Nighthawk

by Alan Monroe

  “What about us contacting MCU?”

  Peck cinched his backpack tighter. “You contact them once an hour right after I contact you. Any more questions?”

  “No sir.”

  Peck turned to look at the group of men assembled between the van and the firebreak. Two men carried bolt action rifles chambered three hundred Winchester Magnum while the rest carried a semiautomatic shotgun.

  “All right men,” barked Peck. “Let’s get moving. Keep you safeties on. We don’t want to shoot any friendlies. We hike beside the firebreak just inside the edge of the forest. I know it’s not perfect, but it’s the best we got. Don’t make me wait on you.”

  Thursday, May 16 1:30 p.m.

  Davis saw nothing in the trees. The entire earth stood silent except for the creature’s heavy breathing, and the smell continuing to grow stronger and stronger with each second. The sheriff kept staring at the spot where he emptied the rifle, but he could only hear the creature’s deep ragged breathing as it inhaled and exhaled huge amounts of air. Slowly the Sasquatch stepped from behind a large tree and stood in the exact spot where Davis fired. The realization that the creature lured Davis into expending his ammunition shocked Davis.

  His eyes rose to look at the seven foot tall five hundred pound Sasquatch; thick arms and broad shoulders extended from the muscular neck. Black matted hair covered the body while tumors covered its exposed and hairless face. Davis saw the hatred in its red eyes as it glared at him; it was a tense angry piece of muscle coiled like a spring and ready to unleash itself upon any victim.

  He slowly attempted to move his right hand to his pocket where two shells were waiting, but creature came forward as soon as his hand moved. Davis planted his left exploded in a run to his right, but the Sasquatch cut him in three long strides. Without raising its arms, it emitted a low growl, and Davis sprinted in another direction. Half a dozen steps at a walking pace set the creature in Davis’ path again; it crouched and roared. Davis fell back into the mud, but he managed to grip the big rifle with both hands before he climbed to his feet and sprint in the opposite direction. The Bigfoot took another half dozen walking steps to cut Davis off again, but Davis kept sprinting and rammed the stainless steel barrels in the Sasquatches’ nose.

  The creature’s head popped backwards as blood shot from both nostrils while Davis ducked under wildly swing arms and into a thicker portion of the forest. An even louder roar cut through the air, and fur covered fists slammed into tree trunks just behind the sheriff. Davis slipped behind another tree just of reach of the screaming Sasquatch. The thing stepped around a thick stand of trees cutting him off, but Davis dove to his left under a large log and rolled through a small clearing. The Sasquatch jumped over the log and into the middle of the clearing while Davis stood and ran back into another clump of trees.

  Davis managed to gain a little bit of ground on his pursuer, but he still did not have time to open the breech of the big rifle and load even a single shell. The dog moved ahead of Davis, but it seemed unwilling to abandon its new adopted master. It turned and barked more at Davis than the Bigfoot as if it were telling him to move faster. Davis realized he was quickly running out of thick forest. He slid behind a large tree and waited for the very few seconds it took for the creature to reach him. As the creature stepped next to his tree, Davis took the stock of his rifle and rammed it backwards and then up into the groin between the creatures legs with all his remaining strength.

  The Sasquatch simply looked down at the sheriff cocked its head to the right and screamed with all its might as a mother whose children had been taken from her. Before Davis could do anything, a huge right hand had grabbed and threw him at least thirty feet across a clearing. The rifle slipped from his grasp and fell to the forest floor. As soon as Davis stood up, a huge foot in his midsection sent him flying through the air again. The Sasquatch stood tall raring its head beg to release and earsplitting how.

  Davis rose to his hands and knees coughing and wheezing unable to crawl forward. The dog turned stood between Davis and the Sasquatch barking, but it did not move toward the creature. The Sasquatch covered both of its ears and screamed for several seconds, but the beast slowly brought its hands down clenching them into fists as it stalked toward the barking dog. The pit bull took several steps away from the Sasquatch while it continued to bark until its stubby tail bumped into a log. The dog stopped barking immediately.

  After pulling himself to his feet, Davis looked at the Sasquatch only a few feet from the cornered dog; his eyes shifted to the rifle at the far side of the clearing. Davis dug his heels into the dirt and charged the Sasquatch ramming his shoulder into where he hoped the kidney’s rested. Arms wrapped around the waist, and in a textbook tackle Davis drove the creature first into a nearby tree and then down to the ground

  The creature’s eyes grew wide as it rolled over and stood to its full height. Vice like fingers gripped Davis’ throat and picked him up from the ground drawing him eye to eye with the Sasquatch; a mixture of saliva and blood covered Davis’ face with it screamed. Air refused to pass through his throat through the crushing grip; the red eye’s pierced Davis soul. He struggled to bring both hands up placing them on the creature’s head; as consciousness started to slip away, Davis managed to ram both thumbs in the Sasquatch’s eyes all the way to the knuckle.

  A high pitched howl cut through the mountain air when the creature dropped Davis and clutched its own eyes. Davis groaned as he rolled over and pulled one huge shell out of his pocket and crawled toward his rifle. The creature removed its hands from the two empty cavities in its head, and began to crawl on the ground in random directions searching with its hands. Davis opened the breech of his rifle with a loud click; the creature turned its bleeding eye sockets towards the sound and lunged for him. Davis pushed the cartridge into the weapon as the creature grabbed his ankle. As the sheriff rolled over onto his back he closed the breach and aimed at the only portion of the creature he could clearly see, its head. The crack of the huge rifle cut off the creature in mid scream in much the same swift and clear way the Sasquatch had silenced Jared. The beast’s head exploded from the impact of the bullet.

  Thursday, May 16 2:00 p.m.

  The green and brown canopy of the forest almost blotted out the blue of the sky, but a small patch of blue managed to break through the trees. Davis’ eyes focused on the bit blue allowing the cool air to sooth his raw throat; he slowly moved his hand along the throbbing area on his ribs searching for an obvious fracture. The dog’s warm tongue left a slimy trail across the thick stubble on his face; an occasional prod from a cold nose rocked Davis’ head back and forth.

  Davis slowly sat up and stared at the remains of the Bigfoot that had nearly ended his life; he scratched the pit bull behind the ears. A deep shriek thundered through the miles of forest followed by continuous roar.

  Davis looked at the dog. “Ease off on the slobber. Sounds like we made the big boy pretty mad.”

  The sound of dozens of trees snapping in the distance overshadowed the roar.

  “It sounds like he is having a fit.”

  The roar’s pitch started to rise and fall.

  He rubbed the dig’s back. “Sounds like he’s headed this way; hope you’re ready for a run, boy. We need to put some distance between us and him, and we can draw him away from my friends.”

  The dog whimpered briefly as it looked in the direction of the screaming Sasquatch; then it quickly fell in behind Davis as they ran through the forest.

  The cool mountain air coursing through his lungs combined with already bruised ribs to build an unrelenting pain below Davis’ chest. After thirty minutes of running, Davis stopped and leaned back against a tree and tried to draw deep breaths despite the pain each inhalation brought; the stitch in his side stabbed his lungs like a knife with each breath. He looked back up the mountainside perking his ears for any sign of the roaring that stopped as quickly as it began.

  A few more staggering steps lead Davis to th
e edge of the old growth forest; he stared through the smaller trees and smiled. Another look back up the mountainside revealed a cloth at the base of one of the last pieces of old growth timber; he staggered to the remnant and picked up faded and tattered piece of plaid fabric. Buttons lined a single edge. Davis’s eyes rose along the thick trunk until he saw the mangled body tied to the trunk above his head.

  Far more desiccated than the pedophile he found a few days ago, Davis guessed a logger strayed too from camp some fifty years ago. Davis moved away from the corpse back in the direction from which he came. But in the distance, he could see another body attached to a tree. As Davis walked toward this new discovery, he recognized it as an even older body; and he saw the tattered remains of Native American clothing. Several steps downhill revealed body after body attached to the trees ringing the old growth forest on Little Chopaka Mountain.

  The roar erupted out of the forest driving pain through his eardrums. Davis sprinted downhill ignoring the thorns and limbs that he tore through as they scratched his face and hands. The Sasquatch screamed constantly; blood was streamed down Davis’ face from multiple cuts.

  A rock slammed into the tree only a few feet away; the next one barely missed his head. Davis could not believe the size of the rocks that flew by him as he ran. A large square stone struck Davis in the left shoulder spinning him around as he fell to the ground on his back. Davis fired off a shot into the trees in the direction from which the rocks were thrown. He and the dog quickly charged through the brush again. The rocks continued to rain around them as they ran, and the screaming increased to a psychotic intensity. If it had not been for the rocks, Davis would not have even known in which direction to run away from the creature.

  The screaming abruptly halted, but each footfall shook the ground. Branches snapped and tree trunks shattered as the beast barreled through the forest. Davis ran until his legs grew numb fearing that even slowing enough to turn and fire would give the Sasquatch time to catch him. The stench surrounded him, and its deep breaths echoed between each pounding step. Then suddenly Davis felt his body explode out of the thorns and brush that had been around him. But as soon as he felt himself clear the forest, the ground disappeared from under his feet. Arms and legs spun wildly as he fell, but the smell of the big creature gradually left his nose.

  Thursday, May 16 5:30 p.m.

  When Davis awoke, he felt a thick, gritty substance in his mouth. He started spitting it out immediately, but it clung to his tongue and the inside of his mouth. A muddy film covered his eyes when he tried to open them; his legs split in different directions when he tried to stand sending his face back into the mud. The sheriff finally rolled over to his back and wiped the mud off his face. .

  The pit bull sat on the edge of the mud pit staring at him with its head cocked to one side.

  “I was wondering where you went. I guess you were smart enough not to run of the cliff.”

  The dog barked once.

  Davis looked straight up in the air at the one hundred foot drop he survived. The rain turned the firebreak into one long mud pit full of deep puddles including one he rested in at the moment. When he slowly stood, the water only rose to his waist, but the firebreak stretched out before him like a wasteland. Davis looked up at the cliff he had sprinted from, but he saw no sign of the alpha male. More importantly, he could not hear it screaming, nor could he smell it.

  The double rifle’s stock broke the puddle’s surface a few feet away. Davis pulled the weapon out of the mud and waded to the edge of the mud hole where climbed out. . He opened the breech of the big gun and blew out mud and dirt until the bores. Scratches covered the walnut stock and stainless steel barrel, but the breech opened with crisp snap when Davis dropped in two more one thousand grain shells.

  “Ready for a hike?”

  The stubby tail wagged.

  Davis walked out to the middle of the firebreak trudging through the mud keeping a wary eye on the forest to his right. Mud caked onto his boots with each step and tried to drag him back down the mountainside. The sun hung low in the sky by the time he sighted the green and tan Ford in the distance. Shattered glass lay on the ground beside the windows while dents and claw marks covered the sides. Giant footprints dotted the mud around the vehicles; trenches in the mud lined up with the Ford’s tires showing where the Sasquatch had pushed sideways against boulder in the firebreak.

  The hummer rested upside down and partially submerged in slimly pit next to the level area where they parked only a few days ago. Davis looked at the parallel sets of footprints leading to the hummer’s former parking space and said a quick prayer of thanks for the boulder that saved his truck. The tires on the ford looked undamaged, and the big v-8 rumbled with the first turn of the key.

  Davis picked up the handset for his police radio. “Mayday, mayday, this is Sheriff Will Davis, say again, mayday, mayday. Is anyone on this emergency channel?”

  Howard Thomas spoke rapidly over the radio. “Sheriff, are we glad to hear from you! Can you give me an update on your situation?”

  “I’ll try to be brief. I am currently separated from the rest of my party. A total of five people are still in the forest. Tom, Hugh, and Clint are bringing out the two surviving members of the university expedition one of whom is on a stretcher. I repeat, we have one man with a severely broken leg, everyone else is walking. I am about to head back into the forest to assist them on their way out. We have been assaulted by at least four different and extremely hostile animals. Three members of Tom’s original group are dead.” Davis paused, “and so is Jared.”

  Thomas paused for a moment. “I’m sorry about Jared, Will. But I have got to ask. And I cannot believe I am asking this. When you say hostile animals, do you mean Bigfoot?”

  The plastics radio handset creaked when Davis tightened his grip. “Yes I do. I have killed three of them. And two of them have very nearly killed me.”

  Static filled the air when Thomas did not respond.

  “Wake up down there, and tell me what type of help we’ve got coming!”

  Thomas shook the cobwebs loose. “Peck and ten other men are hiking up the firebreak as we speak; their progress is very slow. They’re having to stay on the edge to get anywhere at all. They’ve only traveled about four miles all day. But they are all armed.”

  “No way they’ll get up here in time to help get Hugh and the others out of the forest. Those things trashed the Hummer. But Peck’s team gives us something to shoot for if we can make it back to my truck. I’m going back in the forest now. When we come back out, it will most likely be on the run. Our goal is to make it safely to Peck’s rescue team. Please warn Peck that there is at least one very angry Sasquatch running around here. And it’s not shy about killing people. ”

  “I’ll do that sheriff. Be careful.”

  “Howard?”

  “Yes Will.”

  “If I don’t make it back down the mountain, tell my wife and kids that I love them.”

  “Is it likely to get that bad, Will?”

  “It already is that bad. And it’s likely to get worse. This is Sheriff Davis over an out.”

  Davis hung the transmitter back in its cradle and closed the door to the truck. The dog whimpered when Davis stepped toward the forest; he knelt and scratched behind his ears.

  “I have to go back in. Friends of mine are in the woods.” Davis stood up to his full height. “You can stay out here if you want to. I don’t blame you.”

  Davis hesitated for a moment; however, he gathered what little strength he had left and entered the foreboding trees. The dog sat and stared at the woods for a moment; then it rose and followed Davis into the darkness.

  Thursday, May 16 7:45 p.m.

  Darkness permeated the old growth forest as Davis carefully stepped through trees; a terrifying reality replaced the mystery he felt when he first saw the walls of the old growth forest. He paused every few minutes to take a deep breath and silently perked his ears for any trace of the alph
a male. The dog stayed close to Davis side rarely moving more than a few feet away as its tentative footfalls hardly rustled the leaves covering the forest floor.

  Thirty minutes of stumbling in the dark forest brought them almost a mile from the truck when the dog arched its back and bared its teeth in a snarl. A screeching howl cut through the forest ahead of Davis; three rounds from a shotgun boomed through the night air. The familiar sound of his own forty-five brought a hint of the crooked smile to his lips. Rachel’s scream bubbled to the surface between gunshots, but the Sasquatch’s screaming dominated the forest.

  Davis tore through the forest in the direction of the gunfire until a bullet splintered the bark of a tree near his head; he dove to the forest floor raising the rifle to his shoulder scanning the forest ahead of him. Limbs snapped fifty yards away as the Bigfoot stormed back and forth through the trees between Davis and his team, but the trees completely obscured his view of the creature. Lead slugs continued to smack the trees on either side of Davis.

  He looked toward the dog buried in the grass beside him. “Looks like we’ve might have the drop on him this time boy; I don’t think he knows we’re here.”

  Davis followed the breaking branches with his ears as they moved through the woods like a pendulum until they reached the farthest point of their swinging period. The scratched walnut stock of the double rifle slammed into to his shoulder when he fired two rounds in rapid succession towards the obscured Sasquatch. Davis opened the breech and ripped both cases of shot brass out of barrels at the same time. However, before they fell to the ground, he heard path being plowed through the trees away from him as the Bigfoot fled from the crossfire.

  Davis and the dog rose from the grass and crept ahead. “Hugh, Tom, it’s Will. That thing ran back up the mountain. Hold your fire.”