Bigfoot Crank Stomp

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Authors: Erik Williams
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least. He glimpsed several wounds across the creature’s torso as it sprinted in and out of the moonlight. Looked like the deputies had tried to stop it with scattershot before it made it into the woods.
    Then he saw what it was after. Some skinny guy ran for his life. Bigfoot wasn’t running away from people, it was pursuing. A predator after its prey.
    What the hell did that poor son of a bitch do to end up in this fix? Then Manny remembered his own position and realized he could end up much the same way if he wasn’t careful.
    Manny pursued at a brisk pace for several hundred feet before stopping and finding the creature again in the scope. It had changed course several times, keeping pace with the guy who was trying like hell to shake the beast. Manny did the best he could to maintain his distance but the thing was fast. Determined. Still in pursuit. The skinny guy broke off suddenly on a perpendicular course. Toward flickering light.
    A campfire , Manny thought. Shit .
    The guy screamed, “Run!”
    Shit, shit, shit.
    Manny sprinted forward to another tree, took up shelter behind it and re-scoped. He saw a woman standing by the fire talking to the guy. The guy was animated but Manny couldn’t hear him or the woman.
    Where the hell was the creature?
    There. In the darkness outside the firelight. Watching.
    The fire seemed to keep it at bay. But for how long?
    He lined up the shot, centering the crosshairs on the massive skull. Deep breath. Hold it.
    It roared. The guy and girl took off running. It followed. Fast. Too fast for Manny to get the shot.
    Son of a bitch!
    He pursued. Sprinting. He needed to close the gap to get another shot.
    His lungs burned. It’d been a long time since he’d expended this kind of energy. Big time out of shape.
    Manny stopped again and raised the rifle and peered down the scope. He found the guy and girl, standing in a hollow. Listening. Quiet. Blood on her forehead. No Bigfoot. Where the hell—
    It roared to his left. Manny dropped to a knee and swung the rifle in the direction of the bellow, ready to fire as soon as he acquired the contact. Before he could, though, something hard and dense struck his cheek and jaw. He rocked and fell on his back. Green spots and a strange blackness floated in his field of vision. Pine trees stretched up toward heaven. He heard screams and thunder crack. Then all of it faded.
    Faded.
    Faded.
     

GABE
     
     
    “Sheriff, we’ve got a problem.”
    Gabe winced and cued the radio. “What is it?”
    “Battery’s dead on this armored truck,” Stanger said. “This fucker ain’t going anywhere.”
    Shit , Gabe thought. “Did you try jumping it?”
    “Yeah. No-go.”
    Well fuck me. “All right, get back up here pronto.”
    “You don’t want me to try and find a replacement?”
    “Don’t have that kind of time. We’ll just have to improvise.”
    “How so?”
    “Get back up here. I’m not going to discuss it on the radio.”
    “On our way.”
    Gabe clenched the radio and almost threw it into the side of the cabin. “Mother fucker!”
    “Problem, Sheriff?” Pronger said.
    Yeah, big fucking problem. Now what? Got a bunch of meth and a raging meth-hooked Bigfoot and nothing to trap the son of a bitch in. Can’t even secure it in the cellar since it destroyed the fucking door.
    Slow down and think. “Don’t worry about it, Pronger.”
    “What do you want me to do with this meth?”
    Stick it up your ass. “Just set it down. Take a break and be back here with Betts in five minutes.”
    “I’m going to go inside and take a quick leak.”
    “I don’t fucking care. What I do care about is you and Betts being back here in five minutes. Got it?”
    Pronger nodded and ambled toward the front of the cabin. Gabe watched him the whole way. Then he looked down at the meth. How long had it been since he’d had a taste? Three years? Maybe four?
    Fuck it , he thought.
    He squatted in front of one of the bins, grabbed a baggie, and dumped a few

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