Bigfoot Beach

by Kristopher Rufty

  Gunner grabbed his shirt and stood up. He rolled it up and pulled it over his head. When he got his arms through, Megan was already heading for the door.

  “Wait,” he said.

  She looked at him over his shoulder. “Maybe you should hang out right here. Don’t want one of Dad’s cronies seeing you here when he’s not home.”

  Gunner understood. He nodded. “Sure thing.”

  “Be right back.” She blew him a kiss, then pranced out of the room, her blonde hair swooshing behind her back like yellow water.

  Gunner smiled. He couldn’t believe how much he already cared about this girl. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. Probably a little of both. Good if things worked out, but very bad if she suddenly stopped wanting to see him.

  He walked to the doorway, leaned against it, and put his ear to the open space.

  I’m being nosey.

  Ashamed of himself, he was about to head back into the room. He heard the clacking of locks being undone and paused. That bad feeling squirmed through him like a cold slug.

  It’s none of my business who’s at the door.

  But he wanted to be close, just in case.

  Of what?

  He had no idea.

  “Yes?” he heard Megan say.

  There was a pause that seemed to last forever. Then a voice spoke. Female.

  “Is Gunner Thompson here?”

  And Gunner knew why he was so worried.

  He mouthed, Oh, shit.

  He said, “Trish.”

  There was another pause before Megan said, “Um…”

  “We know he’s here.” Natalie’s voice. “Where is he?”

  Trish laughed. “Natalie, quit being so bossy. Sorry. I just wanted to see if he’s here.”

  “You’re Sheriff Thompson’s wife, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Though he didn’t need the confirmation, hearing her say it weakened his knees.

  “Yes, he’s here,” said Megan. “I was going to make him lunch in a few.”

  “Ah.”

  “Please, come in.”

  “Thanks,” said Trish.

  There was a squeak that Gunner recognized as the door being opened. Footsteps followed.

  “Where is my brother?” said Natalie in a demanding voice.

  “Natalie,” said Trish. “Knock it off.”

  Megan laughed. “It’s all right. He’s in the game room.”

  They’re coming in here!

  Gunner pushed himself away from the wall, hurrying over to the pool table. He turned, put his back against the rim and tried to look casual.

  Then he saw the cues lying in an X on the floor.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  He quickly picked them up and was trying to lean them against the table when Megan entered.

  “You’ve got some visitors,” she said.

  Gunner jumped. Trying to catch the cues, his hands swatted them to the floor. They clattered when they landed.

  He froze, arms out, trying to hide his cringe. Turned his head. Saw Megan standing off to the side of Trish, who had her arms on the shoulders of his younger sister. All of them looked as if they’d caught him fondling himself.

  “Hi, Trish,” he said.

  “Gunner,” she said.

  Megan cleared her throat. “I’ll leave you all alone. I’m going to get started in the kitchen.”

  She walked to the doorway and glanced back at Gunner, giving him a sympathetic look. Then she left the room.

  Trish stepped closer, and kept her voice low when she said, “What are you doing here?”

  Gunner leaned back against the pool table, crossed his arms. “Nothing.” His voice rose when he spoke, turning high. He knew Trish wouldn’t believe him.

  “Nothing?” said Trish, imitating his tone. She sniffed the air. “Really? Then what do I smell?”

  “I don’t know. Popcorn?”

  He pointed to the popcorn machine.

  Natalie gasped. “Popcorn!” Then she ran over to the machine, putting her face against the glass.

  Trish didn’t take her eyes away from Gunner. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Gunner was getting annoyed. He had no idea what she was talking about. Shaking his head, he turned around. His eyes landed on a stain on the pool table that had turned a small blot of green dark. Eyes widening, Gunner’s throat felt tight.

  Must have come from Megan…

  Probably when she sat up, she accidentally rubbed herself across the green.

  Gunner gulped.

  Trish can smell it.

  And though they didn’t get to go through with it, Gunner could smell it too. He knew the sex smell well. During the peak of Dad’s popularity and before Mom’s breakdown, Mom would hoist Dad away to the bedroom to talk. Whenever they were finished talking, the same smell would drift through the house afterward, as if it had clung to their bodies. Gunner began to despise the odor, but now found it quite pleasant.

  Because it came from Megan.

  If Trish sees that stain…

  Gunner turned around, hoping to block her view of it.

  Trish stood before him, arms folded under her breasts. She had all her weight on one foot, the other hip seemed to point up. “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” she asked.

  “It’s not about anything,” said Gunner. “I don’t see why you’re so mad. You know, you could’ve just texted me instead of coming out here and embarrassing me like this.”

  Trish shook her head. “I thought about it, but figured this way was best.”

  “Embarrassing me was the only conclusion you came up with?”

  Trish held her breath, closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she said, “Yes. I figured a little bit of embarrassment was better than you trying to lie your way out of it and causing more trouble for yourself.”

  “Whatever,” said Gunner, though he understood her point.

  “Gunner, you know how upset your dad’s going to be.”

  “So what?”

  “So what? Really, Gunner? You’re going to be like that?”

  Gunner sighed, lowering his gaze to the floor. Trish had on flip flops, the tips of her toes dusted with sand. He shook his head. “No. I’m not going to be like that.”

  “You told me you were meeting a friend at the beach…”

  “You knew it was a girl…”

  “Maybe I did. But I thought you would be hanging out on the beach. Within earshot, or something. Maybe taking strolls, or swimming, or going to get ice cream. I had no idea you would be here alone with her, doing…other things.”

  She does know.

  Cold dripped down Gunner’s back. “I didn’t know we were going to come over here. She texted me after we got to the beach…”

  “But you still came over, knowing I would have said no, knowing your dad would have said no.”

  Gunner didn’t respond. He continued to stare at Trish’s feet.

  “What kind of girl invites a boy over to her house when she’s home alone?”

  “Hey, come on,” he said. “Like you’ve never done it.”

  Trish’s mouth slowly hung open. Gunner regretted what he’d said right away.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant…” Gunner crossed his arms, bumped his shoulders up and down. “I don’t know what I meant.”

  He gave his sister a glance and saw she was moving around the room, admiring the game machines. Her eyes were wide, as if she was experiencing something her mind couldn’t comprehend. Wanting to smile at her reaction, he didn’t have the energy to lift his mouth. He was going to be in deep trouble when Dad found out, no doubt about it. He’d probably get grounded until school started, and that would damper his social life, kill any chance he had with Megan.

  This probably already has.

  And the thought of that made him feel weak.

  Trish sighed. “Gunner, we have to go.”

  “T
hought so…” His mouth trembled. His throat felt as if it was squeezing his words. “I’ll tell Megan bye.”

  Trish’s eyes looked sad and pitiful. She nodded. “Okay. And I’ll tell her sorry for dropping in like this.”

  “And you can tell me sorry for ruining my life,” said Gunner.

  “Gunner!”

  He walked past her, making sure his shoulder gave her a little nudge.

  “Damn it, Gunner. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Her voice, coming from behind, sounded muffled through the blood in his ears. Never had he been so humiliated. And for it to have been caused by Trish made it feel even worse. Out of everyone, he trusted her the most.

  She had no choice. Dad would be mad at her.

  But she didn’t have to come here. There were other ways. She could have texted him and told him to leave.

  Would he have left? Probably not. And Trish knew that, she’d said so.

  Gunner walked up the hall on wobbly legs. His vision was slightly blurry and his head a little dizzy. He had tears in his eyes.

  Don’t cry in front of her, jeez!

  Using a knuckle, he wiped his eyes. That helped.

  He walked through the doorway to the kitchen.

  “Megan, I have to go. I’m sorry for all this…”

  His words died in his throat.

  She stood on the other side of the island, her back to the door. Slabs of meat that looked like steaks were on the counter. He saw bottles of spices beside a bowl of dark fluid that he assumed was the marinating sauce.

  The woman in the kitchen was not Megan. The island blocked her to the waist. Her hair was dark and frizzy, tangled into a wild ball that hung over her shoulders. She wore a tan shirt.

  Hearing his voice, the woman slowly turned around. Megan was in front of her, screaming into the filthy hand covering her mouth. A weapon that looked like a sharp rock was pressed to her throat. For a moment, Gunner thought Megan had been stabbed from how her skin dented in. There was no blood and the tip didn’t seem to be penetrating.

  Seeing him, the woman smiled. “Wow, aren’t you a hotty?”

  Megan’s eyes were round and full of tears that spilled down her face and the wild woman’s fingers. Squirming in her hold, Megan’s attempts to free herself were feeble.

  “But not as hot as my big cuddly…” she added. Her head turned.

  Gunner followed the path of her eyes to the corner of the kitchen, near the long table that Megan said her dad used for parties. First, he saw a woman, on her knees, shoulders slouching, head low. She wore a dirty tank top and shorts. Her dusky legs were streaked and filthy.

  Next, he saw what was behind her.

  Had to be a costume. No way was it real. No way!

  Hunched over, a hand flat on the table was a monster. Its fur looked dingy and dry around the infected bald spots on its chest and neck. Oozing callouses were spread all over like bad acne. It had a brick-shaped forehead, tiny eyes that were nearly hidden by the shade the bulging brow provided. Its face was apelike, wide nostrils that seemed to curl down above its mouth.

  And it was bleeding all over the table, dripping onto a spreading puddle on the floor.

  Gunner’s back felt as if it was being scraped raw by icy claws. His penis retracted, as if trying to imbed itself inside his body. His bladder filled and threatened to empty in his swimming trunks.

  He heard screams behind him. Two sets. He figured the deeper of the two was Trish.

  The monster stood up straight. It roared.

  Gunner felt his hair stir, smelled the putrid stench of its breath.

  It stalked toward him. The weight of its footsteps trembled through the floor.

  It’s only a costume. It’s only a costume.

  But Gunner knew it wasn’t.

  He was looking at Bigfoot.

  33

  Paul! Paul!

  Paul heard his name being called, knew he should acknowledge, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Sitting cross-legged, he cradled Howie’s head in his lap. He’d closed his eyes a few moments ago, and his fingers still rested on his brother’s face.

  My dead brother…

  Howie was dead.

  No! Please, don’t let him be dead!

  He was. And Paul knew there was no mistaking it. He’d died in his arms.

  “Tell Trish…and the boys…I love them…” Howie had said through a mouthful of blood. It trickled down his cheeks from the corners of his mouth.

  Paul had tried to speak, but could only sob. He’d wanted to tell Howie so many things, but the words wouldn’t come. So he nodded.

  Howie reached up with a palsied hand. Paul grabbed it, held it tightly.

  “It’s…not your fault…” Howie had said.

  Paul sniffled, started to sob.

  “I mean it…” Howie took a bubbly breath. “Alisha’s problems…you didn’t cause them. She was a crazy bitch from the start. Tuh…take care of your…kids. They…need you.”

  Again, Paul nodded. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “You’re…a good man…Paul…I love you, baby brother.”

  Paul moaned. His chest felt like it was being slowly crushed by cold weights. “I love you, Howie! Please…don’t die…”

  Howie’s grip had tightened on Paul’s hand, jerked Paul down close. “And…kill…that son of a bitch…”

  Paul had opened his eyes. His brother’s face was a teary blur, but he’d seen the conviction. “I promise,” Paul had managed to say.

  Howie then released a gurgling breath and never took in another.

  He’d been holding his brother ever since.

  “Paul. We have to get moving.”

  Finally, Paul turned his head. It sent streaks of pain through his skull and down the back of his neck. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain was immense. Mackenzie had bashed him with a rock. Though he couldn’t see how bad the wound was, he figured it must look pretty nasty if she’d left him afterward. Probably thought the blow had killed him.

  Striker stood a few feet away, holding his assault rifle by the grip. The barrel pointed at the ground. “It’s up to us to stop it now.”

  “Becky—she’s with Blake.”

  Striker shook his head. “Who knows if they’re even still alive?”

  Paul didn’t want to think something might’ve happened to Becky or Blake. Carefully, he slid Howie off of his lap, putting him on the ground. He made sure to keep his eyes away from the gore of his brother’s stomach. Turning his head, he saw where Caine laid. From this vantage point, he couldn’t see over his back. He was thankful for that, knowing his skull had been crushed. Styles lay on her back, arms out to her sides, motionless. He turned away. His eyes landed on Lillard, whose head looked to be sitting on a pair of shoulders without a neck. Bubba was in a bloody pile of body parts, innards, and blood like the leftovers of a slaughterhouse.

  It is just us. Jesus Christ, we’re all that’s left.

  He hoped Blake and Becky made it to the cars, called in some help. He wasn’t sure how much Seashell Cove had left to offer for reinforcements. But anything was better than the two of them.

  Paul got to his feet.

  “Here,” said Striker, leaning over. He picked up Howie’s rifle and tossed it. Paul caught it. “Figured you’d want it.”

  Paul nodded. He looked down at his brother, saw the strip of extra magazines strapped to his thigh, and removed it. He put the gun on the ground, leaning the barrel across his thigh as he fastened the strip to his own thigh. Then he snatched his empty Ruger from the ground. It felt slightly damp from the oatmeal-like sand adhered to the steel body. He thumbed the clip release, watched the empty magazine drop out, and reached behind his back where a full one was attached to his belt. He snapped it off and put it to the chamber.

  Then he slammed his hand against the bottom, shoving it into place with a rachet-like snap.

  “Ready?” asked Striker.

  Paul nodded, holstering the Ruger. “Let’s move,�
� he said.

  The two men began their long trek through the caves.

  34

  Becky dug the pliers into the Bigfoot’s side, sloshing around the blood to find the bullet. His growls of pain shook the walls. A few photos fell and shattered on the floor.

  “You’re hurting him!” Mackenzie cried, covering her ears.

  “You do it!” snapped Becky, offering her the pliers.

  Shaking her head, Mackenzie said, “I can’t! I already told you I’m too squeamish.”

  The image of Mackenzie stripping the dog’s skin from its corpse replayed in her mind.

  She can do that, but not this?

  Becky went back to work.

  Mackenzie had forced Gunner to drag in two mattresses from the guest bedrooms and put them together to form one large bed for the beast to rest on. She only knew his name because Trish had said it when Mackenzie took him away.

  Even before she’d asked Trish to be sure, Becky had already guessed he was Paul’s son. He looked just like his dad, and though Natalie didn’t have all of Paul’s features, there were enough semblances to identify her as Paul’s daughter.

  After making everybody hand over their cell phones, Mackenzie had cut the landlines. Then she’d forced Megan Caine to escort her around the house. When they’d returned, Megan was carrying a stock of first-aid supplies and tools to perform the makeshift operation of extracting the bullets from the Bigfoot. So far, Becky had removed a total of four slugs from its stomach, leg and arm. The one in its side had been giving her the most trouble. It was bleeding all over Becky’s hands, coating them in sticky warmth and spreading a dark wet patch on the mattress.

  The pliers’ mouth clamped down on something hard.

  The Bigfoot growled again. He flinched back, making Becky pull the pliers out from the bleeding hole. His colossal fist pounded the floor, cracking the hardwood and causing Natalie to start crying again.

  Mackenzie spun around. “Shut that kid up! She can’t concentrate with that kid’s racket!”

  Sitting in Gunner’s lap, Natalie trembled in her brother’s arms. Megan sat beside him, pressed close, a head on his shoulder. And Trish sat behind them all, an arm around Megan, the other around Gunner and folded across Natalie’s back to form a petrified huddle.