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Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre

Page 14

by Max Brooks


  We should probably just save it. We’re jumpy enough as it is. We haven’t heard or seen anything for about an hour. Dan thinks we should also set the internal alarms. They’re just motion sensors, the same ones the houses use for light and heat. I’m against it. What if I set them off accidentally when I get up to use the hall bathroom? Dan thinks I’m crazy for not sharing the master bath. “So what if you wake me?” He’s said that twice. I guess we have bigger problems now.

  But do we?

  A couple times we considered going over to Mostar’s house, but, in addition to not wanting to wake her, we don’t want to go back outside.

  Too paranoid? “Siri, should we be worried?”

  At least we’re talking about it openly. And that feels good. Dan doesn’t doubt what I saw. He just feels bad he doesn’t know more about it. Yeah, he’s a total nerd, but a sci-fi nerd, not horror or fantasy, as he’s been explaining to me tonight. So many subgenres. All Dungeons & Dragons to me. I will say that I can’t believe we’ve never talked about this before. All these years. This is what it takes? Back and forth, genuine communication. Even if it is just speculating on what’s out there.

  Where did it come from? How did it get here? And are there more than one? I mean, there has to be, at least in general. We’re not talking about magic. This thing’s not immortal. There’s gotta be more of them to make more of them. But how many? And how have they stayed hidden—no, that’s not accurate—hidden enough to remain unproven? How does an animal this big remain off the books for so long?

  Dan just learned how to bypass all the cracked windows. Time for bed. I’ll put the coffee in the fridge. Gotta make it last.

  From Steve Morgan’s The Sasquatch Companion.

  Some theories surrounding the origin of Sasquatch trace its lineage back to a prehistoric ancestor called Gigantopithecus. From teeth and fossilized jawbones recovered in Asia (first discovered by anthropologist G. H. R. von Koenigswald in 1935), it can be hypothesized that this super ape stood as tall as ten feet, weighed up to eleven hundred pounds, and existed as late as 100,000 years ago.

  The lack of a complete, or even partial, skeleton has left the posture of this creature to the imagination. Most artistic renderings paint Gigantopithecus as a stooped, long-armed, knuckle-walker, while dissenters such as Dr. Grover Krantz postulate erect, bipedal locomotion. In his book Bigfoot Sasquatch Evidence, Krantz described his reconstruction of a Gigantopithecus blacki skull based on recovered jaw fossils. From this process, he determined that the position of the neck “indicates a fully upright posture.”

  Not only does Krantz’s hypothesis corroborate eyewitness accounts of Sasquatch’s humanlike gait, the thesis of Gigantopithecus’s terrestrial, rather than arboreal, existence would also explain the physical makeup of Bigfoot’s feet. Almost no cast or photograph of a Sasquatch footprint shows the traditional simian gripping digit. The mystery of its absence is solved when we consider that its ancestor Gigantopithecus, whose size and weight prevented life in the trees, had little evolutionary need for this feature.

  If both hypotheses are correct, that this prehistoric mega-simian was both upright and ground dwelling, it would have stood in good stead to survive the climatic catastrophe that supposedly caused its extinction. According to the fossil record, the last Gigantopithecus blacki (the largest of its species) died out roughly 100,000 years ago, when the jungles of South Asia retreated into open grassland. But what if, as Darwin himself lamented, the fossil record is “imperfect”? What if the reason no recent Gigantopithecus remains have been discovered in central China is because Gigantopithecus simply moved away?

  Some might have made it to the mountains of Hubei, where their descendants live today as the Yeren. A second group could have trekked farther west into the Himalayas, becoming what we now refer to as the Yeti. And a third, intrepid offshoot may very well have braved the northern wastes in search of an entirely new world.

  For decades, it has been theorized that, like the first humans, Gigantopithecus migrated from Asia to America during the last great ice age, across the now-submerged Siberian land bridge of Beringia. This theory has recently run into some controversy, however, as the conventional “inland ice corridor” narrative has been challenged by evidence pointing to an earlier, coastal route. However, corridor or coast, it is logical to assume that these two hominid species reached the new world alongside one another.

  This co-migration would explain the many behavioral adaptations that differentiate Sasquatch from other modern great apes. Nocturnal behavior, for example, would have been an excellent way to avoid the sharp eyes, and sharper spearpoints, of daylight hunting Homo sapiens. Likewise, their general expertise at stealth in day or night conditions would have been vital in the open, treeless tundra of Beringia. Coupled with swift, energy-efficient legs*2 and an upright posture to watch for danger, they could have not only survived the Beringian steppe but also the human “blitzkrieg” that annihilated so many other Pleistocene mammals.

  The term “blitzkrieg,” or “lightning war,” comes from the early days of World War II, when the speed and shock of Adolf Hitler’s mechanized forces caught an unprepared Europe utterly by surprise. That is why the “blitzkrieg theory” has been used to describe the mass extinctions of large animals that were slaughtered by early humans. Like the Polish cavalry and the French Maginot Line, the wildlife of Europe, Eurasia, and finally the Americas, were caught completely unprepared. Regardless of how much climate is to blame, there is no denying that human hunting contributed to the greatest mass extinction since the death of the dinosaurs. In North America alone, entire species vanished within a thousand years of humanity’s arrival.

  The ability to elude humans would not have been exclusive to North America’s great apes. According to the human paleobiogeography hypothesis, present-day Africa enjoys such a plethora of large animals because their ancestors evolved alongside ours. Taking evolution in steps, adapting to humans before they became fully human, spared Africa the horrors of blitzkrieg. It may also have spared some of the megafauna of southern Asia as well, including a certain giant ape.

  We know that proto-humans such as Homo erectus began migrating out of Africa somewhere between 1.8 and 2.1 million years ago. They might not have been us, but they were enough like us to sound the alarm for Gigantopithecus. By the time fully evolved Homo sapiens arrived in Asia, the gentle giants would have had enough warning to avoid us altogether.

  *1 In June of 2019, under the Freedom of Information Act, the Federal Bureau of Investigation released a twenty-two-page file detailing its laboratory analyses of hair “attached to a tiny piece of skin.” The sample, brought to them in 1976 by the Bigfoot Research Center, was determined to be “of the deer family in origin.”

  *2 A 2007 study done by David Raichlen of the University of Arizona, Michael Sockol at the University of California, and Herman Pontzer from Washington University in St. Louis “indicate[s] that bipedalism in early, ape-like hominins could indeed have been less costly than quadrupedal knucklewalking.”

  When the event occurred, Bauman was still a young man, and was trapping with a partner among the mountains dividing the forks of the Salmon from the head of Wisdom River. Not having had much luck, he and his partner determined to go up into a particularly wild and lonely pass through which ran a small stream said to contain many beaver. The pass had an evil reputation because the year before a solitary hunter who had wandered into it was there slain, seemingly by a wild beast, the half-eaten remains being afterwards found by some mining prospectors who had passed his camp only the night before.

  —PRESIDENT THEODORE ROOSEVELT, The Wilderness Hunter

  JOURNAL ENTRY #11

  October 9

  We think we have a bear. That was the consensus of the HOA meeting this morning. I went around before breakfast to knock on doors. I tried the Durants again. The same as last time
. Vague TV glow from inside, the zzzzzp-zzzzzp of the elliptical. No voices this time though, and I am proud of myself for trying the doorbell. And when I got nothing, I even went around to their backyard. The curtains were drawn over their kitchen windows and doors. I rapped on the glass. I called their names. Again, no response. Mostar warned me not to get my hopes up. “They’re not leaving Elba.” But she didn’t explain why and warned me not to waste time wondering.

  But how can I not? Are they embarrassed about being dethroned? Hiding in self-imposed exile because their façade has been shattered. I guess that makes sense. The model and the salesman. Smoke and mirrors. I wonder.

  Everyone else was receptive though. We all met at the Common House to discuss what happened last night. The Perkins-Forsters saw something too, from their bedroom window. They weren’t sure what though, a dark mass at the edge of their porch light. And Bobbi thinks she caught something moving through the trees. Reinhardt didn’t see anything. He was fast asleep. So was Mostar. At least we’d been right not to wake her up.

  She shocked me at the meeting, what she said about a bear. Earlier, at the door, when we’d knocked to ask her about getting together, I’d told her what I’d seen. I used the word. I made it very clear. And she acknowledged it, at least with her body language. By her nod, her tone, I thought she believed me. So, you can imagine how I felt when I heard her say to the group, “Well, it sounds like we have a bear sniffing around.”

  Before anyone could respond, she continued by adding that that’s all it could be. They’re the only animals tall enough to reach the tops of the apple trees. Didn’t everyone notice their remaining apples (the ones the deer didn’t get) were gone? I had, and I could tell that a few of the others had too. A lot of the fruit trees looked “vandalized.” I know there’s a better term for it, but so many of the top branches were snapped, the fruit picked clean. Squirrels couldn’t have done that kind of damage, and deer, even on their hind legs, couldn’t have reached that high. That was Mostar’s logic.

  She also pointed out that, if anyone was considering raccoons, they might be smart enough to open the compost bins, but certainly aren’t strong enough to tear them from their foundations. Everyone seemed satisfied with that. And yes, for just a second, I found myself rethinking everything. I mean, bears are big and hairy. And they have no neck. And when they stand on their hind legs, can’t they get pretty tall? It all kind of made sense, and if Mostar was saying it, then maybe Dan and I were just freaking out for no reason. Actually, I was the only one who’d seen anything. I totally expected Dan to agree with Mostar.

  But then he spoke up, asking about the tracks. Don’t bears have claws or something? I caught a look on Vincent’s face, his eyes hitting the floor. Had he already been thinking along those lines?

  Reinhardt waved the idea away. “Do any of us really know what bear tracks look like in the wild? And isn’t it common for animal prints to change shape over time, grow and morph as the tracks melt then refreeze with passing days. I recall one incident back in Connecticut, when I saw week-old deer prints that looked like elephants had stampeded across my lawn.”

  That worked on the room, the Boothes and Perkins-Forsters all nodding in agreement. I noticed that Palomino was looking at Mostar, who, again to my surprise, was openly complimenting Reinhardt on his “astute explanation.” Palomino looked as puzzled as I felt. I shot Dan a WTF glance and he responded by addressing the crowd.

  “Yeah, but we’re not talking about snow here. Ash doesn’t melt and refreeze. And even if time or wind or whatever could morph them into something else, these tracks are so fresh you can see every…”

  And suddenly his words trailed off. I didn’t understand why at first. I glanced at him. Then I saw that he was looking directly at Mostar. Her eyes were maybe a millimeter wider than normal, and that shake of her head, I don’t think anyone else noticed it. All eyes were still on Dan. He just sighed, shrugged, and said, “But…yeah…now that I’m, like, actually saying it all out loud, you’re right, I don’t know what bear tracks look like. Sorry, I’m just really tired.”

  Reinhardt gave a condescending, “Of course, of course,” and bowed his head in mock magnanimity.

  Mostar immediately followed up with a chuckling, “So we have a fuzzy visitor,” and with a gesture out to the tree line, she said, “and we might also have solved the mystery of who killed that wounded mountain lion.” At that, Vincent threw up his hands in a silent “eureka” gesture. I heard an affirmative mmm from Carmen as well as a grunt from Reinhardt. Mostar, smiling so slightly, continued with, “Which means we’ve got to be a little more careful, don’t you think?”

  More approving sounds, more supportive body language. It was crazy, what Dan would call a “Bizarro World” moment. Mostar leading the room.

  And then she asked, “So does anyone have bear spray?”

  Record scratch.

  No one said anything for a tense moment, until Bobbi blurted out “No!” I think her own forcefulness surprised her. But when we all looked over, she continued, “That’s so cruel! They’re just trying to eat, and you want to mace them?”

  Mostar’s face didn’t change. Serene, diplomatic, I can only imagine the words she was biting down. “I’m just thinking about the cougar,” she said calmly, probably with her bones rattling from the strain, “how we don’t want anything like that to happen again.”

  Bobbi argued, “We were surprised. And if we’re just more conscientious from now on, watch where we’re going, make sure we give the compost bins some space…”

  Effie looked like she was about to disagree with Bobbi, but as she shifted to speak, Carmen cut in. “Or…if we clean out the bins, move the edible waste into the woods, away from the houses, they…”

  “Then they won’t have a reason to come close.” Reinhardt completed the thought chain with a very smug expression. No doubt, he was somehow congratulating himself for the plan.

  Bobbi looked happily relieved. She grabbed Vincent’s hand and turned to Dan. “No one expects you to do that, Danny, we’ll all do it ourselves. It’s only fair.”

  Again, no change from Mostar. Okay, maybe just the tiniest tension in her voice? I think I know her well enough by now to see what repressed anger looks like. “Isn’t it…,” she said slowly, clearly considering each word, “dangerous to feed the bears?”

  A pause from the room. Bobbi looked to Vincent for backup. “I think that’s only in heavy tourist areas,” he said. “More of a long-term, seasonal issue than a one-off situation like ours.”

  Bobbi added, “And, if you mean ‘dangerous’ to the bears, I think it’s only if they lose their hunting instincts by becoming dependent on humans.”

  Vincent brought it around with, “Which, again, isn’t an issue because our compost can’t make more than one meal at best.”

  “But,” again, Mostar treaded lightly, “won’t putting that meal out…encourage them?”

  “For what?” That was Carmen. “Bears aren’t aggressive. Not unless you surprise them with their cubs.” As if to accentuate the point, she reached past Effie to stroke Palomino’s cheek.

  Is any of this true? Carmen’s explanation for why bears attack, the Boothes’ justification for feeding them just this once?

  Mostar looked about to burst. I could see the shift, the boiling rise. No more consensus building, no more playing nice. I remember thinking clearly, Oh shit, here we go.

  But then the craziest thing happened.

  Her face. I’d never seen this expression. Drooping, eyes down and to the side, like she was taking a call from someone in her head. This was all new, totally indecipherable. When she refocused on the room, her voice, I’d never heard it so far away.

  “All right then, let’s get to it.”

  And her walk afterward. Slow, dragging. Everything about her. Like God had hit the dimme
r switch.

  She walked right past us, not acknowledging Dan’s “Mostar?”

  No one seemed to notice her change but us. Why would they? Rushing off with their new, exciting little project. Always looking out for themselves. Our community.

  Except Pal. Her worried eyes shifted from me to Mostar as her parents led her away.

  “Mostar?” We followed her to her house. I’d called after her this time, and again when she reached the front door. “Mostar, what’s the matter?” As she reached for the knob, I put my hand on hers. That seemed to snap her out of it. Eyes again refocused, looking up at me, hand on my cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Katie. And you too, Danny.” A quick glance around at the dispersing crowd, then hustling us into and through her house to the backyard.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you first about the ‘bear’ tactic.” We were standing on her back steps now, looking at the tracks across her yard. “I thought it was the best way to reach them. Frame the discussion in something more familiar.” She stepped down onto the ash, toward the nearest footprint. The sky had been clear all day and night and these prints were as sharp as when they’d been made. She opened her hands to the first one, looking at us.

  “Of course, I believe you, but they wouldn’t. Too many mental hurdles. Believing the unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Like being warned that the country you’ve grown up in is about to collapse, that the friends and neighbors you’ve known your whole life are going to try to kill you…” She sighed deeply, hands up to the sky. A flash of anger. “Denial. Comfort zone. Too strong. And who are any of us to judge them?”

 

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