War of the Species

Their beer bellies and love handles spilled over their blaut camo double chins, overflowed tight and flannel collars, and wheezing from carrying those heavy frames and extra pounds were clearly audible. My retorts regarding the less than stellar physiques hid a few raw nerves, and by the time we'd set up camp, the light hearted animosity was all but forgotten. They'd planned their hunt and I'd planned my route for pictures. These

were my friends of twenty five years. We all shook hands and headed into the deep forest on opposite directions, them to fill their tags in freezers and me to fill a sim card with photos. I had been walking and taking pictures for over two hours. The forest was kind, providing me close up shots of deer, dozens of bird species and squirrels, and a few fox that sprinted into their den as I photographed them. Fall provided a kaleidoscope

of colors and background for some amazing scenic shots. The miles of hiking and walking, along with carrying my camera and bulky pistol, took a toll on my legs. I stopped by a creek and splashed some water on my face, and I flopped down upon a large moss covered rock. The autumn sun was getting low in the sky, adopting an orange glow versus the yellow shine of early afternoon daylight. The GPS on my phone could take me back to our camp easily, but navigating a strange forest in the

dark wasn't the smartest move. I'd have to move fast, but I was confident I could beat the setting sun. I took one last splash of cool water before heading back to camp. The woods were eerily quiet, and the constant afternoon breeze ceased rustling the leaves. Nothing in the forest moved, a blanket of silence. Dominated everything around me. Dread crept from my lower back up my spine, raising the hair on the nape of my neck. I hastened my pace, following the GPS indicator on on my phone.

Rapid light footsteps off a narrow game trail paced me. I stopped to listen. The steps fell silent. I was breathing hard, sucking in deep breasts, and gulping the air. The footsteps circle behind me. My hand fell off my camera case, caressing the grip of my forty four magnum Tucked in my shoulder holster, my right index and middle finger unsnapped the locking loop, and my hand circled the pistol grip, slowly freeing the eight inch stainless steel barrel.

I continued walking, and my past not as frantic, but quick and determined. The footsteps followed, staying hidden deeper off the trail. I'd gone another half mile, ignoring my woodland stalker, but keeping my ear peeled. If the steps grew closer and the woods erupted in the yelping of coyotes, the scream of a child through the howling, my stalker was a kid. A tore through the forest, chasing the horrible, terrified shriek. A pack of large codies surrounded a tiny

child covered in black clothing. One of the canines leapt forward, tackling the child, and I screamed a warning and then fired my revolver in the air. The creatures broke off their attack to face me a new threat. Fear raced through every fiber of my being. These weren't coyotes. They were far too big, with savagely large teeth. One of the canines rushed forward, gaping, maul open and threatening to rip me apart. I fired, and a plume of flame

and a concussion roared through the forest. The wolf like creature dropped in a heap barely ten feet from me. The three other creatures growled and hissed angrily, burning red eyes locked in the still smoking barrel of my weapon. Leave the kid alone, or I'll kill you all, appointed the gun, sweeping the barrel on each creature. They couldn't understand my words, but the animals knew the gun was a danger. Something came out of the woods behind the

wolf like creatures. Long powerful arms part of the tall sapling pines like twigs. Its hands were massive, with long, bony fingers ending in savage two inch claws. The face was pure wolf, eyes burning like hot coals. The canines retreated behind the man wolf, and the thing raised both arms, growling as it charged toward me. I raised my weapon, firing twice. The funk of three hundred grain magnum slugs tearing into meat made a sick sound. The creature buckled,

falling on all four. Still charged forward, and it hit me with the force of a freight train, knocking me off my feet. Razor sharp claws swiped across my chest, shredding my jacket and my camera straps, and slicing my flesh like a scalding knife. Well. The pain burned, and an agony of endless throbbing and bony fingers wrapped around my throat, lifting me off the ground. I felt my bladder empty. Hot urine ran down my legs as this hell beast held me dangling two feet off the ground.

Fist like claws squeezed my throat, and by some miracle, I still had my weapon. I pointed the revolver at the beast's head, shoving the barrel into its tooth filled maw, and squeezed the trigger its head exploded, and brain matter and bits of skull carpeted the forest floor. The remaining wolf like creatures howled in shock as their leader crumped, blood still pumping out its exposed neck arteries. I hit the ground hard, still gripping my gun. Adrenaline course through

my body. My limbs trembled with excess energy. The raw fear ebbed away as I studied the dead creature. It was easily eight feet tall, even without the head, which was splattered across the woods. My mind struggled with what my eyes beheld. Things like this existed only in horror movies or bogus television documentaries. A weeping sound interrupted my struggling brain. The child. How bad? Had that wolf like creature harmed the child? What the hell was the child

doing in the middle of this isolated forest. I holstered my weapon and leaped toward the unmoving form huddled in a ball. Hey are you okay? The child continued to whimper. As I got closer, reality kicked me in the groin again. This wasn't a human child. What I thought was black clothing was black fur or hair. The small being was barely three feet tall. It was thin with lanky arms. They were covered with black, matted hair. The tiny face

was the only part having exposed skin. The naked creature, clearly a male, looked at me, eyes wide with fear. I cursed my own stupidity. What child would be alone in these desolate woodlands? What was I thinking earlier? You idiot? Yeah, a kid following me. The boy was trembling, curled up in a tight ball. Look, I won't hurt you, and I held my hand out open. I hoped he would understand the gesture. The howl of wolves echoed through the forest.

Oh man, those wolf lies like animals were calling reinforcements. I needed to retreat fast, but I wasn't going to leave this poor thing behind to get torn apart. I reached out my open hand, moving toward him slowly. I won't hurt you, I said. I kept repeating those words, forcing my thoughts out, praying to God that somehow this boy would understand my gesture. He pointed a tiny finger toward my bleeding chest. Hurt. The word came out as a guttural grunt, but I understood what he said. Was

this a wild boy somebody abandoned? Nothing about him made sense. I saw the gaping wound in his leg, and I pointed to it. Hurt, I repeated. I tore a piece of flannel off my tattered shirt, dousing it with the last of my water. Held up the soak cloth help. I cleaned the wound and wrapped another piece of cloth around his thin leg. As I tightened the makeshift bandage, the answer dropped on me like an anchor. No, it

can't be. You're a baby bigfoot wolf men and now a pint sized sasquatch with a dragon dropped from the sky's next. The tiny boy stared at me with his black eyes, his head tilted and almost a human look of confusion, not understanding what I was saying. The wolf cries were even closer. We had to go now, and I took a wrist and gently picked up the child. It seemed to understand, and it wrapped its long arms around my neck and shoulders. My camera gear was scattered

across the leaf covered ground. I couldn't carry the child, my weapon, and the camera gear. I would have to leave it behind. Say goodbye to a two thousand dollars lens, I thought. I took the child away from the battlezone as fast as my legs were to carry us, stopping only to glance at my phone's GPS screens. The howls became deafening, My gut tightened, and the fear spread deeper into my soul. I silently prayed. My friends heard the sounds and were also on their way to camp with

their big boar rifles. I was woefully unprepared for this kind of conflict. The sun was setting as I reached camp. My friends were nowhere to be seen, and the wolf house seemed to be everywhere. In my brilliance, I had managed to piss off an entire army of wolf like monsters. Good job, idiot, I muttered, desperately, igniting the largest campfire I could control safely. The warmth in the light was small comfort as darkness wallowed the forest. My companions set

away from the flames, wrapped in the thermal blanket. The tiny sasquatch devoured two blueberry nola bars and three pieces of deer jerky. I ransacked my friend's tents, desperately looking for anything I could use as a weapon. Jim had left a semi auto twelve gage shotgun behind in a box of heavy slug grounds. I loaded the shotgun to you with six rounds and reloaded my revolver. I had two speedloaders prepped, expending the last of my pistol ammunition.

The blood curdling howls were barely twenty yards away. The hairs on the nape of my neck stood, and my spine tingled, and every instinct I had told me to run. My brain knew there was no place to run toward. The firelight was my only protection. The woods around my camp rustled with footsteps. They were here, following the scent of our blood through the three plus miles of forest. The child bigfoot shrieked a cost so loud and powerful my ribs and stomach vibrated inside my body. The world

went silent. Three wolves broke from the tree line, sprinting toward me. I fired the shotgun into the burning red eyes, and the animals dropped. Two larger wolfmen broke from the forest, hurling rocks in my direction. I ducked as the softball sized boulders whizzed over my head, crushing my buddy's tent. I emptied the shotgun toward their heads, splattering one skull but striking the other in the chest. Twice. The wounded one stumbled forward. More wolves appeared, leaving the tree line,

approaching the camp. I emptied my revolver into the wolfman, giving a silent thanks that it finally fell to the ground. The three wolves stopped and then retreated slightly. I was shaking, but I managed to reload six more slugs into the shotgun and another six rounds into my revolver. I was pitifully out matched, only prolonging the inevity. They must have sensed it. The woods erupted and five wolf men charged, followed by a dozen of the four legged beasts. I

emptied both weapons, barely slowing the oncoming onslaught. The wolf slammed into me, knocking me backwards, its tooth filled mal snapping inches from my throat. I was fighting for my life. Desperation gave me strength, though, and I got my legs under this creature, and I pushed it off with the last of my waiting strength. The animal fell back, landing in the blazing campfire. Its shrieks of pain gave me

some satisfaction as its heavy fur set of blaze. More wolves tore through the camp, destroying everything in their path. The iron hard claws of a man wolf wrapped around my throat. The large thing snarled, holding me in mid air, and a single claw tore through my shoulder. But I refused to scream. I go to die. This bastard wasn't going to hear me howl in pain. A basketball sized rock flew from the darkness, crushing the wolf barely three

feet beside me. Another type of wolf echoed through the forest. The wolfmen and their canine army fell silent. I was tossed away like a rag doll. The canine army formed up, growling and hissing, and the ground beneath me shook with tremors. An angry stampede of large, heavy footsteps charged the campground from the opposite direction. My little sasquatch friend must have called his parents, and they brought the rest of the family.

I crawled toward the young creature. It was wounded, blood hemorrhage to spilling on the green grass and staining at red. Several large rocks were batted away by the wolfmen, and I dared to look up. Ten of the wolf men stood ready, and at least a dozen massive wolves stood by their growling. Upon a command, they charged forward toward the stampede. I scrambled over to the child, shielding it with my battered body, desperately covering us with the remnant

of my tent. The child was shivering, or was that me? The night roared with sounds louder than any lion or angry elephant could ever hope to match. The shrieking and roaring, and sometimes the screams of agony continued for almost twenty terrifying minutes. Without warning, the forest went silent, and the roars and screams of rage and agony didn't fade gradually. All sound just ceased. My thundering heartbeat was the only noise defying the silence. I lifted the piece of tent

off of us. My campfire was still crackling, burning brightly. The child held on to me with a grip of fear, and I struggled to stand, and the pain in my chest and shoulder were almost unbearable. The child pointed at the bloody, gaping wound in my shoulder hurt. It grunted. I nodded, instinctively, holding it like it was my own hurt. I whispered back. My foot kicked something large flashlight rolled a few feet from me, and I knelt down, ignoring the searing pain, and picked up the light, and by

some miracle, it survived. The hideous onslaught. A three thousand candlepower beam punched hole in the darkness beyond the fire. Now dial the beam into a wider setting. Cautiously walking toward the now silent battleground, the spotlight bathed several still figures sprawled on the blood soaked earth. Two wolfmen were quite literally broken in half. A being that I could only identify as an adult bigfoot was sprawled over a large stone. Foes carved away a large section of its torso.

I moved the light in a semi circle. The field was a sea of death. A large wolf was whimpering in pain, its hind leg twisted in an unnatural angle as blood poured from its mouth. Dear God in Heaven, I said, that was all I could come up with. As my brain struggled to comprehend the level of ferocity needed to inflict these mortal battle wounds, I heard movement and I spun the beam of light. A large wolf

man was carrying away a dead comrade. It looked at me and then turned swallowed by the dark forest a few meters away, being easily ten foot tall, was helping another hairy creature limp away from the carnage. The battle was fought, and they were carrying away. They're dead and assisting the wounded, and I had no interest in discovering who was the victor or who was the vanquished. From

what little I observed, both sides suffered heavy losses. I carried my wounded friend back to the campfire and did my best to clean the puncture wounds in its upper arm. Hurt, it whispered as I tied more flannel shirt around his arm as a makeshift bandage. I nodded sadly as the images of death and blood stained my conscience hurt. I could feel myself going into shock. Bigfoot was real. What other horrors lay out in the wilderness that I scoffed

at as mere fairy tales? The wolfmen or the dog men, as the documentaries had labeled them, were supposedly supernatural creatures with paranormal abilities. I'd heard stories about them. They were the enemy of the s squatch, the fairy tale version of lions and hyenas natural enemies and rivals battling over food. And t territory, each killing the other with no remorse. Both factions fought some kind of turf war, and I

was in the middle of it. Was this round one with the survivors licked their wounds and regroup and re engage. Where were my friends? It was well passed dark, and they should have been back by now, had they met a horrific end like I almost did. The small one tapped my shoulder, pointing toward the darkness. Zaba. A si squatch easily twelve feet tall, emerged out of the darkness. My bowels clenched. I'd already peed myself at least three times.

I struggled not to soil my drawers. Next to the behemoth stood a definite female, shorter and more demure, but easily eight feet tall and capable of killing me with one blow. I had no means of defending myself, not that I considered shooting these creatures. The female took several steps towards me, and the child continued to repeat Saba. I assumed that meant mother. I picked up the little bigfoot and carried him toward his mom. My insides were jello.

Every nerve frayed as I struggled not to soil my underwear. Saba, I said loud enough to be heard, and presented her the child. Massive hands relieved me of the baby bigfoot. The mother studied the flannel bandages as the child kept repeating hurt. The mother looked at me and nodded her head and actually smiled. I nodded back as a smile decorated my face. The massive male grunted once both turned and disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness. My body was shaking.

Fear and shock and terror simultaneously rocketed through me. I dropped her one, allowing myself a moment to recover. Struggling to rationalize the horrors I'd witnessed, I knelt in silence for several minutes before daring to stand. The woods were alive with noise again. The horrors had passed. A cold mist settled over the woodlands, chilling my bones in a different way than the earlier terror. I needed to focus on survival and forced my brain out of the shocking

deuced fog. I sorted through the camp wreckage and salvaged a pillow and a sleeping bag and a first aid kit, and I patched myself up as best as I could, and I scavenged for food that had been kicked around the area. I piled several more logs on the fire, hoping the roaring blaze would discourage any more visitors. The carcasses of the dead wolves and wolf men around my camp had also been retrieved. My gut told me there'd be no more fighting tonight. More death would be senseless.

I had nothing left. An exhaustion overtook the waning adrenaline rush, and I crawled into the sleeping bag. And I let the blackness of oblivion claim me. I succumbed to the pain of my wounds and the shock to my psyche. It was even money if i'd make it through the night. I woke to the sound of birds and chipmunks. Everything hurt. A cool breeze hit my face, forcing me deeper into the sleeping bag. The memories of last night trickled into my head. The fear grew inside me. I was exposed

and vulnerable. My body was a mass of pain and knotted muscle tissue. The ribs on my left side ached with each breath. I inhaled, deep, wincing, unzipping the sleeping bag and painfully wriggling out. My jeans and undergarments were damp and reeked of furine. How many times had I wet myself during the battle, And how deep was my shock after that battle that I didn't even feel the discomfort. Our once orderly camp lay in ruins, completely destroyed. God

only knows what happened to my friends. Were they alive or had they met some horrible fate last night, a fate I had somehow been spared well. The fire was still going, and I took a few minutes to stir the embers and feed the flames, and the warmth was comforting, and I scrambled through the scattered belongings and found a change of clothes and some wet naps and several bottles

of water strewn throughout the camp. Daylight made it easier to salvage what was left of our supplies, and the crewed wet nap, bath and a change of clothing made me feel a little better. I spent more time inventoring what supplies weren't trampled or destroyed. The tents were beyond salvage. Uler of food miraculously survived unharmed. My friend's beer cooler was a total loss, as was the propane cooking stove

and two bags of dried goods. Sometime during the evening and early morning, raccoons and other scavengers found the cookies and crackers and bread no other dried goods scattered by the rampaging wolf army. I salvaged what I could, which wasn't much. I crunched the cookie as I carried back a small number of recovered supplies. I hung a kettle of water over the fire and enjoyed a cup of instant coffee with dried creamer. It was getting warmer as the sun rose higher into the sky. The shock of

last night lingered in my system. I didn't know if these things were watching me, ready to finish what they started last night, or if they had moved on or to another part of the woods to recover and regroup. I was exposed and literally helpless. Curiosity gradually replaced my sense of fear and shot I needed to find my revolver and the shotgun, so I painfully made my way to where I'd made my last stand. The table was

knocked over. My super red revolver lay half buried under kicked up debris, and by some miracle, the weapon was unharmed and the last six round speed loader lay barely a foot away. The shotgun was buried under tent debris, and the remaining slugs were scattered among the earth. I managed to find half the box of shells my friend left behind with the weapon. I took a minute reloading each weapon, replacing the shoulder hoster and cycling a slug

round into the shotgun chamber. There was a false sense of comfort. Being armed weapons gave me a small but misplaced sense of security. Armed as I was, I was still no match for the horrors living in these woods. Last night's encounter made that all too clear. Where were my friends? That was my objective through the morning, find

my friends and get the hell out of here. I made my way toward the main battleground, expecting to see a field of devastation, but to my surprise, several deer were grazing at the clearing's edge, and a flock of wild turkey meandered through the middle of the torn up clearing. All dead were gone, the blood soaked rocks were missing, and the red stained grasses were plowed under with a fresh coat of dirt. More signs than These creatures were

not just intelligent, but synthient. I headed into the woods on a northwest game trail, following the hike laid out by my friends the day before, and I silently prayed that they had found refuge somewhere and we would meet up within the next hour or two. Had been hiking for over an hour, following a well used game trail, I found their tracks and I knew I was heading in the right direction. Shit large wolf tracks intermixed with my friends. I quickened my pace, ignoring the searing pain

in my left lung. The trail turned a sharp corner and I came across another hellish scene. Blood and tattered fragments of clothing and over a dozen empty brass casings from my friend's rifles littered the area. Small pine saplings were bathed in dark, dried blood. They were attacked by the wolves, and they did fight back. My grip on the shotgun tightened and I raised the weapon, turning a complete circle, ready to empty the tube with the slightest movement.

But I saw nothing, and the chipmunks chattered endlessly, and the sparrows and crows seemed oblivious to any threat. Three gray squirrels scampered through the grad, ignoring my presence. Were they dead, torn apart limb from limb like I would have been if not for the sisquatch army. I was afraid to keep looking, afraid that if I kept going, I'd find the hell beasts, and I too would have forfeited to my second chance at life. Was retreating the act of a coward? Could I live with myself if

I didn't go on? What rational sane person would believe my tale? I was in the middle of warring species. Were my hunting buddies casualties of that war taken by the dog men and their wolf like army. Nobody would believe me. I lived through it, and it still sounded like the ravings of a lunatic covering up the murder of his friends. I'd like to say courage pushed me forward, but fear of three murder accusations, along with some courage,

motivated me to continue. The blood trails continued another one hundred yards. There, partially buried were the bodies of my friends, torn to pieces and half consumed. I couldn't stop my screams of despair. They died the horrible death I was spared. I had to hike out and inform the park rangers, and the police owed them that much. Maybe I'd be placed in a psychiatric ward instead of prison after I told my tale. But I had to take the chance, so I had faith maybe somebody would believe me. Maybe

the moon was made of cheese. I turned and headed out, knowing I was doomed no matter what kind of tale I told. I was in the hospital for two weeks, in the psych ward for another several months. The park rangers found my friends exactly where I said they would be. They found my camera and lenses and shredded pack and confirmed the devastation of our campsite. The police questioned me five times three with light detectors and experts in the

field of criminology and psychology. All the experts said I was telling the truth, or what I believed was the truth. The forest rangers found massive footprints and paw prints in the outlying woods by the clearing. Their searches were far more thorough than mine, as they returned with fur and hair and blood samples for DNA analysis. The tests on the samples must have corroborated something in my fairy tale.

The looming threat of murder charges magically evaporated, and some science nerds came to my room asking me all sorts of questions. The official word was that I was attacked by a stray pack of wild dogs and my friends were the victims of a savage bear attack. I knew it was all bullshit. They knew that. I knew it was bullshit, But the key to getting released from detainment was swallowing the BS tail and keeping my mouth shut. Sweat streamed off my body. Another night waking up screaming,

reliving the horrors in my sleep. No amount of alcohol or sleeping pills could get me through the night. Two thirty am, like clockwork for the past five months, I crawled out of the sweaty sheets, making my way to my bowflex working out became my occupational therapy, much to the dismay of the neighbors in my condo complex. I had no one to talk to and no one to share the horrors of my reality. I knew a dark truth about the world and was forbidden to speak of it.

Who would believe me anyway? Two hours of exercise in tai Chi and my mind still wasn't calm, and I stared at the half empty bottle of jim Beam on the top of my refrigerator. My booze wasn't going to put my inner demons to rest. No matter how much I drank, I couldn't drown those horrors. They were surfaced every night, though, and I would slip into my sneakers in a hoodie and my five in the morning heavy

bag session awaited me at the anytime fitness. After that, I'd get my morning coffee and read the paper and stare out the window, watching the blissfully ignorant lead their annoyingly normal lives, unaware of the horror surrounding them. I'd explored miles of woodlands around my home, and the woods were full of small coyotes and deer and a few black bear, nothing out of the ordinary. I should take comfort in that, but it just pissed me off further.

Why didn't we just hunt here? You'd all be alive and together I could live as one of the blissfully ignorant. The sky was a beautiful shade of pink and orange. As the sun rose, I sept my unusual brew, watching the day star rise higher in the sky. The stream of normals flowed in for their morning fuel, and I sighed, rubbing my swollen knuckles. My mortgage payments were three months interrears, and I couldn't focus on any kind of work. My camera sat on the shelf, mocking me. The desire for

that perfect shot no longer burned in my heart. Taking portraits and shooting weddings no longer appealed to me. I pissed off several clients by simply canceling jobs. Soon I'd be out on the street. I'd be homeless and jobless. I should be afraid of losing my material things, but I wasn't. I should be afraid of losing my home, but I wasn't afraid of that either. I no longer

feared the normal. My terrors were nestled deep within two hundred thousand acres of untamed wilderness woodlands that were best forgotten and never trespassed by human feet or machine. Man was not the alpha predator in those woods. Man was the prey animal, like a deer, rabbit or wild turkey. Man was on the menu. An epiphany befell me in that corner booth, nursing my cup of tepid coffee. I didn't belong among the living anymore. I should have died

with my friends. Maybe that's why I couldn't focus, or concentrate or sleep. My clock should have been punched eight months ago. Part of me desperately tried to convince myself that I hadn't seen what I had seen. My experience was a grand illusion born of some crazed hysteria. I wanted to cling to that delusion and join the ranks of the living again. My rational brain struggled unsuccessfully to surrender to the false reality put upon me by therapists

in some unknown government agency. I knew what I had to do. I had to go back and face the unknown again. I was armed with awareness and knowledge this time. Not that those two ideals would save me from being torn limb from limb, but I needed to face the demons that still haunted me. Mid Spring was the perfect time to camp in the northern woodlands. The black flies weren't hatched, and the mosquitoes couldn't endure the cool evenings

of a mountain spring. The snow had melted away and the sun rose high in the afternoon sky, providing ample ambient warmth. I camped in the same spot we had before almost didn't recognize the area. The clearing had overgrown with lush grass and clover, and the forests were green with oak and maple leaves forming an emerald canopy over the woodlands. I felt a sense of peace as I set up my tiny camp, enjoying the sounds of birds and chipmunks. All I had to do now was wait.

The dog men in the Bigfoot knew I was here. You can't enter someone's home and have them not know something somewhere was watching me. I couldn't feel it, but I knew it. I emptied a nine pound sack of apples and a three pound tenderloin i'd cooked before surrendering the keys to my older brother. The wind would carry the scent through the woods, and either Sasquatch or dog men would smell the dinner bell. I didn't know whose

claim in this territory was valid. My guess was whichever came to claim the meat was the winner of last year's battle. I didn't have to wait long. The woods went deadly silent, and I heard motion in the trees barely twenty yards from my camp, behind the rows of pine saplings. The thin trees parted and a side. Squatch barely four feet in height, stepped into the clearing hurt. It was the young one I befriended, and I reached in my pocket, pulling out the three torn pieces of

flannel fabric. I held them up Friend, I called out and pointed to the food offering. The youngster moved to the apples, happily gorging himself. He slowly made his way to me, extending his hand, and I reached out my hand and our palms and fingers touched Friend. He grunted back. He took the whole steak in one hand, grabbed three more apples, and walked back to the woods. There, silhouetted by the trees, was the same mother Sasquatch I'd seen before.

Not knowing what to do, I stood slowly and waved. She lifted her massive hand, awkwardly repeating my gesture. Junior shouted friend several times as they disappeared into the woodlands. I had made successful contact. The Sasquatch family ruled here now, and I hoped I'd be accepted and allowed to stay here and continue making contact for whatever time I had left. I had nothing else to live for, and it seemed they didn't want me dead. Maybe out here where I

lost everything, I could find myself again. Maybe I could finally find the peace denied me by civilization.