Bigfoot Beach

by Kristopher Rufty

  Surely, he would. He wasn’t dead.

  “Nope,” Paul muttered. His throat was dry, so the word came out a quiet rasp.

  Come on, Paul. It’s up to you. Kill this thing.

  “For Howie,” he whispered.

  And so many others the beast had slaughtered. Look what it had done to Mackenzie Dalton. Poor girl was so bonkers she thought she was in love. He felt terrible for her parents. How would they react when they learned everything she’d done?

  An image of Styles’s throat being gouged with the rock tried to manifest. He shook his head to keep it away. He couldn’t let anything distract him now—not his fear, not his love for his family, not his grief.

  Nothing.

  His arms felt strong enough to hold the rifle. Lifting it with one hand, the other swung up and slapped the base of the barrel. His fingers curled around the handguard. Finally, he felt ready.

  Paul brought a foot up, setting it flat on the step.

  Then the putt-putt course exploded to life in a tumult of carnival-like music and tinny bursts. Whistling sounds like launched rockets and fireworks surrounded him.

  40

  “Hey, cutie,” said Mackenzie.

  Gunner looked at her and felt as if his wind had been punched out. Those eyes, so cruel and insane, leered at him. “Wha-what?” he said.

  She titled her head, winking. “That computer there?”

  At first, Gunner had no idea what she was talking about. When he looked down, he saw the opened notebook, the screen darkening more and more. The Seashell Cove Sherriff’s Department emergency page was up. A small box was open. He could see what he’d typed of his message waiting to be finished, the cursor blinking beside the last word. If he could just click send…

  Would it be enough?

  Probably. An unfinished emergency message might make them move even quicker.

  But he hadn’t typed the address.

  Trace it through the I.P.

  His hand shot for the computer.

  “Hey!”

  Gunner froze, looked up. Mackenzie pressed the knife to Natalie’s throat with a palsied hand. He saw blood streaming down her fingers and felt his stomach pinch. It took him a moment to grasp that the blade was clear, so the blood was not his sister’s, but Mackenzie’s. Her jaw jutted out, gnashing the bottom row of teeth.

  “Keep your damn fingers away from the keys,” she said through a growl. “Smash it.”

  “Smash…?”

  Gunner turned. Becky and Megan watched him from the floor. Mackenzie had made them get on their knees after they came into the room. They weren’t gone five seconds when Mackenzie seemed to appear out of the air, brandished a knife, and snatched Natalie from Trish’s lap.

  “Yes,” said Mackenzie. “Can’t be beauty and brains, can you?” She snickered. “The computer. Smash it on the floor. Now.”

  His hands trembled above the keys. Fingers so close to the machine, it would only take a short thrust to hit enter and send the message.

  But Mackenzie…she’d kill Natalie for sure.

  Gunner saw the knife shove into his little sister’s throat. The image would become reality if he didn’t listen.

  “Do it,” said Trish. “Please, Gunner!”

  He gave Megan a fleeting glance, saw her nod, and grabbed the laptop. The bottom was hot from where his legs had blocked its air flow. Holding it above his head, he turned to Mackenzie.

  “Good boy,” she said. “Good boy might get a kiss for his obeying.”

  Ignoring her comment, Gunner threw the laptop down. The plastic casing exploded when it hit the hard floor. The screen blacked out before cracking up the middle. Its impact was loud in the quiet room, but Mackenzie’s hoots were even louder.

  Gunner looked at his sister. Her eyes were closed as she quietly sobbed. Mackenzie shook her. “Did you see that? Huh? Your big brother loves you a lot, doesn’t he? Wow! He actually did it. I had my doubts, but he came through for you. What a good guy. Maybe if I would’ve met him sooner, none of this would’ve happened. I could easily see a guy like him by my side.”

  Gunner felt no pride for smashing the computer. He felt as if he’d damned them all.

  Mackenzie pressed her lips against Natalie’s cheek so hard it seemed to mush her face sideways.

  “Don’t touch her!” Trish shrieked.

  Mackenzie kicked the back of her head, making her cry out and stumble forward. Her lips tore away from Natalie’s cheek with a wet smack. “Shut up!”

  Trish, on her elbows, ran her hand along the back of her head. The kick hadn’t been very hard, but Gunner bet it still hurt a lot. His hands gripped his swimming trunks, making the wispy fabric crinkle. His body felt hot and cold all at once as rage flowed through his insides like lava.

  Mackenzie turned Natalie so she faced her. “You’ve got a good big brother, right?” She shook Natalie. “Right?”

  Natalie cried. Nodded. “Right!”

  “Right,” said Mackenzie. “He listens well. Let’s see if his friend is as good of a listener.” Mackenzie brought her feral gaze onto Megan. “Blondie.”

  Megan’s mouth pressed together tightly. She stared at Mackenzie.

  The Bigfoot bride smiled. “Pick up the knife.”

  Gunner’s anger quickly thinned as a sick feeling hardened his muscles. He watched Megan struggle with her emotions as she stared down at the knife. It was on the floor, not far from her hands. He hadn’t once questioned why Mackenzie hadn’t made her toss it away.

  She’d had plans for it this whole time.

  Megan was hesitant as her hand moved toward the knife.

  “Come on, Blondie, we don’t have all day.” She turned to Gunner. “I don’t know what you see in that girl, she seems too spacey to me.”

  Megan grabbed the knife. She brought it back and let it settle on her thighs. It looked very clean and bright against her tawny skin.

  “There you go,” said Mackenzie. “Now do me a favor and stab the woman beside you.”

  Gunner’s skin crawled. She wants Megan to…

  Oh my God.

  “What’d you say?” asked Megan. Her voice sounded hoarse.

  Trish folded her arms on the floor, lowered her face on them, and sobbed.

  Becky looked to be in a daze.

  Mackenzie only smiled as she repeated the order. Then she said, “I don’t want that bitch hanging around me and my boo. She’s got to go. So, I want you to stab her. Just keep at it until she’s dead. Our little sweet stuff here will go with me and I’ll use her to coax your father into giving me back my boo. Then we’ll be out of your hair forever. But if you don’t use that knife…” Mackenzie shook her head.

  Megan looked at Becky, then Gunner, and back to Becky. “I-I-I can’t. I won’t…”

  “You will or I’ll stab this little girl in the throat, then I’ll put the knife to the worthless basket case down here.” She nudged Trish’s rump with the heel of her foot. “If you still don’t, I’ll slit her fucking throat and before the blood has even started to pour out, I’ll plant the knife in our cutie’s heart.”

  Megan turned to Gunner. Her mouth hung open, trembling. “No…”

  Mackenzie smirked. “Then stab the cunt and be done with it.”

  Gunner felt a hollow chasm open deep inside his heart. He knew if Megan didn’t kill Becky, then his sister was going to die. And even if he felt that trying to intervene would somehow work in their favor, he didn’t trust his weak legs to move him from the chair.

  Megan lifted the knife from her sleek thighs. The blade shook in her hands. She moved on her knees, hobbling sideways to face Becky. The woman looked at Megan, closed her eyes, and nodded, giving Megan the signal that it was okay to do what had to be done.

  “I’m…” Megan choked on her words. She took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, Becky…”

  “Don’t be,” she said.

  “So sweet,” whispered Mackenzie as if watching a romantic movie on TV.

  M
egan turned the knife in her hand. Now she held the weapon above her, in a stance that reminded Gunner of nearly every horror movie poster he’d ever seen. He didn’t want Megan to do this, but he didn’t want his sister to die.

  Becky moved so that she was directly facing Megan. She spread her arms, fluffed out her chest, so Megan wouldn’t miss. “Do it,” she said.

  From where Gunner sat, he could only see Megan from the side. But it was enough to see the torment on her face. Tears flooded from her eyes, spilling over her trembling lips. Her throat clucked as she tried to breathe.

  “Times ticking, Blondie,” said Mackenzie.

  Natalie gasped. When Gunner turned, he saw the tip of the knife had vanished in Natalie’s neck. A ribbon of blood trickled down. There was no mistaking it this time. The blood belonged to his sister.

  “No,” said Gunner.

  “I’m going to keep pushing,” said Mackenzie.

  “Okay!” cried Megan. She reeled back, raising the knife. “I’m sorry!”

  Becky closed her eyes, waiting.

  The knife shot down.

  Natalie screamed.

  41

  Paul spun around. The blaring music came from all around as the displays spread throughout the course came to life. Lights flashed. Some bulbs popped from age, but others stayed alive as they flashed garish colors all over.

  Somehow the putt-putt course had been resurrected.

  Paul clutched the rifle close as he back-stepped away from the stairs. Looking around, he saw no signs of the beast. Briefly, he considered the beast had been the one to trigger the power, but quickly shoved that aside.

  Striker.

  The tracker was alive.

  And he saw him rounding the corner of a concession stand. His vest shook on his massive torso as he ran toward Paul, the rifle held out before him like a soldier in a march. His biceps bulged and flexed as his arms pumped.

  He stopped in front of Paul. “Found a generator, fully gassed up.”

  “I see that,” said Paul. “Damn-near gave me a heart attack.”

  The big guy smiled. “Whoops.”

  “Let me guess, using this to cover our asses?”

  “Yep. Hopefully all the ruckus will distract it long enough for us to sneak up on it.”

  “Or it’ll draw it out into the open.”

  “We could only be so lucky. Let’s just pray that it doesn’t prevent us from hearing it sneak up on us.”

  Paul hadn’t thought of that and wished Striker would have kept that possibility to himself. “Blood over here,” said Paul, pointing at the stairs.

  “Already saw it.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “Well,” said Striker, not even attempting to hide the smile on his face. “Let’s pretend we’re here to enjoy the course. We’ll start with the first one here.” He nodded toward the stairs that led to the first hole. “And work our way through.”

  “Wonderful,” Paul muttered.

  Striker took the lead. He climbed the stairs, two at time, to the top. Paul rushed to keep up as they dashed through the obstacles, spinning around, throwing their rifles ahead of them. Sometimes they put their backs together to cover all angles. But there was no sign of the beast as they moved from hole to hole, bypassing playful putt-putt challenges, one after another.

  They paused at the halfway point. A large plaster spaceship jutted from the side of a rubber mountain. Alien carcasses were scattered along the frizzy green meant to be grass. Green paint, representing alien blood, coated the flooring in faded flakes and smears. Plenty of areas for Bigfoot to hide.

  The fake mountain was taller than Paul and he had to climb to the top to look behind the plastic trees. Nothing was hiding back there. He turned, found Striker walking around the wide brim of the saucer. It looked as if the hole for the golf ball was in one of the windows of the disc-shaped spaceship. Paul doubted many people were able to sink the hole into such a ridiculously complicated challenge.

  Reaching the other side, Striker stopped and shook his head. “Clear,” he said.

  Within seconds, they were moving again. On the tenth hole, Striker found some spatters of blood along the rim of a dried out pool where a chinking porcelain shark head jutted from the blue-stained concrete. Other than the fresh drippings, there were no other signs Bigfoot had come this way.

  Though Paul couldn’t see the beast, he could feel it nearby. Could feel the malicious gaze of its eyes all over him, making his skin go crawly as it watched them. Each time he turned to look, he saw nothing. But it was somewhere, waiting for the right moment to lash out.

  They reached the final hole, the ultimate end to a quite impressive course run. Paul had been right when he’d first spotted the top of the volcano distended like a smokestack from the parking area. Go out with a bang, Paul thought, as he studied the tall structure. It was even larger than Spaceship Mountain, and much bulkier, like the size of two manholes put together. He rubbed the side of the volcano, expecting it to be hard, but to his surprise it was very soft, like foam. Through the gauze-like wall, he felt a steady draft of air. Behind the padding, he heard a loud hum that sounded industrial.

  In the corner of his eye, he saw movement and quickly spun around.

  Striker stepped around from the other side of the volcano, scratching the back of his neck. “Nothing.”

  Paul held out his arms. “Where the hell could it be? Think it got out and we’ve been wasting our time here?”

  Striker seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head. “Doubtful.”

  “Then where?”

  Striker’s shoulders rose and dropped with an exasperated sigh. Then his eyes locked on something and widened. He pointed. “Look.”

  Paul turned. He spotted a gate at the far side of the bordering wall. It was probably knee-high to Paul. Access was spray-painted in white on the front. Sprinkles of blood dotted the gate like bullet holes. Beyond the gate was a set of stairs that led up to a platform above them.

  Paul looked up. A catwalk was above them. Attached under the narrow walkway was high-dollar stage lights angled down, the bulbs pointing at the course. For night playing, he assumed.

  “I’ll be damned,” muttered Paul.

  “It’s above us,” said Striker.

  42

  Becky waited for the sharp puncture of the knife, but Natalie’s screams stopped it from coming. Another scream followed, but it was deeper, older. Sounded like Trish.

  Opening one eye first, Becky saw that Megan was frozen before her, head turned to the couch. The knife had stopped less than an inch from Becky’s breast.

  My God, so close…

  Something like growls came from beside her and Becky turned sideways, becoming confused by what she saw. Natalie was now facing away from her and looked as if she was fighting to hug Mackenzie. Her little arms flapped as she worked to nestle against the feral bitch, while making sounds like a tiny zombie.

  Trish, on her knees, leaned back. Her fingers were pressed to her lips as she cried. “Natalie, stop!”

  Mackenzie’s mouth was open in a silent scream, eyes gazing upward to show only her whites as her head trembled. Her arm was straight out, the quivering knife pointing at the ceiling. Mackenzie’s body quaked and jerked as her throat made quaking sounds.

  Natalie pulled away from Mackenzie and spun around. Her chin dribbled blood as she ran toward Gunner. On her way, she turned and spat out a red pulpy wad that splatted on the floor. Gunner dropped out of the chair, landing on his knees. Opening his arms, Natalie slammed against him. They fell back, Gunner holding her tightly.

  Becky was even more confused. But when she looked at Mackenzie and saw the dark jagged cavity in the side of her neck, spurting blood in thick lashes, it all made sense.

  Natalie bit her throat…

  “Holy shit,” Becky whispered.

  Mackenzie stumbled to her feet, pawing at the deep wound on her throat. She pressed her hand against it. Blood shot between her finger
s. Opening her mouth to either scream or talk, blood coughed out, killing any attempts of communication. She shuffled along, leaving a trail of blood on the floor on her way to where Gunner and Natalie laid in front of the chair.

  “No!” cried Trish, pushing herself to her feet. She ran at Mackenzie. “Stay away from her!”

  Mackenzie turned, saw her coming. Her hand clutching the knife made a quick whip outward. Trish’s back blocked Becky’s view. She heard the sound of tearing fabric mixed with a wet rip. Trish spun around, arms held out. Her shirt was sliced open around her midriff. Between the gaps was a wide arc of blood that split her naval and poured a curtain of red down her stomach. Her legs folded. She landed on her knees, caressing the wound.

  Seeing this, Gunner screamed. Natalie joined him.

  No more!

  On all fours, Becky prepared to lurch forward. She was knocked aside by Megan as she jumped to her feet.

  Becky landed on her side.

  Saw Megan charging, holding the knife out with both hands.

  Mackenzie grinned wildly as she primed a slash of her own.

  Becky could already tell that Megan wasn’t going to make it. Her fate would be similar to Trish’s. So Becky got to her knees, straightened her back. Readied herself to run.

  And Natalie hopped between the two women, clung to Mackenzie’s leg, arms hugging her shins, legs wrapping her ankles. She opened her mouth wide, sinking her teeth into the meaty jut of Mackenzie’s calf.

  The disheveled woman threw back her head and screamed. The knife just missed Megan’s side as it shot high.

  And Megan rammed her knife straight through Mackenzie’s exposed throat with a sound like a melon being split. The tip of the blade tore through the nape of Mackenzie’s neck, parting the bushel of hair behind her.

  Either on reflex or pure luck, Mackenzie’s arm gave a quick thrust outward.

  Punching the knife into Megan’s stomach.

  Megan stumbled back, arms held out, mouth yawning as she gasped. The knife protruded from her stomach like a lever. It was in fairly deep.

  “God, no!” Gunner cried as he rolled onto his stomach. His eyes shot from Megan to Trish and back.