They hadn't known what hit them. The creature—Bigfoot, as the others had called it, was smarter than they all thought. Twelve mercenaries, armed with an intermediate caliber rifle or automatic carbine and sidearm had provided security for a team of scientists searching for the legendary beast; just one was left.
Chris Black, a former Staff Sergeant and member of Marine Force Recon for eight of his twelve years in the United States Marine Corps, was now retreating for the first time in his life. Even with all of his experience, nothing had prepared him for this: a hairy, eight-foot tall creature with an unbearable odor of defecation that ran at the speed of a jackal and had the sense of smell greater than a bloodhound.
He wished he had just done his twenty in the Marines instead of wanting to try something else; in this case, protection for scientists on the hunt for "legendary" creatures. Chris had found it quite easy to keep a bunch of lab rats, searching for whatever the hell they were after, safe. They had been busy for the past three days: first they drove into the forest, setup camp and placed night vision cameras in the trees. On day two, he and the other security patrolled while the lab rats baited traps; to their surprise on the third day, what they were searching for . . . found them.
That hadn't gone over to well; now Chris was the sole survivor from the beast's attack. As he ran through the forest, trying to get back to their camp, Chris heard it roar so loud it made his ears hurt.
It's close behind me, Chris thought as he ran. My .45 doesn't have the punch to even slow it down!
Once he made it back to camp he'd at least have some sort of chance; as former Force Recon, being prepared always was important. Along with the Heckler and Koch G36C (which was destroyed by the beast) and MK23 Mod 0, Chris also brought along an H&K G3A3, a Taurus Tracker .44 Magnum and a "World goes to Hell" rifle: a Remington Model 700 chambered for the .308 Winchester. However Chris had gotten his hands on some hot rounds. They were custom made for a "certain market", handloaded with more powder to increase stopping capability, and were hollow point instead of full metal jacket rounds.
Another loud roar from the beast tore through the dead forest; Chris felt his heart begin to race faster as he saw the small glow of a few lights they had left on around camp. It wasn't far, maybe a hundred feet or so, but running for his life made it feel like an eternity.
He had no time to screw around; Chris could smell it coming. He moved to the tent he been assigned to, ripped open the flap and got inside to grab the other weapons.
It had surprised him when one of the scientist's—Alice had been her name—was partnered with him in the same tent. She had been a cute dirty blonde in her late twenties, had brown eyes that hid behind a pair of small steel rimmed glasses and had never been in a situation like this . . . who had? She'd been thrown against a tree not thirty minutes ago, the back of her head smashed open from the impact against the bark.
Now being in the tent they had shared it didn't bother him that she was dead. Maybe it what because that he'd seen death for the past twelve years, or he just didn't have those feelings for her. Chris didn't know; he had to focus. He unzipped the bags containing the G3A3 and Model 700 before grabbing the .44 Magnum from his other bag.
A slight grin went across his face when; in the corner of his eye, Chris noticed the small red thong lying on the tent floor Alice had worn yesterday. And they say a nerd can't be sexy, he thought to himself, allowing the tension to break just for a second.
The beast's roar brought him back to reality.
He grabbed a box of hot rounds for the Model 700 and racked the bolt. Chris loaded five rounds into the internal magazine before closing the bolt and grabbing the G3A3. He had been smart about that rifle and had loaded the detachable magazines with hollow points hours before going on this trip.
"I'm ready for you," he whispered as he racked a round into the chamber. With the 700 on his back, the Taurus Tracker now in the holster used for the MK 23, and the G3A3 in hand, Chris exited the tent. "Come get some." His training and experience from Force Recon started to come back; Chris felt almost invincible and was ready to go face-to-face with this thing. He hoped the high would last for a while.
Once outside, the amount of light given off by the small portable flood lights was more than enough to give away Chris's potion; he killed the power to them and pulled out a pair of night vision goggles. Figuring they might go out at night, the scientists had brought those along; lucky for him there had been a spare pair lying around.
"Where are you?" he muttered to himself. Not only did the thing have an excellent sense of smell, it more or less had great hearing, unlike most people Chris knew of.
There was one thing which didn't make sense just yet: Chris didn't smell a damn thing. Have you run along home or something? Did the Marine scare away the monster? He teased the beast in his thoughts; it helped ease the terror inside of him once again. The high of being invincible had worn off. Damn.
Chris then tensed up; the smell had returned, followed by a large figure appearing in the goggles. He took aim as he dropped and got into the prone position. Through the night vision goggles, Chris could see the beast loping towards him; it acted like an old man in its walk.
"Good night you son of a—" the crack of the rifle cut him off. Chris fired ten rounds into the thing before it dropped. Every bullet that punctured the large creature's flesh made it roar in pain, each one louder than the last.
After waiting for almost ten minutes to make sure it was dead, Chris got up with caution; he continued to aim at the beast while moving back to kick on all the flood lights around the camp. Once all of them were on, it appeared the whole forest had been lit up. He moved towards the downed thing; not for a second did Chris take his finger off the trigger.
When he got close enough to see the thing was dead, Chris fired another round into its head, sealing the deal.
"Man," he said in disbelief and covered his nose and mouth, "this thing's huge. Stinks even worse up close." The beast had thick black and brown fur, eyes the size of baseballs and teeth that made those of a lion look pacified. "All this time," Chris said to himself as he moved around the dead beast, "this thing has been in the forest, just doing . . . whatever it does. How did no one ever find it?"
He didn't want the question answered; Chris figured some things were best left unsaid.
As he turned back to get his stuff, the footage from their cameras and the keys to one of the off-roads, Chris froze. There stood another beast, this one much taller and had glowing yellow eyes.
In the instant it started towards him, Chris raised the G3A3 and fired until the rifle clicked empty.
The beast continued forward.
He was too scared to even move when he dropped the rifle and grabbed the Model 700 off his back. Taking aim at the beast's head, Chris pulled the trigger; even with the crack from the rifle almost making him deaf and its muzzle flash pretty much blinding him, Chris saw its head explode from the round's force.
Before the thing dropped, Chris picked up the G3A3 and ran past it, grabbed what he could and got into one of the off-roads. After starting it on one try, Chris threw it into reverse and stomped on the gas; all four wheels driving caused the vehicle to throw dirt. Once in the direction he needed to be in, Chris pulled it into drive and floored it.
After a few minutes of driving on the winding dirt trails, Chris thought he was safe; he was wrong. Checking over his weaponry, Chris had four rounds in the Model 700 and two speed loaders for the Magnum and he didn't have time to grab another magazine for the G3A3.
Dead ahead of him, Chris could see about a dozen glowing yellow eyes, all of them residing at different heights.