"If we pull this off, we will rock the scientific world, Tom."
Tom stared into the fire. The words were sinking in and he didn't like
what he was hearing.
"Well, I'm hitting the sack. We've got a long day ahead of us. Good
night."
"Good night Doctor."
Tom continued to stare into the fire as Dr. Jarvis walked to his tent.
What the hell am I doing here, Tom thought. Three years ago, he had guided
another expedition into this remote area of Washington in search of
Sasquatch. Three weeks of searching had produced nothing. Tom knew they were
here. Hell, he had seen them often. He wanted others to believe. But this
time was different. Dr. Jarvis was different. He was here for the money and
the fame. He wasn't satisfied with proof, he wanted a body. And he was
paying Tom Walters good money to provide one.
Tom had moved out here from Michigan after the war. Vietnam had shown
him the worst in mankind and he had no desire to spend any more time with
people than he had to. He knew he was living a cliche, but he couldn't help
it. He was happy too. He had his little cabin miles from the beaten path.
When he needed money, he would find seasonal work, fatten up his bank
account and return to his solitude. He was able to spend countless hours
roaming the forest, hunting and observing the wildlife. He was a predator by
nature and nothing escaped his eye in the woods.
It was his predatory nature that had served him so well in 'Nam. He
loved walking point on patrol, where his heightened senses kept him and his
platoon alive. A whiff of cigarette smoke, a stifled cough, a leaf moving
when there was no breeze was all Tom needed to alert him to danger. Often,
all it took was a feeling, some primitive sense that all was not right. He
could never figure out how it worked but he learned to trust his instincts.
And the killing never really bothered him then. He simply didn't think
about it. He did what he was trained to do and he did it well. It was later,
after he came home and had too much time to reflect on it that the
nightmares began. It was then that he realized that every one of his
confirmed kills represented someone's son, husband or father. The
photographs he would find when searching the bodies for information were
real people, lovers and family. The final realization that he had no
business fighting a war he had no real stake in pushed him over the edge.
Now here he was, nothing more than a mercenary, once again on the hunt,
once again willing to take a life, not for sustenance, but for money. But
this time it was different. He knew his quarry. He had observed them dozens
of times over the years. At first he was eager to let the world know that
they weren't simply a myth. So he contacted the University and set in motion
the first expedition. It was a dismal failure. No Sasquatch was found, not
even a track.
No one wanted to talk to him after that fiasco so he continued to
wander the woods. He observed the Sasquatch and he noticed something. They
observed him. They were aware of his presence. They kept their distance but
they knew he was there. He never threatened them and they never threatened
him. If he weren't too close, they would watch him with what he could only
assume was curiosity. Sometimes he would speak to them in a low, calm voice,
and they would tilt their heads as if to catch the words they couldn't have
possibly understood. Sometimes they would answer with a scream but it no
longer sent chills down his back like the first few times. He had no
illusions that they were anything but animals but he was growing fond of
them. They were his secret.
Now, after all these years, he had come to destroy the peaceful
coexistence.
The fire had long since died down and Tom Walters went to his tent. Dr.
Jarvis was right, they had a long day ahead of them.
Tom stepped clear of the underbrush and waited for Dr. Jarvis to catch
up. The doctor wasn't far behind. Tom could hear his labored breathing as he
fought his way to the cliff. As he waited, Tom thought about the many times
he had sat on this cliff and watched Sasquatch along the river some hundred
feet below. He wondered if any were down there now. Soon the sun would come
up and expose anything moving on the driftwood covered beach below.
"This the spot?" asked Dr. Jarvis. He sat down heavily, huffing and
puffing like an old locomotive.
"Yep, this is it. If we're going to see one and actually get a shot,
this is the spot."
Quickly they set up the spotting scope. Tom found a comfortable
position, lowered the bipod rest of his rifle and scanned the darkness
below. He was ready.
"Tom, if we get this bugger, you'll make a lot more than just what I'm
paying you, although ten grand is a lot of dough."
Tom just grunted a reply and continued to scan the valley as the sun
started to push the darkness form the beach and back into the deep woods.
"Yep, there's no sense fooling around with video cameras and prints and
all that crap," Dr. Jarvis continued. "The only thing science wants is a
body, and by God, I'll give them one. If I could shoot I'd do it myself but
hell, you could use the money, right Tom?"
"Yeah, I could use the money." Tom suddenly felt very guilty. Was the
money really that important? He didn't really need it, although his bank
account was dwindling fast. But he didn't need a lot of money anyway. A
month or two in town and he could earn enough to keep him going for another
half a year. Was there a deeper reason for being here? After all, ten grand
was nothing. But fame? That was something else, wasn't it? The chance to be
something other than that "kook who lives in the woods?" And don't forget
the vindication that would come with the fame.
But was that a reason to kill?
"Tom! There's something coming down that cut! I can't make it out but
it looks big!"
Tom swung his rifle around and searched the area with his scope. Through
the foliage he caught glimpses of something large and black moving down
towards the river. "Please, be a bear," he thought to himself. Please be a
bear? The thought reverberated in his head. I don't want to do this, he
thought.
"I can't do this Doctor," he heard himself say.
"Bull!" Dr. Jarvis hissed. "I've paid you well for this. You back out
on me now and I'll not only get my money back but I'll wind up with your
little shack too. You understand me Tom?"
Tom said nothing.
"Look Tom, you had close to thirty confirmed kills in Vietnam. Don't you
dare tell me now that you can't kill a giant monkey! This is a piece of cake
compared to killing a human. You're a killer Tom, you will do this."
As Dr. Jarvis finished his tirade, the Sasquatch stepped out of the
shadows and onto the riverbank.
"My God," Dr. Jarvis whispered. "My God, look at it! It's magnificent!
Tom centered the crosshairs on the chest of the creature. All he had to
do was squeeze the trigger and it was all his...fame and fortune. He inhaled
slowly, let out half a breath and slowly applied pressure to the trigger.
"Damn it Tom, what are you waiting for? Kill it damn it, kill it now!"
Once again, Tom killed.
Tom watched the chopper lift off, the basket with the body swaying
beneath it. He squinted as the rotors churned up dust from the beach. It
cleared the cliff, banked south and headed for town. Tom watched till it was
out of sight. He felt surprisingly little remorse knowing he was responsible
for yet another death.
"I don't know about these damn fools believing in myths Tom."
"Sheriff, I don't know either."
Sheriff Henley spat a stream of tobacco juice on a log.
"Well, I guess that doctor got to close to the edge, got dizzy and fell
off. Shame, ain't it?"
"It is," Tom answered.
"Well look Tom, it isn't your fault. You can't hold their hand you
know."
"Well, he was my client and I can't help but feel responsible for his
death."
The two men stood in silence for a while as the deputy pushed the boat
back into the water.
"Well Tom, we better get back to the landing before it gets dark. I'll
need you to come into town and make a report." Henley spat again. "Damn fool
doctor. Anyone in their right mind knows they ain't no such thing as
Bigfoot. It's just a myth."
The men climbed into the boat. The deputy started the motor and they
headed for the landing. As he watched the scenery cruise by, Tom wondered
just how long a myth could survive. |
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