“The king was going to open the gate in order to offer the girl to whatever feared thing lives in the jungle. He was sending out a bride to Kong.”
— Delos W. Lovelace, King Kong
Legend has it the positive geographical correlation between reports of missing people and Bigfoot sightings is not coincidence — it’s causal.
When the authorities realized the lore was actually true — that Atalan remnants were dragging off hundreds of random nature lovers, including some VIPs — they struck a deal. The giants agreed to leave humans alone if, every once in a while, they were bestowed a virgin. (A military incursion against them was deemed “culturally insensitive” and might have blown the cover-up of their existence.)
Management of the sacrifices naturally fell to the Smithsonian, which had been in communication with the beasts for more than 150 years.
“I don’t know for sure if he’s going to eat you … at least not right away,” agent Fafner told Sienna. “We’re just focused on the transfer ritual … it’s actually quite an enriching experience.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” agent Booker said as she rhythmically struck the trunk of a bald cypress with a heavy stick. The knocks echoed deep into the swamp. “She doesn’t need to know that shit.”
“Fine, whatever.” Fafner sounded a little hurt. “Just don’t knock too fast — that’s a territorial challenge.”
“You’re both crazy!” Sienna shouted. Supine on the spongy soil amid ferns, she jerked the ropes binding her arms and legs to cypress knees. “Let me go! You can’t just make me into an offering — I have rights!”
“It’s your punishment for desecrating Native gravesites,” Fafner said, holding a clutch of burning cedar sticks soaked in pine tar. He started dancing around the girl, whooping softly.
As if in response, a crane called out from somewhere within this dusky bayou reeking at Indiana’s big toe. Suddenly anything seemed possible to Sienna, surrounded by a primeval, otherworldly riot of life. Her tears turned the feathery leaves hanging over her into breathing green splotches.
Something nearby knocked back.
Fafner stood still. “Holy shit. That sounded like a response.”
“Keep your eye out for that smelly son-of-a-bitch,” Booker said. “Two agents almost got mauled in Jackson Hole last summer … dumbasses let their guard down.” She gave three more slow knocks, and then, along with her partner, crept to the van parked at the end of a gravel road.
With incredible speed, an eight-foot-tall brute with fangs and long matted hair crashed through the undergrowth — he went straight for the discovery van. The agents managed to climb inside and shut the door before the Hovey Lake Swamp Ape began battering the already beat-up vehicle, leaving deep claw marks through the triceratops graphic.
“No, not us — why isn’t he going for the girl?!” Fafner yelled.
“Don’t ask me.” Booker fumbled the keys into the ignition. “Maybe the motherfucker’s gay.” The van’s engine roared to life, and the back tires pelted the Sasquatch with rocks as it sped away.
The creature bellowed. Then it turned toward Sienna, now madly trying to free herself. As it neared, she retched from its stench and felt woozy.
Then she heard “crunch … crunch … crunch … ” approaching on the gravel road. Through her mental haze, she saw a giant skeleton appear in the clearing with a jewel-encrusted sword.
The Bigfoot stared dumbfounded as the skeleton knelt down and bowed its head deeply to Sienna. “Oh, wise Bee Mother Fo Ishki,” it said with a dry, eerie hiss. “I are glad you found me in time … no, wait …. I found you … ”
In just three strides the Swamp Ape reached the skeleton, and in one swipe took off its head. The bones collapsed to the ground and something that looked like a butterfly spiraled up from the pile, cussing. The girl passed out.
***
“Keep in mind, we’re basically looking for waves in the landscape,” Sam noted. “Technically, they’re called old point bars — accumulations of sand and gravel left behind as the Ohio meandered.”
“Oh, no,” Windi said as they trudged through the mud. “Here we go.”
Thalia groaned.
“You see,” Sam continued pedantically, “since currents flow more slowly on the inside of a river’s bend than the outside, sediment accumulates along a low, curved ridge. After the river changes course, this could provide a space that’s both enclosed by earth and above the water table.”
“Are you sure you didn’t just read the crop circle wrong?” Di asked. “I imagined her in a cave.”
“Any caverns around here would be flooded — the bedrock isn’t limestone anyway. But I guarantee you that we’re standing within a quarter mile of her. Just make sure you check any elevated areas for signs of disturbance or large holes.
The smell of wet earth and decaying vegetation was strong as they spread out and picked their way over the firmest patches of ground. Phiale was struck by a sense the landscape was losing its form. The death of earth is water, she thought.
After wandering around for almost two hours shouting for Tinker Bell and poking around bumps in the floodplain, they sat on a fallen trunk. Phiale wiped her muddy hands on the soft, stringy bark as sweat stung her eyes. The sunlight, once green and golden through the canopy, had grown murky. She slapped a mosquito on her neck.
“We’re wasting our time out here,” Di said.
Sam tapped a topological map marked up with sacred geometry. “No, we entrained with her at this hexagonal node, right here in the Opilwalacha Cypress Slough.”
Di twisted the string of her bow to increase the tension. “We still don’t want to be in the swamp after dark.”
“I’m with her,” Thalia said. She nudged Windi with her elbow. “Hey, give me a smoke.” The girls fumbled handing over the slightly crumpled pack of Marlboros, which fell into a black, tannin-stained puddle, soaking all the cigarettes.
“What a total crock!” Windi shouted and kicked the log.
“Crawk!” something called back from the trees. A white egret floated down to a clump of cypress roots about 20 yards away. It pecked at the ground. Then it displayed its five-foot wingspan. “Crawk! crawk!”
Where have I seen that bird before? Phiale thought and walked toward it. The egret flew up into a nearby cottonwood, where it watched the girl intently.
Phiale noticed the roots were part of a long, narrow rise. A large snake track waved across deep indentions in the surrounding mud.
Now Sam was walking beside her. “Let’s check around the roots first. They can open up large pockets in the soil.”
Phiale shined her phone into the largest opening, revealing a long chamber running along the ridge. Was that a glint of metal? From somewhere deep inside, she heard a faint “Hello? Eh … get me the hell out of here.”
After they dug out Tinker Bell — still sprightly, albeit dirty — and released her from the birdcage, she immediately flitted to a patch of swamp roses, where she gorged herself. Phiale had never felt so relieved.
The fairy then picked up a twig and jabbed it in the air. Not even a puff of smoke. “Get me back to New Harmony.” She laughed and flew in wide circles between the trees, saying, “I’m free … I’m free-e-e-”
A large skeletal hand reached out from the gloom and grabbed her.
“Ohhh … I caught something pretty … I will make it sing to me,” the giant said and lumbered off with the Tinker Bell.
Chasing it along its path of destruction, they slipped in the muck most of the way and eventually glimpsed Hovey Lake through the bottomland hardwoods. They soon came into the clearing where the transfer ritual had just happened — in time to see the Swamp Ape decapitate the skeleton.
The creature immediately faced the new arrivals and pierced the air with a screech. Phiale was glad to see the fairy dart up out of the bone pile but couldn’t move from fear. Di brushed past her, nocking a silver-tipped shaft.
The huntress sent her arrow into the beast’s heart. It died suddenly and painlessly.
Chapter 15 drops later this summer. Read Part 1 on Kindle or in paperback. (Catch up with the Prologue.)
Rob Robill 