Nighthawk

by Alan Monroe

  Soon, Davis saw his rag tag group of friends through a gap in the forest.

  Clint popped a fresh magazine in his rifle. “Boy, are we glad to see you sheriff. We thought those things got the better of you.”

  Davis smiled, “Not hardly.”

  Hugh looked Davis up and down. “You look terrible, but I see you had time for a mud bath. Where did you get the dog?”

  Davis scratched the dog behind the ears. “We found each other in the woods. As far as the mud goes; you know me. I always like to take care of my skin. How’s the Doc?”

  Tom checked Dr. Smith’s pulse. “He’s hurting pretty bad. We’ve been moving fast since you left us, but he should be all right if we can get him to a hospital relatively soon. Did you find Jared?”

  Davis only shook his head as he walked to the crying Rachael and extended her his hand. “It’s not far now, another half hour or so and we’ll be in my truck sliding down that muddy firebreak.”

  Tom stood up. “I busted Bruce for fighting dogs once; that pit bull probably belonged to him.”

  Davis smiled. “I’ll try not to hold that against the dog.”

  “I was beginning to think that Sasquatch was not afraid of guns anymore,” Clint said.

  Hugh slid several shells in his shotgun. “I was thinking the same thing; we must have fired twenty rounds in all. It never even seemed bothered until the sheriff opened up. I guess the idea of being caught in a crossfire with that cannon wasn’t very appealing.”

  The sheriff stood up. “Speaking of our hairy friend, we had better get a move on before he comes back. I got lucky and was able to sneak up on him that one time, but I doubt it will happen again.”

  “You said something about your truck. Have you been back to the vehicles?” Hugh asked.

  “Those things trashed the hummer,” Davis said. “I put in a radio call to Howard, and he has a base camp set up in Nighthawk. Peck and some of the boys are hiking their way up here.”

  “Hiking,” Tom said. “It will take them forever to get up here on foot eve if they take the shortest route.”

  Davis nodded. “We’re on our own until we get to my truck and get down to Peck.”

  “No way we can use the hummer?” Hugh asked.

  “They rolled it completely over, but we can all make it out in my truck. Enough talk. Clint, take the rear. You make sure your brother and Hugh move that stretcher fast enough to keep up with me. Rachael, you’re with me. We’re going down on the same trail I just came up.”

  Davis held the rifle vertically in his right hand while he helped Rachael to her feet with his left hand.

  Davis charged through the brush while the deep breaths of cold air heaved in and out of everyone’s lungs. He spent most of the time half dragging and half carrying Rachael through the forest while he carried the rifle in his free hand. Clint shouldered his rifle in order to help Hugh and Tom move the stretcher more quickly, and Dr. Smith kept his face covered with bleedings hands to stop the branches from slapping him in the face.

  Suddenly, as if they walked through and invisible door, the trees no longer stood as tall or thick. The last rays of the setting sun filtered through gaps in the forest at the edge of the firebreak, and Davis saw it reflect off the aluminum toolboxes on his truck. The dog stopped in its track curling its lips into a snarl as low growl crawled from between the sharp teeth.

  Davis stopped and kneeled beside the dog putting his hand on its back gently stroking the fur. “Easy boy.”

  Hugh, Tom, and Clint put the stretcher on the ground and readied their weapons. The sun finally slipped completely below the horizon turning the mountainside black. Only the heavy breathing from exhausted group cut through the night air.

  Tom inched his way to the sheriff’s side and whispered in his ear. “Do you think we can scare it away with some gunfire?”

  Davis shook his head. “We haven’t scared that thing yet, and we’ve killed three of its kind. Besides, it’s smart enough to know that we can’t see it. It knows where we are, and we don’t have a clue where it is.”

  “Well, we can’t just sit here all night,” Hugh said.

  “Just give me a minute to think,” Davis said.

  “Fire,” a weak voice said.

  Davis looked toward Hugh and Clint to see only blank faces staring back.

  “Down here, you morons,” the weak voice said once again.

  The sheriff looked down to see dry cracked lips barely moving.

  Davis slid towards Dr. Smith. “What are you saying Doc?”

  “Most animals are afraid of fire, or they run from it at least. And we are surrounded by flammable material.”

  “But everything is wet,” Hugh said.

  “The ground is wet, but the leaves in the trees and upper part of the grass have especially near the firebreak have been dried enough to burn by the wind if you have something that is suitably combustible,” Dr. Smith responded.

  Tom leaned towards the doctor and smiled. “You want us to burn down the forest? That doesn’t sound like the liberal, earth first man that I know and love.”

  Smith tried to smile. “Perhaps I have picked up some bad habits from you.”

  Hugh elbowed Tom and nodded toward the sheriff. “He’s coming up with something. I can tell. What was it B.A. used to say about Hannibal on the A-team? ‘He’s on the jazz now.’”

  “If he’s Hannibal, I guess that makes you B.A.,” Tom said.

  “Obviously,” Hugh said. “So which one of you is Face, and which one of you is Murdock?”

  “Well, I have to be Face because I’m better looking than Clint,” Tom responded.

  Clint only shook his head and rolled his eyes at his brother.

  Davis unzipped his pack. “Clint, give me those two liquid propane canisters. Hugh, two shotgun shells.”

  The worn roll of duct tape slipped out of the sheriff’s pack. “Never leave home without it.” Davis looked at Hugh. “I need the jello.”

  Tom choked back a laugh with a snort, and Hugh glared at the smaller man.

  “I know you’ve got a pack full of it Hugh; I’ll buy you a case when get back to town,” Davis said.

  Hugh worked the muscles in his jaw while he unzipped the backpack and stacked eight boxes lemon jello on the ground in front of Davis.

  “I guess you have a taste for the sour Mr. Walker,” Dr. Smith said.

  Davis emptied the water from the one gallon metal water bottle strapped to the side of his back before tearing the corners from four packets of lemon jello and dumping the contents into the bottle. He placed one of the liquid propane bottles on the ground and held the mouth of the water bottle up to the propane bottle’s nozzle when he slowly twisted the valve. The liquid propane sprayed into the canteen soaking the jello.

  “What are you doing sheriff?” Dr. Smith asked.

  “He’s trying to make napalm,” Clint hissed.

  “With jello?” Tom whispered.

  “Napalm is really just a flammable fuel source with a thickening agent that will help it cling to whatever it touches,” Davis said.

  Dr. Smith turned toward Davis. “And you’re using jello as a thickening agent?”

  Davis shrugged. “It’s not ideal, but it should work in theory.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Hugh asked.

  Davis sealed the bottle and duct taped a shotgun shell and road flare to its metal side. “It’ll work. Let me have your thermos Hugh.”

  The second package looked almost exactly like the first when Davis mummified it with the last bit of duct tape.

  “Hugh, you’ve got the big arm. Once this thing is lit, you’re going to throw the first about twenty yards in the direction of my truck. Then you’ll throw the other one about twenty yards beyond that. The explosions will set a little bit of everything on fire. It will probably look worse than it actually will be. We’ll run as close to the fire as we can, through it if possible.”

  Tom had a question. “Won’t that set the entire fore
st on fire?”

  The sheriff glared at Tom. “Human life is more important that the life of animals or trees even if it is old growth, and life is worth fighting for. Besides, it’s so wet up here from that downpour the other night, the fire probably won’t spread very far. And if it does spread a lot, I’ll be responsible for starting our own forest fire at least as big as the one south of here.”

  Hugh held the first homemade canister bomb in his right hand as Davis smacked the tip of the flare with the striker.

  “Do I need to wait to throw this, how long a fuse do I have?” Hugh asked.

  Davis showed his friend a crooked smile. “Beats me, I’ve never done this before.”

  Hugh tensed his jaw just before he threw the bomb deep into the trees. When he turned to face Davis, the forest behind erupted in a ball of fire with the makeshift napalm clinging to everything it touched. Before Hugh could say a work, Davis dropped a second bomb in his hand with the flare already lit. Hugh threw the second bomb and it exploded in the air about ten feet off of the ground.

  A blood curdling scream cut through the forest as a blazing giant spun out of the brush batting the flames clinging to its fur with its hands. The area around the creature’s head and shoulders burned brightly making it look like a torch lumbering through the forest. The stench from the burning hair overpowered the musk the Sasquatch had exuded into the forest.

  Davis bit back a chuckle. “Let’s not miss this chance! Run and stay close to the fire!”

  The dog led the way through the burning forest as Davis grabbed Rachael’s arm; he had to keep himself from sprinting so as not to get too far ahead of the three other men carrying the stretcher. The Bigfoot continued to scream in pain as Davis’s group ran by him. The creature looked like it was swatting at an invisible swarm of hornets while it tried to put out the fire with its bare hands. At one point, Rachael tripped over a limb and Davis picked her up and threw her over his shoulder and carried her the rest of the distance to the truck.

  Davis ripped open the driver side door and shoved Rachael across the bench seat while the pit bull jumped past her to the passenger side. He screamed orders at the other three men. “Put the stretcher in the back. You three stay in the bed with the Doc and hold him steady, and keep your heads down below the tool boxes. This is going to be rough.”

  Hugh and his stretcher crew popped out of the forest and slid to a stop at the back of the truck. Clint dropped the tailgate while Hugh and Tom slid the stretcher into the bed. Hugh closed the tailgate and jumped from the ground over the closed tailgate into the truck’s bed while Clint and Tom climbed over the bumper.

  Hugh replied, “You mean it hasn’t been rough already?”

  Davis continued yelling. “This is going to be a messy trip down hill, and hairball won’t burn forever.”

  A deep bellow erupted from the forest, and log at least twenty feet long thundered to the ground in front of the truck.

  Tom mumbled, “I guess he put the fire out.”

  Hugh and Clint fired at random shadows highlighted by moonlight creeping through the forest canopy. The rock dented the aluminum toolbox below Hugh’s should, and he ducked down into the bed.

  “Can we get out of here?” screamed Hugh.

  Davis yelled, “That thing is going to block us in if it doesn’t kill us first! Hold on!”

  Davis slammed the battered door and twisted the key sending a deep rumble across the mountainside. The wheels spun for a moment once Davis engaged the four wheel drive; but once the treads found a purchase on the muddy ground, the truck launched itself of the tiny plateau and down the firebreak.

  Hugh, Clint, and Tom tried to brace themselves between the aluminum toolboxes covering three sides of the bed while holding Dr. Smith steady with one hand. Tears streamed from the corners of Dr. Smith’s eyes with every bump the truck crawled over.

  Davis turned the wheel to the right but, the truck continued to slide straight down the firebreak. He started wrenching the wheel back and forth searching for some semblance of control while the trucks rear end swerved around and led the way down the mountainside.

  The engine’s roar drowned out Hugh’s voice. “You’re going the wrong way!”

  The growing boulder in the rear view mirror brought a cringe to Davis’ face. Chrome steel crumpled like paper when the truck slammed into the rock, but the impact spun the truck ninety degrees sending it horizontally across the firebreak. All four tires sent mud twenty feet in the air covering the truck and occupants in the bed with a thick dark coating.

  “I thought we wanted to go downhill,” Hugh yelled.

  Davis shook his head and spun the wheel to the left eventually spinning the truck almost one hundred and eighty degrees back towards the mountain but slightly downhill. Davis wrenched the wheel back to the right when he made it half way across the firebreak, but the wheels did not catch until he almost reached the mountainside.

  Tom rolled across Dr. Smith and into Hugh’s lap. “I think he’s been staying up watching Zorro movies the way we’re zigzagging down this firebreak.”

  “I just think he’s trying get us even muddier,” Hugh said.

  The undercarriage rumbled over a granite slab jutting out from the mud while the driver side slammed into a rotten tree trunk. Branches ripped paint of the fender when Davis gunned the engine sending the truck down the mountain again. Davis fought wheel to steer toward the edge of the firebreak, but the truck continued to plow through the mud straight down the hill. The mountain peak and old growth forest fell away quickly, but the house sized boulder loomed in Davis path. He slammed the accelerator to the floor and held the wheel to the right finally breaking the straight course and barely sending the truck around the boulder.

  All four wheels briefly left the ground when the truck sailed over edge into the unseen pit of water; waves erupted from all four sides when the wheels broke the surface of the water. Davis threw out his right arm in front Rachael as the front of the truck slammed into the bank at the far side of the pit.

  Thursday, May 16 9:15 p.m.

  The taillights, now under water, gave off the only light in the wilderness; even the full moon disappeared behind the heavy cloud cover. Trees rather than distance now obscured the few lights in the town of Nighthawk. The taillights gave off an eerie glow as they shown through the thick muddy water as they illuminated thousands of particles stirred up by the truck.

  Davis peeled his chest off the steering and wheel and now deflated airbag while trying to catch his breath. He looked towards Rachael in the passenger seat as she massaged a large knot on her forehead.

  “You o.k. Rachael?” he asked.

  She moaned softly. “I think I’ll make it.”

  Davis held her head in his hands to look into her eyes. “That’s a nasty bump, and you probably have a concussion. This truck is so old it doesn’t have a passenger side airbag. But you made it out of the woods, and you’ll live.”

  The water, level with the bolt that once held his side view mirror, started to seep in around the frame of the door. He pushed open the driver’s door and muddy water gushed into the cab of the truck soaking Davis cloths from the waist down; the dog immediately climbed over Davis’ legs and swam to the shore of the giant mud hole where it rapidly shook the water from its body.

  “Everybody o.k. back there?” Davis said.

  “We’ll live, but I think you’re going to need a new truck though,” Hugh said.

  “Where did you learn to drive Sheriff?” Tom said.

  He started to smile, but he felt the bruise on his cheek caused by the airbag. “Tom, next time we’re chased off a mountain by Bigfoot you can drive.”

  “Seems like you’ve been spending a lot of time in mud holes lately, boss” Tom said.

  Davis frowned. “Yea. I know what you mean.”

  “Hey,” Hugh said. “Get off the man’s back. He said it’s for his skin.”

  “I ask for deputies, and I get comedians. You guys should stick with police w
ork.”

  Davis reached for the police scanner mounted on his dashboard; but the unit fell into the water covering the floorboard. His first step out of the truck brought the water up to his shoulders; a frown creased his face when he saw the front of the old truck crumpled against the far bank like an accordion while steam seeped out of the cracks in the hood over the engine. Rachael dabbed a cut on her forehead while she slid across the water filled bench seat. Hugh, Clint, and Tom pulled Dr. Smith’s stretcher out of the back of the wrecked truck while the sheriff helped Rachael out of the cab and waded to the edge of the pit.

  “How far down the firebreak do you think we are?” Hugh asked.

  “Far enough,” responded the sheriff after climbing out of the watery pit.

  “How do you know that, boss?” Tom asked.

  The sheriff finally smiled for the first time since reaching the truck. “Because I can see the lights of Peck’s rescue party. It looks like they’re headed this way.”

  Davis used the cap from one of his two remaining flairs to strike the tip. The orange flame crackled to life and Davis began to wave it over his head to mark their position. When the rescue team in the distance responded with by blinking a flashlight, he exhaled a deep breath and slid the remaining unlit flair in his hip pocket.

  The rescue team bundled the dripping companions in dry blankets and bandaged the countless cuts and scrapes that littered their bodies. Davis looked up at Peck from the stump where he sat scratching the dog’s ears. “Peck, I never thought I would be so glad to see you boys. There were a lot of times I didn’t think we were going to make it off that mountain.”

  The thin man cradled the shotgun in his arms and smiled. “We’ll see you the rest of the way back, sheriff. The Undersheriff has an ambulance standing by to take Dr. Smith straight to the hospital. Everybody else just has bumps and bruises. Some cuts too, but nothing major.” Peck paused for a moment as a confused look spread across his face. “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get the dog?”