Nighthawk

by Alan Monroe

  Curtis leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. “I’m still skeptical about anything I haven’t seen, but I wish you the best of luck. And you’re all welcome at my inn anytime.”

  Rachael looked directly at Curtis. “It’s hard to imagine living in the same place for eighty-seven years and not seeing anything strange.”

  Curtis smiled. “I have seen all types of strange things, but strange don’t mean Bigfoot necessarily. Just look at Tom Roundtree here.” Curtis smiled and everyone at the table looked toward Tom. “He’s plenty strange to look at, but he’s no Bigfoot.”

  Even Tom laughed.

  An hour later the group had their backpacks strapped to their shoulders, and they began the six day hike to the section of old growth forest where they hoped to find Bigfoot. The group had begun to refer to the area of old growth as Ape City; the name came from the famous Ape Canyon area near Mt. St. Helens. They looked like they were on an African safari as they began heading across a field in single file on their way to the forest. Dr. Smith spoke with his hands as much as his mouth pointing at the mountain. Tom walked about fifty yards behind the group with Jedidiah Curtis.

  “Mr. Curtis I was wondering why the timber companies moved on from this area. There are still plenty of trees. That area of old growth would not have been that difficult to get to. They could have cut a good logging road. And there weren’t any environmental regulations to stop them back then either.”

  “There was really only one timber company, and they went bankrupt. They were worried about getting sued over the deaths of their lumberjacks. Yes people got sued back then too.”

  “Deaths? How many died?”

  “Seven that I know of. All of the deaths were due to equipment failure or falling logs. That type thing.”

  Tom turned towards Curtis. “What kind of time frame are we talking about?”

  “About two months.”

  “Two months, that’s crazy. Wasn’t there any investigation?”

  “Not in these parts, and certainly not that long ago. The timber company said it was equipment failure, and everybody believed them. They shut down their operations and got out of here as quick as they could.”

  Roundtree thought for a moment, but he finally just shook his head. “I better get going. Thanks for the hospitality Mr. Curtis.”

  “Anytime Tom. And good luck.”

  While Curtis walked backed to the inn, Tom turned and looked at the forest and the mountain beyond. The outline of Little Chopaka Mountain stood clear as the sun reflected off the melting snow. The majority of the mountain was covered with gentle slopes and the old growth forest; however, near the upper edge of the old growth forest, Tom saw the gentle slopes meeting with a massive rock wall. The firebreak traveled up the side of the mountain, and the dividing ling between the old growth forest they were destined for and newer trees was clear. The forest suddenly seemed darker and more ominous for some strange reason. Tom felt a chill go up the back of his neck. But he shook it off and hurried to catch up with others.

  Tuesday, May 7, 5:30 p.m.

  The snow melted over the course of their first day hiking, and the ground dried by noon the second day. Enough sunlight filtered through trees planted after the logging industry pulled up stakes in the region to bring the temperature up to almost sixty degrees; Tom pulled off his jacket opting to walk in short sleeves.

  Ten hours hiking two days in a row made the level ground chosen for their camp a welcome sight, and a few minutes work cleared a circular area for their tents. Rachael walked over to the base of a large tree and placed her hand on the trunk staring up into the branches one hundred feet over her head.

  Dr. Smith chuckled. “If you think these trees are spectacular, wait until we get into the old growth forest.”

  “It’s hard to imagine trees bigger than these,” Rachael said.

  “Ah, my dear. These trees are so young in nature’s terms; they are only around fifty years old. When we reach the old growth section, we will be surrounded by timber that has stood up to the elements for for hundreds of years.”

  Tom smiled. “That reminds me of you Doc.”

  “What reminds me of you?” Dr. Smith asked.

  “Anything old.”

  Everyone laughed, especially the shy Rachael. Dr. Smith’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red, but even he began to chuckle.

  Dr. Rhodes stepped in. “You will all have to excuse my aged colleague; he gets a little excited around younger women which would include all women.”

  The laughter continued until Dr. Smith motioned everyone to be quiet with his hands. “As much as I would enjoy continuing being the object of everyone’s jokes, we should be attempting to keep a low profile.”

  Simeon unrolled a tent. “That’s one thing I’ve never understood. We won’t enter the search area for another four or five days. Why do we have to be quiet now?”

  “That’s the beauty of the good doctor’s plan Simeon,” Dr. Rhodes said.

  “Yes it is if I do say so myself,” Dr. Smith commented. “We don’t want to attract any attention, Simeon. Loud conversations and fire will tell the Sasquatch that we are on our way.”

  “Do you really believe we’ll find something?” Rachael asked.

  Dr. Smith sat down against the base of a tree. “I don’t know Rachael; the theory certainly sounds reasonable. But as to whether or not we will find something, I truly don’t know.”

  “That’s where I disagree with you,” Dr. Rhodes interjected. “I have faith that we will find something, and I believe it will be Bigfoot.”

  “What makes you so certain?” Tom asked.

  “Call it women’s intuition.”

  Dr. Smith sniffed. “I call it irrational intuition.”

  “But you have planned this out so well,” Simeon said. “How can we not find a Sasquatch?”

  Tom finished setting up one of the tents. “People have been looking for a Sasquatch for a long time. What makes us think we’ll have any better luck?”

  “Why are you here if you don’t believe we will find anything?” Rachael asked.

  Tom paused. “I just have to look.”

  “Even if you don’t find anything?” Dr. Rhodes asked as she looked up from her pack.

  Tom nodded. “It’s more about the search for me. Do I believe in Bigfoot? You might say I was brought up to believe something is out there. I just have to look; I have to try and find out what the truth is.”

  Dr. Smith brushed some dirt from his boots. “Spoken like a true policeman, but I agree with you. I do believe in Sasquatch as well. But it’s about looking for me too. Every new search brings us some new knowledge.”

  “Spoken like a true philosopher,” laughed Dr. Rhodes.

  “I am a scientist,” Dr. Smith replied. “I am not, nor will I ever be a philosopher. A philosopher lives in the mind while a scientist lives in reality. I want to find Sasquatch, but I am open to its non-existence as well. I will accept whatever the evidence tells me because sometimes what we find is nothing like what we were looking for in the first place.”

  An egg shaped rock dug into Tom’s spine just below the rib cage; rolling onto his side only shifted the pressure point to his hip. The entire cricket population of Washington State decided to chirp in rhythmic harmony. The rocky ground held no sway over his tent mate, Dr. Smith, who Tom diagnosed with sleep apnea and mentally ordered a CPAP machine to be delivered to the mountain by Federal Express.

  After several more minutes counting the seams in the blue tent, Tom noticed the absence of chirping between snores; in fact, the crickets stopped completely. The dark forest swallowed every sound; only Dr. Smith’s snoring cut through the silence. The ominous quiet made Tom stop writhing in his sleeping bag. During a short lull in the snoring a twig snapped somewhere outside the tent.

  Tom attuned his ears and focused his mind on each sound he heard until he pinpointed a slight shuffle outside of his tent. His hand gripped the nine millimeter Glock as he quietly s
at up. The tent flaps, left unzipped by Dr. Smith, made no sound when he slipped through them.

  Each of the other tents stood motionless with their doors zipped closed. Tom heard the rustling just past the ladies tent, and he slowly slipped out into the open. He crept through the camp with his gun in his right hand. The moon and stars lay hidden behind the thick cloudcover as if they intended to keep light out of the camp. He thought of the flashlight resting beside his sleeping back in the tent.

  When he reached the brush on the far side of the camp, he peered into the wall of foliage searching for the source of the noise. A dark shape appeared to his right with a rustle of leaves; Tom leveled the gun against the dark shape only to immediately lower it again.

  “What are you doing out here Rachael? You scared me to death.”

  Rachael took a step back. “I scared you? You have the gun.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I had to go to the bathroom.”

  Tom put the pistol back in the holster on his hip. “Well, I’m glad it was just you.”

  “Me too. It did get awfully spooky when the crickets stopped chirping though; I was getting scared.”

  A large branch suddenly snapped with a loud crack, and leaves flew out from the nearby brush. The massive brown shape lumbered out of nowhere into the middle of the small clearing; Tom immediately stepped between Rachael and the dark mass as it roared. Rachael took a step back falling over a branch and onto the ground screaming.

  The mass stepped forward and swatted at Tom with one of its giant paws. Tom began to back pedal while trying to keep himself between the undulating, shaking beast and the fallen Rachael as she tried to keep from panicking and get off of the ground at the same time. He struggled to redraw his pistol while dodging the giant paws that continued to swat through the air. Finally Tom removed his pistol form its holster and fire several shots into the ground near its feet. The deafening shots cracked through the silent forest, and the creature ran back into the trees creating a huge amount of noise as it tore through the forest.

  Tents began unzipping as soon as the creature roared, and people scrambled to find out what had happened. The episode, in reality, only lasted seconds, and most of the expedition members missed the entire confrontation.

  Dr. Smith tried fit his glasses to his face. “What happened?”

  Tom helped Rachael off the ground. “Bear. Just a grizzly though?”

  Simeon turned on a flashlight shining it directly in Tom’s eyes. “Just a grizzly? Why didn’t you shoot it?”

  Tom covered his eyes and held up his pistol. “A one hundred and fifteen grain bullet would only have made him mad.”

  “It must have just come out of hibernation within the past few weeks,” Dr. Smith said.

  “I’ve never seen anything so big,” Rachael said in awe.

  Wallace cocked his rifle. “Where’d it go?”

  Tom walked across the clearing and picked up a cooler. “Back in the woods no thanks to you.”

  Wallace scowled. “What is that supposed to mean? I was asleep.”

  Tom picked up the cooler and held it up to Wallace’s face. “Left your cooler out. That’s what brought in the bear. A professional wilderness guide should know better; you almost got Rachael and I killed. And you were the last one out of a tent even though you have the only rifle.”

  Wallace stepped toe to toe with Tom. “What are you trying to say little man?”

  Tome raised his eyes to glare at the taller man. “I think you know what I’m saying.”

  Tom glared into Wallace’s eyes until Dr. Smith stepped between them. “Gentlemen. I would rather us not argue. After all, we have to live with each other for the next three weeks. Let’s just say that mistakes were made and go back to sleep.”

  “You keep your boy out of my face Doc,” Wallace said.

  Tom slowly turned and crawled back into the tent without saying a single word.

  Friday May 10, 7:30 a.m.

  Davis closed the front door to his house his cell phone started to ring. His eyes squeezed shut after he saw his secretary’s name on the caller id so early in the morning

  Davis let the phone ring a few more times while he stared at the crystal clear skies. “Good morning Krista. What can I do for you on this fine day?”

  Krista growled. “There’s nothing fine about this day. Sergeant Walker had me come in early because that lazy Sara that works the morning shift at the front desk called in sick.”

  Davis smiled. “Is that why you’re calling me, to complain?”

  “No,” she snapped. “As a matter of fact, that is not why I called you. And I make a point to never complain about anything, but I’m sick and tired of Sergeant Walker calling me in early. Does he think he’s my boss? I have worked for the county…..”

  “Krista. You called me for a reason.”

  She took a deep breath. “Fine. There has been a 911 call from Ms. Feyhee’s farm.”

  Davis started to rub his forehead. “Oh no.”

  The ninety something year old Ms. Feyhee averaged a minimum of one call to the department per month. The calls usually involved cases of theft, harassment by bears or local teenagers, and the occasional invasion from another planet. She lived on the same farm since prior to world war two, and June in 1944, D-Day, marked the day she became a widow. Davis hear multiple times about what her long dead husband would do if he were still alive. Her only company on the farm, as she referred to it, consisted of at least thirty mangy but well fed cats and the fattest, ugliest pigs on the face of the Earth.

  Most of the officers under Davis’ command paid a visit to the Feyhee farm at least once, and each of them felt Ms. Feyhee verbal sting for anything from their attire to their professionalism, or their parentage. The last time Davis visited Ms. Feyhee she that someone stole her prize hog. Davis knew that none of the woman’s ugly pigs could be considered a prize hog. After looking at the pen where she kept the pigs, Davis determined that the hinges rusted off and allowed the pig to wander into the forest. She, of course, denied anything but impeccable maintenance; Davis spent an hour searching for the little pig until he finally found it in a ditch.

  Krista continued. “She says she needs an officer out there pronto.”

  “Once again, I have to ask why you are telling me all of this?”

  “We got the call about ten minutes ago, and Sergeant Walker thought it would be a good idea for you to stop buy and check it out on your way in seeing how we are so shorthanded and all.”

  Davis exhaled a deep breath. “You tell Sergeant Walker that he’s going to be Patrolman Walker if he has many more ideas like this. But you can also tell him that I’ll check it out on my way into the office since we are so shorthanded.”

  Davis put the phone back into its case and climbed into the big truck; he ground his teeth while he popped the truck into gear.

  Davis drove down a long dirt driveway about twenty minutes later, and the long driveway that led from a thick forest to an overgrown clearing did not bring him relief. One corner of the house sank almost a foot into the ground while its opposite corner had actually risen a few inches off the ground; the roofline seemed to bow upwards ready to snap. What little pain remained on the walls did nothing to cover the rot working its way through the wood. One end of the porch’s roof had completely collapsed, and the smell from the outhouse in the back already filtered its way into the truck’s cab. Davis slowed down to avoid running over the cats; he wondered if the grass immediately surrounding the house was ever cut or if the sheer number of cats walking on it kept it mashed flat.

  She stood on the porch with her face twisted into a permanent scowl as Davis put his truck into park. Wiry grey hair topped a spindly eighty pound frame that made him wonder what would happen if he doused her with a bucket water. Varicose veins ran down her arms as if drawn with crayons. He smiled in return to her ever present scowl as he stepped out of his truck and accidently stepped on one of her cats.

  “Don’t hurt my cat,�
� she said in her raspy voice.

  Davis lifted his foot off the mangy cat’s back. “Wouldn’t dream of it Ms. Feyhee.”

  “Never figured they’d send the sheriff,” she quipped.

  “Well, I was in the neighborhood. What seems to be the trouble today?”

  “Think you’re too good to come out here to my place since you’re the big bad sheriff?”

  “Not at all. I’d be glad to help you any way I can.”

  “I wouldn’t need your help if my Luther was still around,” she said with the same scowl on her face.

  Davis smiled politely but his muscles tensed. “I understand he was quite a man.”

  “Died on D Day. Nazi machine guns mowed him down when he was stromin Utah Beach.”

  “Yes mam. What was the 911 call for?”

  “I hate those Nazis.”

  “Me too. What did you need police help for?

  She sighed. “Bigfoot was up here last night.”

  Davis’ eyebrows arched upward. “What makes you say that?”

  “Heard him sniffin around here last night. Seen his footprints too.”

  “Where are the tracks?”

  “Mostly around the outhouse.”

  His nose wrinkled. “The outhouse?”

  “Yes the outhouse. Aint you never used an outhouse before?”