by Alan Monroe
“I can’t do it. Those things are going to kill us,” Jared shouted.
Davis’ eyes turned to ice as he glared at Jared. “We’re not dead yet, and it is never time to panic. Besides, you’ve done great so far. We wouldn’t have the doc’s leg set and splinted without you; he would be dying of blood poisoning by now. You’ve done well; that’s one man’s life you’ve saved. And you can get off this mountain.
Jared took several deep breaths. “Sorry, Sheriff.”
The sheriff let the young man go and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s o.k. Clint, get us back on the road.”
Thursday, May 16 12:00 p.m.
The sun rose high above their heads, and the tall trees trapped every bit of heat in the forest. Davis felt a little perspiration start to form underneath the brim of his hat. The old growth forest, normally free from significant undergrowth, had grown thick with small trees and thorns. At times, Davis could barely see Jared and the stretcher only a few yards away much less see Clint at the column’s head.
Over six hours travel had not even taken them halfway to their goal, and an unsheltered night loomed in the distance. Blisters formed and burst on Hugh’s big palms; blood soaked into the stretcher handles. Jared staggered forward like a zombie, but never uttered a single complaint. Dr. Smith somehow managed to keep from grunting as the stretcher jostled through the forest. Tom and Clint carried Rachel at least as much as she walked on her own. Davis’s knees ached with every step, but he managed to keep his head on a constant swivel searching the trees.
The ground turned upward sharply without losing any of its thick vegetation. Jared took a long step up the grade with his right foot, but the muddy ground under his left foot disappeared swallowing his leg to the knee. That end of the stretcher crashed to the ground; Dr. Smith gripped the sides of the stretcher with his hands gritting his teeth to keep from screaming. Jared snarled and immediately ripped his foot out of the hole and replanted it driving up the short hill with his right leg. Davis slung the rifle and took one side of the stretcher from Jared. The two men held the stretcher with one and gripped grass or braches while churning their legs up the hill through the wet undergrowth.
Once they reached the top of the short rise, Jared reached and took the stretcher from Davis’ hand without even breaking stride.
“Thanks Sheriff,” Jared whispered.
Davis took the double rifle off his shoulder. “No problem. That was a tough little hill.”
Jared shook his head and chuckled. “A little hill on a big mountain. Crazy.”
“Yea.”
“Sheriff,” Jared said. “I’m sorry about freaking out so much.”
Davis shook his head. “No need to apologize. We all got a lot more than we bargained for on this trip.”
Jared walked forward carrying the stretcher. “Still, I wish I handled it better.”
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess Jared.”
Jared looked over his shoulder at Davis. “No sweat. I’m glad I’m here; this is important.”
Davis smiled as he followed Jared through brush.
The jaws of the forest opened wide when undergrowth parted beside the narrow trail. Leaves and limbs filled the air as a dark mass tore across the path between Davis and Jared; one end of the stretcher slammed downward into a rock on the ground. Only empty air stood between Davis and the now uncarried end of the stretcher. Limbs cracked and popped while heavy feet stomped craters into the mud. Dr. Smith stared wide-eyed at the space occupied by Jared only seconds before.
“What happened back their Hugh?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know,” Hugh replied. “Had my back to it.”
“Sheriff? Is everybody alright?”
Davis stared into the eight feet tall tunnel plowed through the undergrowth leading away from their trail; limbs the diameter of his thigh had been snapped from tree trunks effortlessly by its passage. Smashed grass and brush the covered new trail, and a cackling roar floated back up to Davis’ ears. His double rifle sat at his waste.
Tom walked back and stood beside Hugh who sat down his end of the stretcher. “Will? Are you o.k.? Where’s Jared”
“It took him,” Davis stammered. “It took Jared. I never even had a chance to raise my gun.”
“What?” Tom said. “Jared?”
“It took Jared,” Davis repeated.
“How?” Hugh asked. “We never even saw it.”
Davis ground his teeth. “It came out of nowhere. No sound or smell at all. ”
“It masked its scent and waited for us to pass,” Dr. Smith said. “It knew where we were going.”
“It took Jared,” Davis punched a tree with his right hand, and a strip of blood and torn skin appeared on his knuckles. “Tom, get back and carry this stretcher with Hugh! Clint, pick up the pace and get everyone to the trucks! I am going after Jared!”
Hugh walked to Davis and grabbed his arm. “You can’t go after him alone. I’m going with you.”
Davis shook his friends hand away. “It’s the only choice we’ve got. Clint can’t lead everybody out if he is carrying a stretcher; not to mention if he and Tom are on the stretcher and one man is with me, no one has their hand on a gun.”
Hugh shook his head. “You be careful. Don’t let those things have you for dinner.”
Davis leaped into the rabbit hole plowed through the forest by the running Sasquatch. Giant footprints appeared in the soft mud at six to eight foot intervals; it moved through the thick brush as easily as Davis moved through a grassy field. The trail stank more with every step until breathing became a struggle; Davis screamed as he abandoned caution running down the Bigfoot’s trail. The path moved in a straight line down the mountainside through the old growth until Davis traveled over a mile from the stretcher. Sweat poured down his face stinging his eyes and blurring his vision. Jared screamed in the distance, and Davis charged through the trees again.
The footprints gradually moved back up a steepening hill, but the Sasquatch’s stride did not change. Great gulps of the cool mountain air formed a sharp stich in Davis’ right lung. Davis slung the rifle over his shoulder again and reached out to grab any branch in reach to pull himself up the grade. The sound of the Sasquatch barreling through the forest grew fainter with every passing second.
The lactic acid had been building in his leg muscles as he ran, and the pain became greater with every step; his foot slipped and he fell face first into one of the muddy tracks. As he returned to his feet with muddy water running down his face and out of his mouth, Davis heard a man scream in the distance, but the scream stopped abruptly as if a switch had been turned off. The sheriff sank to his knees and pounded his bleeding fist into the ground as he cried.
Thursday, May 16 12:15 p.m.
Only Davis’s crying broke the silence of the old growth forest until he rose from the ground and the popping of his right knee echoed through the trees. He wiped the tears from his face with his wrist and looked down the trail plowed by the Sasquatch; his gaze glanced back up the path he followed from the rest of his group. Davis’ eyes narrowed to tunnel vision when he leveled the big game rife down the path toward the direction of Jared’s dyeing scream, and he began to follow the big footprints in the muddy earth.
Davis moved through the forest at a quick but methodical pace carefully placing his feet around every branch on the ground to avoid making a sound. The trail moved up and down hills, but it always followed a straight line toward the firebreak somewhere north of where he and Hugh parked. A long strip of light blue gortex hung from a tree not too far ahead; Davis immediately recognized it as part of Jared’s jacket. Once he reached it, he stood on his toes pulled it down from a limb nine feet off the ground; no sign of blood coated the fabric. Davis dropped it to the ground, but he immediately picked it and put in his jacket pocket.
Thirty minutes led Davis to an abrupt clearing. At the edge of the clearing, Jared’s rifle lay on the ground shattered and bent. The nearest tree held a deep gouge wher
e steel and plastic slammed into its trunk. Davis knelt down on one knee and stared across the clearing; a large boulder stood in the center of the clearing jutting out of the ground like a claw reaching up through the surface of the mountain. Big muddy tracks lead directly over the rock without breaking stride. Davis took three deep breaths through his nose; detecting no trace of the Sasquatch scent, he quietly stepped out of the forest and into the field.
The muddy ground tried to create a suction between itself and the boots he wore with each step. Davis’ eyes flowed from right to left searching for any irregularity in the forest. Halfway across the clearing, Davis turned in a full circle searching every gap between the trees behind him. When he reached the boulder, he placed his hand on its surface and looked up; a thin trail of blood led up its surface between the footprints.
Davis slung the rifle over his shoulder and reached for the first likely hand hold, but his reach ended up being a foot short. The smooth surface of the rock offered no lower locations for his grip. He planted is right foot on the boulder’s face and tried to power his way up the stone; his foot slipped off as soon as he put any weight on it. Davis took the rifle off his shoulder and followed the perimeter of the rock.
A wall of thick brush hemmed in Davis’ passage around the rock; a quick glance back to his left showed that edge of the rock to be impassable as well. Davis continued forward until he found a gap in the brush fifty yards from the rock; he winced as the sound of thorns popping and cracking under his feet echoed across mountain. The rancid smell struck his nose as soon as reached the far side of brush; a second large clearing opened in front of Davis. Red stains covered the base of the rock in the distance.
Without hesitation, Davis stepped out into the open ground between himself and the rock. He no longer kept his head on a swivel; only the stain of blood on the rock and crumpled pile at its base held his attention. The scene clarified with each step; a puddle lay where Jared’s torso should have been while the arms, legs, and head were completely intact. Obvious fist imprints covered the ground around the puddle, and the lifeless eyes stared up to the heavens.
Davis lay the gun on the ground and removed the young man’s promise ring from his left hand. Blood soaked into both knees of his pants when Davis knelt on the ground by his friend and closed his eyes with a slow motion of his palm. He silently removed and opened his own sleeping bag. The unzipped sleeping bag covered Jared from his feet to his head, but Davis left the face uncovered.
“Good bye Jared,” Davis said. “I’m sorry I got you into this. I know you’re with Jesus now; He’ll take better care of you than I did.”
Davis slid the sleeping bag over Jared’s face and stood; he picked up the double rifle and turned toward his back towards the big rock. The v shaped alley in front of him hemmed him in by impassable brush on its right and left along with the boulder behind him. A tapping in the woods beyond the alley made its way into his ears, and an all too familiar stench filtered into the clearing overwhelming the smell of Jared’s body.
“I’m an idiot.”
Thursday, May 16 12:45 p.m.
“Well, this is another fine mess I’ve gotten myself into,” Davis whispered.
He took a step back from Jared’s body and held the rifle at his waist aimed forward into the trees. A blood vessel on his temple pumped in rhythm with his heart while sweat coated his skin. Glancing down at Jared’s body covered by the sleeping bag revealed blood still slowly spreading across the ground. Davis stepped away from Jared until he stood with his back to the rock; his eyes bounced randomly from tree to tree. Breaths came in short intervals, and the guns long barrel began to vibrate slowly.
Davis forced his eyes closed for a split second, and took a long deep breath pushing the fear down and out of his gut. He opened his eyes and looked down at his friend taking a second deep breath without moving his eyes from the body. Each deep breath moved the fear clawing at his soul further away. The gun rose to his shoulder when he stepped forward next to Jared’s body again. He said a silent prayer for his friend and himself before he turned his face back toward the living instead of the dead.
A slow walk across the clearing took him to where he left the forest; he followed his own trail for a full fifty yards before he stopped again. One ninety degree turn lined him with his best guess of a route leading him to where Tom and Hugh would be in an hour. After the short pause to get his bearings, he stepped into the unknown and slipped between the trees while keeping every sense in tune with his environment.
The simple snap of a twig caught his attention; he spun on his heal and pointed the double rifle at the source of the sound. He searched every corner of the forest in his field of view slowly working his way toward the sound until he saw a paw peeking from underneath a fallen snag. Davis cocked his head sideways in order to see more; a huge dog cowered under the heavy log. Davis immediately recognized it as a pit bull; the scaring on its snout and torso pointed to a life in illegal dog fights. Davis knelt down on one knee and held an empty hand toward the dog.
“It’s o.k. boy. You look like you’re having about as much fun out here as I am.”
The dog inched forward toward the offered hand and sniffed. Davis slipped a piece of jerky from his pack and held it towards the frightened animal; the dog took several short steps forward and accepted the food. Davis reached to scratch the dog’s head, but it quickly jerked away.
“Easy boy. Not every hand is going to whip you.”
Davis held the hand steady in the air until the dog slipped its head underneath and accepted the gentle scratching. After a few moments, the dog moved even closer and Davis rubbed the fur along its back; four fresh but shallow scratches ran the length of its spine.
“Looks like you met the local residents too.”
The dog cocked its head to the side.
“It’ll be good not to be alone. You ready to get out of this forest?”
Davis stood and the dog actually began to wag its stub of a tail. Once the walk began, the dog stayed just far enough away to keep from being tangled in his feet; the mutt kept looking up towards Davis every few steps. Only the sound of the dog’s panting and their soft footfalls carried through the forest.
The forest grew thick around them as they walked until the trees packed so tightly that Davis could always place his right hand on one while keeping his left hand on another. He stepped over root after exposed root while bobbing and weaving along the shifting path. The dog began to look back over its shoulder every few steps releasing an occasional whimper each time Davis paused to look at his compass and correct their course through the winding trees.
The pit bull ran twenty yards ahead of Davis and turned around; the dog pawed the ground and shook his head until Davis caught up. It promptly scurried ahead again turning back to look at Davis; the soft bark sounded unnatural coming from the large dog. When Davis paused to check the compass, the dog whimpered loudly and gnawed lightly at his ankle.
Davis knelt and put his hand on the dog’s head. “I’m walking as fast as I can here, dog. It won’t do us any good to move faster if we can’t find my deputies.”
After running forward again, the dog turned and barked loudly in Davis’ direction.
“Quiet dog. You make more noise than Hugh when he’s snoring. You want those things to ……”
Davis felt the hair on the back of his neck start to rise; the dog looked past him and barked loudly again. A single motion closed the compass and crammed it deep into a hip pocket allowing both hands to grip the double rifle while Davis caught up with the dog. They started to jog when the stench reached out and engulfed their senses; branches began to crack in the distance.
The dog kindly kept pace with Davis unwilling to leave its adopted master, but it lurched forward with every single snapped limb. Those snaps slowly moved closer until the dog whimpered constantly. In Davis’ ears, the pace did not sound hurried; the Sasquatch simply moved through the forest at its own natural pace, and it steadily grew
closer. Davis kept his eyes forward refusing to turn and search the forest.
As the noise from the branches grew, the sheriff heard the heavy footsteps pounding the ground as the creature closed the distance between them; the compulsion to gag at the smell became overwhelming. Each step drove hard into the ground; Davis felt the vibrations from each step in his teeth. The dog constantly maintained a lead on Davis turning and barking to draw him forward.
Davis finally heard the deep heavy breathing over the stomping feet and barking dog; he sensed the creature only yards away. He forced himself to wait a few more seconds as he pictured the Bigfoot in his mind’s eye reaching clawed fingers towards his shoulders. A crooked smile spread across the sheriff’s face when he pivoted one hundred eighty degrees and fired over one quarter of a pound of lead from both barrels combined. The cannon shots rang in his ears while he stared at an empty forest.
Thursday, May 16 1:20 p.m.
Only the tall, thick grass kept Peck’s cruisers from sinking into the mud on the way to the edge of the firebreak, but the grass did keep the cars and van sliding all over the field during their trip. Peck stepped out of the car onto the wet grass, his right foot shot from underneath him; he gripped the top of the open door and the side of the cruiser stopping his fall. The surprise of almost falling down was actually surpassed when he stepped out of the grassy field and into the firebreak; his foot sank in so far that it completely disappeared leaving only the top of his boot visible.
He looked down at the boot. “Alright let’s get those packs on.”
“How often do you want us to radio you sergeant?” asked a young officer from inside the swat van.
“I’ll contact you at the top of each hour. I’d rather you not contact me at all, but I’ll settle for you contacting me if I’m fifteen minutes overdue.”
