Forest of Savages, Rookie Burwick [the giving tree read aloud TXT] 📗

and tore his seatbelt from his chest. Prine shut his eyes tight to avoid watching. He ended up hearing the man’s body being thrown into the barrow pit, about eight feet away from him.

 

His eyes opened slowly, and met with the Bigfoot’s. It glared at him only for a second, then turned and finished rummaging the pickup truck. In a matter of seconds, it had turned a nice, brand new vehicle into a big pile of scrap metal. He widened his eyes at the sight.

 

Then, the Bigfoot turned toward him. But it wasn’t looking at him.

 

A rustling sound came from behind him. He turned around and let out a quick gasp. Two more of the beasts emerged from the trees, and grunted toward the one standing on the highway. These too had deep, blood red eyes.

 

Right away, the focus went to him. All three of the creatures started to come slowly toward him. He jumped and ran towards the canyon. Nearly flying through the air, he jumped back onto the highway and pumped his legs beneath him like never before.

 

The sight of those evil red eyes began to haunt him. He glanced back over his shoulder. The beasts were following close behind. Much to his amazement and horror, they weren’t running at full speed.

 

One of them dodged into the trees off to the right, and ran up alongside him. He kept his eyes on it as they ran. It didn’t look at him, but kept its focus ahead of it. After watching this for a couple minutes, Prine figured it would be best for him to do so as well.

 

He looked back to the highway, and welded his eyes to it. The beasts let out more of their god awful howls, and soon got a response.

 

***

 

The beasts let out howls that sounded like battle cries. John tried his best to cover his ears as he ran, but it was next to impossible. He’d heard howls coming from the other end of the canyon, and now the beasts trailing him seemed to be responding.

 

He couldn’t help but pray that no more of those horrible demons would show up. Despite heading right for the other howls, he kept running. The town of Wallace was gone now. He imagined some of the Bigfoot were already headed far beyond Wallace.

 

A later afternoon breeze flew by him. His sweat had all dried up thanks to it. Nothing felt better right now, epically since he was doing nothing but running. He took in a deep whiff of it through his nostrils. The smells that blended in with it were fowl though. Like the worst body odor to ever be concocted.

 

He fought back more dry heaves, and prepared to round the next corner. When he did, the sight he saw made him come to a screeching halt. An old Ford pickup sat on the side of the road, empty and a little bit dented. The window had been shattered, and blood oozed out onto the fading blue paint.

 

The vehicle looked to be in good condition. He said a real quick prayer of thanks, and then sped to the driver’s seat. He looked inside, and saw everything was okay enough to work about it. Then, he looked to the ignition. The keys were gone.

 

Tears started to fill his eyes. Would this nightmare ever end?

 

The Bigfoot all emerged at the bend. Hundreds, if not thousands, of the beasts swarmed the highway, and the forest off to its side. There just wasn’t any time. He ripped open the door, and jumped in. Once he was sure the door was tightly shut, and locked, he began searching.

 

Whoever was driving this, must have had time to pull over, because the vehicle was resting neatly alongside the road, not upside down in the grass. Surly the driver had left the key.

 

In his frantic search, his eyes caught sight of yet another gruesome surprise. A bloody dead body lay in the barrow pit beside the truck. After a moment of shock, he leaned forward and studied the body a little closer. The tears dwelling in his eyes disappeared instantly.

 

In the pocket of the body was the key. He knew it was because of the black Ford symbol on the mantle. Just before he could hop into the next seat and get the door open, one of the Bigfoot smashed its fist into the side of his head. A strange buzzing sound pierced his skull.

 

He fell onto his side, and lay there, certain he was dying. The Bigfoot began to bang and rock the pickup back and forth from the outside. Even through all the numbness of the blow, John could feel it.

 

The blurry eyesight and foggy mind all went away with a matter of minutes. When he fully came back into the knowing a living realm, he right away climbed into the passenger’s seat, and wrapped his fingers around the door handle.

 

But something stopped him. He would have to take this carefully, as to not get the beasts’ attention. He looked over his shoulder, and saw around six of them tearing the back of the pickup to pieces. If he didn’t act soon, he would be basically driving half a truck.

 

It was now or never. As quick as he knew he could, he threw open the door, jumped to the ground, and crouched near the body. Carefully but quickly, he removed the keys from the pocket, spun around and got back in.

 

Just as he was about to slam the door, one of the Bigfoot got in the way, and dug its claws into his diaphragm. Blood spurted out and splattered against the dash. He screamed with all the breath he had in his lungs, and then refilled them.

 

He still had ahold of the door. The Bigfoot retracted its claws, and pulled its arm only a few inches away. Now, his opportunity had come. With all his might, John pulled the door toward him, and slammed it right against the beast’s arm. It let out a howl of pain and tried to struggle free.

 

John kept the door pulled tight against its arm. Its bones began to snap. Blood had already been pouring out from the deepening cut from the door’s frame. His entire body was now covered in not only his blood, but the blood of the Bigfoot.

 

Just as he suspected, the creature’s arm wasn’t going to snap as easily as he’d thought. There was a lot of strong muscle and bone to break through. With the creature still wailing in pain, he pulled the door forward even harder. Sweat leaked out and ran down his face at the tight grip he had.

 

His fingers were losing their grip quickly. He tried to tighten them, but the door was cracked open a little too far. The creature’s screeching turned to a faint, hoarse breathing. Its fingers tensed into a fist, and its arm no longer trembled. He was getting close, if he could just pull a bit harder. . .

 

Finally, a loud snap. The creature’s arm broke clean in half, and the door slammed shut. The creature let out a wail loud enough to wake the dead. Blood, tissue and flesh spilled out from what was left of its arm. The piece remaining inside the vehicle cause John to finally lurch forward with dry heaves. It was a combo of the sight itself, and the smell that got to him.

 

Once he finished spitting up the last of the yellow liquid, he leaned back, and took in a few deep breaths. Everything had fallen quiet outside. That made him nervous. Anxiety and fear gnawed at his insides. A tense, empty feeling made his stomach nearly flop.

 

He shut his eyes, and took in one last deep breath. His hand still clutched the truck key with a death grip, as if he was holding the precious treasure of Atlantis.

 

The seconds that passed by felt like entire centuries. They were never cut short by sound. Nothing was happening. Were the beasts gone? Had all this been a dream?

 

He didn’t dare open his eyes, because he was certain the whole thing was real. Sure, it all seemed like something out of a science fiction horror b-movie, but yet it seemed way too real to just simply dismiss. He opened his eyes, and he got his answer.

 

Dozens of the Bigfoot glared back at him through the windshield. They didn’t make a sound or movement, but their anger-filled glares that came right from their beady, blood red eyes outweighed all of that.

 

He swallowed hard, looking from creature to creature, unsure of what to do except hightail the truck out of this place now seemingly ruled by Bigfoot. Inspiration struck. Waiting a few seconds more, he jumped into the driver’s seat, threw in the keys, and started it up.

 

The sound of the engine was followed by loud, angry roars. The creatures began banging on the hood of the truck with their fists. Some of them even carried club-like sticks, which they used to their content.

 

John put the truck in reverse, and slammed his foot down onto the gas pedal. He went flying against the seat as the truck hightailed out of the beasts’ reach. This made them even angrier. They charged forward, following close as he spun the wheel around frantically. He spun into place with ease.

 

Now in the proper lane, he put the truck in drive, and floored it again. This time, the truck went speeding down the highway. He looked over into the re-view mirrors, and let out a sigh of relief. He was beyond thankful he didn’t see any of the beasts.

 

When he looked back to the highway, he saw something running right towards him. Only this time, it wasn’t a Bigfoot. He swerved out of the thing’s way, and crashed into the side railing.

 

He was sure the Bigfoot were already rounding the nearest corner of the canyon, just waiting to feast on his tired, run down, bloody body. But, when he looked over his shoulder, un-ending joy fueled his energy.

 

He’d found another living human being. And it was the sheriff.

 

 

***

 

Prine stared wide-eyed at the small Ford truck. The driver was peering back at him from the driver’s seat, probably ticked off as hell. But, honestly, he was the one who was ticked off beyond words.

 

The driver’s door opened, and a man with black curly hair, bloodstained clothes, and a crazed looked in the eye emerged.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” he asked the man. “You nearly killed me!”

 

The man raised a hand to calm him.

 

“Yes, I’m sorry,” the man replied in a raspy tone.

 

“Good lord, you alright?”

 

“Could be better.”

 

The man smiled weakly. He didn’t bother to return it. The sound of angry howls echoed off the canyon walls, coming from both directions. A Bigfoot suddenly emerged from Prine’s direction.

 

When it saw John, it stopped, and let out a low toned growl.

 

“Oh my lord. . .” John said.

 

Prine didn’t waste words. He quickly began looking around for a rock, a stick, something to protect himself with. In his frantic search, he spotted a rifle laying in the back of the truck.

 

He glanced toward the creature, and then ran across the highway. Right away, the creature began running too, but not for him. It was running toward John, who stood there, frozen with fear.

 

Prine slammed against the pickup bed. Along with the rifle were two gas cans, a couple of beer bottles, and some old hay. He grabbed up the rifle in his arms and spun toward the oncoming creature.

 

Taking careful aim, he shot a bullet straight into the beast’s skull. It dropped dead just three feet from John. He opened up the cartridge and checked the ammo. He was just one bullet short of a full cartridge. He sighed with relief, and clicked it all back into place.

 

“How many more of them are coming from the way?” John asked, pointing past the dead Bigfoot.

 

“I only encountered three. But, who really knows.”

 

Howls continued to echo off the canyon walls, coming from