Encounter — Flavor Sterlot — Chapter 2

Maybe it’s Bigfoot!

Andersen remained quiet, spitting in the man’s direction as he and his wife went over to a level spot and pitched their tent. While they worked, he heard Jones.

“Hey, Andersen. I have a theory. Maybe your men went loco and freaked out? I remember seeing an old western where people go crazy after drinking contaminated water.”

The guide glared at him, then realized Jones sincerely believed what a movie showed him. With a sigh, he shook his head while recalling the gruesome scene.

“No, water didn’t do that. Something scared them. They weren’t shooting wild, even though we didn’t see any blood. I just don’t think their bullets did anything. But they’re all three dead now. To me, that’s the final warning for us to leave. We’re in bad enough shape with just a couple of rifles for protection.”

“Don’t worry about it, Grizzy Adams!” Jones suddenly chimed in. “I got the rest of the tech in my bag.”

“I wish we could have grabbed another rifle,” the guide mumbled.

However, Jones, who called himself a cultural journalist, focused on the young woman across the campfire from him. He lifted his arm to expose the device around his wrist.

“Sandi, if you like the mountains here, Tibet will amaze you. I used this bad boy over in the mountains. It’s got a compass, gyroscope and barometric altimeter,” he continued. “It supports multi-GNSS satellite. I can get out of any place with this and a map. In a way, this kind of reminds me of my time in Tibet.”

Jones launched into an account of his time in the mountains with Sherpa guides. The young woman faintly smiled at him, which encouraged his rambling story. Andersen rose from his position and stepped over to the journalist, who was filming him the whole time with his phone.

“You and the lady better get your tents up and grab some sleep. It’ll be a long night. Since nobody volunteered, I’ll take the first shift. The lady gets the second and you get the dog watch.”

Jones stared up with a brief scowl, then glanced at Sandi, who stared at Andersen.

“There you have it; our guide is nervous.” The journalist turned off his camera app. “You’ll have to give me some more of those nasty Native American legends we’re supposed to worry about.”

“I’ll tell you all about it in the morning if we survive the night.”

There was an unpleasant smile on the man’s face as he stared down at Jones. The journalist recognized Andersen’s dark scowl meant trouble if he kept up the mocking.

“Alright, alright, I get it. We need to have a watch. It was the same in Tibet with our guides.” Jones lifted himself to his feet to face Andersen. “Maybe you’re being a nanny, but you’re right about us being in the middle of nowhere. Who knows, all the timber they’ve hauled out of here might have stirred up something.”

He grinned at the guide.

“Maybe it’s Bigfoot?”

The journalist put away his phone, grabbed his backpack and began putting up his pup tent close to the Bashir’s. Andersen unleashed his tent from his pack, then pulled out his Remington 700 rifle from the attached gun case. He quickly inspected the weapon, then loaded a bullet into the chamber by the firelight. Ensuring the safety was on, he noticed Sandi watching him. Her expression still held a shocked indignation, but he noticed a hint of fear as she stared at the rifle.

“What’s your problem?” He asked.

Sandi looked like she changed her mind before she spoke.

“Who said I was getting up in the middle of the night? That’s your job.”

He glared at her.

“I let the man paying the bills slide, but you’re just excess baggage with no weapon. You can continue to pretend you’re sending messages on your phone, or you can get some sleep. We need fresh eyes to warn us if that thing comes this way.”

“How do you know it’s a thing?” Her tone revealed her disdain for the idea.

“I don’t, but something intelligent left tracks. And I enjoy living, don’t you?”

To his surprise, Sandi didn’t continue to argue. Instead, the woman got to her feet in a huff and dragged her backpack over near Jones’ tent. Andersen didn’t pay any attention to Sandi’s muttered cursing as she worked. However, the man noticed how quickly Jones stepped up to help her. He couldn’t hear what they talked about, but he didn’t care much. His head was splitting from a headache. With a grunt, Andersen started pacing around the edge of the campfire light with his rifle slung over his arm.

After a quiet night and plenty of grumbling the next morning from the tired group, Andersen carefully circled the area. As he looked for prints, he stopped occasionally to get his bearings while observing the terrain. Like Jones pointed out the night before, their position was between a forest wilderness which extended for miles. On the other side sat a large parcel of nearly barren acreage, stripped of trees by a timber company. Next year, the company would plant pines to replace what they took out. Still, the landscape gave off hellish vibes, with the occasional dead tree sticking up like pieces of a bleached skeleton exposed to the sun.

As Andersen made his way back, he saw the two women in an intense discussion with Bashar. Jones was packing while listening in to the conversation from the look on his face. The guide already knew the reason for the conversation. He told Bashar he was heading south, back to the road. Despite repeated threats and curses, some of which Andersen couldn’t understand, the academic threatened to go it alone. With a shrug at the announcement, Andersen told Marie to talk sense to her husband, and he left the camp.

That’s when Andersen discovered the prints again. He kneeled by the print, a strange-looking ring about the size of his hand with a cup-shaped depression along with a raised center. The hunter scanned the path, which showed five prints in a strip of mud heading south. Given the number, size of the prints and depth, he estimated two of the creatures, probably larger than a human. However, the nature of the print revealed something else strange. No claws or pads, only a slick surface that did not pick up the mud.

“What’ve you got?” Jones said as he approached.

“You tell me,” the hunter replied after he spat the juice of his tobacco.

After showing the journalist the trail and what he observed, Jones whistled lightly.

“Yeah, that’s figgin weird. What do you want to do?”

“Well, the boss insists on going north to that damn mine. It appears this thing is going in the other direction. I guess that’s the best we can hope for.”

“That’s good! I didn’t want to lead them north on my own. I don’t think he believed you’d abandon us at first. You won’t believe some words he was calling you after you left camp,” Jones snorted. “I noticed his English gets pretty lively when he’s mad.”

The man rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his head. Andersen grunted at the news, but remained quiet.

“When I tried to tell him to listen to your advice, Bashar told me he also doesn’t like me getting so close to the women. I mean, I’ve been looking. Who wouldn’t! But he wasn’t so touchy when we started out.”

As he started back to get this pack, the journalist stopped him.

“Say, do you have any aspirin? I woke up with a hell of a headache.”

“No, you’ll need to get the first aid kit in Sandi’s pack,” Andersen said. He remained quiet about his own painful headache.

When they got back to camp, Bashar’s mood brightened considerably when Andersen told him he’d lead them to the mine. While Marie appeared upset at the choice, her sister showed little reaction. Instead, she went back to her phone.

Continue to Chapter 3