Mark and Pat return with this month’s exciting installment of A New Reality. John and Grady were surrounded by sasquatches when we left them.

If you haven’t already, read Chapter 3 of A New Reality or start at the beginning.

Chapter IV

A complex mixture of smells permeated the crisp evening air. The blackjack oak limbs crackled in the campfire and issued a bitter blue smoke. The constant smell of sulfur and bile, which the two cowboys had now come to associate with sasquatch, was impossible to ignore. There was a new smell now drifting in the soft evening breeze…fear.

The smell of fear was palpable to both John and Grady. The smell came from within and was familiar to each man. Both had faced life-threatening situations in Vietnam. Both had waded through the smells of blood and gunpowder, as well as the awful stench of death and fear that permeates a battlefield.

Grady could smell the terror that the mysterious night had unleashed. What had started out as an adventure had turned into a war. I have fought my war, Grady’s mind whispered frantically. Please Lord, not again!

Thirty-five years, John thought to himself. I have not smelled true fear in thirty-five years. He found that he did not miss the smell, and much preferred the pungent odor of the sasquatch carcass lying nearby. In fact, he realized in that moment that he was quite pleased that he had survived that nightmarish portion of his life. Now, he was facing it again and he wondered if he still possessed the skills and courage to survive.

John’s eyes shifted from left to right. His head turned quickly from front to rear and back again. He no longer questioned what his eyes were seeing. He was now in survival mode and his rifle had become an extension of his body, moving in accordance with where his eyes directed it.

Slowly and deliberately, more and more sasquatch appeared in the flickering ring of light created by the small campfire. John was sure he had counted eight animals, but he couldn’t be sure. The creatures looked very similar to one another, varying only slightly in color and height. John noted that they moved as though performing a dance. The dance of death, he thought with grim realization. They moved smoothly at the edge of the light, crossing paths and confusing the eyes of the worn cowboy.

The once quiet night had now come alive. From the edges of the darkness came the sounds of night creatures. John recognized the soft hoot of a barn owl, which was quickly answered by three others. The overpowering sound of a whippoorwill sounded within the cacophony of noise. The horses, picketed a short distance away, whinnied and pawed at the ground with fervor.

Grady had forgotten all about counting once he had seen there were more than five, which was the number of shells loaded in his 45-70.

“They’re too close already, John” Grady whispered in a weak voice. “There are too many!”

John picked up on Grady’s defeated tone and had to strain not to feed into it. He had faced difficult odds before. “Just hold your fire, lieutenant,” John replied. Without even realizing it, his mind had reverted to the jungles of long ago.

With increasing difficulty, John strained to maintain his concentration and not allow the fear to overpower him. I have four shots; Grady’s got five. All we’ve got to do is…

John’s thought stopped abruptly. The sasquatch had once again disappeared into the darkness. The rustling sound in the nearby brush had ceased. The various calls that had pervaded his senses moments before, stopped suddenly. The night was still.

A moment later, a deep grunt and the sound of something whistling through the air broke the silence. Out of his peripheral vision, John caught sight of something gray flying through the air. The large rock connected solidly into the back of Grady’s skull with an audible crunch. John watched in horror as his oldest friend pitched forward to the ground.

Instinctively, John whirled in the direction from which the rock was thrown. He saw a lone gray sasquatch of magnificent stature.

Grunt…whistle…crack…

John wonders what hit him.
Copyright 2006 Pat Barker.

John awoke with a pounding headache. His mouth was dry and dusty. It took him several minutes to come to the full realization that he was laying facedown on the ground. With effort, he rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. He immediately squeezed them shut again to shield them from the bright morning sun. Confused and disoriented, he rubbed his eyes and felt the thick dried mud caked upon his face.

At first, the memories from the night before slipped slowly into his conscious. With increasing speed, they flooded his mind all the way up to point when Grady was struck down. Despite the irritation, John opened his eyes and shot to his feet desperate to check on his friend’s welfare. As he rose, a dark fog crossed his vision and he thought for a moment he would pass out. He took a deep breath and his vision cleared, although his head screamed in pain with every beat of his heart. His hand shot to the source of the pain and he felt the large lump and the dried blood in his hair.

Ignoring his injuries for the moment, John surveyed the campsite. Grady was not where John remembered him being. A glimmer of hope flooded his mind. He’s gone for help, he wished, more than believed.

John’s hopes were dashed a moment later. While surveying the ground, he stepped to the last spot he had seen Grady. The disturbed earth may have appeared as nothing more than windblown debris to a novice, but to John, it was all too clear. He clearly saw where his friend was first dragged, and then lifted from the ground. He started following the trail and made it about twenty yards before realizing he didn’t have his rifle. Quickly, he turned and ran back to the campsite surveying the area. He realized with horror, the rifle is gone!

The enormity of the situation was finally settling in, as John’s mind was just starting to clear. He now forced himself to slow down and think. The first thing he did was make a mental note of what was taken. Slowly and deliberately, he paced back and forth through the campsite, taking stock of his situation. He noted that both rifles were missing. The saddlebags had been emptied on the ground and the food items had been stolen, as well as a pack of Swisher Sweet Cigars. Most notably, his best friend and the body of the dead sasquatch had been carried away.

Surprisingly, both horses were still tied loosely at the outskirts of the camp. The ground was disturbed around them, evidence of their desperate attempts to escape the visitors that had come in the night.

John wanted to go after his friend, but knew it would be folly. There was really no decision to make. As bad as he wanted to settle this thing right now, he knew it was not to be this day.

John kicked dirt onto the smoldering ashes from the campfire. Defeated, but more determined than ever, John collected his belongings, saddled up the horse and set out for home.

Leading Grady’s mare, John wasted no time. Rather than follow the thick bottomland, he cut straight south out of the small branch and was soon in open pastureland. He put the spurs to Ole Ned, who responded eagerly, sensing his master’s despair and haste.

What should have taken half a day for most, John covered in less than two hours. He cut straight south to the northern edge of his property and turned west, following the fence down to Swine Creek. Rather than looking for a shallow crossing, John plunged the horses into the slowly churning water, swimming across as if the sasquatch were chasing him. He cut straight west out of the bottom and turned back south across the pastureland, making a straight line for the homestead.

A pang of grief struck John’s heart seeing Grady’s truck and trailer parked in his driveway, as he pulled Ole Ned to a stop at the gate to his yard. Rather than dismount quickly, he stayed in the saddle. What the hell am I going to do, he wondered silently. Who am I going to go to for help? What am I going to tell Grady’s brother?

John’s head was still pounding and he found it difficult to think. He trotted around the house to dismount at the back pasture. Working quickly, he unsaddled the horses and released them into the ten-acre pasture to rest and feed after the hard ride.

“It ain’t over yet, Ole Ned,” he whispered as he turned and hobbled back to the house.

John was in no mood to eat, but he knew he’d better get it while he could. Rummaging through his refrigerator, he found a half eaten burrito. He took it and headed to the computer. John clicked on the AOL icon and bit into his burrito while the computer dialed up. The words Grady had said the night before echoed in his mind: It’s the gateway to hell, if you ask me. He had been referring to the Internet.

John was far from an expert on the Internet, but he knew how to do a Google search. He typed in the words S-A-S-Q-U-A-T-C-H - H-U-N-T-E-R. The search page loaded, informing him that it had located over two hundred thousand related links. Clicking on the first one, it took him to a website with a short film about a man named Rene Dahinden. This was not what he was looking for.

Two hours later, John was still searching when he came to the website he was looking for. It was the Midsouth Bigfoot Research Center or MBRC. The homepage informed him that they were on the hunt for sasquatch. That was what John was looking for. He scanned the site and found a link to report a sighting. John quickly typed the following:

My name is John Lynn McBride. This may sound crazy to you or it may not, but I need help. My friend and I shot a sasquatch last night near my farm in southern Oklahoma. Before we could get the body home, we were attacked by at least eight sasquatch and my friend was kidnapped. I’m going after my friend first thing in the morning. I could use some help, or at least some advice, if you have it to give.

John hit the send button and settled back in his chair. His head was pounding and staring at the screen for the past two hours had taken its toll. A lone tear rolled down his leathery cheek. What the hell am I going to do, John kept repeating to himself, as he slipped off into a fitful sleep.

“You’ve got mail!”

John started and nearly fell from his chair. He moved the now stale burrito from his mouse pad and moved the mouse pointer to his mailbox. As it loaded up, he checked the clock on his wall; it was 8:00 p.m.

The email was from a man named Bryan Settle. John opened the mail and read.

John was on the phone moments later. After three rings, a male voice answered hello.

“This is John Lynn McBride. I just got your email.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Well, I have to say I’m a little surprised. I didn’t think you’d call.”

“So can you help me?” John asked.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Bryan replied.

Over the next two hours, John told and retold the story in full three times. Bryan made no attempt to hide his skepticism. However, John’s consistency on the details and invitations for Bryan and anyone else to come and help him was hard to ignore. Bryan had been investigating sasquatch sightings for the past eight years. He had taken more than his fair share of bogus reports. He had learned to spot them quickly, and in the rare event a hoaxer actually called him, he was able to quickly ferret out the inconsistencies and put the label of false report to it.

Bryan found himself believing that John might actually be telling the truth. As unbelievable as it all sounded, it was too good to pass up.

“Listen to me John,” Bryan said, “I’ll be at your house before sunrise. I suspect I can get a few others to come with me. If this is a joke, now would be the time to end it.”

The emotion from knowing his oldest friend’s life might be at stake came through on the phone. “Bryan, I’m a man of my word, and I’m telling you this happened. A man’s life is at stake here. I would like you to help, if you can. I’ll be looking for you at first light. If you’re not here, I’m leaving without you.”

After giving Bryan directions to the house, he hung up the phone, his hand trembling.

Continue to Chapter 5 of A New Reality

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