“You’re telling me he’s scared of the dark?” asked Becky.
“Maybe,” said Striker.
Incredible.
Paul had seen movies where people chased away Bigfoot monsters with torches. He’d never suspected they actually relished a campfire like anybody else.
Becky squealed as she was jerked away from Paul. Spinning with his gun pointed, he held his fire when he saw Caine all but dragging her in front of the camera.
“Tell them what we’ve found,” said Caine.
“Damn it,” she said, yanking her arms from his hold.
“Tell them. And make it quick.” He pointed at Striker as if giving him the credit for the additional directive.
Paul holstered his gun and stepped closer. Becky was brushing her shorts. He could see dark smudges across the khaki fabric.
“She doesn’t want to be in front of the camera right now,” said Paul.
“Nonsense. This is what she’s always wanted.” To Becky he said, “Fix your hair dear, it looks a dab disordered.”
Paul saw his fist soaring for the side of Caine’s face. The mayor turned. His eyes widened. Then Paul’s fist smashed his nose. Blood burst from each nostril, coating Caine’s mouth in a moustache of red. He staggered against Howie, who turned and let him fall.
Paul’s arm throbbed with pain. Holding his hand out, he shook it. The hot prickles didn’t ease up. Looking around, he saw everybody had their flashlights aimed at him. He shielded his eyes with his arm.
“Finally somebody did it,” said Striker.
Bubba shut the camera off, without speaking, reached into the darkness below. When he stood up straight, he was holding Caine by the collar of his wind suit. Blood had spread across the lower half of the mayor’s face.
“Why’d you do that?” asked Becky.
“I…” Paul shook his hand harder. “I don’t know.”
“You’re going to be in a world of shit for that.”
Caine wobbled and Bubba caught him before he could fall.
“He’d need witnesses,” said Howie.
“Right,” said Striker. “And I didn’t see anything. I mean, these stalagmites can be dangerous. I’ve bumped my head on more than one today.”
“Me too,” said Howie. “Damn things.”
Becky started to smile. “Now that you mention it…I knocked my head on one earlier.”
“Same here,” said Blake.
“Yep,” said Lillard.
“I think I just hit my head again,” said Styles.
Bubba turned around. One arm reached behind Caine’s back, the other was flush against his chest. The camera jutted from his chest and pointed at the wall. “Things can be bitches if you’re not careful.”
Paul smiled. He lowered his hand. Nobody was going to support Caine’s claim.
If it even comes to that. Might not even remember I hit him.
“Is he going to be able to walk?” asked Striker.
“He’ll be fine,” said Bubba.
“Fine,” echoed Caine in a loopy voice. “Did Becky do the scene?”
“Yeah,” said Bubba.
“Good…”
Striker started forward, ducking as he entered the passage. Once he stepped through the squat opening, he was swallowed by shadows. A moment later, his bulky dark shape appeared as if his shape had been cut out in the fire’s soft flicker.
“I’ll be okay,” said Caine, pulling away from Bubba. “Just keep the camera rolling.” He looked around, said “There it is,” then picked up his flashlight.
Caine followed Striker into the passage with Bubba close behind. The red dot of the camera trailed Caine like a floating ember.
Howie angled his flashlight under his chin, throwing brightness on the lower side of his face. He was frowning. “Stay close to me,” he said.
“Okay,” said Becky.
Howie glanced at Paul, as if telling him he didn’t mean her and he was actually talking to Paul.
Paul nodded. For the first time, he was grateful to have his big brother’s protection. He valued it above Striker’s.
Howie turned to the others. “Everyone ready?”
Nobody spoke.
Howie nodded. “Neither am I. If anything happens in there, I just want you all to know it has been honor serving alongside you. I consider all of you my family.”
There were a few hushed mutters and Paul thought he heard somebody sniffle. He had never heard Howie speak in such a way. It was as if he knew…
No. Everything’s going to be fine.
But as Paul followed his brother through the mouth of the tunnel, leaning forward so he wouldn’t bonk his head on the jagged rim of rocky teeth, he wished they hadn’t come down here.
He felt through the darkness and found Becky’s hand. He felt it jerk when he slipped his fingers between hers. Then she gripped him tightly.
This is it. Shit, this is really it.
At the end of this cave was its lair. They were trespassing in its home. The Bigfoot would not be pleased by this.
29
Paul tugged his Ruger from the holster. His leg bumped against the barrel as he lowered it by his side. When he tried to swallow, it felt like he was trying to suck down a stone.
They reached the end of the chasm, another tunnel veered to the left. Striker went first, the others following, until the walls began to expand around them. The guttering glow became brighter, dark shadows writhing across the lumpy rock walls of a chamber.
A stench like rotten seafood was heavy in here. Mixed with it was a dingy smell, as if a wet dog had rolled in a dead animal. But mixed with it was a fainter stench, like infection, a yeast-like smell that was foul and hard to handle.
Grimacing, Paul raised his wrist to his nose and pushed his nostrils against the hairs on his hand. His Ruger pointed up by his forehead.
Striker stopped walking. Caine and Bubba stepped around to his right side and paused. Howie took his left with Paul and Becky lining up next to him. Lillard, Blake, and Styles filed around Becky to form an arc of bodies.
Nobody spoke. All of them stared at the naked woman squatting before them. Her back, facing them, was smeared with soot. Thick stripes painted her from the juts of her shoulder blades down to the crack of her buttocks. There were bruises in the shapes of handprints on each cheek. Legs parted wide, her arms could be seen reaching down between them, working at some kind of meat that was on the ground between the small gap of her groin and the dirt floor. Her skin looked glazed, shiny under the firelight. Her dark brown hair hung on her back in a tangled mess. Bits of debris were trapped in the filthy tresses like bugs in a spider’s web.
As she stabbed the meat with a jagged rock, she grunted with each thrust. Paul began to decipher the meat had black fur. A red collar was clamped around its crushed neck.
My God…It’s a Black Lab…
Paul felt hot bubbly fluids rise in his throat. He struggled to swallow it back down.
Striker held up his hand, flat in front of him as if signaling everyone to hold back.
They listened.
Nobody wants to say anything.
And Paul couldn’t blame them. If he opened his mouth right now, he might scream.
The woman tore a sheet of black fur away from the dog’s carcass. The backside was painted in a gummy red like glue.
Becky put her arm up to her mouth and bit down on her wrist.
Shit!
Paul fought to keep his breathing measured and slow. It wasn’t working. Air huffed through his nostrils. He felt them sputter against the back of his hand.
The woman stopped what she was doing. Head turned to the side, nose rising into the air. Two quick sniffs and she sprang around, landing in the same squatting position, but now facing them.
Paul took an involuntary step back, gasping. Becky was right beside him. After a quick glance, Paul saw that everyone except for Striker had moved back a full step.
The woman’s eyes were wide, unblinking. Her face w
as streaked with black that seemed to start at her temples and work all the way down to her knees. Mouth snarling, the lips quivering around her bared teeth were chapped and flaky. She had fairly large breasts, but it was hard to tell exactly from the amount of bruising and what looked like bite marks. Her left nipple was gone, leaving only a ragged stump that had healed in a faded color.
And she held the rock like a knife, high above her head, the sloping blade toothed like a thick saw.
“Ma’am?” said Striker.
She flinched at his voice, blinking. She looked frightened and very confused.
“Where is it?”
Her breathing came out in shrill gasps. Blinking, she turned her head slightly away from him.
“Mackenzie Dalton,” said Howie.
The woman acknowledged the name. She looked up at Howie. Her bottom lip quivered. “Yuh…yes,” she said in a hoarse voice.
“My God,” muttered Becky. “I thought so.”
The missing girl?
Paul couldn’t remember for sure, but he thought the girl who’d vanished last year’s name was Mackenzie. Had she been down here all this time? Living with the Bigfoot?
“What’s he done to you?” asked Becky.
Mackenzie looked down at herself. As if seeing the condition of her body for the first time, her arms went limp and dropped to each side. When she looked back up, her bottom lip was bowed out and tears had cut paths between the smudgy sections on her face.
“It brought me here…” she said. “I’ve had to do…things for him. I—I—I don’t know…I just kept doing it…” Sobbing, Mackenzie’s head sank forward. Her shoulders bopped, making her breasts jiggle.
Paul felt like a lech, watching her like this, so he turned his head.
And saw Howie was ushering for somebody to go forward. When he looked behind him, he saw Styles stepping away from the others. Untying the shirt around her waist, she held it out as she approached Mackenzie.
The busty deputy sunk to her knees in front of the frightened girl, carefully reaching out. Her hand brushed Mackenzie’s shoulder. She jumped and flinched away.
“It’s okay,” said Styles. “I just want to give you this.”
Mackenzie lifted her head. The tears and filth had turned her face into a dark smear. Turning to Styles, she smiled when she saw the shirt.
“Thank…thank you,” said Mackenzie.
“It’s my pleasure.”
Styles opened the shirt for her. Mackenzie dropped the rock and held out her arm. Style slid it over one arm, then around her back and held it as Mackenzie put her other arm through. Then, like a mother dressing a child, Styles moved to the front and began buttoning the shirt.
Now that she was somewhat covered, the men moved forward. As if her nudity had kept them away.
“We’ve got to get her out of here,” said Blake.
Mackenzie’s head jerked up. Listening, her eyes darted back and forth.
“Yeah,” said Howie. “Styles, you and Blake escort Ms. Dalton out of here. Get back to the cars and head to the hospital. Call her parents right away.”
“Yes, sir,” said Styles.
Howie smiled as he looked at Mackenzie. “You’re going to go home.”
Mackenzie looked at the ground. As her head lowered, Paul spotted something behind her on top of the tallest rock among a cluster of several other rocks. A bag had been flattened into a cover and sitting on top were several tubes with white caps. He counted six different kinds. Some had been rolled from the bottom and working upward like tooth paste tubes.
What is that?
Paul stepped away from the others and moved behind the rocks.
“Where are you going?” he heard Becky say.
“What?” Howie asked.
“Paul?”
He held out his hand. “Hold it a second.”
Standing over the rocks, he peered down at the tubes. He recognized the Walt’s Drugstore label stuck to the front.
It clicked.
Oh, shit!
“Howie, these are the missing creams!”
Howie frowned. “The what?”
“Walt’s Drugstore? The break-in? She took the creams!” He pointed at Mackenzie.
Heads slowly turned to her. On her knees, Mackenzie’s shoulders slowly rose as if she was trying to be bashful.
“What are you talking about?” said Striker.
Howie put his hands on his hips. “We had a break-in at Walt’s Drugstore. All that was taken were some prescription skin ointments and topical antibiotics. Some pain relievers, bandages…”
Striker stepped forward. “I told you to tell me everything, Thompson! Even if it didn’t seem important!” He turned to Mackenzie. “His skin is irritated, right? He can’t handle these conditions and is getting skin infections. And you…you stole the medicine for him…you’re taking care of him!”
Paul felt numb as he stared at Mackenzie. Her mouth trembled. It looked as if she was about to start bawling again. Instead, she loosed a wild cackle that made Paul shiver inside.
“I love him!” she screeched.
“Love him?” said Howie.
Paul saw her hand grab the rock. Before he could warn Styles, Mackenzie had jerked the thickset woman in front of her. Gripping Styles’s short hair, Mackenzie yanked her head back and punched the jagged blade of the rock into her throat.
Coughing and gurgling, Styles held her arms stiffly in front of her. Hands twitching, body jerking, she spat out blood.
“Get them!” Mackenzie shrieked, twisting the rock blade inside Styles’s neck.
Paul turned.
And saw the Bigfoot standing inside the cave, blocking the way they’d come in. He stood crouched over from the low ceiling. His chest was patterned with infected bald spots that oozed clumpy green. His bulging brow furrowed, hairy mouth parted.
“He’s in here!” Paul shouted.
The Bigfoot’s roar exploded in the small space, bouncing off the walls like thunder.
30
Striker raised his rifle, the barrel falling on his shoulder. “It’s a trap!”
Mackenzie’s maniacal cackle mended with the Bigfoot’s roars.
Mayor Caine squealed and staggered back, pointing at the Bigfoot. “Keep taping! Don’t cut that camera off no matter what!”
The Bigfoot held its arms out and flexed with its roar. Its muscles undulated under the fur like rushing water.
Caine threw his arms in the air, let out a long cry, and turned to run. He tripped over Mackenzie, landing on the fire. Rolling sideways, he fell onto his stomach. Writhing flames quickly spread across his back, igniting the wind suit with a whispery whoosh. Screaming, he pounded and kicked the ground.
As Bubba ran over to help Caine, Striker pointed at the Bigfoot.
“Gun it down!”
As if rehearsed, the group spun around in unison, guns lifting.
Before anybody could fire, the Bigfoot charged.
Lillard was in its way. With both arms, it swung down at Lillard’s skull. The young deputy’s head vanished between his shoulders with a deep crunch, like a nail being driven into a board. He dropped to the ground.
Becky screamed. “No!”
Howie pushed between Blake and Becky. “Go! Get out of here!” He shoved them forward.
Howie looked at Paul. “Go with them! Get her out of here!”
Paul shook his head. He wasn’t leaving Howie here alone. “Not without you!”
“I’m right behind you!”
Mackenzie appeared behind Howie’s shoulder. She seemed to be growing from the way her head kept raising behind Howie. Suddenly she dropped back down. Howie stumbled forward with a yelp of alarm. Then she latched onto his chest with one arm, her dirty naked legs bending around his hips and clamping together over his stomach. The other hand, clutching the blood-drenched rock, came down at Howie’s chest.
Paul pointed his Ruger, already knowing the shot was too much a risk to attempt in haste.
N
ot Howie!
Howie got his arm up and blocked the strike. The tip of the rock stopped before punching his chest, hovering half an inch above his heart. Shrieking, Mackenzie jerked and bounced on his back, straining to get the knife lower. Her feet kicked on either side of Howie as he spun circles to throw her off.
Paul followed them between the sites of his Ruger.
“Paul!”
He glanced at Becky. She fought to pull away from Blake as he dragged her out of the cave.
“Go with Blake!” shouted Paul.
“Come with me!” she cried back. Tears flowed down her cheeks in freshets.
“Go!” Paul shouted.
Though she looked hesitant, she stopped fighting Blake. After one last cry, she turned and followed him out.
Paul trained the gun’s sight on Mackenzie’s forehead. His finger curled over the trigger.
He saw movement in the corner of his eye.
He turned and glimpsed Striker’s body soaring toward him. The muscular man’s bulk filled his vision. His first thought was Striker was running, but a quick glimpse that showed his feet weren’t touching the ground proved he’d been thrown.
Paul felt the impact like a mule kick and was slammed to the ground. The gun flew from his hand.
He was trapped underneath Striker. Squirming, Paul jerked from side to side to get out from under him. His arms were pinned against his chest, legs spread with Striker’s frame filling the space between them. All he could do was kick at the air.
The thick padding of Striker’s vest pressed against Paul’s face, blinding him. But he heard Howie grunting, Mackenzie growling, Caine sobbing, and Bubba screaming cusswords.
What’s happening out there!?!
“Come on you son of a bitch!” Bubba’s voice. “You want some of this, huh!?!”
Another roar and Bubba’s screams rose in pitch.
Paul wriggled under Striker. He could feel the mercenary’s breaths on his face, could feel the scratchy stubble of beard on his cheek. Though he was pleased to know Striker wasn’t dead, he wanted the big man off him.
Bigfoot Beach Page 22