Scary Dead Things - 02 (44 page)

It wasn’t until Gil reached the edge of the camp that a bad feeling began to enter his gut. The bright orange tent was still there after all; it had just been pounded into the dirt - flattened, actually - and was plainly missing a few large chunks. However, there was still enough color left for it to be unmistakable. A moment passed while this sank in, and then Gil dropped his fishing gear and sprinted full speed into the campsite.

“MARIA! CARL!” he began shouting as he circled the center of the site. Here, it became evident exactly how bad things were. The tents were destroyed, and the sleeping bags were torn apart. Debris was spread across the entire area. It looked like a tornado had hit. Hell, it looked like someone had dropped a bomb on the place.

Gil had never seen anything like it. He’d seen hungry bears attack campsites before; they’d make a hell of a mess - but nothing like this. The thought of bears brought another uncomfortable feeling to the pit of his stomach. Not wanting to, he forced himself to look more closely at the surrounding area; it didn’t take him long. Gil was no tracker, but even he could see the rust-colored stains on the grass. It told a grim story.

Gil refused to believe it; it had to be something else.
The SUV!
He was sure of it. He’d go there and find them waiting for him, then they’d all have a good laugh and drive off together. He held onto that thought like a drowning man; it was the only thing that was keeping him on his feet. He continued shouting for his wife and son as he raced to where the SUV had been parked, another fifty yards hence at the edge of the trail they had followed to this spot.

Gil ran through a copse of trees and tripped over something hard sticking out of the dirt. He pulled himself to his knees and saw it was one of the doors of their Dodge Durango. Gil suddenly felt like he had stepped out of reality and into one of the horror movies that he and Carl would occasionally stay up late to watch. In the eerie silence of the forest, it was almost unreal.

The silence!
Gil hadn’t noticed it while he’d been shouting Maria and Carl’s names, but now he did. The sounds of the woods had once again retreated into nothingness. For a few seconds, all he could hear was the beating of his own heart. Then he heard another of those grunts from earlier.

Gil turned towards the sound. Less than twenty yards away, just outside of the tree line, stood a nightmare. It was nearly nine-feet tall and at least twice as broad as Gil, all of it muscle...hairy muscle. It stared at him with red-rimmed eyes that bespoke of intelligence tinged with madness. Brown fur covered the creature from head to toe, with the exception of around its mouth; there, the fur was stained the same rust color as the grass in the campsite. The creature opened its mouth wide and let loose a roar that sounded as if it had escaped from the gates of Hell itself. Gil’s bladder emptied as the beast charged him.

The next two minutes were both the longest and last of his life. Much of what came out of his throat - while he could still make noise - was little more than inarticulate screams; however, there was one thing that would have been obvious to any onlooker bold enough to have bared witness: during those few minutes, Gil Mercer loved camping a whole lot less than he usually did.

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Bigfoot Hunters

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