Bigfoot Hunters

by Rick Gualtieri

  In his madness, though, he was careless. He moved to and fro through the trees, first one way and then another, nearly aimless. Every few steps, he would stop to vent his rage against whatever was nearby. For many minutes, the process repeated itself. His wounded arm blazed with pain, but was otherwise functional. Such was the resilience of his species.

  Some small part of his brain contained the race memories of the past. Long ago, his ancestors had lost a great war against the two-legged things. They were smaller and weaker than his kind, but they were clever. They had learned to use the sticks and rocks of the forest as weapons against their larger, stronger adversaries. In time, his ancestors had also learned these skills, but by then it had been too late. They were too few by that point, and thus they had retreated deep into the forests, where the two-legged things did not go. They became scattered and reclusive, but their exile had also caused them to grow strong. As time passed, they became larger and more durable, better suited to their harsh conditions.

  In contrast, the two-legged things, though still clever, became physically weaker over the eons. Ten of them could not stand against even one of his kind. Even a cub could easily subdue a two-legged thing if need be. Nevertheless, it rarely happened. They were strong, but they were also peaceful ... at least most of them were.

  The rage returned. Within the space of seconds, his memories flickered out, and once more all he knew was anger. The cause wasn’t important. He destroyed another nearby tree, but then stopped. He sniffed the air. The two-legged things that had harmed him were back the way he had come. Their scent was also somehow now in front.

  Fewer of them ... the females he had smelled earlier. He would kill them first as a warning to the others. When they broke and ran in fear, he would pick them off one by one. Then the feasting would begin, but first the screaming.

  * * *

  “Oh really?” Harrison asked. “I don’t think this one got the memo about not attacking people.”

  “You have to understand,” Mitchell explained, “sasquatches are not all that different from humans. In fact, they’re probably our closest relatives on the planet.”

  “Gigantopithecus,” Rob stated proudly.

  “Actually, that’s wrong,” Mitchell corrected. “Just sensationalist claptrap, really. Gigantos were big, but they were more like oversized gorillas. Oh, and they only lived in Asia. Based on what we know, I’d say squatches are more of an offshoot of a creature called Megathropus. They were large hominids, not too far off the genetic branch from Homo erectus. In short, they’re big, hairy kissing-cousins of Homo sapiens...”

  “They could be the Jolly Green Giant for all I care,” Allison interrupted. “What’s your point?”

  “My point,” he continued, “is that these creatures have a lot in common with us. They’re smart. They live in families. And for the most part, they’re pretty okay with the concept of leaving us alone if we do the same. Except...”

  “Except?” asked Rob.

  “Except that, like people, sometimes you get a bad egg in the bunch.”

  “That’s where we come in,” Derek said. “When a cryptid goes bad, it needs to be taken care of.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice you said cryptid, not just bigfoot,” Rob replied.

  “Smart boy. Let’s just say that there are more things in heaven and earth...”

  “That still doesn’t explain the cover-up,” Harrison said.

  “Slave labor,” replied Francis.

  “Huh?”

  “Exactly that,” he explained. “If the world as a whole learned that these things existed, before you knew it you’d find them working on construction crews or being forced to mine minerals.”

  Allison rolled her eyes. “Oh, you mean just like you see all the gorillas out there paving roads today ... oh wait, you don’t.”

  Mitchell laughed at that. “She’s got you there, Frank. I told you that slave labor argument was bullshit.”

  “So what, then?”

  “They only tell us so much, kid,” Derek stated flatly. “If you’re a philanthropist, you might say that it’s because these things are rare and the government figures the best way to protect them is to deny they exist.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  “Then you might argue that it’s in the best interest of some large corporations to keep things mum because otherwise we’d have large swaths of natural resources closed off as sanctuaries.”

  “At least that sounds more honest,” Allison replied.

  Before anyone could comment further, Chuck reappeared from the brush ahead. He came over and whispered to Derek. They conversed for a few seconds in muffled tones before splitting up. Derek turned back to the group, while the tracker ran off ahead of them again.

  “Actually, what it sounds like,” he said in a somber tone, “is that our squatch has found your friends.”

  Chapter 13

  Once upon a time, he cared for stealth. In what seemed to be a former life, he had been docile and curious, as the others of his kind were. He had been more than capable of sneaking right to the edge of a campsite unseen, observing the occupants for as long as he pleased, then stealing away into the woods without the two-legged things being any wiser.

  Then the rage had come. For a time, he was able to push it aside in favor of caution. There had even been moments of clarity when he had once again merely been curious. That was all over now.

  The last few scraps of sanity had fled his tortured mind when he had been shot. The pain of it, combined with the seemingly endless fire burning in his head, had made certain of that. All that remained was the rage, and the rage commanded that he abandon all caution. Only the killing was important now.

  The faint whispers in the back of his head that had been telling him to sneak up on his prey, take them quietly, then retreat to the mountains to lick his wounds, had gone silent. The fever had finally claimed that part of his brain.

  * * *

  Danni noticed that Paula had been dozing off – the poor girl had finally reached her limit – when an ungodly scream erupted from the forest. It was the creature, and it was close...too close.

  The noise brought Paula back to full consciousness, and before Danni could clamp a hand over her mouth again, she screamed with everything she had.

  “It’s coming for us!” she yelled, that wild-eyed panic setting in again.

  It is now, Danni thought ruefully as she pulled Paula to her feet. “Can you run?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I guess we’re gonna find out.” She was every bit as scared as Paula, but she knew deep down that if they both succumbed to panic, it was as good as over. She quickly unshouldered her backpack, taking just enough time to grab a bottle of water and a knife. Fat lot of good it’ll probably do me, she thought before tossing the rest of it aside. She regretted leaving it behind. If they got lost with no supplies, they might be as good as dead.

  Another bellowing roar sounded.

  On the other hand, if they didn’t move fast, they’d definitely be dead. She likewise pulled Paula’s pack from her shoulders, then looked her in the eye.

  “Do you want to live?” she asked the other girl.

  Paula gave a small nod in return. She was a frightened rabbit, but she was still in there somewhere.

  “Good. Then we move fast, but we do it my way. If you run off, I can’t help you. Do you understand? If you don’t do what I say, then that thing is going to catch you and kill you.”

  Paula whimpered pitifully, but then nodded again. Danni hated herself for saying it, but in Paula’s current state of mind, the only way to reach her was to scare her even worse. She had little doubt the creature could find them wherever they fled, but she had no intention of making things easy for it.

  * * *

  They were getting closer. Where the creature’s path was still erratic, they had been following a straight line in the general direction it was hea
ded, right toward the two girls. Another of the squatch’s cries from somewhere ahead confirmed this.

  Even though they were closing in, Derek still found himself a bit troubled. He and his team had hunted down rogue sasquatches before. Hell, during mating season the year before, they had been on the road nonstop for three whole months. But there was something weird about this one. Its behavior was just wrong. Even a rogue male gone full-on psycho would normally still be a little cautious. It might kill any human who entered its territory, but then it would fade away back into the woods. This one had thrown all caution to the wind. It was like a tornado on two legs.

  A few days prior, he had seen the damage it had done along the trail leading away from Bonanza Creek. Such savagery was almost unheard of.

  He had once come across two clans of squatches warring with one another over territory, and even then there hadn’t been anything like this. There was definitely something wrong about this one, even more so than usual.

  “You guys can kill it, can’t you?” a scared voice asked.

  “Huh? What?” Derek asked, coming out of his reverie.

  “You can kill it, right?” It was the Indian-looking kid. What was his name ... Phil or something?

  “Don’t worry about it. We have it covered,” he replied, turning back to the trail.

  “He’s right,” Mitchell said. The kid was obviously scared out of his wits, so a little reassurance wouldn’t hurt. “That’s a Browning BAR safari rifle Derek’s using. It’s loaded with .338 magnum shells. You could take down an angry rhino with that thing if you needed to, and there’s more where that came from.” He patted the rifle hanging from his own shoulder. “Relax. We’ve done this before.”

  “So, if you’ve done this before,” spoke Harrison, “what happens to us after you’ve killed that thing?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Derek asked, checking his rifle. “We interview you for the show.”

  * * *

  Kate Barrows, the owner, manager, and only employee – outside of occasional counter-sitting by her father – of the Bonanza Creek General Mart, locked the door of her establishment and put the Out to Lunch sign in the window. The name of the store had been her little joke after renovating and reinventing the old feed and grain shop her father had signed over to her. It was a little too modern for your typical small town general store, yet it had just a bit too much hometown flavor to be considered a Quickchek or a 7-Eleven. It was also the largest store in Bonanza Creek, although that wasn’t saying much.

  Regardless, it was all hers, and she loved every second of it. Sure, she’d never retire rich from it, but she set her own hours and had a good relationship with almost everyone in town. Those were the things that counted, as far as she was concerned.

  She was in a fine mood as she walked the quarter-mile toward her home. While she hated to profit off the misfortune of others, whenever hikers went missing her business went up. The local authorities would be in need of batteries to fuel their flashlights and coffee to fuel their bodies. In addition to that, not only had Old Man Gentry’s Social Security check arrived for the month, allowing him to pay down his tab, but those college kids from yesterday had also resulted in a pretty healthy sale.

  She remembered that one of them had been eyeing her up. He had been kind of cute, too. Kate allowed herself a momentary blush at the thought, but no more. He must have been ten years her junior. She was single and, truth be told, a little lonely. In Bonanza Creek, the pickings for eligible bachelors were meager, indeed, but, she wasn’t quite ready to play the cougar card yet. Maybe if he had only been five years younger...

  She pulled herself out of that little fantasy as she approached her house. It was a small, one-story ranch, but, like the store, it was hers. She had been raised there and had left only long enough to attend two years of community college. Her mother had passed away shortly afterwards, and she had returned to keep her aging father company. Whereas some might have resented doing so, she hadn’t considered it an inconvenience. After a few years in Denver, she had grown to miss the quiet of her little hometown. She would have returned eventually. Her mother’s passing had just hastened an inevitable decision.

  A few years later, her father had decided to retire. Shortly thereafter, he signed over everything to his daughter, including the family home. As he had told her, part of it was trusting that his little girl would do right by him. The other part was a desire to screw the bastards in the state capital out of their slice of the pie when he passed from this mortal coil. Since then, he had seemed content to spend his days fishing or sitting out back, smoking his pipe. He often told her it was like being a kid again, but better. He had no responsibilities and also no parents to tell him when to go to bed.

  As Kate neared her front porch, she realized something was wrong. She was almost always greeted by her Bluetick Coonhound, Gus. Whereas her father might be out casting flies at one of the many streams in the area, Gus was a homebody. He never strayed far. “That’s because he knows where the food is kept,” her father would always joke.

  For now, though, the dog was nowhere to be seen, nor did she hear his distinctive baying off in the distance. Oh well, maybe he’s found a squirrel to chase. She stepped onto the porch. It was only as she was pulling the keys from her pocket that she noticed the blood on the wood beneath her feet.

  * * *

  The two-legged things were close. He had made certain they knew he was coming for them. The stupid things might actually believe they stood a chance.

  He could take them whenever he wished. He would tear them asunder. He would feast on their flesh and their fear. Perhaps he would even take his time, maybe cripple one and let it watch while he ripped the life from the other. The thought almost brought joy to his mind as he began to focus on the anticipated kill.

  * * *

  “Interview us?” Harrison asked incredulously. That was not quite the answer he had been expecting.

  “Later,” Derek turned and said. “We’re getting close now. From here on in, I want silence until we bag this big boy.” He heard a sharp intake of breath from the one they kept alternately calling “Phil” and “Wild Feather.” Derek made a mental note to ask what was up with that. For now, though, he couldn’t have that kid messing things up by getting into a hissy fit. “Frank, come up here with me,” he said, thinking it through. “Mitch, I want you to hang back about ten yards. Keep the peace.”

  Mitch nodded back knowingly. He knew exactly what Derek was talking about, although he didn’t like it. The hunt was always so much easier when they didn’t have to worry about making it a rescue mission, too. Armed or not, none of them liked the idea of going after this thing one man short. Physically, these creatures were the apex hominids of the world, possessing the strength of an adult gorilla combined with near human-like intelligence. That didn’t even take into account the fact that this one was acting weird. However, Derek knew Mitchell wouldn’t protest. These kids, especially the twitchy one, needed a set of eyeballs on them.

  Francis came up from the rear and joined him. Together, the two of them doubled their pace and began to put some distance between themselves and the group Mitch was now tasked with babysitting. Within a few paces, they were lost from sight in the dense forest.

  Derek pulled a Bluetooth earbud from his vest pocket and put it on. The others would be doing the same. Once he gave the signal, things would move quickly ... though whether for good or bad remained to be seen.

  * * *

  The two-legged things were stupid. Even had he not smelled them, they had been pathetically easy to spot. Though he had no names for color in his guttural tongue, he knew that the two-legged things were often adorned in patterns and shades that were alien to his home. These two were no different. His eyes, well attuned to picking out anything that didn’t belong in his domain, spotted them as they attempted to cower in the brush.

  The red haze of rage descended upon him. Any thoughts of savoring
the kill emptied from his stricken mind. He mustered all of his considerable speed and leaped upon where they hid. Everything else ceased to be of importance as he began to tear them asunder. The fabric of their meager coverings tore with ease. He began to claw, to rip, to rend ... eager to hear their screams.

  * * *

  Kate’s mind was in a panic. At first she thought that perhaps Gus had caught a possum, but there had been too much blood for that, and then there were the footprints. Barefoot tracks in the blood led off the porch where they appeared to head around back.

  Kate followed them. Had her father injured himself somehow, then wandered off in a daze? That had to be the case. If so, she needed to find him quickly.

  In her haste, she failed to realize that the prints were far too large to belong to her father.

  * * *

  Something was wrong. The two-legged things had not struggled. There had been no blood. Worst of all, there was no screaming. The rage subsided just enough for him to realize his error.

  These were not the two-legged things. It was just the discarded coverings that some carried upon their backs. He had been tricked. He roared his frustration to the forest around him and once more began to sniff the air.

  * * *

  Paula and Danni both heard the beast’s screams. It had worked. Just as they had been about to bolt, Danni had come to a realization. Their backpacks likely carried their scent. They could possibly be used as a decoy. She had hidden them in some bushes and instructed Paula to drop to the ground and roll in the dirt. She had done the same. It wouldn’t be much, but it might obscure their scent just enough to draw it to the packs, allowing them to put some more distance between it.

  She just hoped it would be enough.

  * * *

  He roared again in frustration and confusion. He had not realized how dull his senses were growing. He was having trouble picking up a scent. He exhaled, blowing a wad of thick mucus from his nostrils. He was only able to gain a few clear breaths before his sinuses again became obscured by the viscous fluid; however, even muted, his senses were still keener than the two-legged things’.