Watchers in the Woods

by William W. Johnstone

  “Did you destroy them?”

  “Oh, yeah. One cell of them. But they’s cells all over the damn country.”

  “Cannibalistic?”

  “Oh, yeah. They might be high-powered executives, or mechanics or whatever during the week, and then let the urge take them during the weekend. We can see the tribe in each other, Matt . . .”

  “Yeah. The eyes.”

  “You’re a smart one. I said that already, but it bears repeating. Yeah. The eyes are a dead giveaway if you know what to look for. Them on the outside that don’t fight the urge—they seek out and recruit others who are doing poorly in business or unhappy with their jobs or with their marriage or whatever. They sing a song to them, Matt. I don’t mean they actually sing to them, but what they say about the urge setting them free makes sense to someone unhappy. Then they get the taste of blood in their mouth, and they’re hooked forever.”

  “Can’t you deprogram them?”

  He shook his head. “No. And better people than me has tried.” He smiled. “Oh, yeah, Matt. We have medical doctors and psychiatrists and engineers and scientists—you name it, those on the outside are filling those jobs. The urge to run free is a strong one. If it’s a weak person to start with, and the Sataw is persuasive . . .” He shrugged his shoulders. “Back to the wild.”

  “If those on the outside who have gone bad know I’m in here, they might return for a shot at me, right?”

  “Possible. Highly possible. And they know you’re here. Yeah. I’d say that’s another worry you got.”

  “I really didn’t need another one, Nick.”

  Chuckling, the guide moved over to the campsite to help with supper.

  * * *

  “This can’t go unavenged,” Monroe Bishner said, after looking at the battered Luther. “You said there was a hard-lookin’ pale-eyed man with them, Jones?”

  “Yeah. And I don’t think he was some city dude come on a camping vacation neither. He was all business and looked damn fit to me.”

  “It’s the same man.” Monroe touched his still-sore face with his fingertips. He would carry some of the scars from the hot grease burn for the rest of his life. His quickly thrown up forearm had protected his eyes from the scalding grease, and he was lucky in that. “I want that bastard. I want him bad. Luddy, you and Jim Bob lay back and trail them. I want to see where they camp.”

  “Some fine lookin’ women in that bunch,” Luther was reminded. “They got a girl with ’em that looked to be about eighteen. She’s prime stuff.”

  “Now would be the time for us to practice tactics,” another said. “It’d be fun to lay out in the timber and scare them city folks.”

  The men gathered around grinned at the prospect of that. Then one of them who had been at the fight sobered. “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “That Jew-boy is strong and quick and mean. Just ask Luther. But that pale-eyed feller is the one that worries me. Me and Floyd was watchin’ him all durin’ the fight, wasn’t we, Floyd?” Floyd bobbed his head in agreement. “He never changed expression. Didn’t show no emotion a-tall. And when he told Ray to either shut up or fight him, his voice was cold. Real cold. Naw, Monroe, I’d leave this bunch alone.”

  “Nobody asked you, Alton. Anytime you want to haul your ass outta here, you just take off.”

  “I didn’t say nothin’ about me pullin’ out,” Alton said sullenly.

  “Then you’ll do what you’re told without questioning orders. I want to know something about that pale-eyed fellow. I think he’s some sort of law.”

  Alton wanted to say if that’s what the guy was, the best thing to do would be to leave him alone, wouldn’t it? But he didn’t say it. He didn’t want the others to think him a coward. But any man who could whup Monroe and two others with nothing more than a damn fryin’ pan was someone to be left alone.

  Monroe was saying, “... And I’m gettin’ tired of this feeling of being watched all the damn time. Now by God someone is out there lookin’ at us, and I want to know who it is. And don’t come back here with a bunch of damn excuses about how you can’t find nobody. I’m tired of hearin’ it. Whitman, you and Hardin and Yates gear up and go find whoever that is sneakin’ around lookin’ in on us. How the hell do you think we’re ever gonna take over the government when we can’t even find some damn peeper? Now move out!”

  * * *

  Matt and Norm took their flyrods and walked over to the stream. The fish were striking at anything that jiggled on the water and between them they soon had a mess of trout—enough for everyone to have a taste. They cleaned the fish and took them back to camp, giving them to Nick.

  “You folks gather around,” Nick said. “I’m gonna show you how to make a batter so good it’ll make you wanna slap your granny.”

  The kids had taken to Nick immediately and it was obvious that the man liked kids.

  “You got kids of your own, Mister Nick?” Sara asked.

  “A whole passel of them. Four. And I got two grandkids and another one due in the fall. Sounds like an invadin’ army when they all gather at home. Now pay attention to what I’m doing here. I’m showing you a secret recipe.”

  They ate supper early, and all of them were surprised by their hearty appetites: they ate up everything in sight.

  “This country will do it to you,” Matt explained. “Not just here, but any wilderness area. You get away from smog and chemicals and smoke and pressures and begin to relax.”

  “What kind of rifle is that you’ve got, Mister Jordan?” eleven year old Tommy asked.

  “Mini-14.”

  “Is it a machine gun?”

  “No. It’s a semi-automatic rifle. Some people call them assault rifles.”

  “The kind that a lot of people want to outlaw?”

  “Yes. So I’ve heard. I’ve been out of the country for a long time, Tommy. I’m just now catching up on a lot of things that have been happening in America. But those people who are trying to disarm American citizens are wrong. That’s just one person’s opinion and your parents might not agree with me.”

  “I certainly disagree with you,” Tom Dalton said.

  “I could have guessed that, Tom,” Matt said with a smile.

  “I don’t disagree with you,” Dennis said. “The punks and thugs and creeps are taking over the country. The police are overwhelmed, and the damn liberals want to disarm tax-paying, law-abiding citizens. It’s ridiculous.”

  In what remained of the fast-waning sunlight, Matt caught a glimpse of movement across the stream. He cut his eyes to Nick. The guide had also seen it. Nick pointed to his chest and shook his head quickly, the minute shake telling Matt that whoever it was, it was not a member of the tribe.

  Nancy said, “I think it’s a national disgrace that people have to be subjected to all the gang violence that’s taken over the streets. I can’t understand why the police just don’t go in and shoot them!”

  “Nancy!” Susan looked shocked. “These are words from the most liberal democrat I ever knew?”

  “No more, kid. We were young, idealistic fools back in our college days. You’re looking at an avowed Republican who is sick to death of punks and street gangs and soaring crime rates.”

  “You stirred it up now, Susan,” Wade said with a smile. “If Nancy had her way, she’d strap on six-guns and volunteer for the first firing squad to be formed.”

  Whoever it was across the stream had settled down and was watching the group. Matt had detected only one person so far, but he was fairly certain the watcher was not alone.

  The boundaries had been laid out for the kids. They could go no further than the edge of the camp or the bank of the stream and the rules were accepted without grousing. Already the shadows were thickening and the campfire was a comforting sight to the kids. None of them seemed to want to leave the flickering light.

  A high wailing note sprang out of the twilight and straightened Milli up. “What was that?”

  “Wolf,” Nick told her. “Relax. Th
ey won’t bother you. All that crap you’ve been taught over the years is just that: pure garbage. I ain’t never heard of a healthy, unprovoked wolf attacking a human being. If Little Red Riding Hood was eaten up by a wolf, she more than likely was pokin’ the animal in the eye with a stick to get it riled.”

  Two men, Matt concluded after catching a sight of movement about a hundred yards north of the initial sighting. But this one had been a bit more careless than the first. Matt had caught a glimpse of camouflage in the last rays of light. The CWA was stalking them.

  “When you leave us day after tomorrow, Mr. Nick,” Traci said, wanting to move the conversation away from guns and politics, “won’t you be afraid coming back all alone?”

  Nick shook his head and smiled. “What’s to be afraid of, girl? I been ridin’ this country for a long, long time. I know all the secret places, all the streams and little lakes that few others have seen. I’ve had outlaws come at me from time to time, to take my possessions. I brung them out to the sheriff hung over the back of my packhorse.”

  “You killed them?” the teenager asked.

  “I sure didn’t give ’em a big smooch and a hug, miss. Mrs. Lavelle is right about outlaws. I know of a society where if a member steals from another member, he or she dies. They just won’t tolerate it . . .”

  “One of those archaic and barbarous Moslem sects,” Tom Dalton said.

  Darkness had fallen swiftly, and although Matt could not see Nick’s face, he knew the man was smiling. And he also knew what society the man was talking about; it was a hell of a lot closer to their present location than it was to the Mideast.

  “Something like that,” Nick spoke from out of the darkness. He leaned forward and laid another stick on the fire.

  “In the movies, they always throw it on the fire,” Johnny Hunt said.

  “Hollywood nonsense,” Nick told him. “Tossing a stick on the fire dislodges a lot of sparks. It’s a dangerous and stupid thing to do anytime, but especially when you’re in the timber.”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy said. “I’ll remember that.”

  “I know you will,” the guide said. “You’re a good boy. I’ve taken to all you kids. And I don’t usually do that. You’re a good bunch of people.” With that, Nick rose as gracefully as Matt had ever seen any man do and stood up. “I’m gonna take me a walk. You wanna come along, Matt?”

  “Yeah.” Matt rose to his hiking boots. He looked at Norm. “Keep everybody close, Norm.” He spoke very softly.

  “Trouble?”

  “Maybe. Keep everybody in sight.”

  A horrible scream cut the night, startling the campers and bringing them all to their feet. The screaming was followed by a roar, then a grunt, then a splatting sound. Then silence.

  “What in God’s name was that?” Wade asked.

  “We’ll find out,” Nick said. “All of you, stay put! Let’s go, Matt.” Nick ran for his rifle while Matt popped open his rifle case and pulled out his Mini-14.

  “It came from across the river,” Matt said.

  “Yeah. We’ll cross down yonder about a hundred yards. Old tree down makes a perfect bridge.”

  “Luddy!” Jim Bob shouted from across the narrow but fast-moving stream. “Luddy! Where are you, boy?”

  But Luddy could not hear him and would never reply. Luddy’s headless torso lay crumpled like a child’s tossed-away doll. One leg was bent under him, shattered by the body impacting with a tree at tremendous force.

  “Luddy!” Jim Bob bellered. “You’d best answer me, boy.”

  Nick found the body. A dark ribbon of shiny blood on bark marked the spot where the headless body had smashed against the tree and slid down.

  “Luddy!” Jim Bob squalled.

  Matt looked down at the broken body. “Jesus! What in hell did this?”

  “Not one of ours, Matt. Look yonder; see that dark shiny smear of blood? That’s a good thirty feet this man was throwed. Ain’t a one of us got that much strength. The Sataws is plenty strong, but not that strong.”

  “Then . . .”

  “Luddy! Damn it, boy, where are you?”

  “Omah,” Nick said softly.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Oh-mo-hah is what the Indians named him, or them. It was shortened to Omah . . . I don’t know when. Years ago. They’re giant people, but basically gentle people who live in the wilderness areas, and not just around here. They’ve been spotted in areas from the Pacific coast all the way to Michigan.”

  “Giant people? Oh, come on, Nick!”

  “Luddy! God damn it, boy, where are you?” Jim Bob hollered.

  “Luddy’s dead, you halfwit!” Nick yelled. “Git on over here and look at him and then carry your ass out of the wilderness.”

  “Where’s here?” Jim Bob called. “I can’t see my hand in front of my face. And who the hell are you?”

  “Just follow the sound of my voice,” Nick said patiently. “I’ll talk you over here.”

  “Giant people?” Matt once again questioned.

  “Speak up, man!” Jim Bob yelled. “I can’t hear you.”

  “Come on, boy. We ain’t thirty feet from the stream. Your side. Just follow it and turn right. That’s north,” he added dryly.

  “Are you putting me on, Nick? Giant people?”

  “They been here a lot longer than us, Matt. But I’m gonna tell this idiot it was a bear. As dumb as those people are, they’ll believe damn near anything.”

  “I agree with that. Dumb but dangerous.”

  “You got it.”

  Jim Bob stumbled through the brush and pulled up short at the sight of the headless Luddy. He took a closer look, then turned his head and threw up.

  “Oh, my God!” he finally gasped. “What done this?”

  “Bear,” Nick said. “They been known to tear the head off a person.”

  “Why?” Jim Bob said, disgust in his voice.

  “To eat it, I reckon,” Nick said with a straight face. “You go get a tarp from your horse and we’ll help you wrap this fellow up. Then you can go on mindin’ your own damn business and stop followin’ us.”

  “Unless you want one of us to ride back and call the law about it,” Matt said. “This is federal land, so U.S. marshals will be quick about coming in.” The Marshal’s Service couldn’t care less about any bear attack, but Matt figured this dimwit wouldn’t know that.

  “Uh . . .” Jim Bob paused, thinking hard, which must have been quite a strain. “I reckon we’ll take care of the seeing to the body. I’ll fetch me a ground sheet for Luddy.”

  “Omah must have had a good reason for killin’ this crud,” Nick said, when Jim Bob had gone for the ground sheet. “They probably spooked him, or her, and maybe took a shot or two at it. They might have wounded one thinking it was a bear. If you see one, and the odds is strong against it, just let it be and go on about your business. They won’t bother you.”

  “Nick, what in the hell is an Omah?”

  “Oh, you been readin’ about them since you was a boy, Matt. Some Indians call them Sasquatch. Most people just call them Bigfoot.”

  11

  “Bigfoot!” Dennis was about one decibel below shouting the word. “You mean those damn things really exist?”

  Nick chuckled as he fed more sticks to the fire. “Sure. But like most creatures of the forests, if you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. That one has probably been tracking Luddy what’s-his-name for no telling how long, seeking revenge for something. Most likely, Luddy shot and wounded its mate. Or he may have shot and wounded this particular Omah. I’d bet it was one or the other.”

  The usually unflappable Tom Dalton looked around him. “Where, uh, do you suppose this mythical beast is now? Not that I believe a word of this, you understand.”

  Nick sat the coffeepot on the stones to brew a fresh pot. “Long gone, Mister Dalton. No need for alarm. There are a few simple rules that you can follow in the wilderness that will help to keep you alive. If you c
ome up on a half-eaten carcass, you get the hell gone from that area. Don’t run, just walk quickly. More than likely you’ve come up on a bear’s cache of food, and they can get right testy about their food. The same goes for the big cats in here. A grizzly is the most unpredictable of them all. They can run faster than you can. You get a grizzly on your tail, you’re in a world of hurt. But bear attacks are rare if a person just uses a little common sense. You see, folks, this country ain’t your country; this belongs to the animals.”

  “Bigfoot,” Sara said. “I’d like to see one.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Judy Hunt echoed.

  “You won’t,” Nick told them. “But they’ve seen you. Just like the wolves have seen us and the bears and the cats have seen us this day. They aren’t interested in us as long as we leave them alone.”

  “What were those racists doing following us?” Cathy asked. “I don’t like the idea of being followed by those types of people.”

  “Nor do I,” Nancy echoed Cathy’s sentiments.

  Nick shrugged his shoulders.

  “They want revenge for the beating I gave three of them a couple of weeks ago and for the beating Dennis handed Luther,” Matt said. “And they probably suspect I’m some kind of lawman.”

  “You whipped three of them?” Wade asked.