Onio

by Jeppsen, Linell

  The warriors stirred with anxiety and turned to one another with worried faces. The old sasquatch stared at Onio as if thunderstruck. “Do you mean to tell me that Triku has left his post?”

  Onio looked down, blushing, and whispered, “I think so, yes.” He felt silly now, talking about the bug-like creature as if it was something new and unheard of. Of course, New Moon would know about the caretaker.

  The king looked up at the low ceiling of the tunnel and smiled. His smile was so profoundly sad however, the sasquatch warriors stopped talking amongst themselves and stared at him in fear.

  “This changes everything, I fear,” New Moon murmured. “The tunnels leading toward Montana and Wyoming are impassable, so I considered taking the young one’s advice and leading my people into the far northern lands. Now, though, I know we will not survive the journey.”

  “Why not?” Two Horses growled. “My people are many! We will vanquish our enemies in the land we know so well!”

  New Moon nodded and replied, “I know that you and your tribe members are fierce and terrible in battle, Two Horses, but we will not be able to go there.” The old sasq looked away from the fear and confusion in Two Horses’s eyes.

  “My scouts have ranged far and wide in the last few days,” he added. “Everywhere they go they see the small human armies with their war machines. The only way we could avoid them is to travel in the underworld tunnels, but if our caretaker has left, that means the tunnels are no longer safe. We are mighty, but not mighty enough to battle the strange creatures that dwell between here and there.”

  Two Horses began to shout again, and the old king thundered, “Silence nephew! You might be big and strong now, but I remember when you were but a pup at your mother’s teat!”

  Onio saw the giant northern king’s face turn red and his son, Blue Sky, winced in sympathy. There was a stir of barely concealed amusement amongst the warriors. Onio noted, however, that no one dared acknowledge the pointed jest. Two Horses sat down with a disgruntled growl.

  New Moon sat and watched his warriors until they fell silent again, and watchful. Then he said, “There is only one thing to do now, but I doubt any of you will like it overmuch,” he sighed.

  He sat still for a moment, looking down at the empty cup in his hands. Then, when he lifted his eyes again, his features were dark and dangerous. “It is time now to leave the privacy and sanctuary of our caves and tunnels.” His voice rang with authority and every sasquatch in the tunnel heard his words like a clarion call.

  “We will go south, in a tunnel only I and a few others know of. We will proceed, on foot and en-masse, to the place where they keep our sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, captive.

  “We will do this thing, so the whole world sees us and knows our song. I know these small humans; I think that this war against us is a private thing, something clandestine and kept secret.”

  The king rose upright on frail legs and screamed, “We will be a secret no more! Tomorrow, we march south!”

  ***

  Later that evening, the sasquatches held an impromptu celebration. Although every one of them, male and female alike, knew that their time on this earth might be coming to an end with their emergence into the land of men, there was always time to celebrate the birth of new life into the tribe.

  After Onio made his way back to the family fire, saw the look of wonder and profound joy on his wife’s face, and was told the news of her pregnancy, he threw his head back and howled with triumph. Within moments, every sasquatch there joined in his celebratory cry.

  New Moon offered additional sips of Fire Root tea, and after a whispered consultation with the healers, a tiny spoonful of the powerful brew was offered to Melody as well. To her credit, although the liquid smelled foul and tasted worse, she drank it down with a smile. The tea suffused her body with warmth and seemed to settle in her womb. For a moment, her heart skipped a beat. What if it hurts the baby? she wondered, frantically.

  Then, for a moment, she thought she saw a little boy. He was maybe eight or nine years old, tall with long, light brown hair. He ran through a field of red and orange flowers and his beautiful sea green eyes glowed with love and laughter as he brought her a bouquet. A little girl trailed him, bawling with frustration at being left behind. The girl’s hair was darker and her eyes were as green as emeralds. As Melody watched, dazzled, Onio stooped down and picked his daughter up, swirling her around and around, laughing in delight.

  Then she blinked her eyes and the image was gone. She stared up at her husband and saw the pride in his mossy green eyes. She saw hope as well. Melody didn’t know if this was an image from the future, or merely a personification of her hopes and dreams, but she knew in that instant she would protect and adore those children with every fiber of her being.

  Chapter 34

  Three men huddled around a smoky fire that reeked of creosote. It was 1:47 in the morning and they had met there, in an abandoned industrial complex in El Paso, Texas, in order to avoid the last-call patrons that would be streaming out of the closest watering holes within the next few minutes. They had found that, although in some ways they were kings within their own dark domain, they were often viewed as easy prey in the flickering neon landscape of the inebriated.

  Skinny Lenny, an ex-heroine user turned alcoholic, led the group. He was intelligent, cunning and, in his own way, protective of his motley crew of outcasts. He was once a sound technician for an up and coming rock and roll band, but one too many scores busted him financially and placed him in detox for a year. He tried for three years after that to score a gig, but all those doors were closed to him now. Unlike the good times in the late ‘80s and ‘90s, the rock and roll industry didn’t welcome the drug culture as much as it once did.

  Maurice, a huge, hulking black man, was his silent lieutenant. Maurice had once been a tackle for the Dallas Cowboys until his bell was rung once too often. An enormous and vicious guard for the San Diego Chargers had hit Maurie so hard, helmet-to-helmet, that when he finally woke up from his concussion, twenty days after the foul hit, he had forgotten his name, lost his contract, his beautiful trophy wife, and every dime he owned. He also lost his power of speech. The only thing he did remember to do was work out, which he did regularly. The silent man was Lenny’s bodyguard now and seemed happy enough to play that part, and to play it with the dumb devotion of a well-trained guard dog.

  Emmanuel Gonzales, or Twitch, was once a narco-cop for the Dallas police department. Like so many before him, however, he had become addicted to the very substance he tried so hard to stop from crossing the U.S. border. He had fought against the blind need for years but, finally, when he was caught stealing heroin from the acquisition department in his local precinct, his years of good and loyal service ended in termination and the loss of all his benefits. His wife took their four children and went back home to Mexico City, and he slunk quietly into the nether world of drug addiction.

  The men had met two years ago and formed a friendship based on need and mutual protection. Although their personal demons were mostly exorcised by now, they no longer felt the need or the ability to mingle in polite society. They were a part of the darker fabric of human existence now, and comfortable within that weave.

  The men sat together, quietly sharing a filched package of baloney and a bag of stale candy corn for dessert, when Lenny heard a strange and unexpected sound. It was the sound of concrete scraping against concrete, slowly and with purpose. It brought chills to his spine because usually, this meant that gangs were moving against one another and using the underground tunnels to reconnoiter.

  Lenny wanted nothing to do with another dust-up between the “Kings” and the “Aztecas,” so he stood up slowly and hissed, “Listen you guys, we gotta go.” Then, his mouth fell open in shock.

  He saw the manhole cover come to a rest by the side of a sewer entrance and he expected to see a number of dark, human shapes seething out of the hole, but instead he saw a huge, shaggy head poke up f
rom the ground level and look around. Lenny was not stoned and he wasn’t very drunk, but he shook his head violently anyway, thinking that maybe the long years of MD 20-20 and brown horse were finally catching up to him.

  A flickering sodium lamp illuminated the weed choked, broken asphalt of the old industrial park and clearly showed a steady stream of gigantic, hairy monsters pouring out from the manhole. Lenny felt a large, warm hand clasp his shoulder and he jumped. It was Maurie, who stood staring at the creatures with a dumbstruck grin on his wide, still handsome face. He grasped his friend’s shoulder with one hand and pointed with the other, eyes open wide, his teeth bared in wonder and delight.

  A number of the monsters stood around the hole in the ground facing outward, weapons in their huge fists, eyes probing and searching for any threat. One particularly large character, with painted tattoos on its body and a glittering jewel in its eye socket rather than an eye, stared into the shadows and locked eyes with Lenny.

  “Shit, man…would you look at that,” Twitch breathed. “Hey, Lenny you’re seeing them too, right, it’s not just me?”

  “Shhh,” Lenny cautioned. “Come on you guys, we need to back up and give those things some room.” He took a step back and grabbed Maurice’s arm so he would follow.

  Lenny had no idea how he knew what the big monster wanted, but he knew it nevertheless, emphatically and without a doubt. It was as though the warrior, whose name was Two Horses, had whispered in his ear, saying that Lenny and his companions wouldn’t be hurt as long as they didn’t try to interfere.

  Maurice was trembling with excitement, and he opened his mouth. One word came out, and both Lenny and Twitch turned to him in surprise. It was the first word they had ever heard him speak. “Sasquatch,” he uttered, and Lenny shook his head at the anti-climax.

  That was Maurice’s nickname, once upon a time, when the world was new and bright, before he got all the sense knocked out of his head. This seemed like a strange time to remember how to repeat your own name. Then Lenny paused…was Maurice talking about himself, or the creatures that flowed up and out of the hole in the ground? He wondered.

  Maybe these really were sasquatches, a legend come to life in front of his very eyes! Lenny, Maurice and Twitch watched from behind a concrete pillar as hundreds of the beasts came up from out of the ground and started walking down the road.

  At one point, Lenny’s eyes were dazzled by the vision of an angel that came out of the hole. She wore leather clothing and her unbound, silver-blonde hair glittered under the sodium vapor-light. Another sasquatch helped her to her feet and stood staring over her shoulder at where he and his friends stood watching. Lenny shuffled his feet nervously as the huge, handsome man-beast studied them and then turned away with the girls hand in his, and followed the other beasts down the road.

  The monsters continued to pour out of the manhole for another ten minutes or so. Then, the spectacle was over. Four of the beasts watched the perimeter as one placed the cover back in position. After checking all points of the compass, the five remaining beasts took up the rear and walked off into the night.

  After a few seconds, Maurice started to follow. Lenny grabbed his arm and said, “No, Maurie, you can’t!” but Maurice wasn’t listening.

  He nodded his big head, and after giving his friend Lenny a hug, walked away on the monster’s trail. Lenny and Twitch stared at one another for a moment and then followed their simple friend down the road and into the new illuminated darkness.

  ***

  Four miles away, Stanley Watson shoved the daily paper into the yawning black cavity of the mailbox and sighed with relief. He had gotten a late start this morning and thought he wouldn’t get all the papers out before first light, but there were only three more drops to go and he could run on home for a nap.

  That’s what I get for watching that Lord of the Rings marathon on ShowTime, he thought ruefully. He came to a stop sign and parked long enough to pour the last of his coffee from a thermos into his go cup. He sipped the lukewarm sweetened brew and sighed, then peered into the darkness to his left to check oncoming traffic. No one was approaching, so without bothering to check, he swung the wheel to the right and screeched to a stop.

  It was as if the hours-long fantasy movie he was so engrossed with the day before had suddenly come to life and walked toward him now on the abandoned county road. There were hundreds and hundreds of giant, hairy creatures walking toward him. They were so tall he had to duck down to see their faces through the windshield of his battered old Nissan Sentra.

  They looked, more or less, like the grainy still-shot photos of sasquatches he had seen on the Discovery Channel, but twice as big and vibrant with personality. Most of them carried weapons, like clubs, spears and long, elaborately carved pikes. They all saw him and his car, stalled in the middle of the road, and parted ranks so they could move past him. Heart in his mouth, Stan couldn’t help but notice their clothing, jewelry, leather belts, and grim but frightened faces as they glanced in at him as they walked past.

  He saw little ones being herded down the road by their worried mothers and at one point, he thought he saw some humans amongst the others, but then he blinked and they were gone.

  Finally, he sat alone, dazed and trembling in the aftermath of the creatures’ passage. Then, he saw three men taking up the rear. They looked like homeless men but they were clearly following the sasquatches.

  Forgetting the papers he was paid to deliver in the early morning hours, Stanley turned the engine off, opened the door of his old car and got out. He debated, briefly, whether to grab a coat and then decided against it. He didn’t want to let the creatures out of his sight, so he slammed the car door shut and followed the men and the sasquatches into the approaching dawn.

  ***

  David White and his two young sons were heading eastbound on the county road. The interior of the truck cab smelled of boys and PB and J sandwiches, and David was happy. He had been on the road for too long, driving his eighteen-wheel reefer truck from Nogales to Dallas, and he had been looking forward to cat fishing with his sons. His oldest boy, Curtis, was pulling live worms out of the muddy soil of the bait cup and David was about to say something when a flash of movement caught his eye.

  Dead ahead he saw something that made him think, for a moment, that he had gone plum loco in the head.

  “Daddy, lookit!” Randy, the four-year-old cried, pointing out the windshield. Curtis looked up from the cup of worms and dropped the whole mess in his lap as he climbed forward on the bench seat for a better look.

  Pulling off onto the shoulder of the road, and keeping his eye on the advancing army of creatures, David murmured, “I see them, boys,” and added, “Now, I want you two to crawl down on the floor.”

  “Dad….” Curtis protested, but his father roared, “Get down now, Curtis, before I take my belt to ya!” The boy flew onto the floorboard of the truck and gathered his little brother, Randy, into his arms.

  They watched their father as he pulled the handset of his CB radio to his mouth, and whispered, “Breaker, breaker, Angel…are you there?”

  Static filled the air for a couple of seconds and then the boys heard their Auntie Angela, who worked as a dispatcher for the sheriff’s office, say, “Sheriff’s office…David, is that you?”

  Thus, the secret that centuries of governing bodies had tried to keep buried, from the snowy fields of the Himalayas to the far reaches of the North Pole, the arid deserts of the African plains to the plunging depths of the Rocky Mountains, suddenly rose from the dead and flared into life.

  Chapter 35

  The sasquatches came to a stop in the middle of the road. They had been traveling for days and they were weary. The sun had risen over the horizon an hour earlier and already it blazed hot in the dirty gray sky overhead. While some of them moved off the road into a grassy verge to relieve themselves behind a large privacy sheet, others stood together, drinking warm water and staring nervously at the hundreds of small humans that
watched them from a safe distance.

  Every sasquatch knew that coming out into the open this way would draw attention from the creatures they had tried so hard for centuries to avoid. They knew it, but now that it was happening, their hearts lodged in their throats and their backs itched with the feel of the small human’s eyes on them; there were so many.

  They were aware, of course, that the three small human men who watched them come up from the tunnel had followed in their wake, and another old man had joined the march a few miles later. That was only the beginning, however, as over the last couple of hours, hundreds, possibly thousands of small humans had swelled their ranks.

  They followed on foot and in their cars, on bikes, motorcycles and horses, which snorted and kicked at the ground in alarm. They flew overhead in helicopters and small planes. Giant jumbo jets from the nearby airport were grounded when news of the sasquatches arrival burst over the airwaves. News vans and trucks lumbered after them, the satellite dishes on their roofs casting the sun’s rays into the sasq’s eyes, causing them to see spots and quiver with anxiety.

  Reporters spilled from the vehicles like busy ants. They moved closer and closer to the sasq rear guard, shouting questions like, “Who are you and what do you want?” They pointed their cameras and microphones, wailing in fear and excitement, until Wolf and Willow raised their spears, growling.

  The reporters spilled backwards like a receding ocean tide, but minutes later they inched close again, reckless in their hungry need for information. School was canceled when the news broke and children broke away from their parents to investigate the monsters. As long as they didn’t come too close, the sasq ignored them. Once or twice some of the more daring boys and girls threw rocks at them, but Petal concentrated and compelled the kids to believe that they held glowing coals in their hands rather than stones. The children ran away, screaming but unharmed.