Bigfoot Hunters

by Rick Gualtieri

  With her last thoughts, she considered that maybe there had been something to the feeling of dread that had been building all day. All at once, she realized what it meant: her husband was dead, and she was going to join him. See you soon, hon...

  As the glimmer of life faded from her eyes, she never knew that her first intuition regarding the absurdity of psychic powers had been correct. She wasn’t going to join her husband. In fact, he was coming to join her. It was still half an hour until Byron Clemons’ final face-off with another of the creatures out on the lonely country road.

  * * *

  “Why can’t I turn on the light, Elmer?” Vera Gentry asked her husband for what, to him, felt like the hundredth time. The only illumination in their small cabin came from the living room fireplace. He would have preferred it pitch dark so as to make it look like nothing was alive in the place. Sadly, their old oil furnace hadn’t kicked over for some reason. He’d made the concession to get a fire going, not keen on freezing his ass off while he kept listen for whatever was screaming like a banshee out in the woods.

  “No lights! I already told you, woman,” he spat from his favorite chair. He had moved it to the center of the room where he now sat, – a loaded double-barreled shotgun resting on his lap. Next to Elmer, on the tray table where he normally kept the TV remote, sat a full box of ammo.

  “And I’m telling you you’re being a darn old fool,” she shot back. “No lights. No TV. Heck, I can’t even see enough to knit. All for what? You probably just heard a wildcat yowling out back.”

  “Weren’t no cat made that noise,” he said with grim finality. “Now pipe down, I’m listening. Can’t hear nothing with you clucking like a hen.”

  She made a sound of disgust and got up from the couch where she had sat, complaining nonstop, since supper. Elmer breathed a quiet sigh. She was his third wife and by far his favorite. She could cook and she kept the house clean, but once she got on a nagging kick, the bitch just didn’t shut up. He’d never been a violent man. He believed a sharp tongue lashing was always the better solution. Regardless, every so often, he found himself wondering if maybe a good smack upside the head might be in order. Now was one of those times. His sharp ears didn’t mean squat while she was cawing like a bird.

  She walked over to the closed shutters. “Well, at least let me open the window a crack. It’s getting stuffy in here. If I have to be cooped up in the dark, I might as well be able to breathe.”

  He opened his mouth, meaning to tell her to sit back down and, for the last time, shut the hell up, but in the split second between the end of her rant and his intake of breath, he heard it. It wasn’t much, just the crunch of some dead leaves. Regardless, he definitely heard something. Elmer Gentry’s ears were sharp. They had never failed him ... until now.

  “VERA, GET AWAY FROM...”

  The window exploded inward before he could finish.

  The spray of wood and shattered glass caused his wife to back up a step, but it wasn’t far enough. An arm, muscular and covered in brown hair, shot through the opening.

  Elmer’s eyes weren’t that good, especially in the dim light. He couldn’t see exactly what was standing outside the window except to tell that it was big. He didn’t need to, though. He already knew what it was.

  Before he could steady the shotgun against his shoulder, the hand grasped the front of Vera’s housedress and hauled her toward the opening. She was dragged halfway out, her slippered feet kicking wildly in the air. Under other circumstances, it might have been comical, her legs flailing away while her dress rode up to show her bloomers. However, there was nothing funny about what happened next.

  An animalistic snarl came from outside, followed by a wet ripping sound. Vera’s feet stopped moving and fell limp after one last twitch. A second later, her lower half fell to the floor, the rest of her having been torn clean off. She hadn’t even had time to scream.

  Elmer raised the gun. There would be time to mourn later. For now, though, there was business to attend to. Unfortunately, even as he brought the gun to bear, he could tell there was nothing standing at the window. Another soft crunch outside alerted him that it was moving. Still seated, he quickly pointed the shotgun toward the front door.

  Oh no you don’t, you sneaky son of a bitch. The creature possessed impressive natural stealth for its size. It was moving quickly and quietly, but it hadn’t counted on Elmer Gentry’s uncanny hearing.

  He watched calmly while his front door was literally torn from its hinges, as if it were made of nothing sturdier than tissue paper. The creature stepped through with a grunt. Runny red eyes locked first on Elmer, then on the barrel of his gun. They opened wide as if in surprise – the last bit of sanity in its hairy head asserting itself at the very end.

  Elmer unloaded with both barrels. Had he been standing, the recoil would have knocked him flat on his old ass. Either way, he was going to have a nasty bruise on his shoulder. It more than did the job, though. The only thing left of the beast’s head was a fine red mist. The rest of it crumpled unceremoniously to the floor.

  “That was for you, Vera,” he said to the empty room once the echoes from the blast died down.

  He sat back in his chair with a sigh and closed his eyes.

  That was when he heard it ... when he heard them.

  With the door now wide open and Vera’s incessant prattling silenced – permanently – he began to understand. Roars, cries, snarls – all of them reached Elmer’s sharp ears. Soon enough, more of the creatures would come, many more. Had he been a younger man, he might have tried to make a stand, but he was old ... old and suddenly very tired.

  As he listened to the sounds of Bonanza Creek dying, he lit his pipe for one last smoke. He took several deep, satisfying drags, then grabbed some shells from the table beside him. He calmly reloaded his shotgun, his wrinkled hands steady – moving as if he had all the time in the world.

  He took one last puff from his pipe before setting it down. He kicked the loafer from his right foot, noting with some amusement that it landed on the body of the slain beast. Kicked yer ass all the way to Hell, he thought with a grin.

  Elmer placed the barrel of the loaded gun under his chin, then positioned his big toe on the trigger. His had been a good life. He found he had no regrets. If anything, the anticipation of seeing Vera again so soon gave him one last smile.

  Moments later, another thunderous blast shook the house, then all was quiet ... this time for good.

  Some might have called it the coward’s way out, while to others it would have been a good death. Regardless, Elmer Gentry checked out on his own terms. He was the only one in Bonanza Creek that night who could make such a claim.

  * * *

  Many such events played out across the small town that night. People, both young and old, died. Some went quickly. Others weren’t granted that mercy. A few died knowing what had come for them, but more went to the grave with no understanding of what had killed them. A handful of lucky souls even managed to fight back before being laid low. Regardless of how its occupants died, though, as the night wore on, Bonanza Creek became less of a town and more a graveyard.

  Chapter 26

  Kurt Bachowski didn’t like being yelled at. He didn’t like being yelled at by women. He really didn’t like being yelled at by foreigners. And he especially didn’t like being yelled at by niggers. That he was being bawled out by one now was just icing on the cake, as far as he was concerned.

  The disappointing hunt that morning had been just the start of a big dump that life decided to take on his head. His brother’s death had been awful, but that seemed like almost a lifetime ago now. The bitch ape that killed Stan had charged him, and he’d emptied his rifle at it. Had he been given time, he might have been able to put one through its eye and end it right there. He hadn’t been nearly so lucky, though. All of the low caliber bullets had struck home, but they’d barely slowed the thing down. But barely was better than not at all.


  The creature had paused to put a hand over one of the small bullet wounds in its stomach, and Kurt had used the opportunity to throw the now empty rifle at it – hitting it in the face with a satisfying thud. He then turned tail and ran like hell.

  It had been close. The damn thing was fast, and it apparently knew the woods as well as he did, maybe better. At one point, he’d practically felt it breathing down his neck. He had turned his head and looked straight into its hellish red eyes. He was sure he was a goner, but then the creature had made a mad lunge for him and stumbled over a tree root instead. It went down, and he hadn’t waited around for it to get back up.

  Since then, Kurt had been trying every trick he knew to make sure it didn’t pick up his trail again, all while making his way toward town. Though he and his brother kept plenty of firepower in their cabin – his cabin now, he mentally corrected himself – he didn’t want to risk doubling back. Animal or not, the thing was smart, and that made it all the more dangerous.

  As if all that wasn’t bad enough, he had come within inches of being gutted by the loud-mouthed spook in front of him. Now the son of a bitch was barking orders like this was the goddamned military.

  “When did you see the squatch!?”

  Kurt spat on the ground. “I don’t know what the hell a squatch is. All I know is that there’s a fucking gorilla loose out there, a goddamned big one.”

  “Not a gorilla ... sasquatch.”

  “What?”

  “Sasquatch. You know, bigfoot? When did you see it?”

  Under normal circumstances, Kurt would have laughed at that shit and continued walking. Under slightly less than normal circumstances, he might have decked the asshole for getting in his face. Unfortunately, the circumstances were so far from normal right now as to be in a whole other state. Kurt considered this for a moment.

  “Left my Rolex in my other suit,” he answered snidely, “but I guess it started chasing me a couple hours ago.”

  The man grabbed him by the shoulders. “Are you sure?”

  Kurt shoved him away. He didn’t like being touched either. “Yeah, I’m sure!”

  The bastard pulled out his knife again. Kurt eyed him warily, but the man started scanning the area instead.

  “Damn,” he said to himself. “More than one.”

  “More than one?” Kurt asked. “You mean there are others?”

  “It would seem so. I think we should get back to town. There are people who need to know this.”

  Kurt spat again. “Shit. That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said.”

  * * *

  If the screaming hadn’t told the group that something was wrong, then the primal roar coming from the rear of the structure certainly did. Derek didn’t hesitate for more than a moment. He stood and turned to his cameraman. “Stay with them, Frank.” He then strode toward the backroom as the bartender had done.

  Francis started to address the others. “Okay, let’s all stay calm. He knows what he’s...”

  Derek returned just as quickly as he’d left. “Scratch that! Get them out of here.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” Kate asked as Derek leaped over the bar. “Hey! This isn’t your place.”

  Derek spoke while grabbing bottles from the back shelf. “Somehow, I don’t think the owner is going to mind. Get them moving, Frank!”

  The big cameraman stood and tried to usher the others toward the front door. Harrison didn’t need to be told twice. However, Kate wasn’t about to be dismissed so easily.

  “Ben’s back there. If he’s hurt, we have to help him.”

  Without turning to face her, Derek replied, “He’s beyond our help right now.” He threw the bottles toward the rear of the room, shattering them against the door frame.

  “What the hell are you doing!?”

  “Having a fire sale,” he answered, tossing one of the lit candles from the bar. Within seconds, the back of the room was engulfed in flames.

  He hopped back over the bar and joined the group. Grabbing Kate by the arm, he began to drag her toward the front door.

  She struggled against him. “We can’t leave Ben.”

  Harrison turned to face her, unable to believe she could be so thick. “He’s dead, lady. Get the hint.” He didn’t like being so blunt, but he was at the end of his rope. The creature’s roar a few seconds earlier had gone a long way toward unnerving him.

  “All right, enough,” Derek barked. “Outside now! There’s a lot of alcohol in this place, and we really don’t want to be here when the fire reaches it.”

  “Do you think that’ll stop it?” Francis asked, pushing the front door open.

  “Not really.” Derek stepped out into the night air, the rest following him. He took no more than three steps before stopping dead in his tracks.

  “What is it?” asked Harrison, although as the sounds reached his ears, he understood.

  The darkness around them was anything but quiet. Roars, screams, and hoots filled the air. They seemed to be coming from everywhere at once.

  “Offhand,” said Derek with a sigh, “I’d say this job just got a bit more complicated.”

  * * *

  “Mitch ... Mitchell!” Rob called out. With all of the equipment that had been packed into it, the van had barely enough extra room for the two of them. In the dark, though, the toppled space seemed nearly cavernous.

  He took a deep breath and calmed himself. He was lying on his back against something smooth. It felt like a monitor. Reaching out to either side, he began feeling around.

  Again, the van shuddered. There was a hollow boom against the side, now the roof from Rob’s perspective, and then any questions he might have had as to the reason were answered. A shrill scream pierced the night, disturbingly loud even in the enclosed space.

  But we killed it, his mind childishly insisted. Well, okay, ‘we’ might be a tad generous. However, then logic took over, and he remembered what they’d been discussing before things went all topsy-turvy. Rabies! Mitchell was right to be afraid.

  A low moan to his right caught his attention. He reached over as the van lurched again. Whatever was out there was angry and apparently not taking no for an answer.

  A part of Rob wanted to curl up into a little ball, but then he remembered who he was in town with. Would the Crypto Hunter crawl into a corner and cry? Of course not, and neither would he.

  He groped around until he found Mitchell’s shoulder. He gave it a shake, and the moan came again. “Mitch! Are you okay?”

  “Ugh! What the hell?” a slurred voice responded from the darkness.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I think one of the damn printers fell on my head. Hurts like hell, but I’ll live. You?”

  “I’m as okay as I can probably be right now.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’m thinking that you were right about the rabies,” Rob answered.

  The entire vehicle shook. In the small confined space, it felt like an earthquake. Metal began to groan, and the equipment that was now above them sparked. In the intermittent light, they saw that the side of the van was starting to cave in, as if a great weight were standing on it. Upon consideration, Rob realized that was exactly what was happening.

  * * *

  Neither Danni nor Allison needed any further answers from Paula, not that she had any left to give. The loud growl coming from the hallway told them everything they needed to know.

  Before either of the other two girls could react, though, Paula let loose with a frightened squeal and bolted for the bathroom. She closed the door, and Danni heard a click from the inside.

  She ran over and tried turning the knob – locked. “Paula? Paula, open the door,” she said in a voice that she hoped was loud enough to be heard, but low enough so as not to alert the thing that was outside the room.

  All she heard in reply was a whimper.

  “Paula! Come on, open the doo
r. You’re not safe in there.”

  “Danni,” Allison said, “I don’t think there’s time for that.”

  She turned back toward her friend. In the glow of the flashlight, she could see Allison backing away from the door. Then she heard it: heavy footsteps that stopped right outside. They were followed by a snuffling sound.

  There was a moment of silence, then Allison said, “Come on!” She dashed to the opposite end of the room and threw open the window, the flashlight tumbling from her hands in the process.

  “We can’t leave Paula,” Danni pleaded, even as she followed her friend.

  “I don’t think we have a choice.” Allison looked out of the second-floor window in the direction of their cars. There was only a quarter-crescent moon that night, but it cast just enough light for her to know there was nothing out there to improve her mood. From her vantage point, it appeared as if all the vehicles had been beaten to hell, but the van was by far the worst. It was now on its side, and she could see another of those things leaping up and down upon it, trying to get in. Even from where she stood, the beast looked huge.

  She turned and spoke quickly. “We jump and hit the ground running. Turn left, and just go. Trust me on this.”

  Danni shook her head. “But Paula...”

  Whatever she had started to say, though, was answered by the door splintering into pieces – as if someone had driven a truck through it. A large shape growled at them from just inside the now open portal.

  Neither girl said anything; they didn’t need to. Allison was the first through the window. Danni followed less than a second later. Through some minor miracle, neither of them broke or sprained anything in the landing. By the time the creature reached the window, they were both running at an all-out sprint.

  * * *

  Paula didn’t hear it come through the door. She had huddled in the bathtub and closed the curtain as if it were some magic talisman instead of just a cheap shower liner. She curled herself into as small of a ball as she could and began to make a low keening noise.