Bigfoot Beach

by Kristopher Rufty

  “Yes, sir!” called Blake.

  “Yeah…” said Lillard, his voice thin and weak.

  Paul caught a glimpse of Mayor Caine rising from behind some rocks further up. He wore a windbreaker suit that was solid blue except for the bright orange stripes going up his sides. He brushed his hands together as if just finishing a task.

  “Can you get over to it?” Caine asked.

  From this angle, it looked like he was talking to a rock. Bubba’s head appeared on the other side in a ball cap at a jaunty angle. He’d shed the suit for a pair of cargo pants and a white tank top that bulged around his massive pecks. The harness looked very small on his beefy torso.

  “I’m not crawling over there,” Becky shouted.

  Bubba gave Becky a quick glance back, teeth very white through his smile. It looked as if he was relieved Becky wouldn’t make him trek to the other side.

  Caine looked down, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “We’ll get you to do a voiceover later! But it’d be better if we got the footage going on to show what we saw.”

  Bubba looked back. Gone was his smile. Now his lips puckered out to show his frustration. Shaking his head, he turned and instead of going up, he now went to the right. Paul watched him vanish behind a constellation of large boulders.

  “Wait on Bubba,” shouted Howie. “Our prodigy mayor is sending him over.”

  “Fine,” said Blake.

  Paul turned and saw Becky’s rump sticking up in front of him. She had gone a few feet up and left him behind.

  Damn it.

  Paul started climbing. Each time he looked up, he saw Becky’s rump flexing and pulling as her legs pushed her higher. The shorts pulled taut against her buttocks, tightening in the crotch and hiking up. The lower cambers peeked out from the edges above a pair of thighs that tightened with muscle. Patches of sand adhered to the sweat-varnished gradients.

  Paul felt a tad lousy for gawking at Becky’s backside, but it was all he could see. He glanced up once again and saw her legs kicking as they vanished over the grassy lip of the ledge. Her hiking boots gave a little thrust and she was gone.

  Thank God, we’re almost there.

  Paul’s stomach twisted.

  The cave.

  No turning back now.

  There was no way he could accurately prepare himself for what they were doing here.

  Exploring condemned caves in search of Bigfoot.

  At the beach.

  So absurd. Paul couldn’t even fathom how much he should be afraid.

  Then he saw the beast tearing through the sand dune last night, its massive swinging arms, the awful stench, the intimidating height and big blocky face, and remembered just how much danger they were in.

  Finally, he reached the top. Howie was there, crouching at the edge and offering his hand. “Thanks,” said Paul.

  “No problem, partner.” Howie spoke in an exaggerated southern drawl like a gunslinger. “Ready for a monster hunt?”

  Paul grabbed Howie’s hand. The pressure of his brother’s grip as he pulled Paul over was painful. “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

  “You wanted to come.”

  Paul scrambled over the ledge. When he was far enough away from the edge, Howie let go. “I’m beginning to regret my decision.”

  “Too late, pal.”

  “Who knows, maybe it’ll be an adventure,” said Becky. She was holding her hand, flexing her fingers. Howie must have squeezed her hand too hard also.

  “Understand this,” said Striker, peeling the plastic off a cigar. “We are up against a creature that has defied time. Something that most people don’t even believe exists. There is no game plan here, and we’ll have to be quick to adapt to whatever situation we find ourselves in. We have to be very alert.” He turned to Becky. “And very serious. This is not an adventure of any kind. We are not here to have fun. We are not here because it’ll be promising for our careers. We’re fucking here to kill a monster. Hopefully we’ll survive while doing it. But I hate to say this—I doubt many of us will.”

  “Trying to encourage us?” asked Becky. “You’re a shitty motivational speaker, you know that?”

  “I’m just stating facts.” He put the cigar in his mouth. Something snicked and Striker raised a Zippo lighter to the end of the cigar.

  “Hey, jerk,” said Becky, stepping toward Striker. She pointed at him. “Don’t forget that I saw him up close last night. I experienced firsthand the kind of danger we’re up against. And so what if I’m making jokes, deal with it. It’s how I cope with this shit. I mean—I could be like you, a scowling asshole that’s about to explode out of my shirt, but that’s not me. I make jokes when I’m scared, okay? Maybe you should try it sometime. It might help you make a face other than that brooding leer you’re probably well-known for.”

  Paul walked over to Becky and started to put his arm around her. He felt her pull away.

  “Don’t,” she said.

  Paul hooked his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. She resisted at first, but eased against him. Her arms dropped in front of her and she let him hold her.

  Howie sighed. He looked at Striker, then back to Paul.

  Striker took the cigar out of his mouth and held it by his face. He licked his lips. “But this is my normal face.”

  Paul felt Becky shaking against him. At first he thought she might be sobbing. She wasn’t. She was laughing.

  “And I’m not a funny guy,” Striker added. “So being a brooding, leering asshole is all I know how to do.”

  A smile split Howie’s face. Paul felt himself relax some.

  “But remember,” said Striker, killing the good humor. “It’s your scent Bigfoot has. He’ll be eager to see you and we’ll use that in our favor.”

  Paul saw himself walking over to Striker and punching him in the face. But Paul knew if he tried, he’d only ruin their mission by getting his ass kicked in front of everyone.

  Mayor Caine. Bending over, he slapped his hands on his knees. He was huffing, his tanned skin soaked in sweat. His spiral nest of hair looked wild and frizzy.

  Bubba appeared from around the corner, walking up to them. The camera was braced on the short rod jutting from his chest and he held it steady with his hands. He turned in all directions, sweeping over each person, getting everything on video. He hardly seemed winded. When he pointed the camera at Striker, his eyes rose. He nodded at the cigar clamped between Striker’s fingers. “Got another one of those?”

  Striker reached into his vest pocket and removed another single-wrapped cigar. It was the length of a toothbrush and thick as a sausage. He tossed it to Bubba.

  “Thanks,” the buff man said.

  “Need a light?” asked Striker.

  Bubba shook his head. “Got one. Just left my stogies in the damn car.”

  “Did you get the footage?” asked Caine.

  Peeling the plastic from the cigar, Bubba nodded.

  “Great,” said Caine. “We’ll show it to Ms. Aniston and she can whip up some dialogue to put over it.”

  Paul noted how Becky looked a bit paler than before. It must be like working for the devil from her side of things.

  As Bubba lighted his cigar, Styles appeared from the other side of the cave’s natural opening. She’d shed her uniform shirt and had it wrapped around her waist. In a white tank top, large breasts seemed to be shoved upward from a bra that must be struggling to support such a heavy pair. Sweat had turned the white fabric translucent in a few places and Paul could see dusky skin through the thinness. Her arms were lined with muscle, and the left had a broken heart tattooed on the bicep. Her short hair was glued to her forehead.

  Seeing how athletic she was, Paul wondered if she used to play sports. Maybe even entered some weight-lifting contests.

  Howie saw her and nodded. She nodded back, then began fanning herself with a glove-covered hand. The tips of her fingers were bare and stuck out from the gloves.

  All gossips
about Bubba’s sexual preferences were eliminated when Paul saw the hungry way he studied Styles’s every movement.

  “Now if Lillard and Blake would ever get their asses up here…” Howie shook his head, as if remembering what had delayed their arrival.

  “Think the…creature killed those people?” Paul asked.

  Howie shrugged.

  Striker puffed on the cigar. “I’d say it’s rather self-explanatory that he did. More than likely they got too close to the cave and he felt threatened.”

  “Really?” Paul shook his head. “A thing that big feels threatened by people our size?”

  “A bear can be frightened by a child if the kid yells loud enough at it. The Bigfoot saw intruders coming near its habitat, it panicked, and…” He waved his hand as if shooing a fly.

  “And killed them,” said Caine, still breathless.

  “Correct.”

  “And you want to honor this thing?” asked Howie, directing the question to Caine.

  Ignoring Howie’s question, Caine shook his head. “I put that fence up for a reason. To keep people off my property. They didn’t listen…”

  “So getting killed is a justifiable punishment for them?” asked Howie.

  “I’m not saying that…” Caine, for the first time since Paul met him, sounded grim. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  Lillard’s lanky form appeared on the other side of a pair of rocks. His usual spiked hair had gone flat from sweat. He turned around and ushered with his hands as if urging someone to hurry up.

  Blake.

  Paul wondered how the rotund deputy was handling the climb.

  A few minutes later they were gathered at the opening. Striker raised a large flashlight. A square battery was attached to the bottom of the bulb. He thumbed the button. From the blaring sunlight, the flashlight barely made a dent in the darkness before them.

  “It’s time,” said Striker.

  Howie faced the group. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you all we’re going to be in some very tight corridors and surrounded by rock walls. So please don’t fire your weapons unless you have a clean shot. We don’t want bullets bouncing all over the place, do we?”

  No one disagreed.

  Striker started forward.

  Caine and Bubba followed closely behind.

  Howie was next with Paul and Becky behind him. Styles, walking on the other side of Becky, removed her own flashlight and clicked it on.

  Paul heard the clicks of two more flashlights behind him from Lillard and Blake, taking the rear.

  They entered the cave, and were swallowed by the darkness.

  26

  Gunner stepped around the fencing and kept walking. He stole glances over his shoulder to make sure nobody had seen him. The beach behind him was empty. Nobody was around to see. He was alone this far down the surf.

  In the distance, Gunner could see a hilly slope of jagged rock. He thought he spotted people moving around up there. Just dark shapes, flitting about, but they were quickly gone. He scanned the jagged peak a moment longer, then headed to the right.

  He stepped around a large bank of sand and stopped when he spotted the house ahead. He couldn’t believe the size of it. A house this big was out on the beach? The mayor’s mansion, but to Gunner it looked more like the home of a rich slave owner in the south—a Victorian structure, easily three stories tall with a tower on one end where the roof narrowed to a point like a witch’s hat. The wood siding was the color of the sky with overhanging eaves that threw heavy shadows down on the wraparound porch.

  Surrounding the house was a black wrought iron fence with sharp points at the top that was probably meant to dissuade intruders from trying to climb over. Gunner pictured one of those points jabbing into him and felt a sharp pain in his rump.

  He put his flip-flops back on as he approached a gate. It was left open a bit, probably by Megan so he could pass through. When he was on the other side of the fence, he didn’t know if he should close the gate behind him. He left it open and headed for the house.

  He passed a large in-ground pool shaped like a giant egg. A small jungle of plants and palm trees surrounded the deck that enclosed the water. A diving board extended over the water like a tongue, its shadow a rippling darkness on the water’s bright surface.

  Gunner climbed the tall set of stairs to the back porch and stepped into the shadows the awning provided.

  Wow! This place is…

  Intimidating.

  It made Gunner’s home feel like a shoebox—cramped and stuffy with no privacy.

  How could Gunner relate to a girl used to such luxuries?

  What did you expect? This is the mayor’s daughter.

  It did nothing to change how out of place he suddenly felt.

  Swallowing the forming lump in his throat, he raised a finger to the doorbell. Before he could press it, the door swung inward.

  Megan stepped into the doorway, smiling, jutting a knee forward with her toes on the floor and leg swinging. Her appearance melted away his discouraging feelings. She had on her white bikini top over her plump breasts, but instead of briefs, she wore a pair of white jean shorts that hugged her like panties. Her legs looked very bare and even darker compared to the white of her clothes. Her lemony hair shined and hung past her shoulders in thick waves.

  “You’re here,” she said. There was disbelief in her voice.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said.

  She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, smiling over it. Her tongue swept over it, leaving the pink curve moist. “I wasn’t sure you’d come or not. I mean—the text I sent…” She shook her head. “Didn’t want you to think I’m always inviting guys over.”

  The thought hadn’t crossed his mind yet, but it probably would have before much longer. Though she was trying to tell him it wasn’t something she did often, he couldn’t help wondering if he was one of many.

  “I’m just happy to be invited,” he said.

  “Yeah?”

  Gunner nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Then come on in.” She stepped back, granting him entrance.

  Gunner crossed the threshold. From the heat outside, the cool air felt wonderful, though it made his shirt feel cold and soggy on his back. He reached behind him and plucked the shirt off his skin.

  He looked around. They were in a room that seemed to be connected to a kitchen big enough to feed a restaurant. To the right was a long table with empty silver candle holders spread across the top. High-back chairs were pushed against the edges all the way around, squished close together.

  How does anybody have any room to eat?

  “It’s only for when Dad hosts dinner parties,” he heard Megan say. The door snicked shut. “We never use it ourselves.”

  “Ah,” he said.

  “I usually eat outside or on the couch.”

  She stepped beside him. Her arm brushed his.

  “Nice place,” he said.

  Megan laughed. “I would offer to give you a tour, but somehow I think it might cause you to go into shock or something.”

  Gunner felt himself blush. “It’s cool. I think I can handle it.”

  “I know. It’s like the car—this house is overkill, huh?”

  “No, not at all, really. It’s…” Megan’s eyebrows lifted, mouth opened. “It’s a dream house, you know?”

  “A what?” She laughed.

  “Really. If I was to sit down and fantasize about the kind of house I’d want to spend my life in, this is the house I would envision.”

  “Oh, really now?”

  “Swear.”

  She hugged his arm, escorting him through the kitchen. “And what kind of woman do you see yourself sharing the house with?”

  He felt a nervous flutter in his chest. “Um…”

  Megan laughed. “Maybe a blonde?”

  Gunner felt the soft brushes of her hair on his neck. A fruity shampoo scent drifted into his nose. He smiled. “Most definitely.”

 
“With a good tan and big boobs?”

  “And nice legs,” Gunner added, and couldn’t believe he’d said it.

  Megan squeezed his arm. “Nice legs?”

  Gunner nodded. “And the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

  He gave Megan a glance and saw her cheeks suddenly change to pink, as if she’d been in the sun too long. She swallowed. “Wow…”

  Gunner hoped he hadn’t pushed things too far with the last compliment. He knew they were playing around while Megan was also trying to pick him for information on what he thought about her.

  I talked too much. As always!

  Whenever he was nervous, Gunner lost the ability to shut up. Words that he had no idea he was going to say would spew from his mouth in an endless progression.

  Megan stopped walking. She looked at him, her eyes watery. With Gunner nearly a foot taller, she had to lean back her head to gaze at him. She gave him a feeble smile, as if she’d just heard something that was hard to understand. “Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me before.”

  “Well…” Gunner shrugged. He felt dumb. All he’d really done was comment on her legs and eyes.

  And agree that she had big tits.

  Had he really done that?

  Gunner poked out a lip and exhaled a heavy breath. He felt it stir his dangling bangs.

  Megan smiled. “I think your dreams are about to come true, buddy.”

  Gunner laughed.

  It was cut off by her lips pressing hard against his. He had trouble catching up to her quick pecking pace, but he managed to find her rhythm. Her lips were soft and warm as they smeared over his. He felt her tongue run across his bottom lip, felt her mouth suckle the same lip. She writhed against him, moaning. Her breasts pushed into his chest.

  He didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he put them on her bare back. Her skin was hot, slightly damp as if she’d showered recently. He rubbed paths through the moist sheen with his fingers.

  Megan pulled away from his mouth with a final wet smack. The skin around her lips was ruddy.

  “Wow,” she panted. “That was…”

  “Uh…”

  She shook her head. “You make me crazy…in a good way.”