by Trevor Scott
Marlon had appeared for a moment at the front door and waved his hand for them to come up to the front entrance.
Ben and Maggi stepped quickly through the rain and got under the entrance overhang.
“Come on in out of that crap,” Marlon said from the door.
This was the first time Ben had actually been allowed in Marlon Telford’s house. As he stepped in, he got his first view of opulence in Cantina Valley. The main entrance flowed in to a grand opening rising up over twenty feet to vaulted logs and cross beams thicker than Ben’s body. The floors were at least two-foot tiles all the way into a dining area and the kitchen, which seemed like it was built for a gourmet chef, with high-end stainless steel appliances, including a six-burner gas stove and a double refrigerator large enough for a family of ten.
The owner didn’t offer them in beyond the entrance way, so Ben guessed Marlon’s hospitality went only so far.
“What can I do for you, Ben?” Marlon asked.
“Do you know what I did in the Air Force?” Ben asked.
Marlon shook his head. “Not a clue.”
Now it was time to play up Ben’s background with enough unclassified information to impress and perhaps scare this Bigfoot hunter to come clean with his activities.
“First of all,” Ben said, “you have to promise that what I tell you doesn’t leave this room.”
Marlon looked a bit concerned, but also intrigued. “You got it, buddy.”
Ben gave his neighbor a serious look. “All right. My main job during non-war was criminal investigations of anything from larceny to rape to murder. During the war, I was deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan to interrogate terrorists for intel. Now, you can imagine the difficulty of that, especially with the language barrier and the intransigence and fanaticism of the enemy. They didn’t want to give me any information. Why? Because they feared their own people more than me. But eventually everyone talked. More importantly, I was able to discern a lie from the truth—not based on their words, but on their demeanor and facial tics.”
Ben let his words settle in for a while as he assessed if he should go further. Considering the nature of mister Bigfoot, and his belief system, Ben thought it was best to go deeper.
Shifting his eyes around the room, Ben asked, “Is anyone else in the house with you?”
Marlon swished his head side to side quickly. “No.”
“Good. Because what I’m going to tell you next can’t leave this room. If they find out, they will. . .never mind.”
“Don’t leave me hanging, Ben.”
Glancing at Maggi for a second and seeing she was clueless as to what he would say next, Ben pushed forward. “All right. I was part of a highly classified team that debriefed pilots who had experienced abnormal activity during their missions.”
Marlon moved closer and whispered, “You mean UFOs?”
“I didn’t say that,” Ben said vehemently. He shifted gears now. “Why do you think I went up in the mountains with you to search for Bigfoot?”
Shrugging, Marlon said, “I just thought you were being nice, Ben. I didn’t take you for a true believer.”
Now it was time to bring it on home. “Why do you think we haven’t found any skeletal remains of Bigfoot? I mean, think about it. There have been sightings of Bigfoot creatures all over the planet, not just North America. Yet, despite the best efforts of those searching, no bones or the capture of any Bigfoot creatures. Even the Native Americans, despite their considerable hunting skills, didn’t manage to capture or kill Sasquatch. Why is that?”
Marlon waged his finger at Ben. “I’ve considered this as a biologist. You are correct. But the anthropologist might say that the Bigfoot creatures revere their dead and burn the bodies. Or they could even burry them. With the forest of the Coast Range, for instance, an entire Bigfoot could be swallowed up by predation and natural disintegration within a few months.”
“But still,” Ben said with skeptical indifference. “Roads cross their territory from California to British Columbia. Humans get hit by cars all the time, and we know all about automobiles. Bigfoot, you would think, would have to get hit once in a while.”
“Perhaps.”
Maggi looked like she wanted to chime in, but Ben gave a look to stop her.
Ben continued, “Now, I’m not saying this is true, but I’m just putting this out there, Marlon. What if these Bigfoot or Sasquatch or Yeti creatures were actually visitors from another planet?” He let that question hang in silence as the three of them cast their gazes at one another.
“Shit,” Marlon finally said. “I haven’t entirely considered that possibility. Although others have posited this option as far back as the nineteen fifties. You’ve got more information than you’re telling me, Ben.”
Shrugging and shaking his head simultaneously, Ben said, “I think I know too much. So I isolate myself off the grid.”
“This could make a lot of sense,” Marlon said. “Maybe they’re shape shifters walking among us, but they have to periodically go back into the wilderness to regain their normal size and appearance. They can only shift so long without it killing them. And then if one does die, the other aliens dispose of their bodies.”
Ben raised his brows as if Marlon was on to something.
“You just blew my mind, Ben.” Marlon said, shifting nervously back and forth like a kid who needed the bathroom. “There was a report years ago, I forget where now, where residents in a remote area swore that they saw Bigfoot disappear into a black vortex anomaly. Some sort of transporter system, I would guess.”
Now Ben had the man exactly where he wanted him. “Ah, damn it. I’ve been such an idiot. I forgot to introduce you to Maggi McGuffin. She’s a friend of mine from Portland. You know her brother Tavis McGuffin.”
“The guy whose photo you showed me?” Marlon said.
“Right,” Ben said. “I understand he works for you picking truffles up in the Siuslaw.”
“He does?” Marlon seemed more nervous now than he had when he discovered that Bigfoot might be an alien. “I mean, I don’t know everyone working up there. I use a lot of subcontractors.”
“We need to talk with him,” Maggi finally said.
Marlon shook his head. “I have no idea where he might be working. If he’s even working for one of my crews.”
“You don’t have the location of your crews?” Ben asked.
The Bigfoot truffle man hesitated before saying, “I have the GPS location of all locations. But those are closely held secrets. And they could be at any location on any given day.”
“I just told you my closely held secret,” Ben reminded the man.
“And I truly appreciate that, Ben. It might take me in an entirely different direction with my search for the elusive Bigfoot. However, the location of truffle hunting grounds is a tangible risk. I have every yahoo in Oregon and other places trying to find my truffle grounds.”
Suddenly, a crack broke the pause, and glass from the tall picture windows flew into the room. It took a microsecond for Ben to understand what was happening. He grabbed Maggi and pulled her to the entrance rug, covering her with his body.
Looking up to Marlon, who seemed in shock, Ben yelled, “Get the hell down.”
Just as Marlon did as Ben said, more cracks broke the still air and glass crashed down to the tile surface. Then came a full salvo of bullets, which passed through the glass and struck other items in the massive living room.
Ben got up, pulled his gun, and peeked out around a window alongside the thick wooden front door. There. He saw a dark figure toward the front gate running away.
Quickly opening the door, Ben aimed out toward the shooter and fired off six rounds of 9mm. Of course the shooter was much too far away to be impacted by Ben’s bullets, but his shooting might act as a deterrence.
Closing the door, Ben turned to look at his host, who was now laying on the floor in a fetal position, his hands over his ears.
“He’s gone,” Ben said.
>
Marlon sat up in shock. “Did you see him?”
Ben helped Maggi to her feet. Then he said, “A man in black moving fast toward your front gate through the downpour. Do you know who might want to take potshots at you?”
Marlon stood up. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the international truffle cartel.”
Ben and Maggi shared a look. Ben said, “Seriously?”
“As a heart attack,” Marlon said. “The French and the Italians are pissed at me. Oregon used to supply truffles only to the west coast. Now we have them on flights to Europe daily. Our truffles used to be inferior to those found there, but we have found and nurtured a much better product. We’re getting top dollar for our harvests of both white and black truffles. And they don’t like it.”
“Enough to try to kill you?” Maggi asked. “That’s insane.”
“You obviously haven’t tried our truffles,” Marlon said. “Looks like I need some security. Any idea who could help me with that, Ben?” The Bigfoot truffle king gave Ben a wide smile.
“You’ve got a bunch of former military working for you already,” Ben concluded.
“I know. But I need them up in the truffle hunt and to transport them to PDX. I need someone I can trust.”
“First, you need to call the sheriff and report this shooting,” Ben said.
“What good will that do?”
The man had a point. His house was so far away from the sheriff’s office and most patrols that the only reason to call the police out there was to tell them where to pick up the bodies.
“Let me think about it,” Ben said. “In the meantime you need to arm yourself.”
“I don’t have any guns.”
Ben pulled out his wallet and found a business card. He handed it to Marlon. “That’s an old friend of mine. A private federal firearms dealer. Give him my name and tell him to bring you a selection. He’ll also know about potential private security.”
Marlon nodded his head.
“Now, who runs your crews?”
“A guy named Kevin Engel.”
Ben smiled. “I know Kevin. How do you contact him?”
“By radio.”
“Up in the Siuslaw or at his Compound?”
Marlon’s brows shot up. “I guess being a local you would know about the Compound.” He pondered the question. “I believe he’s up with the truffle crews.”
“Contact him immediately and tell him you were just attacked. If they came for you, they might come for the truffles next.”
“Good idea.” Marlon took off for a back room.
Once they were alone, Maggi pulled on Ben’s sleeve and said, “Bigfoot aliens? Nice one.”
Ben shrugged. “What?”
She obviously wasn’t buying what Ben was selling.
“Sometimes we need to have an open mind, Maggi,” Ben said. “When you look up into the stars, it’s not difficult to imagine life on other planets. It would be truly arrogant to think we are the only semi-intelligent creatures in this universe. Look how far we have come in just a hundred years. It’s not a stretch to think that other aliens might be much farther along in technology.”
Maggi simply stared at Ben as if he was an alien himself.
20
Ben went out to where the shooter had shot from, finding scattered brass in the wet grass. Looking back toward the house, with the help of leaning against the thick fir tree, he realized that the distance was about 100 yards—an easy shot for an average marksman. Someone with a little more skill could have put one bullet into Marlon’s vitals easily. Even with the rainy conditions. Yet, the first shot had missed its mark by five feet. He picked up one of the spent brass from both ends, pocketing it without touching the main part of the metal just in case the man had been stupid enough to leave his prints.
Then he walked back to Marlon’s house and met Maggi inside.
“What did you find?” she asked.
“As I suspected based on the sound of the shots, the gun was an AR-15 in 5.56 mm.” Ben glanced up at the pattern of bullet entries through the glass and knew he was right. Although a little glass had fallen to the floor, for the most part the bullets had simply penetrated without doing much real damage. That meant the bullets had not deflected much either. Yeah, the shooter had intentionally missed his target.
“What are you thinking?”
“Don’t tell Marlon this, but I think the shooter was just trying to scare him. A guy with full-on Parkinson’s could have made that shot.”
“Still, the shooter could have actually screwed up and hit someone,” she reasoned.
“I know. That’s why Marlon needs protection. This could have just been an initial warning. I’m more concerned about what will follow.”
“Do you plan to help this guy?”
“I’m a bit torn, Maggi. This all started by trying to find your brother. We’ve found him. He doesn’t seem to be doing anything out of the ordinary.”
Maggi bit her lip, her eyes shifting toward the floor. “I know. But with this shooting, I think you might be right. What if these people try to attack the source?”
“That’s why I told Marlon to warn his crews. We could push the issue and head up into the mountains to warn your brother in person.”
“Would you do that for me?”
“If my truck will make it up those roads,” he said.
Marlon entered again and said, “That won’t be a problem. We can take my truck.”
“Did you warn your crews?” Ben asked.
“I got through to Kevin. He’ll make sure the others know as well.” Marlon lifted a large GPS unit and added, “I have the location of my crews in here. Coming with me?”
“I will,” Ben said. Then to Maggi he said, “Why don’t you take my truck back to my place and wait for us there.”
“No way in hell,” Maggi said. “I need to talk with my brother.”
“Awesome,” Marlon said. “I’ll lock up. Meet me out at the garage.”
Ben and Maggi wandered outside and toward Ben’s truck. He opened his front door and shoved the seat forward. From a rack built inside the back of the truck seat, he pulled out his own AR-15. Then he found a small satchel on the floor and turned to Maggi, who looked a bit shocked. “What?” he asked.
“You’re all kinds of interesting, Ben,” she said.
Marlon’s garage door opened and the former professor backed out a large black SUV with big oversized tires.
Ben climbed into the front passenger seat and Maggi got into the back behind the driver.
“Wow, Ben, you come prepared,” Marlon said, gazing at the AR-15.
Ben shoved the barrel of the rifle down at the firewall by his feet. “His name is Justin,” Ben said. “Justin Case.”
“Sweet.” Marlon cycled through the GPS sitting in a holder on his dash. It finally acquired satellites and a sexy woman’s voice came on saying she was ready to navigate. “All right. Let’s rock and roll.”
They drove out of his parking area and then hesitated at the front gate as it opened for Marlon slowly.
Ben pointed at a spot along the edge of the road. “Looks like the shooter parked out far enough so the camera didn’t pick him up. The vehicle left in a hurry.”
“You’re right, Ben. I guess I need to upgrade my security.”
“Unfortunately, in our society the more you have the more someone wants to take it from you,” Ben reasoned.
It took them a half hour to cruise through their valley and start up the coast range, the sexy woman telling them where to turn. Ben knew these roads from his youth, having driven them many times hunting and fishing. He had just gone trout fishing in this area the day he met Maggi. Since this wasn’t a major road leading from one of Oregon’s larger cities to the coast, traffic consisted mostly of logging trucks and recreational locals. During the rainy season from November to April, not many braved the road, which quickly went from a narrow paved highway to an even narrower dirt track encroached on both sides by bl
ackberry brambles. As they rose higher in elevation, the berry bushes gave way to young oaks and evergreen saplings.
The Coast Range was owned mostly by three entities—the National Forest Service, Oregon State Forests, and the large lumber companies. In this particular area, Ben knew that they were now in lumber company land. He could tell by the gates that led to roads off the sides.
“Do you have lease contracts with the lumber companies?” Ben asked Marlon.
“Yes. I convinced them to deal only with me in exchange for this place not turning into the wild west.”
Ben had heard stories of mushroom hunters clashing for territory on public lands in Oregon. Private land was easier to control, he guessed. The land was now clearly marked as private and to keep the hell out or be prosecuted for trespassing.
“I’ve never been up in this type of land before,” Maggi said from the back seat.
Marlon looked at her in the rearview mirror. “The private companies do a better job maintaining the land than our government. They have a monetary incentive to do so.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Ben said.
“Profit is a great motivator,” Marlon added.
The driver slowed and pulled over to the right, waiting for a large logging truck to pass. Then Marlon powered up and spun the tires. He punched a button, putting the vehicle into four wheel drive, and the rig powered forward with ease.
“The road looks like goose shit,” Ben said.
“It’s slick all right.” Marlon paused and then said, “Were you just fucking with me about Bigfoot to try to get information?”
“You don’t think it’s a viable theory?” Ben asked, avoiding the man’s question.
“Truthfully, it’s the best theory I’ve ever heard. I really think you might be on to something. The problem then becomes more acute. How do we prove it?”
Ben had considered this as well. “It’s kind of like God, I think. You either believe or not. Or maybe you’re on the fence and don’t really know for sure.” He thought about what Marlon had added to his theory. “You’re the biologist. Do you think shape-shifting is possible?”
