Bigfoot Crank Stomp by Erik Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

its hands as it could and brought it to its nose and snorted and snorted until its hands were empty. It shuddered and sighed and Russell, for a moment, understood how it felt. Then it picked up another handful and repeated the process. When it was gone, it licked its fingers and palms clean.
    Then it started to emit a low, wheezing sound. It took Russell a moment to realize the thing was crying. And again, Russell understood how it felt.
    Red and blue lights flashed in the corner of his eyes. He turned. Several Sheriff’s cars drove up toward the cabin.
    “Fuck me,” Russell said and started to reach for his shotgun.
    Too loud.
    Bigfoot’s head snapped toward him. The eyes, bloodshot and wild, fixed on him like a heat-seeking missile. Its leather-like face dotted here and there with blood and meth.
    “Oh, shit.” He backed away from the gun.
    To his right, tires crunched gravel and brakes squeaked. In front of him, Bigfoot rose and turned so that its massive frame faced Russell. But it really wasn’t massive. Russell could see that now. Still muscular but withered away, too. All that fur hanging on it like baggy clothes. The body of a junky.
    It tilted its hairy head back and sniffed the air. Then it lowered its head and resumed its lock on him.
    “Fuck me.”
    Doors opened and shut. People spoke but Russell couldn’t make out what they said. He heard a few shotguns pump.
    Across from him, Bigfoot flexed its thighs as if ready to jump. Twenty or so feet separated them and Russell didn’t doubt the thing could probably cover the distance in a single bound.
    That didn’t stop him. He spun and took off, legs churning like a runaway locomotive. He avoided the berm and found a less extreme decline and managed to keep his feet at a full sprint. Branches smacked his arms and legs and cheeks. None of them slowed him down.
    Behind him, he didn’t hear footsteps. Instead, Russell heard panicked yells and another roar. Then gunshots.
    Russell kept running, the sound of violence echoing around him.
     
     

MANNY
     
     
    Roar after roar. No screams though. If he’d heard a scream, Manny would stop watching and start toward the menacing sounds. He could only resist so long before the old reflexes kicked in and a scream would shatter that resistance to pieces. Hell, he was sweating already. Perspiration dotted his forehead. He could feel wet rings under his arms. It took a great deal of energy to do nothing.
    The sniper training paid off in cases like this. Plenty of times he’d witnessed incidents he could have easily intervened in. But he’d maintained focus, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He allowed regular ground forces or local authorities to take care of those little incidences of looting and mob violence. They did their job and he did his.
    So where were the fucking cops? They should have been there by now. You’d think a 9-1-1 call about a shootout would have brought Sheriff Clemons charging up the Loop, guns blazing. He had the reputation. A real hotheaded son of a bitch. Yet Tallwood kept electing him because he supposedly didn’t take any shit.
    Manny didn’t have much room to criticize since he refused to vote. Voting meant registering and registering put his name on another list in some bureaucratic office. No sir. He was on enough lists already. He didn’t like lists.
    Should have gone off the grid , he thought. Moved away from people entirely . Then he wouldn’t be dealing with meth-head dealers living next door and getting their asses shot up during what otherwise was a beautiful night.
    Someday soon. Once he’d saved enough. Then he’d be gone. Somewhere in the higher elevations. Away from—
    BOOM. A shotgun blast.
    Across the valley, familiar red and blue lights rotated on top of Sheriff’s vehicles.
    About time , he thought.
    A hellacious scream cut the valley in two. A roar of triumph followed. Beast one, man zero.
    Seconds stretched. The Sheriff’s vehicles stopped moving. Deputies