Night of the Yeti

3

The sun has set by the time I reach the coordinates. They lead to a small clearing with minimal rocks and grass, and I find the rangers have already removed the body. I flick my flashlight on and sweep it around the clearing. The blue light lands on prints of boots likely from the rangers but also large footprints. I crouch down over one of them. The elongation of the toes and the way they sharpen into a point are indication of long nails. These tracks belong to a yeti.

They lead off into the trees.

I reach into my pouch, wrapping my fingers around the vial of Pribane. Heaven knows what I would do if they were werewolf tracks. While some cryptists hunt werewolves, vampires, witches, faeries or even more obscure beasts, I specialize in yeti. I could stand a chance against other creatures; I have iron dust for the fae, seed for the vampires, and other defense mechanisms, but it wouldn't be a fair fight.

My flashlight lands on a puddle of blood. I put out a hand to steady myself as I examine it. The dirt is damp underneath my palm. I flip my hand over and shine my light on it. Red reflects back up at me.

Swallowing, I stand and wipe my hand on my pants, streaking them with blood. My own blood boils. Whatever yeti did this, I want my bullet to be the one that tears through it, ending its miserable existence. But I didn't catch it in the act, meaning as of now, it can only get a tranquilizer dart.

Everything I'm doing right now is disobeying Marcus's orders. He has every right to fire me. But if I'm not doing what I'm at the Institute to do, what's the point in working for him?

I set off again, this time following the footprints, tranquilizer darts ready in my gun. Bugs nip at my exposed neck. I swat them away. After the car wreck, I started watching ScoobyDoo religiously and then reading every story of ancient mythology I could fine; I never pictured myself here, stalking a sasquatch through the woods. I guess I didn't think I'd be killing them either. But after seeing firsthand what they do to us, to humans, I've known I had to stop them.

The tracks veer off to the right, and I have to push aside a branch to continue following them.

At first it was hard. Killing them. Knowing that part of them was human. But they kill us. Brutally. Isn't a bullet from me humane in comparison?

A deep growl carries through the leaves. I stiffen, trying to determine from which direction the sound came. A moment later I flick off my flashlight and slip into the brush, letting bushes and fallen branches conceal me.

Looking out through the leaves is like looking through the lens of a camera and having the focus shift back and forth. I blink and the leaves are sharp even in the night air. The next blink brings the outside world into focus.

Across from me, leaves and branches rustle. I shift my gun across my chest, one of my legs propped under me, one bent in front.

A yeti steps out of the brush, his feet crunching twigs that are scattered across the terrain. I hold in my breath even as my heart rate picks up. The yeti turns its head side to side as if searching for something. Some tiny part of me feels bad for disobeying Marcus—he only wanted to protect his friends, but if he just knew why I was out here, knew about the dead hiker, he'd understand why I had to come. Why I put myself in this situation. He'd have to.

Fur covers the sasquatch's body and hangs off it like a mane would, except it's long everywhere and not only on its neck. The hair on the top of its head arches upward as it covers its elongated skull. It's too dark to know what color its fur is.

Sweat clings to the back of my neck where the hair that didn't make it in my ponytail gathers. Is this the same yeti that killed Kel? The one that killed the hiker tonight?