Forsaken - An American Sasquatch Tale

by Christine Conder

  No response.

  A sliver of moonlight filtered down, not much and not far into the room, but enough to see the space was empty. She looked around and saw no sign he’d even been there. Confused, Liberty fetched the zipper baggie out of the recess at the base of the hatch. She pulled out a candle and lit it with one of the lighters inside the bag, then stepped further in and pulled the vine to shut the hatch.

  She swept the light low to the ground, made sure no creature larger than a chipmunk had made itself a home there. When she felt certain she wasn’t in danger of coming face to face with a feisty raccoon, she grabbed a second candle from the bag, dipped its wick into the first, and when it caught fire she walked around and looked for a note. Maybe Adrian had been and gone. Nothing. Maybe he’d never been in the first place. Had he run behind? Had he been unable to sneak away?

  Everything felt off, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. She stood in the middle and turned in a slow circle, eyed every inch of the space, tried to determine what wasn’t sitting right. She peered into the shadows, turned until she’d come fully around.

  Right there, something nudged her brain, but she couldn’t grasp it. She started the search again, and as the light passed beneath the hatch, it clicked. The limb. It was empty.

  “What the nuts?” she whispered. The sound of her own voice caused her to jump and she scolded herself.

  Frowning, she walked toward the limb. Nathaniel had mounted a hickory branch near the entrance. A place to hang their clothes. A few broken cobwebs dangled from it, but that was it. The pajama bottoms and sweatshirt Liberty kept there were gone. Her skin prickled as if it finally registered the chill and knew there was no promise of coverage. And the way the spider’s silk hung in uneven strands, it had been recently disturbed.

  Her eyes darted to every nook and cranny, hoped a shadow wouldn’t magically come to life. The idea of someone she didn’t know invading their private space frightened her. She felt an urge to hide.

  Had Adrian made it or not? She envisioned Becky back at the truck and she seemed miles away. She had to leave right then, get back to Becky. And the somewhat safety of the truck. Hopefully Adrian had done the same.

  She didn’t even bother to tuck in the candles after she’d extinguished them. Once word of the disturbance got out, the place would be off limits. She got a foothold in the side of the shaft and popped out of the cave on her first try, transformed as she rolled and, without another look back, ran like the wind for the truck.

  The tailgate was still open when she arrived and she slid in.

  Becky let out a startled, “Whoa.” Then laughed. “It better be my dainty friend, Liberty, or I’m going to spray your face off.” She pointed a can of mace toward the back, lowering it when they made eye contact.

  Becky got out, shut the tailgate, and climbed back in the driver’s seat. Before she turned the engine over, she passed the phone and stylus to Liberty. “How did it go? Did you talk to him?”

  She typed and handed it back.

  “Not there?”

  Liberty shook her head.

  “You think it was someone human?”

  She nodded, typed, Someone there took clothes.

  “Damn. You think Adrian even made it?” Concerned furrowed Becky’s brow. “Do you think he’s okay?”

  Liberty thought for a moment, then shrugged. She didn’t know his story for sure and couldn’t begin to decide what the right thing to do was. But she knew she needed to confide in Nathaniel. And soon. This was a fiasco. She was a mess. And trying to say it all with a pine-needle stylus was wearing on her.

  She emitted a low growl.

  “Whoa, missy.” Becky put her hands up, one still held the can of mace. “Don’t think about getting all Incredible Hulk on me.”

  Liberty saw a flash of fear in Becky’s eyes and felt ashamed. She quickly nodded, motioned for the phone. I’m sorry.

  Becky read it, eyed Liberty like she may be a poisonous mushroom, then smiled. “It’s okay. Guess I’m not used to you acting so salty.” Becky passed the phone back and sat for a minute, stared out the windshield lost in thought. Finally she said, “So, what do we do now? Are we still on for the Jenkins’?”

  Liberty didn’t bother to type, just nodded and settled back as Becky started the engine and pulled away. She went over the events in her head. Tried to imagine what might have happened at the rendezvous.

  Maybe Adrian had gotten caught when he’d tried to sneak out. Or, maybe he’d made it to the rendezvous, but hunters chased him away. She hadn’t sensed death, a body, so she didn’t play too long with the idea he’d gotten mistaken for a bear and been shot. It was possible some random person or the property owner had gotten lucky and discovered the cave. From the clothes they’d be able to tell somebody frequented the space and so set up the camera to catch the interloper. She doubted it was the property owner, seeing how they were—-according to Mitch—older than dirt and feeble as hell.

  She sighed. She could play the what-if game all day long, and still never know.

  Becky spoke as they passed their woods. “We’re almost there. A few more miles.”

  Liberty looked out the side window and saw the farmhouse through the foliage, perched up on the hill. Idyllic, she thought, the way the willow branches swayed on either side of it, and how the moonlight shone against the roof. She never saw it this way. Her view was from the rear, and only from the kennel’s basement windows.

  When Mitch and Ellie moved in, they renovated the outside. Added siding and a breezeway that connected the garage to the house. They also refinished the basement, which when he still lived there, was where Kevin spent most of his free time. Though they never hurt for money, thanks to some wise investments on, first the uncle, then on Mitch’s part, Kevin found he desired his own. To do with as he pleased. Except he made his in possession of narcotics and ended up doing time downstate. When he’d gotten out of prison, he hadn’t gone home.

  Liberty turned away. Speeding past the old farmhouse on Little Church Road, no one would know a widowed old man lay dying inside. Catching a glimpse of the happy, red barn-shaped mailbox with its flag up, you wouldn’t know it acted as death’s concierge, escorting letters back and forth to oncologists, funeral directors, and hospice on the daily.

  And you couldn’t tell there was a whole world just below the grassy knolls in the woods. Did the other houses they’d passed have secrets, too? She figured a better question to ask was, didn’t they all?

  Chapter Ten

  Ten minutes later, Becky pulled the truck off the dirt road and killed the engine. Liberty’s eyes got huge when she looked out the window. The tires were inches from a rather deep ditch. At least if someone flew over the crest behind them they wouldn’t plow into the back of the truck.

  Liberty wondered how merciful it might be if a big milk truck, like the ones that regularly flew up and down Rimrock Hill, would come out of nowhere and bash into the back of the pick-up. No more worries, no more what-ifs.

  Where had that come from? Ellie had died in a similar type of car accident. Died without ever knowing what would become of her son.

  Liberty shook her head, how could she contemplate an act so selfish? What had Becky ever done except become her friend? Liberty didn’t deserve her.

  “Look.” Becky pointed at her windshield. “Up there to the right.”

  Liberty craned her neck to see out the slider window between them. Roughly five hundred yards away down in a slight gully she saw a house. A security light brightened the yard in front, and another one lit up the area behind it near an old barn. The view wasn’t good. She scooted to look out the cap windows on the side, and it was much better. The tinted glass softened the security lights, and made it hard to see the yard, but at least she didn’t have to contort her body to see.

  “I see two vehicles. Russ’ SUV and a little gold…” Becky paused. “Looks like a Focus, maybe.”

  Liberty spotted them. The cars were parked in the drive
way near the end of the house closest to the road. They sat in front of closed doors that looked to be the kind that led into the basement.

  “I see lights on inside. Upstairs and downstairs,” Becky said. “Wow, not much for conservation, are they?”

  Liberty watched Becky spy with her binoculars, panning them left and right.

  The kid, Victor, who took the photo, lived here. Adrian said he saw Sage with him. Becky jerked to the right and focused there for a moment. Liberty tensed.

  She gripped the stylus, typed on the screen, and passed the phone to Becky through the cab window.

  Becky lowered the binoculars to see what she’d written and shook her head. “No, nothing. I thought I saw movement near the garage, probably just a raccoon or dog.” She passed the phone back and they continued to watch the house.

  “You know what?” Becky finally glanced back.

  Liberty figured it was unnecessary to type “No. What?” so she just stared.

  “I kind of thought having you in the back would, you know…maybe make the truck smell funny? No offense, but I figured it would be the same as toting around a few dogs, or a horse, maybe,” Becky’s eyebrows went up and she nodded a bit, “but, for real. You smell pretty normal. Like you wouldn’t even know a Sasquatch was back there.

  Liberty smiled inside, figured if she did it on the outside it might scare Becky. She waited until Becky quit jabbering and handed her the phone.

  Becky read it, mouthed “Bitch?” and then clicked her tongue. “Well, that’s not very nice.”

  Liberty teased her because she knew Becky tried to use extra caution and say the right words. It wasn’t Becky’s fault that the general belief was all Sasquatch stink. It wasn’t true, of course. Not every Sasquatch did, only the teenage boys. They were crammed full of hormones and, in Liberty’s experience, their scents were worse than cornered skunks.

  Becky’s phone chirped and she cupped it in her hands to help diffuse the light before answering, “Lindy?”

  “Uh, huh. Okay. Gosh, I know.” Becky’s voice was low, sad. “Okay, thank you. I’ll be back really soon.” Becky pressed a button and passed the phone to Liberty. She released a breath. “He’s accepted some pain medicine, but his vitals are weak. She said it’s really only a matter of hours now.”

  Liberty nodded and turned to watch out the side window. Maybe this wasn’t a useful way to find out anything. Maybe they should head back.

  Liberty’s breath was either too hot or she breathed too hard because the glass kept fogging up. She had to wipe it off every couple of minutes. As she used the fur on her forearm to squeegee off the fifth round of mist, she heard it.

  Had she? Liberty held her breath and pressed an ear to the glass. There. There it was again. She looked up. The sound had come from the Jenkins’ house.

  A Sasquatch wail. Her heart sped up. Her hackles rose. She tried to remain calm. Definitely masculine. At first she pictured Adrian. But no, the wail was from a more mature male. If she could just step outside, she’d not only be able to see and hear, but would be able to sense, as well. She tallied up the risks.

  “Hey,” Becky said, “what’s going on?”

  Liberty turned to look and saw Becky had the binoculars up and focused out the passenger window. She brought them down, looked at Liberty, and pointed, “You see that?”

  Distracted by the wail and deciding what to do, Liberty had missed the activity to the right of the house. A flash of light appeared in the field. No. Two flashes, headlights. They bobbed up and down, getting closer every second.

  “Oh shit,” Becky hissed, and then her keys jangled. “Stay down, Liberty!”

  The headlights flashed and bounced inside the cab as the engine sounds from the field started to get closer, louder. Liberty flattened herself the best she could in the bed.

  Becky fired the truck up and it jerked a little, but didn’t move forward. “Dammit!”

  Liberty sneaked a quick peek outside and saw a spark the size of a prehistoric lightening bug in the distant part of the field. A loud crack followed, and a millisecond later a bullet blew through the truck cab. They yelled out the same time, Liberty’s completely swallowing Becky’s.

  “Christ almighty, they’re shooting at us,” Becky cursed non-stop and Liberty shook so hard she smacked her head off the cab. The truck still revved but wouldn’t move. It jerked forward, backward, then hitched to the side. Liberty pictured the ditch. It may as well have been as deep as the ravine in Montgomery Woods because if they slid into it, the truck wouldn’t be going anywhere. She chanted in her head, Please don’t go in, please don’t go in.

  “I’m caught up in the muck, Lib, the shoulder’s too soft, my tires are sinking. You might have to get out and run.” The sound of gravel blasted the undercarriage sounded like buckshot when it hit a road sign.

  Run? Was it her fault the truck wouldn’t go? Another crack sounded and a bullet came into the bed, this time near the tailgate. It pierced the rubber of a spare tire Becky hauled in the bed of the truck. Time moved in slow motion. The air changed, became acrid, heavy with exhaust. Liberty’s mouth filled with saliva and she held back the urge to vomit.

  She reconsidered busting through the tailgate to escape what had become a death trap, and chanced a look outside. Maybe she’d be able to make it to the woods on the opposite side of the road.

  The source of the lights came into view—a four-wheeler—ten yards off, heading toward the front of the truck. Liberty pounded her fist down, urged both the truck and Becky to go. She slid toward the latch, just in case, ready to disengage it and run.

  As if she’d read her mind, Becky yelled, “Go, go, go,” shifted the lever and stomped on the gas.

  Liberty felt the truck lurch and then hop out of its rut just as the four-wheeler jumped the ditch directly in front of them. Becky’s headlights illuminated the rider. He steered with one hand, extended the other, and aimed a rifle directly at the windshield.

  Becky missed him by a half second, but he got a shot off. Liberty blinked as the bullet blazed a path from the hollow of her temple, across the top of her ear and then shattered its way out of the back window. The windshield spider-webbed. Becky screamed, then whooped as she tore down the road. The rear end of the truck fishtailed left and right and dust filtered inside the cab through the broken window.

  “You okay?” Becky screamed over her shoulder.

  Liberty held a hand up to her head. Felt as the blood soaked her fur. How long did she have before she bled out? She was dazed, but interestingly enough, not in much pain. Other than a burning sensation from the top of her head to her shoulders, and a loud ringing in her ears, she felt numb. Shock. That had to be it.

  “Can you hand me the phone, Lib?”

  She couldn’t, she’d lost track of it during the commotion. Besides, she was dying.

  Becky kept up the conversation, one-sided and all, “I’m calling the Sheriff. I’ll take you home and then report the asshole. I can’t believe he shot at us. Can you? I told you, didn’t I? It was Russ. I saw his face in my headlights. And I know damn well he saw me before he let off the last shot. I mean, we weren’t even doing anything illegal.” She paused. “Hey, back there!” She tapped on the window. “Hey…oh my God are you okay?”

  Liberty toppled over. Lifting her hand to her face, she half expected to see her body shift, the way it did when dying, but it stayed solid Sasquatch. She checked her aura and it looked okay, a soft blue indicated life at least. Liberty held her hand up to the slider, so Becky could see she was okay.

  Becky began to scream, “Oh shit, you’re bleeding. Oh shit, Liberty, did you get shot?”

  Liberty gave her a thumbs up. She might have bled out some, but she still had energy for sign language. Liberty felt a wave of nausea, became woozy, realized Becky kept talking to her as she swam in delirium.

  The engine roared and the truck lurched forward. Becky stopped speaking in sentences. Just mumble, mumble, sorry, mumble, please, mumble, I’ll do w
hatever.

  Liberty lost track of time. They bounced up Mitch’s driveway. Becky said, “Stay down, I’m going to turn around and back up to the kennel.”

  Becky parked, turned off the truck, and hissed unhappily. “Lib, I have to leave you, I’m so sorry. Lindy’s on the front porch. I don’t want to risk her seeing you. Crap, she’s walking this way, pretty fast for an old gal. It’s gotta be Mitch.”

  Becky opened her door and whispered, “Get yourself out, the kennel is unlocked. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  The truck shook when the door slammed shut. A worried-sounding Lindy talking a mile a minute. Their voices faded as they headed away from the kennel and toward the farmhouse.

  Liberty counted to thirty, gave them ample time to make it inside, then, with a blood-soaked hand, reached up and dropped the tailgate.

  Nathaniel stepped out of the shadow of the building and stood there facing her. His eyes flashed with a fury, aura crimson. He’d discovered her escapade. What that meant for her, she had no idea. She attempted to slide out of the bed, got lightheaded and, at the same moment she realized what was occurring, she fainted.

  Chapter Eleven

  Without opening her eyes, Liberty took stock of her surroundings. She was on the mattress. In her chamber. The scent of cinnamon candles, and Nathaniel’s deep breathing gave it away.

  She thought of how the story would sound before she opened her eyes. Rehearsed what she was going to say silently.

  Nathaniel interrupted her inner speech, “I know you’re awake.”

  She pretended not to be, kept her eyes shut to buy some time.

  “I can tell you’re awake, Liberty. Your breathing changed and your eyelids are twitchy.”

  Fine. She didn’t care for the game anymore, either. She took a deep breath and slowly opened them. She lifted a hand to feel her head.

  Nathaniel nodded. “Yeah, it’s a bandage. Seems you were injured on your little excursion this evening.”