Bigfoot Hunters

by Rick Gualtieri

  However, the Clemons’ dog, Zeke, had no interest in any conflict with Kurt. It bounded past him and ran off baying into the night.

  He cursed and threw a rock in the direction of the fleeing dog, missing it by a country mile. Damn thing had nearly given him a heart attack. “I hope you get eaten by a bear!” he yelled after it. Oh well. Yet another thing that served the Clemonses right, as far as he was concerned.

  He collected himself then stepped inside, immediately regretting the decision. The place was trashed. It was like a bomb had gone off. Furniture was overturned, shelves had been torn from the walls, and their table had been smashed. Either Grace and Byron had gotten into the mother of all fights, or he wasn’t the first intruder in their home that evening. No wonder the damn dog had bolted like a bat out of hell.

  He briefly considered that he should probably follow the mutt, but being so close to salvation was ultimately too tempting. He’d spoken to them enough times to know they probably had a stocked gun cabinet in their basement. A decent cache of firepower was probably less than twenty feet away. He considered his options and decided to chance it.

  Kurt stopped in the doorway and listened. Hearing nothing, he took a tentative step further in. It was still dead silent, so he continued. He stepped over a small pile of debris, never knowing that beneath it lay the very same rifle that Grace Clemons had decided against bringing on her ill-fated perimeter sweep.

  He came to a hallway. Before him lay the Clemons’ living room. It was likewise in shambles, but no movement came from within. To his right, at the end of the hall, was a doorway. Kurt didn’t need to get any closer to tell that whatever else had been in here wasn’t too fond of politely knocking. The door had been ripped right off its hinges. He looked to the left and saw three more doors, all intact. He turned in that direction. Might as well go with the odds.

  Kurt had barely taken a step when he heard a thump coming from the far end of the hall. He froze. What followed was the sound of wood being splintered. He looked back toward the open doorway and saw a shadow move. Something was still in there.

  He was too far in to make a retreat now. It was all or nothing. He tried the first door he came to. It opened smoothly and quietly. Kurt peered inside and silently cursed. It was just a closet.

  He crept further down the hall as a ripping noise came from the room behind him. I hope those are just curtains, he thought, coming to the second door. It was ajar, which was a small miracle as far as he was concerned. If not, then third time’s gotta be the charm. Thankfully, though, that wasn’t necessary. He pulled it open and saw stairs leading downward. He blew out a quick sigh of relief and clicked the light. The switch flipped to the on position with a loud clack. Immediately, the sounds in the other room stopped, as if whatever was in there was listening.

  Deciding not to wait around to see if it was curious, he bolted down the stairs. The bottom two creaked as he stepped on them. If the thing upstairs had suspected something before, it definitely knew he was here now. As if in confirmation, a bellowing roar came from above. He had a moment to consider that if hatred could be vocalized, this was what it would sound like.

  Kurt looked around. He was in a game room of sorts. A few stuffed trophies hung on the walls. There was a comfortable looking loveseat on one end, facing toward a big screen TV. There was even a foosball table off to one side. Where were the goddamned guns, though?

  He could hear it coming, and like a fool, he had left the damn cellar door open. Quickly scanning the room, he saw there was still hope. There was another door, this one leading toward the back of the house.

  He ran to it and tried the handle, finding the goddamned thing locked. The beast roared again, now at the top of the stairs.

  “The hell with this,” he said and savagely kicked the door. It held. He did it again, and that time the lock broke with a loud crack. The door swung open. He chanced a look behind him and saw hairy legs descending the stairs.

  Thinking quickly, he turned and shoved the TV to the floor. The screen shattered, spreading glass and electronics. Hopefully, it would be enough to slow the creature down.

  Kurt bolted into the other room and stopped dead in his tracks at what he saw. He had earlier joked about the Clemonses being a pair of hack survivalists, but he didn’t know the half of it. Two entire walls were covered in ordinance of various calibers. He wasn’t particularly up on the finer points of gun control, but was pretty certain some of the stuff there was illegal.

  Scratch that, he was very certain. On the far wall was what appeared to be a rocket launcher. He had seen one in a Rambo movie once. Beneath it was a box covered in lettering he couldn’t read.

  “Shit on toast,” he muttered to himself in disbelief.

  Had the creature not bellowed again, this time with a slight note of pain as it stepped on the broken glass, Kurt might have stood there gawking until such time as it came up behind him and tore his head off. The noise – Dear God, it sounds like it’s right behind me – spurred him into action.

  Fortunately for him, the Clemonses were well-organized. Beneath where the guns hung were neatly labeled cabinets. He quickly opened a drawer and saw boxes of ammo corresponding with the pieces hanging above it. Unfortunately, the one he opened first was all small caliber.

  Dashing across the room, he grabbed an assault rifle from the wall. He tore open the drawer beneath it and, sure enough, there was a whole stack of fully loaded magazines. Hearing movement behind him, he quickly grabbed one and slammed it home before turning to face the beast.

  The creature was right there. It crouched slightly, too tall for the room they were in. At first, he thought it was the same one from before. Large breasts hung down almost to its waist, but there were no wounds in its torso. He’d peppered the creature that had killed Stan with a full load of .22’s. This beast was untouched. Holy hell, there really is more than one.

  He tried to swing the weapon toward it, but the creature stepped in before he could do so. Should’ve taken a goddamned pistol! The beast grabbed the barrel of the gun with one hand and Kurt’s right shoulder with the other. It was massively strong.

  He screamed, feeling bone snap. As it dug its claws into the flesh of his arm, his finger pulled reflexively on the trigger, causing the gun to go off. The bullet slammed into an ammo box, the same one with Russian wording that Kurt couldn’t read, and impacted with one of the RPG shells inside.

  * * *

  A hundred yards away, Zeke – his limited doggie brain already forgetting the danger behind him – had stopped to pee on the side of a tree. Suddenly, there came a bright flash of light through the trees followed by a tremendously loud noise, enough to make him whimper in pain. A few moments later, an uncomfortably warm breeze washed over the frightened dog. He watched as the place he knew as home was blown apart by the explosion. He whined again, turned, then ran off into the forest.

  A few days and many miles later, he was found by a good-natured hiker. When nobody answered a newspaper ad for the lost dog, the man’s family adopted him. He lived a good, long life with lots of love. His was a happy ending. The only remembrance of what happened in Bonanza Creek came late at night while Zeke sometimes dreamt. He would whine in his sleep, and his legs would move as his dream self ran from large hairy things in the woods.

  Chapter 32

  The smell of smoke kept getting stronger, even as he continued moving away from the bar, but Chuck didn’t stop to ruminate. That the fire was spreading wasn’t exactly a surprise. As far as he was concerned, though, he had bigger fish to fry right then.

  He kicked in the back door of what he thought was finally the bed and breakfast. He’d weaved in and out of the woods, crossing small side streets that weren’t much more than overly wide deer trails. Normally, he’d have a good sense of his bearings. Unfortunately, he had gotten turned around pretty good while following that idiot redneck. It also wasn’t helping that all the movement had continued to pull stitches in his
shredded stomach, the blood flow gradually worsening. He could feel it trickling into his pants and down his legs. It might not be life-threatening yet, but he was definitely starting to get a little lightheaded.

  He bit down on his lip. The pain cleared his head for the moment, and he was able to think. Yeah, this was definitely the B&B. Though he hadn’t seen it from the rear, it was too big of a building to be anything else. This was the way. He was pretty sure his friends were somewhere on the other side of it. Not too long ago, he had heard a squatch bellowing into the night, its screams followed by a series of gunshots. Judging from the report, it might have been one of Derek’s big elephant rifles.

  In the end, though, caution won out over his desire to run up through one of the alleys and pop out onto the main stretch. For starters, he couldn’t be certain they had killed it or that it was even the only one. Secondly, it would be just his luck to step out and get plugged by friendly fire. He didn’t think that scenario likely. However, this situation was different than any other they had been in. Even the most seasoned veteran could get jumpy and start shooting at shadows.

  No, this way is best, he thought, entering a dark room, a pantry from what he could tell. His plan was to cut through the building and recon the street from the windows. If he saw his friends, he’d get their attention and join them. If not, he’d make a go for the SUVs and get himself some proper firepower.

  The pantry led into a kitchen. From there, the gloom of a hallway beckoned. Chuck stepped out and flattened himself against the wall. He listened for a moment. There was no sound, so he began to move again.

  A moment later, he heard a hollow thud. It had seemed to come from above him. A few seconds passed, and there came another noise. It could have been a grunt, although he wasn’t sure.

  Some of those kids from earlier had gotten rooms on the second floor. It might be one of them, or it might be something else.

  He was split on what to do. A small part of him desperately wanted to find his teammates and get something more substantial than a knife in his hands. However, he also had his duty to do. If there were survivors, he should find them. If one of the creatures was in here with him, he should at least make sure so they could come back and flush it out later.

  Continuing on, his foot landed in something wet, causing it to slip out from under him. He fell to the floor, agony coursing through his stomach as the last of his stitches popped. He gritted his teeth against the pain to keep from crying out. It was bad enough he’d potentially given his position away. He wouldn’t exacerbate the situation by screaming.

  He put his hand on the floor to steady himself and felt more of that wetness. It had a sticky, tacky feel to it. Chuck didn’t need to see to know it was probably blood, a lot judging by how much was oozing through his fingers. He reached blindly in the darkness, there being no windows in the hall to light the way. Eventually, he found the body that he knew would be there. It didn’t take more than a few quick touches to tell him all he needed. Whoever it had been, they had been pounded into pulp.

  Chuck rose to his feet, momentarily ignoring the fire in his gut. He quietly unsheathed his knife with his right hand while his left went to his injured stomach. What he felt there didn’t do anything to improve his mood. He was soaked in blood, although how much was his and how much was from the floor he didn’t know.

  He continued along and eventually came to the lobby. Just enough light filtered in to let him see the outline of the staircase leading to the second floor. If that fire keeps spreading, light won’t be an issue for much longer. He gave one last longing look toward the windows, then started up the stairs.

  * * *

  “I’m not so sure we should let her keep the gun,” Mitchell whispered to Derek as they made their way down the center of the dark street. It wasn’t a wide road, especially by city standards, but if anything decided to come running out of the shadows, they’d hopefully have enough time to react against it.

  Derek glanced back over his shoulder. Francis was walking with Kate. He held his rifle in his left hand. Derek was pretty certain he was keeping his other free in case he needed to stop her from accidentally shooting anyone. The kid’s death had almost completely unraveled her. Her eyes kept darting from one side of the street to the other, one shaky finger resting on the trigger.

  “Do you wanna try taking it away from her again?” Derek asked, remembering the panicked look in her eyes when he had first suggested she relinquish the weapon following Rob’s death. Had he tried physically removing it from her grasp, he was pretty sure one of them would have gotten shot. “Besides...” He sighed. “She has a right to defend herself. I don’t care how jumpy I am. No way would I want to be out here unarmed, knowing what we’re dealing with.”

  “Speaking of which, you know we’re all gonna need treatment when this is over, just to be safe.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Derek said. He’d been bitten by a raccoon as a child and remembered very well the painful rabies shot.

  Mitchell opened his mouth to say more, but his words were lost as a thunderous sound shook the night. It reverberated through the town for a few seconds before silence once more descended. It had been close, surely inside of the town limits. Because of the way it echoed across the quiet streets, there was no way to tell which direction it had come from, though.

  “Thunder?”

  “Sounded more like dynamite,” Derek commented. “Kate, any ideas?” When she didn’t answer, he turned back toward her. “Kate!” Her eyes finally focused on his. She gave a small shake of her head, then went back to scanning the shadows.

  He was about to ask, for probably the tenth time, if she was okay, when his eyes happened to glance over her shoulder and down the street.

  “Uh oh,” he said. “I think the fire’s spreading.”

  Sure enough, the glow from the direction of the bar seemed to be getting brighter.

  “What fire?” asked Mitchell.

  “I might have burned down the bar to kill one of those squatches.”

  “Slick. Things too boring for you otherwise?”

  Derek shrugged in response. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  * * *

  The upstairs hallway was quiet. In the darkness, Chuck couldn’t locate the source of the noises he’d heard. Then he saw a dim glow from one of the rooms at the far end of the hall, its door open. He walked stealthily toward it, or as much as he could with his stomach paining him with every step.

  He passed a few more rooms, all of them shut, making a mental note to give the upstairs a clean sweep on his way out. He came to the open door – no, open was the wrong word for it. It was missing from the frame entirely, jagged splinters poked out from where it had been torn asunder.

  There was light coming from the floor over by the windows. It was just enough for Chuck to see that the room had been absolutely trashed. There were no sounds and he didn’t sense any movement, but his nose told a different story. There was a musky scent in the air. One of the creatures had definitely been here, although someone could’ve probably guessed that just by looking at the place. Entering the room, he noticed that there was a stronger, more pungent smell on top of the rest. It almost smells like... He took a step and his boot squished down into something semi-solid. Shit.

  He rolled his eyes in the dark room. It figures. A bear shits in the woods, but a squatch will shit wherever the hell it pleases. He lifted his foot out of the excrement with a faint sucking noise. Before he could continue his sweep of the room, a roaring boom sounded from outside. For a moment, the glass in one window shook. The other next to it, Chuck noted, had been shattered, along with a good chunk of the wall it was attached to.

  “What the hell?” he whispered. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn that was an explosion. Putting caution to the wind, he stepped to the window and looked out. The noise didn’t come again, and he couldn’t see the source from his vantage point. Had he leaned out furth
er and looked to his left, he might have seen his teammates making their way down the street. As it was, he instead pulled back to examine the light source.

  It was a small flashlight. It appeared to have been stepped on; however, one of the LEDs was still working. It wasn’t much, but it was providing at least some light. He picked it up and used it to further survey the damage.

  The condition of the room was every bit as bad as he’d suspected. Fortunately, all he saw was the debris of smashed bedroom furniture. No bodies. That’s a good sign.

  He began making his way back to the door, careful not to step in the sasquatch-sized landmine again. Playing the beam of light across the room, he saw that the bathroom likewise appeared to have been broken into.

  He glanced at the pile of excrement on the floor and couldn’t help but grin. “Guess he couldn’t make it in time. When you gotta go, you gotta...” The joke died in his throat as he shined the light into the bathroom. Why the hell is it painted red? he briefly thought, before realizing it wasn’t.

  Chuck had seen a lot in his day, but what had been done to the body lying half in the tub was utterly inhuman. “My God,” he whispered, the flashlight slipping from his suddenly numb fingers. He staggered back and tried to fight off the urge to vomit, afraid that he might literally puke his guts up.

  So transfixed was he by the carnage before him that he didn’t hear the click as one of the doors down the hall opened.

  * * *

  Chuck Wayans wasn’t a religious man, but he crossed himself anyway. He just hoped whoever he was ... she was, he corrected himself – long brown hair and one ruined breast could be made out amidst the grizzly scene. He just hoped she had died quickly and that most of this had been done after the fact.