Zola let out a loud, desperate cry, “Eeeeeaaaaoooooeeeeaaaoooooeeee.” She thought she was going to die.
A fearful Teena and Joee hauled Zola to her feet. She was shaking so much she could barely stand.
They froze in panic hearing harsh voices getting closer.
“There he is, Chuck. Hold on there’s more of ‘em.”
“What you mean?”
“There’s three of ‘em now.”
The click of weapons sent all three Bigfoot fleeing from the danger of the approaching hunters. They ignored the undergrowth, treading heavily, causing twigs and branches to break in their path, leaving an easy trail to follow.
Still keeping pace with the hunters, MB gasped for breath. He was fifty or so feet from them. The hunters’ pace thankfully slowed. They looked winded and had obviously lost sight of their prey. They faltered and looked at each other.
Skeet scanned the woods around him looking for any sign of Bigfoot. He listened. He frowned.
“They sure as fuck looked real to me … but what if the one we hit was dumbass Duane again?”
Chuck shook his head no, “Nah, couldn’t be Duane. He don’t make that sound when he’s been shot.”
Skeet looked thoughtful for a while. “True … when we shot the freakazoid last year he just screamed his balls off and shouted for us to stop shooting him.”
Chuck sniggered, “Yeah, what a cry baby … we only nicked him some.”
Skeet grimaced with another thought. “Yeah but if it was Duane and his friends, then it sure as hell ain’t no Bigfoot. We won’t get nothing displaying that dumbass to anyone, even in his Bigfoot getup.”
Chuck laughed, “We could still have him stuffed and stick him above your fireplace.”
MB could not believe his ears as both hunters laughed.
“Come on Skeet … better go see what we hit.” Chuck nudged Skeet to follow him.
A frantic Duane rushed in the direction of the Bigfoot cries for help. He could clearly hear the crash of undergrowth heading towards him and hoped the hunters weren’t too close behind his friends.
Thump! Duane was knocked several feet backwards and landed flat on his back as Zola crashed into him from a dense thicket. He made a loud gurgling sound as the air was momentarily knocked out of him. He looked up and saw Teena and Joee emerge a few strides behind Zola. All were in a high state of panic with their hair ruffled and rippling.
With eyes wide with terror, the Bigfoot desperately looked at Duane for help and protection.
They mewled pathetically, “Weeeeoooeee … waaaaeeeoooo … waaaaeee.”
Joee pointed to the forest. “Hunters come.” The male Bigfoot hauled Duane to his feet and pointed to Zola’s shoulder wound which was trickling blood. “Ikta!”
Zola whimpered in pain, “Eeeeeeooooeeeee.”
Still winded Duane rubbed his aching limbs and urged them to move with an outstretched hand. “This way … quickly.”
Not wasting any time, he led the frightened Bigfoot in the direction of his cabin where he hoped they would be safe from whoever was shooting at them.
****
Duane shoved the busted sofa aside and opened the basement trapdoor. He ushered the three Bigfoot down the stone stairs and then rushed around the cabin, bolting all the doors and slamming shut all the shutters to prevent intruders and curious eyes from discovering his big secret.
Having secured the cabin, Duane stepped down into the basement. Massive, rough cut logs propped up the basement ceiling. One would think that a little excessive, but he had his reasons.
“You all safe now,” he said in a soft tone, trying to calm the frantic Bigfoot by hugging them.
But all three Bigfoot remained in a high state of panic, looking around with desperate eyes and ears twitching for danger sign. Their hair was still bristled and fluffed up.
Zola pointed to the blood on her shoulder. “Ikta!” She whimpered with tears of pain.
Duane hugged her. “You good girl Zola … you brave girl.” He kissed her face then looked at her injured shoulder. His heart ached as he saw the tears in her eyes.
“Good girl, Zola,” he said, comfortingly patting her head. “There, there. Who’s my brave girl?” He inspected the wound and smiled. It wasn’t serious, just a minor scratch.
Duane was a sucker for Zola’s pity-me look with those big blue eyes. He smiled sadly as she shrugged her shoulders and touched the wound. Her eyes rolled at the sight of blood on her fingers. “Ikta!”
Duane had to make Zola understand the injury wasn’t serious. He smiled, pointed at Zola’s shoulder and did the Bigfoot Boogie. He laughed. “Good girl, Zola. Not ikta bad.”
Duane was relieved to see the look of understanding coming from Zola as she cocked her head to one side.
Zola gave a faint smile, bleating, “Woooo … weeee … woooo.” She smiled big yellow teeth. “Zola good girl.”
Duane patted her head and kissed her snout. He looked at Teena and Joee holding hands and smiled reassuringly to them. He laid his healing touch on Zola’s wound and closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes the wound had completely healed.
Zola’s eyes shot wide open. She mewled, “Woooo … wooooo.”
Duane smiled comfortingly and patted Zola’s head. “Good girl, Zola … good, Zola.”
Teena and Joee sensed Zola’s relief. Both Bigfoot mewled, “Woooo … weeeee … wooooo.” They patted Zola’s head.
“You stay here,” he said pointing to the floor of the basement. “You safe here.” Duane swished his hips and boogied to indicate safety.
The Bigfoot looked at each other then directly at Duane. They shook their heads no and looked fearful.
Duane knew they didn’t want to be left alone for fear the hunters would shoot at them again. Who could blame them? All three fluffed up their hair in fright. He wasn’t to be swayed and knew what he had to do. This wasn’t the first time a Bigfoot had been shot by a hunter. Time to do something drastic.
“I go,” Duane insisted, pointing to the stairs.
Teena grabbed hold of his arm and shook her head, “Eeeeeeee. You stay. We safe.”
“Please, Teena, I must go,” Duane pleaded, trying to pull away from her firm hold, but she held him in her strong hands.
It dawned on Duane that perhaps they were afraid for his safety, too. So was he, come to think of it. He was reminded of one of MB’s Old Indian Legends — “When the going gets tough, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do”. This was one of those times when he had to do what was necessary. He had to get mean and nasty with those hunters — real nasty if necessary. Give them a taste of their own medicine.
Problem was he was just a teenager and a peace-loving one at that, and had to face toughened hunters, probably with military training. He could think of better things to do, things most teenagers did, but he was The Guardian and pushed those negative thoughts aside. That was when Duane froze.
A loud hammering came from the front door, followed by, “Duane … you in there?”
Duane put a finger to his mouth and shook his head no to the three Bigfoot. He scratched his ear as he tried to think who the voice belonged to and bingo the lights came back on — Virgil. He tried to explain with hand gestures to be as quiet as a church mouse. Why now? Damn it to hell and back. He wanted to give his best friend a big brotherly hug to welcome him back, but now was obviously not the time, not with three frightened Bigfoot in his basement. This was so messed up!
From his vantage point behind some bushes MB crouched down and watched the FBI agents waiting for a reply at Duane’s front door. They split up. Virgil walked around one side of the cabin and Merlot the other side. They stopped and peered through cracks in the shutters with hands shielding the light. A few minutes passed then they met back at the front door. MB figured Duane didn’t want to talk to the Feds at that moment in time.
Merlot shrugged, “Guess he’s out.”
Virgil grunted a reply and walked back to their car.
MB turned and used his mic on the hunters, also crouched in the undergrowth on the other side of the clearing watching the Feds.
Skeet whispered to Chuck, “Shit, the FBI … Shit, let’s get the fuck outta here.”
Both hunters crept back into the forest.
Good they were leaving, MB thought.
MB reasoned that Duane must be okay or he would have made it clear to the Feds he needed their assistance. The Feds got in their car and it looked like they were about to drive off. He wondered if after they left he’d see for himself if Duane was okay after being shot at. But he was a tad tired after hiking about the woods all day and it occurred to him to get a lift off the duo back to the Cherokee where he’d left it at Little Beaver Picnic Area.
MB stepped out from his hiding place and waved to them. “Mind giving me a lift back to Little Beaver?” he asked.
Merlot was in the passenger seat. She poked her head out of the window. “Sure.”
MB caught sight of Virgil’s serious face looking at him. MB smiled and explained, “I’ve been out hiking, looking for Bigfoot and such.” He shook his head. “Not one Bigfoot to be seen.”
He walked over to the Feds car. “You looking for Duane?”
Virgil eyed MB. “Yes we are.”
MB continued, “He’s not in. I saw him in the woods a few miles back dressed up in his Bigfoot duds.” It was a lie but if Duane didn’t want to speak to the Feds then that was his prerogative, MB thought. As for not mentioning the hunters, he figured the Feds wouldn’t be interested unless they shot someone.
Duane heard the car’s engine turn over and drive off. He wondered when he would see Virgil and give him that big brotherly hug and kiss. He waited for a respectably long moment while comforting all three Bigfoot with strokes and pats to the head.
Chapter 26
The Guardian Goes Man-o-Man
ON CLOSE INSPECTION, any idiot could see the Bigfoot standing behind that Douglas fir with a rifle at the ready was someone dressed in a Bigfoot costume. But Duane, incurable lover of the forest and its creatures, had fooled many such hunters hoping to bag the elusive creature by luring them away from the real thing. Problem was not getting bagged himself.
The sound of Chuck and Skeet’s hushed voices and of snapping twigs alerted Duane to the hunters’ whereabouts. He remained motionless behind the tree and quietly waited with his rifle aimed straight down a well-worn path.
Duane’s breathing was rapid, hurting his chest. Doing all this running shit was really taking it out of him. He wanted to wipe the rivers of sweat from his forehead, but dared not remove his Bigfoot head.
He was also uncomfortably aware that the sweat was running down his naked body causing the inner lining of his Bigfoot duds to stick to his skin. It tickled, infuriatingly so, especially as it trickled down his butt crack.
Like a grizzly bear, Duane rubbed his butt up and down the bark of the tree he was leaning against to relieve the itch. It made little difference that his duds were made of light summer material with air vents under the armpits and crotch to let the body heat out in warm weather, for he was a real sweater.
And did he stink or what? Duane got a good whiff of his manly odor every time he shifted from one foot to the other. Fortunately for Duane, his nostrils were now attuned to the phantom bather stink. There was nothing for it, but to take off his Bigfoot head. He put it down on the ground between his feet, so it wouldn’t roll away — something that had happened many times, giving away his position too early.
Rigid as the tree he leaned against, he spotted Chuck and Skeet walking along the forest trail in his direction. They were obviously unaware of his presence.
Duane didn’t hesitate for a second. He raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger.
The bullet went over their heads and hit the side of a tree, exactly where it was meant to go. Duane smirked with pleasure at his accuracy. He still had what it took and was also amazed the rifle still worked.
Skeet and Chuck were startled — alarmed even.
“Shit!” Chuck screeched like a girl.
They were rooted to the spot as if the shrubs in their clothing had been planted there. The hunters scanned their surroundings with their rifles aimed to shoot at whoever was shooting at them.
“Where’d the shot come from, Skeet?”
“How the fuck should I know, shithead!”
Duane ascertained they were unable to pinpoint the exact spot where the rifle shot had come from.
“It’s only me, boys,” Duane called out in an amiable tone of voice, though he was feeling anything but amiable towards the two men who had been trying to bag his hairy friends. But that said he had no intention of harming the two butt heads.
“Lower your rifles and I’ll do the same.”
Skeet called out, “For fuck’s sake, Duane, what the hell are you playing at?”
“This ain’t no game … I said lower your rifles.” Duane had an edge to his voice now. “Coz I don’t want you taking another pot shot at me today, if you don’t mind.”
The two hunters looked at one another and nodded their heads. They lowered their rifles and waited for Duane to come out from his hiding place.
Duane stepped out from behind the tree, but still kept his rifle aimed at the hunters.
“Shit, Duane … you’re such a dumbass. Why the fuck do you insist on running about dressed up as Bigfoot? Geez, we could’ve killed you back there,” Skeet seemed genuinely concerned. “Sorry if I nicked you though. My aim was off.” He stifled a giggle.
Chuck sniggered, “Yeah, Skeet, if you’d been on target, Duane would be ripe for stuffing now.”
“Ha fucking ha! Haven’t I told you guys not to go shooting at me?” Duane was real pissed now. “You damn well know it’s me, so why bother thinking I’m the real thing?” He continued to aim his rifle at the hunters.
Chuck looked warily at Duane and raised a hand. “Come on now, Duane … we said we’re sorry.”
Duane tilted his head and looked at them with a smirk. They didn’t fool him for one second. He could tell they weren’t that sorry.
“Look, guys … if you see me in this get up, then it’s me in this get up. Got that?” Duane shook his head with dismay. “Bigfoot don’t exist … get it.”
Skeet and Chuck scuffed their feet like naughty little boys, looking totally confused.
Skeet asked, “Yeah, but how the hell we gonna know the difference, Duane?”
Duane sighed with exasperation, “Come on guys, smarten up a little … it’s just me dressed up as you can plainly see.”
Skeet looked a little less confused, “Sure thing, Duane. We got it.” He shrugged to Chuck who looked as though he didn’t give a damn.
“See you tonight at Earl’s. Buy you a real beer,” Chuck offered as an apology. “No hard feelings, right?”
Duane shook his head no. He was still upset with them for shooting at Zola. He thought it would take more than a free beer to smooth things over.
“No fucking way … is it alright, Chuck. You can’t go making things right with free beer. I’d rather get my own. I’m real pissed with the pair of you … you’ve ruined my suit, see.” Duane showed them a neat hole in the right shoulder where he had smeared some of Zola’s blood.
“Shit, Duane you’re bleeding,” Skeet said with genuine concern.
Duane smirked as his ruse had worked.
“Better take care of that,” Chuck pleaded, “But don’t say it was us. See … we’re kinda already in deep shit probation from the last time we nicked you.”
“You don’t say,” Duane said un-amused.
Skeet nudged Chuck. They slung their rifles over their shoulders and sauntered off down the path in the direction towards Little Beaver Picnic Area.
Duane watched their backs until they had disappeared behind the trees. Yeah, they won’t come back today. He stared at the monster in his hands and smashed it against the trunk of a pine, picked up his Bigfoot head and sauntered off towards
home.
Chapter 27
Duane Does the Bigfoot Boogie
DUANE APPROACHED HIS cabin and heard that familiar sixties rendition flitting across the clearing. He smiled knowing his Bigfoot friends were playing music on his battery operated CD player. Zola must be feeling okay, or they wouldn’t be having fun.
Bigfoot loved to dance and were partial to sixties music. Zola especially loved to flail her arms, go-go style. All the Bigfoot loved “These Boots Are Made For Walkin’”. Some might say he had contaminated the Bigfoot, but Duane knew better.
Duane stepped onto the porch and was relieved to see his hairy friends had kept the shutters closed just in case someone was snooping around and might see them.
He opened the door and gave a wide smile. All three Bigfoot were dancing in the middle of the room. They’d pushed the armchair and sofa back towards the walls to give them more space to dance. The whole cabin was rocking and creaking quite alarmingly. With each dance move, the furniture, tables and anything not nailed down hopped up and down in tune with Bigfoot Boogie.
The Bigfoot continued to dance, pumping arms, bumping hips, rubbing groins together, shaking their shoulders and chest bumping.
Duane cringed as the floorboards groaned with displeasure at the thunderous abuse they were getting. Thank God for those supports in the basement.
Teena looked at him and beckoned with her hairy hand for him to join them.
Duane closed the door, dropped his Bigfoot head on a side table, and discretely propped the ruined rifle next to the cabinet so his friends wouldn’t see it and panic.
He noticed, with some annoyance, several empty bottles of Jooobaaa that he’d mixed with OJ and lime scattered on the floor. It was one thing sipping a couple of glasses of Jooobaaa cocktail but not a good idea to over indulge, and his Bigfoot friends knew this. Knew if they drank too much they’d have bad heads, sick tummies and would probably end up upchucking all over the cabin.
Duane sighed with exasperation, and stood, arms akimbo, trying to look stern at them. He wagged his finger in a naughty way.
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