Bigfoot Hunters (Tales of the Crypto-Hunter Book 1)

by Rick Gualtieri

  Well, he wasn’t about to let a few little scratches stop him. He’d seen far worse in the service. Hell, he’d almost gotten his damn leg blown off in Iraq. As far as he was concerned, the best thing was to walk it off before his muscles started stiffening up. He decided a few circuits of the tiny town would do the job without the worry of pulling any stitches. If he had to go slinking back to the doc and the others found out, he wouldn’t hear the end of it for a long time.

  To be on the safe side, he had veered off the main road and taken a little side street, not much more than a dirt trail itself. Here, the houses were spaced out amongst the trees. There were no streetlights, and he had to navigate via his night vision, a task he didn’t mind at all. He was nearing what he thought might be the city limits when he stopped. His body might be banged up, but his senses weren’t. He wasn’t sure what it was, but some instinct was telling him things weren’t right.

  The air was still and quiet, a little too quiet. He stopped and listened. Chuck didn’t have a gun on him, but he never went anywhere without his combat knife. His hand slowly closed around the handle of the six-inch blade, and that was when the silence broke.

  A loud CRACK came from the direction he’d come. It sounded as if a tree had been knocked down. It was followed moments later by another. What the hell!?

  A scant second later, Chuck heard movement behind him. He turned, but his injuries had slowed him. He was a second too late as something large barreled into him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Rob and Mitchell were busy arguing. The medic had reluctantly tuned the van’s microphones back to Paula’s room. He had been on the receiving end of a few cheating girlfriends in his day and could understand. However, he regretted doing so almost immediately and began trying to talk Rob down. “Think about what you’re doing.”

  “What I’m doing? I don’t think I should be worrying about what, or more precisely who, I’m doing,” Rob countered.

  “Seriously, what are you hoping to accomplish?” the older man shot back.

  Rob was in the middle of opening his mouth to reply when a beeping noise diverted both of their attentions.

  “Hold that thought,” Mitchell said, turning to find one of the monitors rapidly filling up with data. He pressed a button, and sheets of paper began flowing out of a laser printer bolted to the wall.

  “What’s going on?” asked Rob, momentarily distracted from thoughts of petty revenge against his soon to be ex-girlfriend.

  “CDC. Looks like their computer found a match.”

  “What is it?”

  “Hold on a minute,” Mitchell replied, collecting the pages. “Give me a second to read through it. Unfortunately, this thing doesn’t just spit out one-line answers.”

  He tried his best to be patient while Mitchell paged through the results. As he neared the end of the stack, though, Rob became aware that the other man was frowning. By the time he had finished, a thin sheen of perspiration had appeared on Mitchell’s forehead.

  “What’s wrong?” Rob asked.

  “I think we’re in deep shit.”

  The lab was powered by its own generator, thus neither was aware that – at that exact moment – all the lights in Bonanza Creek had just gone out.

  Chapter 22

  It’s debatable whether any of the occupants of Bonanza Creek that night, human or otherwise, would have appreciated that they were about to reenact one of the pivotal moments in human evolution – an occurrence that had, in essence, set the stage for the world as we know it.

  It’s doubtful the humans would have appreciated it. Though we as a people pride ourselves on our rich texts full of histories, we are a forgetful species. Our few millennia of written knowledge pale in comparison to the ten thousand years of oral history that have been forgotten. Even that is a minor blip compared to the race memories we all share, but have long since repressed in our minds – save perhaps for when we dream.

  What has largely been forgotten by man is that thirty-thousand years ago, the battle for dominance amongst this planet’s hominids hadn’t yet been decided. Our ancestors, Cro-Magnon man, had waged a bloody centuries-long war of genocide against their closest competitors. Science assumes this much, but has gotten many of the details wrong.

  For instance, despite our arrogance in assuming that our superior brains made our rise inevitable, for a long time the scales were tipped quite evenly amongst those vying for the top of the food chain. The second mistake is in assuming that this was strictly a war between us and the Neanderthals. It was not. There were more players on the board, the Megathropi chief amongst them. There had originally been more combatants in this battle for species dominance, and their remnants still existed, but they were no longer true threats. Homo erectus had all but been rendered extinct by then. As for the diminutive Homo floresiensis, even then they had been scrambling for the relative safety that island living provided.

  All throughout Europe, Asia, and eventually North America – by way of the Siberian land bridge – a three-way war had been waged. Primitive tools, clothing, dwellings, and even the basics of agriculture had been known to all three species. What did it matter if the spear of a human was slightly sharper, if the arm of a Neanderthal could throw his twice as far? As such, each race brought its own unique strengths to the battle. Had events played out just slightly different, our world would be a greatly changed place today.

  The humans were smart and cunning, but they were physically weak. If caught alone with no weapons, there were few animals that could not take them. They were clever enough to realize this, though, and were thus heavily social creatures. Where there was one human, there were many. They also had the advantage of being a warlike race. Peace with them never lasted for long.

  The Megathropi were large, strong, and swift. Not as physically imposing as they would eventually evolve to be, but more than enough to take any three humans in unarmed combat. When they waged war against their rivals, they hefted clubs the size of small tree stumps, However, they weren’t wrathful by nature and only fought when provoked.

  The Neanderthals were an intermediary species. Though they embodied many of the best physical characteristics of the other two races, what doomed them was that they also embodied the worst as well. They could not compete against the Megathropi in power, and they could not best the humans with cunning. They were also a solitary people, preferring small, nomadic families. When another species decided to do battle against them, there were often not enough in any one area to mount an effective defense.

  In the end, it had been the humans’ social nature and their eagerness for battle that had decided the fate of the planet. They decimated the Neanderthals in Europe and slowly drove back the Megathropi through aggressiveness and sheer force of numbers.

  The Neanderthal tribes were eventually destroyed and their remnants absorbed into the human population. As for the Megathropi, they became a fractured people. They were driven into the deepest forests and the highest mountains. It was only in these places that the humans’ greater numbers could be countered and they were able to make a stand. Eventually, mankind grew disinterested in these inhospitable territories and retreated back to the prime lands they had won. In time, they forgot.

  The Megathropi were left in peace. Time passed, and they evolved. They became larger and stronger, better suited to the harsh climates they had been forced into. Their senses heightened, and they became warier. Despite their size, they adapted to a life of stealth. Sadly, all that they gained did not compare to what had been lost. Fire, tools, dwellings ... all was forgotten. In many ways, the remaining clans once more became the animals they had long ago risen above.

  As for this history between the two species, it is also doubtful the clan would have shown much appreciation for it either. Their racial memory was strong, and the lessons of their defeat had been passed down through the generations. Who knows what they might have thought under different circumstances. Some of them might have felt disgust at this repla
ying of events long past. Others might have had vague feelings of vindication. However, none of this mattered to them in the slightest. By the time the lights had gone out at Bonanza Creek, each and every one of them was quite insane.

  Chapter 23

  “Are you a fucking retard!?” Chuck screamed at the dirty man he’d just shoved off him. “I almost gutted you.”

  “Wouldn’t...” the man gasped as he rose back to his feet, looking exhausted, “...be the first time I almost got gutted today.”

  Chuck had no idea what he was talking about. All he knew was that it still didn’t feel right. If he had been a few hundred yards further back in the direction he had come, his suspicions would have been confirmed. He would have seen nothing but darkness where the town of Bonanza Creek should have been.

  “Can you walk?” he asked, vaguely aware of the throbbing in his own gut. The collision hadn’t done his wound any good. He could walk, but at the moment he wasn’t sure he could do much more.

  “Walking doesn’t concern me so much as running.” The man eyed the knife that Chuck was still holding. “Don’t suppose you got anything bigger than that pig sticker on you.”

  “Not with me. Why?” Chuck asked, hoping the answer wasn’t going to further ruin his already shitty day.

  “You ain’t gonna believe this,” replied Kurt Bachowski, “but there’s a big-ass ape out there, and it’s gonna be up both our shitters if we don’t get moving.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The blackout was just the excuse Phil had been looking for. He hadn’t expected Paula to be such an – animal, and a freaky one at that. They had just finished up their second go at it, and he was breathing hard. He felt like he could pass out right then and there. Paula, on the other hand, was almost immediately ready for round three. She had started pawing at him and was once more weirding him out with her bizarre demands.

  “Tame me, oh mighty chief. Make me your squaw,” she had grunted, lowering her head beneath the covers and starting to work her way down.

  Jesus, this bitch has some fucked up fantasies, he thought, trying to pry her off.

  He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back up, hoping she got the hint. However, she had just grinned at him and purred, “Oh, please don’t scalp me, young brave. The other settlers are dead. I have no defense against you, should you wish to violate me.”

  She started grinding her body against him again. Amazingly, he was the one feeling violated. He was getting close to decking the freaky bitch – although a small voice in his head warned she might like that – when the lights had blinked out.

  In the perfect darkness, she didn’t see the look of relief that crossed over his face.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, dropping out of whatever crazed fantasy had been playing out in her mind.

  “I don’t know. I’d better go check.” Before she could protest, he quickly rolled out from under her and began grabbing for his clothes in the dark.

  “You don’t have to go. This dump probably just blew a fuse. Why don’t you come back here and we can pretend you just dragged me back to your teepee?”

  Oh shit. He hopped back into his pants as quickly as he could. “I should get going anyway,” he told her, a slight note of desperation in his voice. “Your boyfriend will probably be worried.”

  She sighed in the darkness. “I guess you’re right. Although the twerp is probably busy jerking himself off to those assholes’ every word.”

  Phil heard shuffling on the bed. It sounded like she was getting up, too. “I’ll come with you. Maybe we can find a quiet corner and you can show me your great spirit again,” she purred.

  He involuntarily gulped. Even in the dark, he could imagine the insatiable look in her eyes. This was definitely not going as he had imagined. “You know, I’m not really an Indian,” he confessed, fumbling into his sneakers and starting toward the door.

  “Of course not,” her voice came from right in front of him. “Your people have been scattered by the white man,” she said in a throaty voice as she moved between him and the door. “You have no home, no identity of your own. All you have is vengeance for your own personal Trail of Tears, a chance to take it out on some poor, helpless maiden.”

  “Not quite what I meant,” he replied in a small voice. Christ, this chick won’t take the hint. He backed up and found himself leaning against one of the windows. Unsurprisingly, he heard her footsteps following.

  Unfortunately, that wasn’t all he heard.

  He noticed a strange chuffing sound that didn’t seem to be coming from her direction.

  “Did I tire you out that much?” Paula asked, walking up to him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re panting like a dog.”

  “That’s not me.”

  “Then what...” She didn’t get a chance to finish the question, though, for at that moment, the window exploded.

  Phil screamed out as shards of glass embedded themselves in his skin, but that wasn’t the worst. No, that was far from the worst. He felt the nails of an impossibly strong hand dig into his back. There was a wet tearing sound, followed by a crunch as his spine shattered. It was the last thing he heard before a much darker blackness took him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Inside the Bonanza Creek Bar and Grill, there wasn’t any sense of worry, at least not initially. The three men had been talking with Kate when the lights went out. Before anyone could react, Ben Reeves had cursed, “Goddamnit! This place is wired worse than a ten-cent whore.” Derek had been tempted to ask what he meant by that, when Ben turned on a flashlight from his spot behind the bar. “No need to panic, folks.”

  Moving with the speed of a man who knows a place like the back of his hand, he procured some candles from beneath the counter and lit them. At last, he seemed satisfied that he had given his customers enough light for the moment. He then said, “Hold tight and I’ll go check on the genny,” before walking around the bar and heading toward the rear of the room.

  Harrison gave a worried look as the bartender disappeared into the back, but Derek smiled at him reassuringly in the dim light. “There is such a thing as coincidence,” he said.

  Kate looked between them for a second. “Coincidence about what?”

  Harrison took another sip of his beer. “Sorry. I’m being jumpy. Just because I got a good scare is probably no reason to freak out the second anything weird happens.”

  “I’ll say,” she replied. “And trust me, there’s been a lot of weird going on the last day or two.”

  “How so?” Derek asked, his interest piqued.

  “Those hikers that got lost?” Harrison offered.

  “No. It has nothing to do with them or the search party. I’m probably all worked up because my dog’s gone missing.”

  Derek and Francis exchanged a quick glance. “When did this happen?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “I haven’t seen him since I left the house this morning. It’s not like him. He’s usually a lazy bugger. Then there was that blood on my porch.”

  “Blood?” She suddenly had Derek’s full attention.

  “Yeah, a whole puddle of it. My dad thought one of the locals got drunk, then maybe stepped on some broken glass. I don’t know, though. It was a lot of blood for that. Whoever they were, I just hope they got themselves over to Doc Hanscomb’s place.”

  Harrison’s eyes went wide. Derek was about to tell him to calm down and not jump to conclusions, but the younger man spoke first. “What do you mean by ‘stepped on glass?’”

  “Well, there were bloody footprints. Big ones, too, and the damnedest thing was they were barefoot, just like it was the middle of summer.”