Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(88)

The hard yank dragged me back, face plowing in the ash, breathing it in.

Coughing, choking. And suddenly I was upside down. I hoped it would be quick like Bobbi. My eyes cleared in time to see a grotesque smile. The result of my fire punch. Cooked, peeling lips pulled back over mottled teeth.

Her growl vibrated my own teeth, filling my nose.

Her mouth opened as I shut my eyes.

Then the squeal. Surprise, piercing, numbing my eardrums as I fell.

On my hands, rolling to the side, looking up at Dan poised for another swing.

The soba-kiri axe in his hands, painted red, matching the gash in Alpha’s right hip. She wobbled, spinning awkwardly to face him.

“Getouttahere!”

I rose and ran, bolting for the Common House.

I didn’t see what happened next. Pal explained it all to me later.

She’d run in the other direction, toward the darkness, under the gutted remains of the Durants’ car. Hiding on her stomach, she could see everything that happened to Dan.

He raised the axe for another, higher strike, probably going for an eye. But the blade glanced off the socket’s protruding bone. It must have hurt though. That must have been the roar I heard. Pal saw Alpha slap one bloody hand over her split brow while grabbing and throwing the axe away. Dan tried to retreat, backing up and ducking as she swung.

Speed, that’s what he must have been banking on, his small size allowing him to dodge the bludgeoning storm. She was fast too, but she was hurt, and she was angry. He kept just out of her grasp, missing half a dozen punches. He could have run, maybe. He could have hopped over and around enough stakes to maybe get her impaled on a few. A chance to let her bleed, to get fed up, to give up. He had a chance.

Dammit Dan.

The coconut knife, still in his belt, then in his hand. Sidestepping another blow, he sprang forward with a quick stabbing thrust. He had to have been going for the heart, just under the rib cage, just like before.

So close.

Alpha charged at just the same moment, spoiling the spike’s angle, pushing it up toward the sternum, where it lodged between hide and bone. Alpha roared, reeled back, taking Dan with her. She raised her fist just as he freed himself.

The blow came down on his shoulder, spinning him sideways, knocking him on his stomach. She stepped on his back. Pal heard the crack. So did I.

I’m not sure what I said at that moment, running out to see her raising a foot to stomp on his head. Something profound, or just profane? I must have made some kind of sound to get her to twist in my direction, for her eyes to catch the reflected light of my shield.

That light on her face, the expression. Annoyed at my distraction, or just glad to finish me off? I remember her fists raising high above her head, aiming for the shield, exposing the soft dark dent of her armpit.

I drove the Damascus blade through skin and muscle, heart and lungs.

The world spun. Alpha jerked herself away, throwing me aside, losing my shield but still gripping the Zulu spear. The sound it made sliding from the wound:

IKLWA

I landed flat on my back, ears ringing, eyes and mouth filled with her blood. I managed to crawl backward to the edge of the Common House, sitting up against the wall. I watched through tunneling vision as Alpha took a long, thundering step toward me.

She tried to roar, but all that came out was pink foam. She tried to move, but her knees buckled. She knelt, raised an arm, reaching. She fell on hands and knees, eyes never losing mine. A final stretch, fingers brushing my shoe. She collapsed without a sound.

I crawled past her and over to Dan. I stroked his face, called his name. Pal’s hand touched my shoulder.

My man is dead.





    I found a way, I found a way to survive with them. Am I a great person? I don’t know. I don’t know. We’re all great people. Everyone has something in them that’s wonderful. I’m just different and I love these bears enough to do it right. I’m edgy enough and I’m tough enough. But mostly I love these bears enough to survive and do it right.

—From the video diary of TIMOTHY TREADWELL, self-proclaimed “Grizzly Man,” recorded right before he was eaten by a bear





From my interview with Senior Ranger Josephine Schell.


A knock at the door interrupts my interview. Two rangers enter, hesitate respectfully, then on her nod remove several of the heavy boxes from the room. The time is eleven forty-five A.M. The government’s lease officially expires at noon. Schell rises from her desk, stretches slightly, winces, and rubs her lower back.

We got there the following week. Shoulda been the following day. But that’s how long it took for the heat signature picked up by an NOAA*1 POES*2 bird to make its way through the bureaucratic labyrinth at Lewis-McChord to the closest team, which happened to be us….If those houses hadn’t burned, we probably never would have found them until spring, until some family member finally got a phone call through or maybe, honestly, some bill collector logged enough complaints.

Mrs. Holland was gone by the time we got there, her and the little girl, but everything we’ve found backs up everything in the journal she left.

We found what had to be the garden, which just looked like a patch of raised, charred dirt by then. I can’t help wondering if it might have worked, if they’d been able to plant more in the other garages….I know a little bit about gardening. Mom always kept a vegetable patch behind our house. I honestly don’t think they could have lived on it indefinitely, but under the right conditions and with a little luck, it might have eked out enough to make it till spring. Hypotheticals aside though, who can’t sympathize with all that work down the drain?