Evans was the first to dismount as the rest of the entourage killed the engines and followed. The lot being a sordid looking bunch, armed to the teeth, and hungry for blood.
“How did you know where I was?” Smith asked.
“The phone is also a GPS transmitter. We’ve been tracking you all this time. It is Bigfoot . . . my God. Are they dead?” Evans said, as he stood next to Smith, looking down at the prized catch.
“No . . . I couldn’t do it. The deal is off,” Smith said, his eyes filled with tears.
“It doesn’t work that way, Smith, and you know it.”
“It’s going to work that way this time. These creatures are innocent spawns of evolution that have toiled over the eons to become a vibrant part of the living, breathing, Earth. They aren’t food to eat, or beasts subject to the whip of man. They are the innocent souls with whom man never wanted to share glory. Man chose to squander the pure light he originally possessed, which led us to darkness bent on satisfying every wanton lust, at no matter the ultimate cost. Our self-centeredness will end now. I won’t let you harm them,” Smith said.
The rapid discharge of fully automatic AR-10s firing from behind turned Smith’s insides the jelly. He looked over and saw three warriors of gloom pass smirks of victory between each other, and then walk away as if nothing had happened.
Down in the gully, two spirits rose from the dead bodies and floated toward infinite blue sky. The mother and child would join the father in the next world. A world hopefully without the menace of man.
“You had no right . . . this is their land,” Smith said, dropping to his knees.
“You’re wrong, Smith. This is my land,” Evans said. “This was your ancestor’s land at one time. We bought it, it’s ours now. They sold their soul, and we bought it. Just like I bought the souls of those two Bigfoots. I bought them from you,” Evans threw four thousand dollars in cash in front of Smith. “‘The sins of the father are passed down to the son.’ I guess you were destined to repeat the same mistake.”
Inhuman shrieks of rage surrounding the five men turned the openness of the forest into a cage that started shrinking in size.
“What in the hell was that?” Evans said.
Smith rose and looked around, capitulating to the numbness death would soon ensure forever. “I only remembered after the spirits of the two touched me as they left for the heavens.” Smith went silent.
“Remembered what?” Evans’s voice cracked as countless numbers of the mighty beasts emerged from the forest.
“The Wise men are territorial, with many square miles of land in their domain. But they share a kinship that binds them as one.
“I found the female’s mate dead and buried. I didn’t realize at first that it was only a temporary resting place. The clan has been gathering for weeks, from near and far, for all to honor the fallen one together. The female was to choose a new mate after the burial ceremony and reclaim the domain as a family.”
The three hired guns searched frenziedly around for a path of escape, as the circle of Bigfoot monsters tightened.
“We have woken the sleeping giant. It is time for us to all pay for our indiscretions,” Smith said. “I suggest each of you save one bullet for yourself when the time comes.”
Smith opened his mouth and stuck the barrel of the 9mm in.
The blast from the bullet discharging at supersonic speed made Evans jump.
Evans unholstered his side arm and held it with two hands closely to his chest. He couldn’t decide if he would make the futile attempt to defend himself, or just to go ahead and mix his brains with Smith’s across the beautiful green foliage in the wilds of Willow Creek.
The End
The Art of War
“Yes sir. There ain’t nothing better in life than sipping on a cold beer and catching trout while the Arkansas River flows betwixt your legs,” Mark said, pulling his beer hugger free from his fishing-vest with the sound of the Velcro anchor ripping away. Taking several gulps, he mashed the hugger back securely in place. “Ah, beer—urp—best drink ever. Ain’t that right, Joe?”
“Right Mark, best drink ever,” Joe said. The best way to keep his brother from rambling while fishing was to answer as quickly as possible. The river was up just over their knees. The cool water helped counter the heat of the noon sun, and sang a serene tune as it rolled across the rocks heading downstream.
“You think I can get a patent on my invention? The fishing-vest beer holder?”
“I don’t know, Mark. All you did was glue a patch of Velcro loops on your hugger and sewed in the hooks on your vest. I don’t think you can get a patent on that.”
“Well, that ain’t right. Maybe I could get some Chinese company to make them for cheap, and I could sell them over the internet. You’d buy one of these if you saw how great it worked, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know. Heck, I guess I would just do the same thing you did and make one of my own. Unless I needed a new fishing-vest and the hugger came with it.”
Traveling down the river’s edge, a creature as old as man himself prowled the boundaries of its territory. It walked upright like man. Its body was covered in reddish brown hair thicker than that of a grizzly and towered over nine feet in height. Its massive feet left deep impressions in the soft earth. Fallen limbs crunched under its eight hundred pounds of weight. Folklore gave it the name ‘Bigfoot,’ but it knew of itself only by what its natural instincts taught. It only thought of itself as Hunter.
Mark whisked his fly back over his shoulder, and then sprang it forward. The bait soared through the air and landed a good distance downriver. He smiled proudly at his cast, and celebrated with another quick sip of beer.
Joe loved getting away from the concrete and steel of civilization and becoming one with nature. Sure, he enjoyed fishing. It brought peace to his troubled soul. Fishing though, wasn’t a competition for him as it was for Mark. Mark was younger by three years and always felt he had to outdo his older brother.
Joe never gave Mark a reason to feel inferior while they were growing up. In fact, he went out of his way to do just the opposite. Mark took it as a sign of weakness whenever Joe let him win at things. But Joe didn’t have enough of a competitive spirit to care in the long run, an attitude that he carried with him into adulthood. He didn’t care about winning or losing, as long as he had a steady paycheck, a place to live, food to eat, and the company of a woman every couple of months.
A horrid smell broke Joe from the spell of the babbling river. “Good grief, Mark, that smells like you ate something dead. Try to fart downwind next time.”
“What? I didn’t do nothing. I don’t smell . . . whew, what is that? That would gag a maggot. Must be an animal carcass floating down the river.”
A trout nibbled on the fly. Mark gave it a little play and waited patiently for it to hit, then pulled back on the rod to set the hook. “Whoo-wee, got me a big’un.” He reeled in his prize catch with a grin smeared ear to ear across his face. “Look-it at what I caught! Look-it what I caught! This one is as big as Jaws!” Mark looked back at Joe.
Joe smiled and gave him a nod of approval, reeled his fly back in, and trudged through the water over to Mark.
With his prize within reach, Mark lifted the line by the fish’s mouth and held it out of the water. “See, it’s as big as I thought it was! That there brown trout must be twenty inches long!”
For once, Joe thought Mark had a right to brag. “I don’t know if it’s twenty inches, but it certainly is close to it.” He unhooked the fish and held it parallel to the water with both hands for Joe to admire.
“Guess who’s coming for dinner? I think it’s you big boy,” Mark said.
“I’ll go put it in the ice chest. I feel a cramp and I’m going to find a place to take a dump,” Joe said.
“Toss me a beer first, mine’s empty.” Mark filled his empty can with water and threw it to the riverbank.
Joe’s amble out of the water splooshed with each ste
p as he headed for land. Once on the bank, he went to the camp area a few yards away under the shade of a large willow tree.
The latest addition of their catch brought the number of trout up to nine. They were well over their daily limit. He hoped no one from Wildlife and Fisheries would come snooping by later.
After putting the fish in the cooler, Joe opened the other ice chest and groped through the ice for another beer.
The awful smell blew his way again, this time the hairs on the back of his neck started to tingle. An ancient instinct triggered by the scent of a wild animal told him to run, but the reasoning of civilized man forced him to turn and look behind first.
The mighty behemoth stood motionless beside a water oak, looking like a strange creature from a circus sideshow. At first Joe thought it was a stuffed gorilla set in place by some prankster, maybe looking to scare a couple of fishermen and uploading the event on the internet after filming it.
Bigfoot curled its upper lip, revealing two-inch long canine teeth.
Primitive fear trumped rational thought in a heartbeat. Joe turned and made three steps before the creature overtook him and had him face down in the sand. The breath heaved out of him. He didn’t have any air to scream with the weight of Bigfoot’s knee pressing down on his back, breaking ribs, and crushing his lungs.
The beast reached underneath Joe’s face with its clawed hand and pulled his head back until it snapped. Joe’s face froze in a death stare, contorted by pain and terror. The Bigfoot grabbed Joe’s head with both hands and ripped it from his shoulders. It held it by the hair and let it dangle like a mesmerizing jewel as blood drained from an artery to the ground.
“Hey Joe, what the hell is taking you so long with my beer?” Mark called after making another cast, keeping his eyes downriver.
The Bigfoot looked at the fresh meat from his kill and at the interloper fishing its waters. It chose to wait to fill its belly.
“Joe! Beer! Joe!” Mark called.
Something wet from above hit him on the cheek, and then something splashed down beside him. He wiped the wet off his face. It felt warm and thicker than water. He thought a bird had crapped on him.
It wasn’t white like bird poop. It looked more like blood. What had landed next to him was Joe’s head. Its eyes locked to infinity as it bobbled in the river’s currents heading away.
Mark watched in disbelief until the foul stench that plagued him earlier made him turn around.
The Bigfoot let out a yell that echoed off the surrounding mountains. Mark’s bowels quivered. He turned and saw the angry monster with its arms spread overhead standing on the bank. Its mouth open wide showing all of its large pointed teeth.
Mark dropped his rod into the river and crouched in the water until it was up to his nose. In his own mind, he thought it might be possible to hide from the ferocious beasts, but lost hope of that when it left the bank and waded into the water toward him.
Large rocks on the opposite bank presented an obstacle. Mark determined that the Bigfoot could catch up to him easily if he took that direction. He sprang up from the water and trudged down the middle of the river as fast as he could move his legs through the binding water.
The Bigfoot maintained a steady pace using its wide stride to gain on its intended victim.
The water became progressively deeper and the river wider until it was up to Mark’s chest. At that point swimming for it became his best option. The currents picked up speed the farther down river he went. Soon, Mark found the Bigfoot no longer gaining on him.
Mark chanced a look behind and saw the large beast giving up the chase now that the river was chest high on it. He stopped swimming, but the currents continued to carry him farther downstream. “What’s the matter, you ugly stinker? Can’t swim? No wonder you smell so bad.”
The Bigfoot ignored the human’s taunts and waded out of the water to the bank.
“You go ahead and run! I’m coming back! I’m coming back to find you. To hunt you down. I’m going to have your head hanging from my wall for what you did to my brother.”
Once on dry land the Bigfoot continued downriver at his normal stride.
Mark needed to put more distance between himself and the beast, and pushed himself harder. He had no idea how fast it could travel. He needed to get far enough away that he was out of sight, so that he could double back and make his escape in the truck.
The currents carried him even faster. He had to struggle to keep his head above water as the turbulence pushed and pulled at him. Just when he thought he had regained some control, his head smashed into the side of a boulder hidden just below the surface of the water.
Mark went under and was so disoriented that he didn’t know up from down. His lungs ached for air as he spun flaying his arms trying to regain his bearings. He finally righted himself when his feet came in contact with the mud below. With no time left to spare, he franticly pushed upward and dogpaddled to the surface as fast as he could.
He broke into the pure air of the river valley as his world began to fade to gray. As he struggled to keep his head above water, the river carried him still faster.
Mark found himself bobbing like a cork helplessly caught in the rage of the white waters. He needed to get to dry ground or his luck was bound to give out, and he would find himself as a victim of another boulder.
The river turned and the roar from the water became even louder. Mark looked up to a startling horizon. He was heading toward more rocks and what appeared to be the end of the river.
End of the river? he thought. Then realized, waterfall!
He tried with his last remaining strength to swim to the bank, but the white waters easily guided him into another huge boulder. The impact sounded like a raw piece of meat hitting a wall, with the crackle of bones crunching.
Another boulder brought him to a momentary halt. Darkness drifted over his consciousness. His body went limp, no longer resisting the mighty flow of the river.
Mark went over the waterfall, his body dashed on the rocks below, and flung into the air like a ragdoll as the water churned and bubbled underneath.
The Bigfoot watched him go over the edge. Satisfied the enemy that invaded its territory would never return, it needed to get back to the kill. Human was by far the sweetest of all flesh the land had to offer. It wouldn’t be long before the other predators in the woods would pick up the scent and attempt to challenge it for a piece of fresh meat.
* * *
The thin air in the mountains surrounding Arkansas Valley made Lauren’s head ache. For once, she missed the thick, humid Louisiana air she was accustomed to breathing. She held her hand up to block the sun and was relieved to see Cecil, the climb team leader, hammer in his final anchor into the rough surface of the face of the mountain.
“Okay, guys. I’ll be on top soon and anchor in the top-rope. You’ll be able to make your ascent quicker. Keep your head in the climb and don’t get sloppy,” Cecil called down.
Jenny, the Second, took a moment to look down at Abe, Donna, and Lauren below, and gave them a thumb-up gesture. The three responded in kind.
She was angry with herself for letting Cecil talk her into letting him take the Lead position. She estimated that she could have shaved an hour off the climb. They could already be on top and be having a glass of lemonade to celebrate.
“Climbing,” Cecil called to Jenny.
“I have you on belay, climb on.” Jenny pushed a few feet of rope through the belaying anchor to give Cecil enough slack to make his climb.
Cecil searched and found a new handhold and moved another step toward the top.
Lauren regretted taking the fifth position on the rope. Her bladder was full to the point it felt like a balloon about to burst. “If we don’t get to the top soon I’ll wet myself,” she said to Donna, who was fourth on the rope.
“Me too. I drank too much sports drink. I didn’t expect this to take us more than a couple of hours. Next time Cecil is the Leader, I’ll wear a Depends
,” Donna said.
“Rock!” Cecil yelled from above. A handful of loose dirt and rock fell harmlessly away from the other climbers.
“Drama queen,” Lauren said, intending for only Donna to hear. Abe, who was above Donna and third on the line, snickered at her comment.
“If he doesn’t reach the top soon, I’m going to tell Jenny to cut the rope and find us a quicker way out of here,” Abe said.
Lauren looked up again and saw Cecil’s feet stick out horizontal from the upper ledge. “Looks like he made it.”
“Thanks goodness,” Donna said, watching the feet disappear.
Once on top, Cecil drove in an anchor, removed the rope from his harness, and tied it securely to the anchor, “Okay, top-rope’s in place. You guys can come on up.”
Cecil walked in a circle stretching his muscles and enjoying the feel of firm ground under his feet. The view was beautiful. Lush and green with tall trees all around. The Arkansas River winding below as far as the eye could see.
Feeling the call of nature, he walked to the edged and called down, “I’m going to the bathroom and look for a campsite.” Without waiting for a response, he removed his backpack and headed into the thick of the woods to find a tree to use a suitable target.
Coming to the trunk of a tall pine, Cecil unzipped his pants, scrounged around for the head of his manhood, and relieved himself. He let out a sigh as the pent up pressure slowly melted away. Before he could make the final two shakes before zipping up, steps crunching twigs broke his solitude. They sure did make good time, he thought. “I’m over here, guys. Just give me a minute.”
A large thick padded hand with long sharp nails swooped from behind and struck Cecil in back of his head. He fell down to the ground, knocked out cold. Finding another trespasser in its domain so soon raised the ire of Bigfoot. Even though its belly was still full with its earlier kill, it saw no need to let this one go to waste.
Lauren reached the top and Abe and Donna each grabbed an arm and helped her over. She rolled on her back and took a minute to relax while the two looked down from above. “I never thought we’d make it.” She then lifted herself on her elbows and stood. “I have got to go, now.”
Two Bigfoot Tales Page 3
