Short Stories

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.