Saving Sasquatch
Forest fire and cinnamon sufused the mountain air. The cinnamon could have been all in my head, a subconscious implantation of the pink sun, simmering behind the ash and poison masquerading as clouds. A fire demon must have possessed my dad, hijacking rationality, and taking his thoughts hostage to the idea of going fishing in that apocalyptic environment.
"Trevor, this river is wild." My dad stared at me hard, waiting for evidence the words had gone deep and not just glanced through the space between my ears. "It twists and turns and bucks and once you're in it, all you can do is hold on."
I nodded, and he thrust our gear at me before turning to attend the raft. I studied the raft and wondered what exactly I’d be holding on to. As if in response the wind pushed over the hilltop. There was whispering from the leaves of the quaking aspens and groans from the lodgepole pines.
“There’s nothing to hold on to, Trevor,” they all seemed to say.
"Dad I don't think the fish are going to be biting today." Normally, I like fishing, but that day everything was wrong. The short hairs on the back of my neck danced a wicked tango, and my breakfast rotted like. corpse in my stomach.
"We're not here to fish," dad said.
"But you said..."
"I know, but your mom never would’ve let you come if she knew what I’m here for. I can't even believe I'm going to ask you to do this." He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned down, his nose almost touching mine. "I need your help.”
I nodded.
He took our gear back, dropped it in the raft, and motioned me in. “You know those stories Uncle George tells when he's had too much to drink?"
“The ones about the Bigfoots?” I settled on the bottom of the raft as he pushed it out into the current and jumped in.
“Feet.” He grabbed the paddle and settled in the front of the raft.
“What?”
“Never mind,” he shook his head and waved his free hand like he was erasing a chalkboard. “The point is, they’re real.”
I had the impulse to jump out and swim for shore. My dad had gone certifiable. But the current was strong, and we were moving fast. If I’d have jumped out, the odds of reaching shore were low. My hesitation robbed me of the moment as the raft careened away from the put-in point. The riverbanks were growing steeper and more overgrown with each passing second. Maybe if I kept him talking I could get him to come back to reality.
“We’re in a raft, heading toward a fire because Bigfoots are real?” I had to shout to be heard over the river.
“I know how that sounds, but the fire is too close to their home, and they won’t leave because they might be seen, so they need help. You're going to have to draw them out because they won’t come out for me.”
“Why won’t they come out for you?”
He answered, but the rush of the river was building to a crescendo, and I couldn’t make out the words. I think he said I was short. What kind of weirdo brings his kid out in the wilderness to get killed and then calls him short?
The raft bucked as we were sucked into the pink rage of the rapids. I hoped the roaring up ahead wasn’t a waterfall.
On the heels of the thought, I caught air and the next thing I knew I was underwater. I should have been going up, but the current was pushing me down. Panic filled my lungs. I needed air. Fighting for the surface, my feet hit bottom and a wave of terror seized me as I realized the current is pushing me into a hole.
Ball-up! The remembered rafting lesson exploded into the crowd-panic happening in my brain. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I prayed it would work.
The lift happened immediately. I popped out of the water like a beach ball and gasped for breath. Trying to tread water, I splashed around, looking for the raft. Before I found it, I saw the waterfall up ahead. When I turned to the raft, Dad had his hands at the sides of his mouth like he was shouting at me, but I couldn’t hear anything over the river. Mad with fear, I flailed, trying to get to the bank. It was no use. The current drug me toward the drop and, right before I went over, I felt my breakfast in my throat.
One second I was floating, the next I was falling. I closed my eyes and hoped it wouldn’t hurt.
When the falling stopped, the landing didn’t make sense. There should have been a splash. The surface of the water should have given my body a battering. I should have been underwater again, but I was dangling, water pelting my head and shoulders. The pelting stopped after I was moved behind the waterfall, accosted by the stench of a thousand wet dogs, and staring at a couple dozen yellow eyes, all watching me from hairy faces.
Before I had a chance to process, there was a yelp as the raft and my father flashed past.
"Dad!" I squirmed to get loose. One of the other Bigfoots dived after him. I could feel myself slipping from the one that had me, but it pulled me close. I struggled more. The smell of the thing was nauseating.
The bigfoot that had me jumped too, and moments later I was in the water again. It held me for a few seconds, but I wriggled free and surfaced to see a bigfoot pulling my dad ashore. He was bleeding.
“Dad!”
“Trevor, are you all right.”
“Yeah, I think so.” The smoke was thicker there, and the air stung my lungs. “You’re bleeding,” I said.
“Persephone will help me. I’ll be fine.” He wheezed. “Where’s Donavan, I thought he came down with you?”
“Dona...they have names?” I looked around for the other Bigfoot. At first, I didn't see it. Then something dark in the water caught my attention.
“It’s still under.”
“He. He’s still under.”
“Are you seriously correcting my grammar?”
“Help him.” Dad started coughing. “He saved your life, now help him.”
“Right.” I jumped back in and swam over to the dark shape floating just below the surface. How I was supposed to help a bigfoot was beyond me.
I grabbed what looked like an arm and started pulling. It didn’t budge. Diving down, I realized its hair had gotten tangled in an underwater tree. It took a couple of dives before I got him free. Getting the thing to the shore wasn’t too hard but pulling him up was another story.
“Dad he’s too heavy.”
My dad only groaned. There was a branch stuck in his side. “Where’d what’s her name go?”
I heard something snap and the other bigfoot came back spitting something green and slobbery into her hand. I cringed as she smeared it around where the branch was sticking out of my dad.
“Better, that’s better,” he said.
Persephone came over and heaved Donovan out of the water. I’m pretty sure I saw worry on her face and she looked back and forth between my dad and Donovan like she was trying to decide.
“CPR,” my dad said before he went into a coughing fit. He coughed up blood. Persephone went to him and did something to stop the coughing.
“Trevor, help him,” my dad said again.
“You want me to give CPR to a Wookie?” I really didn’t want to put my mouth on the hairy guy.
“Sasquatch!” My dad screamed, mostly because Persephone was pulling the branch from his side. She looked at me, holding the bloody branch.
“Sorry. Sasquatch.” I knelt and pumped Donovan’s chest. Persephone went back to working on my dad while I deliberated whether the breathing part of CPR is entirely necessary. But the pumping didn’t seem to be doing anything. I thought back, trying to calculate how long Donovan was under.
I resigned to doing it and shifted up by his head, tilting it back and pinching his nose. I leaned forward and opened my mouth. Suddenly, there was a gurgling sound and I got a face full of whatever was in Donovan’s lungs, and stomach by the smell of it. Spitting and sputtering I scampered back to the water to clean off.
As I turned to see what was happening, I was lifted off the ground and crushed up against a fur coat. They smelled less like a wet dog when they were wet.
When I got free again, dad was sitting up and looking decent for a guy who was just impaled.
“Now what?” I asked.
“Now, we save the sasquatch.”
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