman said.

  Cole didn’t like being called Mr. Rainwater. His dad was Mr. Rainwater, not him. He stopped and turned his head, waiting for further instruction.

  “Since you’re already at the front of the room, perhaps you could be so gracious and work yesterday’s exercises on the board for us,” Ritzman said.

  Ritzman was surely a fan of the Old Testament; more eye for an eye than a forgive seventy times seven practitioner. At least Cole didn’t get detention. The coach would have added laps at baseball practice too. Still, one thing Cole didn’t like was standing before a crowd. He wasn’t sure why, but when he became the center of attention, it was like the thoughts in his head exploded in all directions like fireworks. One time, in the second grade, he froze up so badly during show-and-tell that his teacher had to physically lift him from the front of the room and deposited him at his desk. Since then he’d tried to develop distractions that would help him keep focused. Especially on the baseball mound. He was a pitcher, after all. He would keep his gaze on the ground or on the batter, and never look at the crowd. Chewing gum helped, and he would always play a song in his mind—to drown out all the noise and chatter from crowds and the opposing team.

  “Mr. Rainwater?”

  Cole shook off the moment and slid the book sack off his shoulder. Retrieving his notebook, he approached the board. At least now he couldn’t see the students watching him. This wasn’t so bad. He grabbed a blue marker and went to work on the whiteboard.

  As he focused writing the equation in a fairly straight line and in equal size characters, Ritzman sat down behind his desk.

  Someone in the class giggled.

  Cole froze. What were they laughing at? Did he make a mistake?

  Suppressed laughter spilled out again. It unmistakably came from Dean Setters.

  “Mr. Setters? What’s so amusing?” Ritzman asked.

  Cole turned and saw his friend.