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A Bigfoot Big Fight
Many years ago, when America was a fresh and unspoiled country, before the English and Spanish arrived, there were many creatures roaming the countryside, that have since passed into myth. Foremost among these was the Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Oh Mah, Tso Apittse. Silent, deadly and terrifying, the Bigfoot roamed through the mountains and forest, an enigmatic big brother watching, waiting, and stalking.
The fall day in the foothills of the mountains of smoke had broke clear and cold. An early frost covered the ground, and the woods where silent in the early morning. Most animals and people where snuggled down trying to keep warm, enjoying the chill in the air. Even the noisy squirrels had not arrived on the branches yet. A single shadow moved through the woods, on silent feet, tracking with the practice of a warrior and hunter of more then 20 years. Dark skinned, covered in leather, with a fur cloak the warrior Deadly Spear glared at the ground in front of him. The tracks he had spent three days finding had vanished under the hard frost. Keen eyes scanned the treeline, ears alert to the slightest noise, he looked for any sign of his quarry.
Four days ago, his village was attacked in a violent fashion. He had been away, hunting for the winter store with most of the other warriors. Upon their return, several were dead, and others were dying. They mentioned a large hairy person who tore the village apart, who roared with the sound of the gods, whose strength was that of 10 people. Himself and 3 other warriors had left immediately, each going a different way to try and find the creature responsible for this atrocity. He came across a splotch of blood before the sun had crossed half the sky, and found smudges here and there, indicating a large careful person had gone that way. Unraveling the trail was near impossible, as whatever he was tracking seemed to move through the air at times.
Shaking his head to clear the memories, a light breeze blew through the trees. As it did, he noticed a slight movement from the corner of his eye. Moving slowly to the tree, he discovered a tuft of hair wedged in the bark. Long, dark as the moonless night, and as curled as a patch of thorns, the hair wafted in the breeze. He took a moment to look at which way it had embedded itself in the bark, and determined which direction the creature was moving. Grinning with a feral smile to himself, he began the hunt again, stalking his prey.
Before the sun was mid-sky, he knew he was getting close. A foul odor was at the edge of his senses, becoming more defined as the day trudged on. He paused cocking his head and listened, and realized the woods sounds that had been increasing during the day had gone dead silent. Even the wind had quit blowing. The area he was in had the feel of an open grave. He checked his knife and tomahawk at his belt, making sure they were loose and ready to be drawn. His spear was in his hand, and across his back was a long tube, hollow and tapered at one end. Some of the other warriors chuckled that he used a blowgun, but by extracting the spit of the snake with the baby rattle on its tail, and mixing it with the juice of several plants, he had discovered a compound that could kill within moments. He had three darts with him, wrapped in deerskin and stored carefully in his pouch. Crouching down he removed one dart and slid it into the end of his blowgun. Looking around he noticed a dark mass that did not belong, stark contrast to the bare and treeless mountainside. Taking two steps forward and crouching behind a rock he watched as the mass rose and fell as if breathing.
Frowning he thought about the situation. It was possible this was just a black bear, but also possible this was the creature he was tracking. He figured if it was a bear, it would not sleep where this atrocious odor permeated the air. Slowly he raised his hand to his pouch, and removed the other two darts, unwrapping them and laying them on the rock in front of him. If he was quick he could get two darts shot before the beast closed with him. Taking a deep breath, he aimed at the center of the mass and exhaled. His hand blurred to the other dart as the mass rose up, roared and charged him, covering the 30 steps in a heartbeat. He had no time to load the second dart, and barely time to roll out of the way. His hand closed on his spear and came to his feet with a howl, a battle challenge rolling out of his mouth, about the time a massive paw grazed his shoulders, throwing him into a tree. Dazed, he forced himself to move, jumping back onto a rock, then back down two more jumps. A paw tore a chunk from the tree that he himself was standing in front of mere moments ago. His eyes came back into focus and he laid eyes on Kecleh-Kudleh, the hairy savage. As tall as a man and a child, as broad a young tree, the creature roared in anger, in pain, foam flying from its mouth. It leaped in the air, covering the distance between them in two heartbeats. Deadly Spear was already moving, praying to the spirits for strength and speed. As the beast landed, it found the razor edge of a flint spear waiting for it. A small knick appeared on the beast belly, his thick hide protecting him.
The wound infuriated the beast, turning to attack the small man, its vision was briefly obscured as pain shot through its body, the result of a well thrown tomahawk from Deadly Spear. The brave warrior had ran back up the hill, using the downhill momentum to accelerate his well thrown hatchet, a perfect throw into the nose. Leaping up in the hair, the Bigfoot launched itself up the hill, landing beside the warrior, and backhanding him twenty paces through the air, crumpling into a rock. Deadly Spear gasped as bones broke, and a small jab in his spine brought a slow burning numbness through his body. Gritting his teeth, he reached back and removed on of his darts. He knew it was a matter of time, but he had a job to finish. Looking around as his vision blurred, he found his third dart. A roar snapped his attention forward, as the beast was in the air, coming towards him, preparing to land on his chest. With a final act of bravery, bracing his spear between his limp arm and body, he prepared his final defense.
A crunch of bones, a howl, and the Bigfoot had landed on his chest, crushing his rib cage, and impaling itself on the spear. It opened it mouth in a defiant roar and rushed down to rip the throat out of Deadly Spear. As his last breath left his body, Deadly Spear's hand flicked up, dart in hand, embedding it in the soft tissue at the back of the creatures throat.
Moments later, both warrior and beast lay dead, destruction all around them. A slim man dressed in strange clothes appeared from behind a tree, holding a small box in his hand. He turned the box around to face him, and said in a strange tongue, "The weapons grade rabies virus is a success." Reaching down to his wrist, he played with a bracelet, shimmered, and with a glow, then shrinking darkness, disappeared.