Nighthawk

by Alan Monroe

“You’ve heard of animals playing with their food right?”

  “Like a cat?”

  “All kinds of animals play with their food. I’ve seen killer whales in Alaska toss seals back and forth a hundred yards through the air before they killed it. This Sasquatch shredded the boy with its claws and teeth and rolled around in the blood and remains, and the kid was probably alive for some of it.”

  "Clint we’ve got to get back to the main trail and find your brother."

  The air flowed in and out of their lungs rapidly when they finally returned to Hugh and Jared. While Jared paced, Hugh sat against a tree drumming his fingers on the stock of his shotgun.

  "Did you find anything sheriff?" Jared asked.

  Davis looked up the mountain instead of at Jared. "Not a thing Jared. Let’s get back on the main trail."

  "Then why were you gone so long?"

  Davis turned to Jared and rammed a finger into the younger man’s chest. "We didn’t find anything! Now shut up and follow Clint down that trail!"

  "Fine!"

  Jared’s faced turned bright red, but he turned and followed Clint. Davis shook his head and rubbed his eyes while the young man stormed uphill through the trees. Hugh, on the other hand, calmly stared at Davis without speaking.

  "You better get up the hill too big man."

  Hugh moved away from the tree. "Yes sir."

  Tuesday, May 14 5:01 p.m.

  The setting sun in the western sky creased through the gaps in the trees and beat down on Bruce’s broad neck. Thick trees fed by coastal rains loomed ahead and behind him as he glared at the steep craggy ground. Sweat soaked his shirt under the open jacket, and the raw skin between his thighs grated against his jeans with each step. The dogs ran a few steps up the mountain before they sat down and watched their master trudge to a position even with them.

  Each step sent a shot of pain through his legs and back along with an image of Wallace across his eyes. Years of working with Wallace gave Bruce ample opportunities to practice keeping his anger in check. Practically the entire day passed with no word from Wallace when he should have called early this morning. Wallace often deviated from their plans; but with a fortune in gold at stake, Bruce ground his teeth at the thought of Wallace not calling. Bruce had no idea where to look for the Bigfoot expedition or how he and Wallace would hijack them and find the old mine. Blood slammed through the pulsing veins in his forehead.

  “I’m gonna kill that Wallace.”

  Bear and Rat stopped and cocked their head sideways staring at their master.

  “Not only do I get the tougher side of the mountain by myself. He doesn’t call like he is supposed to.”

  Again the dogs stared at him blankly.

  “Should have killed him a long time ago. He could be trying to wear me out just like he’s wearing them tenderfoots out.”

  He exhaled deeply and tried to catch his breath. “Well it aint gonna work. I’m gonna kill him and get that gold.”

  When he looked over his shoulder and saw the sun sink below the mountains in the west, Bruce threw his pack to the ground. He ripped the satellite phone the pack and jammed Wallace’s number into the keys with his thick fingers. The generic voicemail voice sank into his ear.

  Bruce cursed. “He's gonna die this time. I’m going to have every bit of that gold.”

  Bear turned away from his master and barked towards the trees.

  Bruce staggered to kick at the dog. “Shut up you stupid dog! We don’t want them to hear us.”

  Bear, took two or three steps forward and snarled; he lowered his head barked loudly. Rat ran just past Bear and began to howl and bark. Bruce struggled to catch up with them while pulling off his long leather belt. He slashed them both across the back while he spit curses. Whelps rose on the dog’s backs and heads, but the continued to work themselves into a sweaty frenzy. Bear finally charged through the tree with Rat close at his heels.

  “Get back here!” Bruce screamed.

  The dogs ignored their master, and they quickly disappeared into the brush.

  “You chasing something?” Bruce asked.

  His big mouth opened wide exposing a row of green teeth as he laughed. “They’ll tear it up. I don’t know what it is, but they’ll tear it up.”

  Bruce waddled after his dogs with a smile on his face and slobber running out the corner of his mouth. His dogs never lost a fight. He threw them in the ring with other dogs, wolves, and even a small bear. He loved the blood and anger that flowed from the fights.

  Bruce had no hope of overtaking his dogs, but their anger worked him into fury as well. His breaths came ragged and deep, but he continued to barrel his way through the brush after the running dogs. Soon the sound of fighting dogs and tearing flesh came to his ears like music; he smiled. He never heard Bear and Rat so intent on their prey.

  “Tear him up boys!”

  A deep growl followed Bruce’s outburst and an audible thump as a body struck something very hard. One of the dogs abruptly stopped barking. Bruce heard one of the dogs as it whimpered and whined while it ran through forest.

  Bruce stopped and listened for several seconds. “Rat? Bear?”

  He ran forward several steps before stopping again. The last rays of the sun dropped behind the horizon, and the shadows consumed the forest.

  “You o.k. boys? Come here boys.”

  Silence reigned.

  The veins in Bruce’s neck swelled. “You dogs get over here right now! I’ll beat you black and blue! I’ll tear your hides off!”

  Bruce finally started to move forward again warily until he covered the distance between himself and where he guessed the fight had taken place. He continually scanned the forest searching for his dogs. It did not take him long to see a lifeless paw protruding from underneath a fallen snag; using his right foot, he slid the dog from underneath the log. The dog was broken.

  Bruce dropped to both knees beside the dog’s body. “Bear?”

  The foreign smell that covered the dog hung in the air like rotten meat, but he ignored it as he caressed his fallen dog’s ears. The dog’s backbone had been snapped into two separate pieces while horizontal slashes and at least a dozen puncture wounds covered the body. Tears not shed since childhood began to flow down the grizzled face.

  “Stinking grizzly killed my dog,” Bruce whimpered.

  Bruce stood and staggered back and forth around the small clearing. “Rat? Where you at boy?”

  Bruce closed his fists so tightly that the fingernails cut into his palms. Drool filled his beard as he pulled the bolt back on his rifle and slammed the two hundred grain cartridge forward into the breach.

  “I’m gonna kill you grizz!!”

  Tuesday, May 14 5:14 p.m.

  Morning slowly turned into afternoon. Ancient trees clung to the steepening ground as they moved further up the mountainside; roots of a foot or greater in diameter snaked out from the base of every tree. The only sign of human passage continued to be the increasing number of scuffs and an occasional drop of blood left on the ground by Tom’s Sasquatch expedition.

  Davis stepped on a rotten log only to have his hiking boot slide through to the ground; he withdrew his foot and began to shake of the innumerable ants hoping for an easy meal. Sore muscles brought on by the steep grade sent waves of pain through his body by the time he cleared the ants. A narrow shelf of dirt and rock loomed fifty feet up the hill, but beyond that the trail stretched uphill almost until it reached the granite wall that loomed ahead. Davis turned and looked at the setting sun, and he shook his head. He signaled for a rest once they reached the shelf.

  Hugh took the cap off his and loosened the Velcro at the back. “What’s the plan now, boss?”

  Davis paused a moment before answering the question. “Clint, do you think we can catch up with Tom and his bunch anytime soon.”

  Clint shook his head. “No way, we're still six hours behind. It’ll be tomorrow before we catch them. They’re not moving all that fast; just had a twenty ho
ur head start on us.”

  Davis nodded. “The good news is that six hours ago they were still alive and kicking.”

  Clint pointed up the hill. “They went from running flat out to crawling up the hill. They must have been dead on their feet by the time they made it this far. It’s just now starting to level off; I don’t know how they kept going.”

  “You call this level?” Jared asked.

  “I know I’m exhausted,” Hugh said.

  Davis finished eating a peice of jerky and wiped his hands on his pants. “I don’t want to get caught in a bad spot tonight. Instead of just taking a break we’ll camp in this clearing. With the mountain face behind us, we’ve only got three sides to worry about. Hugh, Clint, gather as much good firewood as you can. Jared, you start building a fire right in the middle of this clearing. Then build one at each end of the clearing. We're going to keep all three burning so we can have a lot of light, and two of us will be on watch at all times.”

  Hugh stood up. “That’s a lot of light. Won’t we just be telling that big hairy ape where we are?”

  Clint looked toward the forest. “He’ll know where we are whether we build twenty fires or no fire.”

  Davis began to toss some limbs toward the center of the clearing. “That may be true. But we're going to create as much light as possible. Maybe we’ll get lucky and it will be afraid of fire.”

  Hugh disagreed. ”Maybe he’ll cook you over it.”

  “Just humor me Hugh; I’ll feel better with more light. We need our rest. I think we'll catch up to Roundtree tomorrow. And it’ll take every bit of strength we have got to get out of this forest before dark tomorrow night. “

  “It will have taken us at least two and a half days to reach them, and you think we can get them back to the trucks in half a day?” Jared questioned.

  Davis stood and stared at the forest. “That’s the good news. You’ll be surprised how much faster it will be when we are going downhill.”

  Hugh slapped the sheriff on the back. “Finally some good news from the boss.”

  “Thanks,” Davis said. “Now get to work before I assign you to Feyhee’s farm on permanent basis. I need to make a phone call.”

  Howard Thomas’ voice quivered. “Sheriff, you are going to give me a heart attack if you don’t start calling in more often.”

  “Then what I'm about to tell is going to be really bad for your heart.” Davis related the account of grisly discovery made by Clint and himself earlier that day.

  “Sheriff, you have got to get out of there.”

  “You know we can’t leave until we learn something more about Roundtree’s expedition. Besides, it’s too late today anyhow. Any word on when you’ll be able to get some help up here?”

  “I have everything ready to go down here. I just can’t get a hold of any of our men at the fire. My 2 year old granddaughter could run a more organized operation than the state forest service.”

  The sheriff sighed. “What’s the weather going to be like?”

  “That’s where the news gets even worse. We are expecting huge thunderstorms by noon tomorrow. Rivers are going to be running down the side of the mountain.”

  “And straight down the firebreak.”

  Thomas exhaled deeply. “That’s right. Right down the firebreak.”

  “Well, we can forget about anyone driving up for the foreseeable future.”

  “We’ll just have to hike in.”

  “That will take too long. I guess we’re on our own for the duration of this thing.”

  “If you do find Roundtree, do you think you’ll be able to get back?”

  “Even if it rains, I think we’ll be able to get down the fire break. Gravity will be on our side.”

  “Until you try to stop.”

  “Thanks for being an optimist.”

  “You take care Sheriff. We’re praying for all of you.”

  “Thanks, Davis out.” Davis turned off the phone and went to help Jared with the fire.

  Tuesday, May 14 8:23 p.m.

  It always seemed to get dark earlier than it should have in the deep old growth forest. In the valleys that surrounded the area, the sun could be seen until almost eight in the evening during the spring and summer months. But within the aged forest, the tall, thick trees literally blotted out the sun. After sunset, the trees even blocked the stars and the full moon. The light from three campfires stayed in the clearing as if feared being consumed by the darkness.

  Davis and his rescue team sat around the campfire hardly able to look at each other; the trees drew their eyes to the shadows. Davis gave serious thought to not telling Hugh and Jared about the discovery of the body. He knew Hugh could handle it, but he had serious doubts about Jared. Fairness weighed on his mind, and he could not keep it from them. After he told the story, Hugh simply shook his head. Jared, on the other hand, turned white as a sheet of paper. He had spent all winter seeking out the newest tanning bed bulbs in the county, and one story had removed any trace of the tan he had worked hard for months to maintain.

  Hugh looked deep into the fire. “This doesn’t make sense. Not that I’m an expert. Everything I have ever heard talks about these creatures being nonviolent toward humans.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” Clint interrupted. “I can give you plenty of examples where Sasquatch has been downright hostile toward humans to say the least.”

  “I’m not talking about stories that have been passed down for hundreds of years. I want something a little more current.”

  “I can give you that too.”

  Davis leaned back against a log. “Why don’t you tell us what you've heard Clint.”

  Clint sighed. “My grandfather used to work for the logging company that cut timber outside of Nighthawk. They always had problems. Supposedly cheap and broken equipment, but it got to the point where they were losing one man a week. Nobody has luck that was that bad, and the bodies were mangled more than they should have been from an accident. Some people thought a psyco was running loose in the woods, but my grandfather was in touch with the forest. He followed the old ways more closely than my brother or me. One evening after he locked up some equipment he experienced the sensation that he was being observed by a powerful presence. He often shrugged off such feelings as his imagination, but this time he was overwhelmed with what he described as a dead stench. The smell told him one of the wild men was near. My grandfather returned to town as fast as he could. He never stayed on Little Chopaks Mountain after dark again. It wasn’t long after that the logging operation closed and Nighthawk became a ghost town. I've hunted all over the state, but this is the first time I've set foot on this mountain. I wouldn't be here now if it weren't for my brother."

  Hugh listened to the story silently. “I would have thought your grandfather was way too superstitious just a few days ago, but now I believe every word.”

  Jared spoke quietly. “So you think that Bigfoot was killing the loggers? Why?”

  Clint shrugged his shoulders. “Many animals are territorial. Or maybe he was just mad. Maybe both.”

  “That’s not comforting,” Hugh said.

  “You wanted information, not comfort.”

  “There have been a few times on this trip when I have felt like I was being watched,” Hugh replied.

  Jared shivered. “Me too. I try to shake it off, but I can’t.”

  Clint closed his eyes. “The Sasquatch is watching us.”

  Davis soke for the first time since Clint began his story. “You know, I was rabbit hunting with my dad when I was a boy; we were way off the beaten path. The four dogs with us all went crazy at the same time for no apparent reason. The lead dog, Timber, he got real mad. And he ran off into the woods, but the other dogs stayed with my dad and I while they whimpered. My dad took me and the dogs home before he went looking for Timber. Later my dad said that Timber had been killed by a bear. That just didn’t make sense. Our dogs had been around bears before, but they never acted like that. Now I have to
wonder if it was a bear. My dad buried the dog in the woods behind our house. He never would let me see the body.”

  Clint nodded his head. “Legend says that the Sasquatch hate dogs. Most dogs cower like a scared rabbit, but a few of them will push their luck too far.”

  Davis threw another log on the fire. “Here’s what I don’t understand. You and Tom heard the same stories. Why did he come up here looking for a Bigfoot?”

  Clint shrugged. “Tom was always a seeker. He probably wanted to search this area because of our grandfather’s stories about Nighthawk.”

  “It’s all just so….” But Davis stopped in mid-sentence and stood up staring at the woods; the chill bumps ran popped up along his skin from his head to his toes. He locked the hammers back on the double rifle. Clint, Hugh, and Jared quickly followed the sheriff’s movements. The four men stood back to back in the center of the camp facing in different directions peering into the forest as the deep smell of animal musk filled the clearing. Jared’s lip curled up at the smell and he began to stifle a gagged cough.

  Davis finally forced himself to speak. “We need to spread out a little. If he throws one big rock, he could take us all out with one shot.”

  The four men inched their way outward until a distance of about four feet separated them. Another wave of the stench rolled across their camp; the thick odor clung to their skin as their sinuses tingled with pain.

  After a full five minutes, the stench finally began to release its grip on the four men. Only a remnant lingered within the camp in the form a film that covered their skin and clothing.

  Clint lowered his rifle. “He is gone.”

  Davis moved a little closer to the fire, and glanced at his friends. Jared lowered his rifle and scratched at the film covering his face and hands and the gigantic Hugh wiped sweat from his forehead despite the chill in the air. The lines in Clint’s face looked like grooves carved in granite as the stoic Native American slowly returned to his seat by the fire.