Track of the Beast: A Brock Stone Adventure

He and Trinity hurriedly freed the captive women, removed their IVs, and helped them to their feet.

“Who are you?” one of them asked.

“I’m a reporter,” Trinity said. “We’re here to help you.”

“You’re not the police? And he doesn’t look like any reporter I’ve ever seen,” the woman said, looking at Stone with curiosity.

“He can scarcely write his own name, but he’s useful when brute strength is required.”

“Take the ladies and make tracks. I’ll take care the Bigfoot,” Stone said.

“Be careful.” Trinity looked nervously at the creature, which lay slumped against the side of the cage. It was barely four feet tall, but it had muscular arms and sharp teeth. At the sound of Trinity’s voice, it lolled its head to the side and gazed at them through glassy eyes.

“I think it’s been sedated. I should be okay.”

As Trinity ushered the captive women out of the lab and toward the exit, Stone cautiously approached the cage.

“It’s all right, pal. I’m going to take you home. Lucky for you I know exactly where you live.” He spoke in a soothing voice as he sorted through the keys. The juvenile Bigfoot continued to stare dully at him. When Stone found the correct key and opened its cage, it didn’t make a move.

“Moment of truth,” Stone said. “I’m going to pick you up. Please don’t sink your teeth into my jugular or anything like that.” Gingerly, as if picking up a newborn baby, he scooped the creature up, grunting with the effort. The thing weighed as much as a grown man.

They looked at one another for a split second, eyes locking, and Stone saw intelligence and emotion in the creature’s eyes.

“It’s all right now,” he said.

Maybe the Bigfoot understood, because it draped its long arms around his neck and laid its head on his shoulder.

As he left the lab, he took another look around. The Illuminati thugs were struggling to get past the door that held them captive. Stone saw a wildness in their eyes that reminded him of the stories of Viking berserkers.

He had taken two steps into the room when the lights flickered and dimmed. An alarm bell rang. The lights flickered again. A metallic clank echoed through the room. He looked over to see that whatever system held the gate closed had failed. Inch by inch, the thugs were raising the gate.

Stone began to run.

26- The Fight

Stone was halfway up the iron rungs that led to the upper level when the lights went out again. Straining to bear his own weight along with that of the juvenile Bigfoot, his sweaty hand searched for the next rung. He found it, its cold surface icy. It gave a little bit beneath their combined weight.

“Hold on a little bit longer,” he mumbled. The young ape let out a groan. “You, too.”

In the darkness below he heard shouts and snarls. The Illuminati soldiers were catching up to him. Stone climbed faster. His boots slipped and he nearly fell, but he kept going. The sounds came closer.

He reached for the next rung and his hand closed on empty air. He wobbled and then regained his balance. He had reached the top!

Once out of the shaft, he finally had a free hand to draw his Webley. His first shot missed, but the muzzle flash gave him a glimpse of a giant man, his teeth bared in a bestial grin, scrambling up the rungs with spiderlike agility.

Stone fired again, but the man barely seemed to feel the impact of the .455 slug as it buried itself in his shoulder. His next shot took his target in the eye. He gave a jerk, his body freezing in place as the slug penetrated his brain. His fingers went limp and he fell, taking two of his comrades along with him.

The sudden gunshots had terrified the Bigfoot. It began to howl and flail its arms. It struck the wrist of Stone’s gun hand so hard that his hand went numb. The Webley clattered down into the pit.

“Consarn it!” he swore. “See what you did?”

Without a weapon, he had no choice but to make a run for it. He dashed out into the canyon.

All too soon he heard the Illuminati closing in on him, still howling with bestial rage. Stone had been a track and football star in high school and college, and could outrun most men, but he’d never run a race with a Bigfoot in his arms. As the sounds of pursuit close in, he was forced to accept that he wasn’t going to outrun them. He would have to stand and fight.

“I’m gonna rip your arms off!” one of the Illuminati shouted. “I’ll eat your…”

A shot rang out and the man let out a roar of pain. And then the forest was filled with flashes of gunfire. More shouts of surprise, pain, and anger behind him. He stole a glance back. A couple of the Illuminati were down, most were bleeding from multiple wounds, but they were still coming. It took a lot to take these men down, if they truly could be considered men anymore.

One of the brutes was almost on top of him. And then a figure came dashing out of the forest. It took him a moment to recognize Constance. She was dressed in snug-fitting clothing and carrying a pistol.