by Alan Monroe
Davis walked toward the outhouse. “Oh, I’ve used one before.”
They walked past her shack of a house and Davis stared at the monstrous hogs she kept in a pen near the outhouse; only the stench from the outhouse covered the smell from the pigs.
“Nice hogs,” Davis said.
“Can’t have one.”
“I don’t want one.”
“Everybody wants my hogs.”
The massive tracks stood out clearly once Davis reached the outhouse; he squatted down to get a closer look. Twenty something tracks led into the stinking cess pool behind the outhouse. Each track stretched to three feet, and even the little toe matched the size of a baseball. Davis even thought that he had a pretty good idea which teenagers played the prank on Ms. Feyhee; he imagined that the fake wooden feet sitting at the bottom of the cess pool.
“He wants me for my body,” she rasped.
Davis turned towards her. “What?”
She almost posed when she saw Davis look up. “He wants me for my body.”
“Who wants your body?”
“The bigfoot.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.
“Know what Luther used to say about my body?”
Davis’ head began to hurt.
Friday, May 10 3:00 p.m.
Tom knelt down and took a close look at the footprint in the soft dirt; the fresh mark stood out like a sore thumb. After standing back up, he spit into the footprint and shook his head.
“I’m really starting to hate this,” Tom said.
“It is rather difficult terrain isn’t it Tom,” Dr. Smith replied.
“The terrain is needlessly difficult Doc.”
“I don’t understand.”
Tom paused and turned back to Dr. Smith. “Wallace is taking us on the most difficult route possible. It’s almost like he’s wearing us out on purpose.”
“Why would he do that?”
Tom shook his head. “I think he’s ticked about the other night.”
Dr. Smith sighed. “You two had a disagreement, nothing more. The man’s a professional.”
“He’s a professional jerk. I think he’s mad because I shot off my mouth. I was right and he knows it. A man like that won’t stand for his pride being hurt, and know he’s taking it out on the whole group.”
“Where is our guide?” Dr. Smith scratched his head.
“That’s another thing. He’s so far ahead most of the time that I’m having to follow his tracks. I spend more time guiding the group than he does. When’s the last time we were on a path that wasn’t rocky. He’s taking us through the thickest part of the forest day after day.”
“We’ll be alright Tom.”
“The pace is just too fast; everybody is exhausted physically and mentally.” Tom looked directly at Dr. Smith. “And some of us are quite a bit older than others; I’d hate for there to be a heart attack in any one’s future.”
“I’m sorry Tom,” Smith replied. “I convinced you to come on this trip.”
“Doc, I’m glad to be here. You don’t need to apologize. I just can’t stand our guide right now.”
“Look on the bright side. We’re well ahead of schedule.”
Tom laughed. “I guess that’s true too.”
Dr. Smith smiled. “The old growth is not far away at all. Ape city my friend is just around the corner.”
“That’s enough good news to make me start looking for Wallace’s tracks again.”
Dr. Smith laughed and slapped Tom on the back. “That’s my boy.”
Wallace estimated that he moved at least two hundred yards ahead of the rest of his party when he opened his pack and removed a satellite phone. He dialed a number and waited for the signal to be received.
A deep voice answered with a single name. “Bruce.”
Wallace sighed. “Bruce this is Wallace. We’re about two days from the old growth.”
“You’re making good time.”
Wallace laughed. “I am wearing these people out. They’re going to so tired when we spring our little surprise. That old, fat doctor is climbing all over the place.”
“That’s how we want them, so they can’t resist.”
“Oh they won’t even think about putting up a struggle when I’m through with them.”
“Good little pack mules.”
“Are you set to bring the four wheeler up the mountain?”
“Yea,” Bruce said. “I have everything ready to go. I figure I can meet you in a day or so once I leave.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. There may be one problem though.”
“What’s that?”
“The old doctor said a friend of his was going to meet us in Nighthawk, but he never said the friend was going to be a deputy sheriff.”
“That’s not good.”
“It gets worse; he’s armed. And you’ll love this. It’s your old friend Tom Roundtree.”
Bruce paused a moment. “He tried to break up a bar fight that I was winning. I had that little runt whipped until he kicked me in the nuts...”
Wallace rolled his eyes. “But it still wasn’t enough to keep you from choking him. Then you got tased by the sheriff. I know the story. You griped about less than a week ago.”
“And I spent almost a year in the county lock up for assaulting an officer.”
“And you’re still mad about it.”
“Yea I am. I would have gotten away if he hadn’t kicked me. I may do him first.”
“Not till we use them to get the gold down the mountain.”
“Well I guess I can wait until we shoot them all at once,” Bruce said through a
soft laugh.
Wallace began to walk and talk at the same time. “I’ll call you when we get in the old growth. Then you get up here on that ATV. And remember; don’t shoot anybody until we use them to get the gold down the mountain.”
“I’ll try to remember that. Me and the dogs will be ready.”
Wallace sighed. “I thought I told you not to bring those stupid pit bulls.”
“You’re not the boss of me. The dogs go where I go. Besides, these nasty mutts will scare those geeks half to death.”
“Fine. Just keep those dogs quiet. I’ll call you when we hit the old growth.”
Wallace thought about how much he hated Bruce as he turned the phone off and put it back in his pack. They had known each other for their entire lives, and Wallace only felt concern for how he could use the other man to further his own ends. He had utter contempt for Bruce’s stupidity, but the man’s violent strength did have its advantages. He remembered countless times, even as a child, when the larger Bruce slapped him in the face or thrown him to the ground for no reason. Wallace smiled when he thought of Bruce lying dead in the same hole as Roundtree and the others.
Sunday, May 14 4:05 p.m.
Tom looked up at the towering trees looming ahead; he took a few steps back before drawing a deep breath. The old growth forest stood like ancient stone walls surrounding a city, and the outer trees of the old growth forest became the aged ramparts designed to keep all trespassers at bay. Trees stood well over one hundred feet into the air with diameters several feet thick at the base. Rays of sunlight broke through holes in the expansive overhead canopy illuminating the dark forest floor with rays of sunlight from Heaven. A life spent in the woods with his father and brother exposed Tom to countless forests across the northwest, but his eyes grew wide when he stared at the old growth crowning Little Chopaka Mountain.
“We appear to have lost our guide again,” Dr. Smith said.
“What?” Dr. Rhodes never took her eyes of the trees ahead.
Smith threw his hands in the air. “The guide is gone again.”
She stammered. “I am sure he will be back.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this place,” Rachael gasped.
“How can a place like this still exist?” Simeon asked.
Dr. Smith forced his lips to crease into a tiny
smile. “Did you know that almost half of the continental U.S. was once covered with old growth timber? There is relatively little virgin forest left in this country now.”
Simeon dropped his pack on the ground and sat on top of it. “I don’t see how anyone could see this and want to cut it down.”
“We tend to take many things for granted in this world my boy. Trees in old growth forests are the oldest living things on the planet. Many of these trees could be over five hundred years old. Maybe even a thousand years old. That alone makes them significant.”
Dr. Rhodes stepped forward closing her eyes and placing her palm on one of the giant trees. “Old growth is very ecologically significant as well. They are the home to countless rare and endangered species. Some species do not cope well with a young forest; they only thrive in old growth. As areas of old growth are logged, animals are isolated from each other in smaller and smaller pockets leaving them with no way to properly interact. The smaller areas make it difficult for a healthy ecosystem to exist not to mention the problems with having a sizable breeding population.”
“Dr. Rhodes is correct,” Dr. Smith agreed. “Old growth is irreplaceable.”
“Can’t we just plant more trees?” Rachael asked.
Smith nodded. “Yes we can plant more trees. However, old growth forests don’t pop up overnight; that’s why they’re called old growth. Only time can allow trees to age and mature. Trees must grow, and some must die and turn into snags for a forest to exhibit old growth characteristics. The trees must become tall enough to form a canopy overhead. And a large amount of leaves and rotting wood must accumulate on the ground. If we were to plant a forest today and leave it untouched, it would take one hundred and fifty to five hundred years for it to exhibit old growth characteristics. In other words, only our grandchildren would even begin to have chance to see it as an old growth forest.”
Tom chuckled. “You mean my grandchildren; you grandkids are already grown.”
“Thanks for the reminder Tom.”
“Don’t forget about the vast amounts of carbon that are stored in the trees and on the forest floor,” Dr. Rhodes said.
Tom shook his head. “You lost me at carbon. Forests are a natural resource that we should use as we see best, but we shouldn’t wipe them out either. I’m all for saving old growth from destruction; it’s irreplaceable. We should conserve it, but it’s foolish to worship it.”
Dr. Smith smiled. “The conservative shines through.”
Tom nodded. “I can’t deny what I think. Climate change and carbon pollution is the biggest scam ever pulled on the world. We exhale carbon dioxide, and plants draw it in giving off oxygen. How can that be pollution? Without carbon dioxide, the trees would die.”
Dr. Rhodes’ lips curled downward into a deep frown. “These trees save our lives every day because they absorb carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. They store the carbon in their trunks and leaves. If we cut the trees down, less carbon will be absorbed. The earth will warm and our climate will change. If we burn the wood we are releasing carbon back into the atmosphere which only accelerates the warming process.”
“I’m not trying to start a fight,” Tom said. “But your stating things as facts that never been proven. And it doesn’t explain how a few degrees of temperature change will cause the world to end. The global temperature has been going up and down by more than the few degrees for thousands of years and we’re still here. ”
Dr. Smith stepped between Tom and Dr. Rhodes just as her cheeks began to flush red. “My friends, we’re not here to argue. Perhaps this discussion would be better held around a campfire on our way back to Nighthawk after our search for a Sasquatch has concluded.”
Tom extended his hand to Dr. Rhodes. “I didn’t mean to offend.”
She shook Tom’s hand. “Nor I. I take my beliefs very seriously.”
“Me too,” Tom said.
“Good,” Dr. Smith with his mouth arced into a broad smile. “Now where is the guide?”
Wallace stood just within earshot smiling as he placed the satellite phone in his pack.
Monday May 13, 1:00 a.m.
The wood floors shined in the moonlight creeping through the open set of French doors while a cool breeze slipped under the blankets edge fluttering the edges. Oak furniture surrounded the room’s perimeter with a towering king sized canopy bed in the center. Davis’ open mouth allowed soft snore to escape while his wife slept with her back to him.
The led display on the phone turned bright green, and a piercing ring snapped through the silent room. Davis rolled over away from the phone with no interruption in the snoring. Misty covered her eyes with her arm after she looked at the clock, and she began prodding her husband in the ribs gently. After almost a minute of punching, she dug her heel into the meatiest part of his thigh; Davis sat straight up in the bed.
The ringing stopped as soon as his finger pressed a light green button, "Davis."
The voice on the other end raced through the telephone lines. "Sheriff, this is Simpson on night watch at the station. We just got a crazy phone call from Roundtree. It sounds like something bad happened."
Davis swung his legs off of the bed. "Slow down, Simpson, and tell me what Roundtree said."
The deputy took a deep breath. "Well, sir, it wasn't Roundtree who was talking. But the computer showed that it was his phone. There was a hysterical woman on the phone. All I understood was that some people were hurt, and they needed help now. She was awful upset about something, sheriff."
"Can't you get her back on the phone?"
"I'm getting some kind of no signal message. I don’t really know what it means."
"I'm on my way to the station. I want you to wake up the undersheriff and have him meet me down there. Who is in charge at the station tonight?"
“Sergeant Walker’s been complaining about it all night.”
He allowed himself a brief crooked smile as he thought about Hugh arranging for him to visit the Feyhee farm, but the Deputy interrupted. "One more thing sheriff, I swear I heard a lot of screaming in the background."
Davis hung up the phone, and quickly moved towards the walk in in closet.
“Will,” Misty said. “What’s wrong?”
“Roundtree and his Bigfoot party have had some kind of problem?”
“Bad?”
“Somebody up there got a hold of Tom’s satellite phone and made some kind of frantic screaming call to the station.”
“Is Tom alright?”
Davis paused as he buttoned his shirt. “I don’t know.”
“But Tom should be able to handle things right?”
“That’s just what worries me. He should be able to handle any trouble they have up there. If he’s not the one making the call…”
“You think Tom could be the one who’s hurt?”
“Yea. It could be.”
Misty sat silently.
Davis continued. “And the line is dead as far as we can tell. There could have been some type of rock slide. They could have come across a bear just out of hibernation. It could be a hundred different things; I can’t even put them all in order in my head.”
Misty stood and embraced her husband as she kissed his cheek. “You need to relax Will Davis. This is something you can handle, and Tom can take care of himself too.”
Davis smiled. “You’re right. It could be as simple as a busted leg and a broken phone.”
“Probably right,” Misty said.
Davis yanked a pair of socks from his dresser drawer. “But it’s all over a stupid Bigfoot hunt.”
“Sounds like you’re pretty frustrated with Tom?”
“I am. This is the kind of stuff that we’re supposed to get from greenhorn hikers who can’t find a Starbucks in the woods. This isn’t supposed to happen with Tom; he’s supposed to be better than that. He is better than that, but he’s off in the woods looking for something that isn’t there.”
At only fifty years old, the Okanogan County Sheriff’
s Office ranked as one of the county’s newest government buildings. Dark red brick covered the exterior except for the square concrete columns that supported the roof of the large porch above the set of double doors in its front. Six long steps led from the porch down to the sidewalk where multiple parking spaces lined the road reserved for police vehicles including one solely for the sheriff. During daylight hours, a secretary manned a wooden desk just inside the lobby. A pitted wooden railing ran from both sides of the receptionist’s desk to the wall separating the lobby from the desk filled open space beyond; two wooden gates admitted the guilty and the innocent past the railing. Doors, including one leading to the sheriff’s office, lined the periphery of the room. A few holding cells along with interrogation rooms resided in the basement while the actual county jail, also under the sheriff’s jurisdiction, sat behind the office out of view from Main Street with a long covered walkway connecting the two buildings. The county courthouse sat in the center of the town square directly opposite the jail.
As Davis stepped out of his pickup, he saw the undersheriff, who lived far closer to the station than Davis, walking up the front steps of the building. Davis remembered his fourth grade class taking a guided tour of the jail led by a much younger version of the undersheriff.
The two men entered the building at the same time, but Thomas spoke first. "Sheriff, what is going on here?"
"Some kind of trouble with that Bigfoot hunt that Roundtree is on."
"We never get anything but trouble from the kind of people that come up here looking for Bigfoot."
Davis shook his head as if to disagree. "Well, we know Roundtree has a good solid head on his shoulders, and I don't believe he would be involved with any wackos."
"Now that you mention it, I guess you are right."
And old phone book propped open the doors normally locked at such a late hour. Davis saw deputy Simpson seated at the front desk attempting to call Roundtree’s satellite phone. Standing on the far side of the big room staring at a wall map stood the six feet eight inch three hundred pound form of Field Sergeant Hubert “Hugh” Walker. Hugh spent his high school career driving the wind from Davis’ lungs every time the sheriff tried to carry the football outside the big defensive end. After High School, Walker spent four years starting on Defense for the University of Washington while Davis had played fullback for a much smaller school in Idaho. A shoulder injury ended the young African American’s hope of turning professional, and Davis encouraged his friend to enter law enforcement.
