Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre

Chapter 11

We think we have a bear. That was the consensus of the HOA meeting this morning. I went around before breakfast to knock on doors. I tried the Durants again. The same as last time. Vague TV glow from inside, the zzzzzp-zzzzzp of the elliptical. No voices this time though, and I am proud of myself for trying the doorbell. And when I got nothing, I even went around to their backyard. The curtains were drawn over their kitchen windows and doors. I rapped on the glass. I called their names. Again, no response. Mostar warned me not to get my hopes up. “They’re not leaving Elba.” But she didn’t explain why and warned me not to waste time wondering.

But how can I not? Are they embarrassed about being dethroned? Hiding in self-imposed exile because their façade has been shattered. I guess that makes sense. The model and the salesman. Smoke and mirrors. I wonder.

Everyone else was receptive though. We all met at the Common House to discuss what happened last night. The Perkins-Forsters saw something too, from their bedroom window. They weren’t sure what though, a dark mass at the edge of their porch light. And Bobbi thinks she caught something moving through the trees. Reinhardt didn’t see anything. He was fast asleep. So was Mostar. At least we’d been right not to wake her up.

She shocked me at the meeting, what she said about a bear. Earlier, at the door, when we’d knocked to ask her about getting together, I’d told her what I’d seen. I used the word. I made it very clear. And she acknowledged it, at least with her body language. By her nod, her tone, I thought she believed me. So, you can imagine how I felt when I heard her say to the group, “Well, it sounds like we have a bear sniffing around.”

Before anyone could respond, she continued by adding that that’s all it could be. They’re the only animals tall enough to reach the tops of the apple trees. Didn’t everyone notice their remaining apples (the ones the deer didn’t get) were gone? I had, and I could tell that a few of the others had too. A lot of the fruit trees looked “vandalized.” I know there’s a better term for it, but so many of the top branches were snapped, the fruit picked clean. Squirrels couldn’t have done that kind of damage, and deer, even on their hind legs, couldn’t have reached that high. That was Mostar’s logic.

She also pointed out that, if anyone was considering raccoons, they might be smart enough to open the compost bins, but certainly aren’t strong enough to tear them from their foundations. Everyone seemed satisfied with that. And yes, for just a second, I found myself rethinking everything. I mean, bears are big and hairy. And they have no neck. And when they stand on their hind legs, can’t they get pretty tall? It all kind of made sense, and if Mostar was saying it, then maybe Dan and I were just freaking out for no reason. Actually, I was the only one who’d seen anything. I totally expected Dan to agree with Mostar.

But then he spoke up, asking about the tracks. Don’t bears have claws or something? I caught a look on Vincent’s face, his eyes hitting the floor. Had he already been thinking along those lines?

Reinhardt waved the idea away. “Do any of us really know what bear tracks look like in the wild? And isn’t it common for animal prints to change shape over time, grow and morph as the tracks melt then refreeze with passing days. I recall one incident back in Connecticut, when I saw week-old deer prints that looked like elephants had stampeded across my lawn.”

That worked on the room, the Boothes and Perkins-Forsters all nodding in agreement. I noticed that Palomino was looking at Mostar, who, again to my surprise, was openly complimenting Reinhardt on his “astute explanation.” Palomino looked as puzzled as I felt. I shot Dan a WTF glance and he responded by addressing the crowd.

“Yeah, but we’re not talking about snow here. Ash doesn’t melt and refreeze. And even if time or wind or whatever could morph them into something else, these tracks are so fresh you can see every…”

And suddenly his words trailed off. I didn’t understand why at first. I glanced at him. Then I saw that he was looking directly at Mostar. Her eyes were maybe a millimeter wider than normal, and that shake of her head, I don’t think anyone else noticed it. All eyes were still on Dan. He just sighed, shrugged, and said, “But… yeah… now that I’m, like, actually saying it all out loud, you’re right, I don’t know what bear tracks look like. Sorry, I’m just really tired.”

Reinhardt gave a condescending, “Of course, of course,” and bowed his head in mock magnanimity.

Mostar immediately followed up with a chuckling, “So we have a fuzzy visitor,” and with a gesture out to the tree line, she said, “and we might also have solved the mystery of who killed that wounded mountain lion.” At that, Vincent threw up his hands in a silent “eureka” gesture. I heard an affirmative mmm from Carmen as well as a grunt from Reinhardt. Mostar, smiling so slightly, continued with, “Which means we’ve got to be a little more careful, don’t you think?”

More approving sounds, more supportive body language. It was crazy, what Dan would call a “Bizarro World” moment. Mostar leading the room.

And then she asked, “So does anyone have bear spray?”

Record scratch.

No one said anything for a tense moment, until Bobbi blurted out “No!” I think her own forcefulness surprised her. But when we all looked over, she continued, “That’s so cruel! They’re just trying to eat, and you want to mace them?”

Mostar’s face didn’t change. Serene, diplomatic, I can only imagine the words she was biting down. “I’m just thinking about the cougar,” she said calmly, probably with her bones rattling from the strain, “how we don’t want anything like that to happen again.”

Bobbi argued, “We were surprised. And if we’re just more conscientious from now on, watch where we’re going, make sure we give the compost bins some space…”

Effie looked like she was about to disagree with Bobbi, but as she shifted to speak, Carmen cut in. “Or… if we clean out the bins, move the edible waste into the woods, away from the houses, they…”

“Then they won’t have a reason to come close.” Reinhardt completed the thought chain with a very smug expression. No doubt, he was somehow congratulating himself for the plan.

Bobbi looked happily relieved. She grabbed Vincent’s hand and turned to Dan. “No one expects you to do that, Danny, we’ll all do it ourselves. It’s only fair.”

Again, no change from Mostar. Okay, maybe just the tiniest tension in her voice? I think I know her well enough by now to see what repressed anger looks like. “Isn’t it…,” she said slowly, clearly considering each word, “dangerous to feed the bears?”

A pause from the room. Bobbi looked to Vincent for backup. “I think that’s only in heavy tourist areas,” he said. “More of a long-term, seasonal issue than a one-off situation like ours.”

Bobbi added, “And, if you mean ‘dangerous’ to the bears, I think it’s only if they lose their hunting instincts by becoming dependent on humans.”

Vincent brought it around with, “Which, again, isn’t an issue because our compost can’t make more than one meal at best.”

“But,” again, Mostar treaded lightly, “won’t putting that meal out… encourage them?”

“For what?” That was Carmen. “Bears aren’t aggressive. Not unless you surprise them with their cubs.” As if to accentuate the point, she reached past Effie to stroke Palomino’s cheek.

Is any of this true? Carmen’s explanation for why bears attack, the Boothes’ justification for feeding them just this once?

Mostar looked about to burst. I could see the shift, the boiling rise. No more consensus building, no more playing nice. I remember thinking clearly, Oh shit, here we go.

But then the craziest thing happened.

Her face. I’d never seen this expression. Drooping, eyes down and to the side, like she was taking a call from someone in her head. This was all new, totally indecipherable. When she refocused on the room, her voice, I’d never heard it so far away.

“All right then, let’s get to it.”

And her walk afterward. Slow, dragging. Everything about her. Like God had hit the dimmer switch.

She walked right past us, not acknowledging Dan’s “Mostar?”

No one seemed to notice her change but us. Why would they? Rushing off with their new, exciting little project. Always looking out for themselves. Our community.

Except Pal. Her worried eyes shifted from me to Mostar as her parents led her away.

“Mostar?” We followed her to her house. I’d called after her this time, and again when she reached the front door. “Mostar, what’s the matter?” As she reached for the knob, I put my hand on hers. That seemed to snap her out of it. Eyes again refocused, looking up at me, hand on my cheek.

“I’m sorry, Katie. And you too, Danny.” A quick glance around at the dispersing crowd, then hustling us into and through her house to the backyard.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you first about the ‘bear’ tactic.” We were standing on her back steps now, looking at the tracks across her yard. “I thought it was the best way to reach them. Frame the discussion in something more familiar.” She stepped down onto the ash, toward the nearest footprint. The sky had been clear all day and night and these prints were as sharp as when they’d been made. She opened her hands to the first one, looking at us.

“Of course, I believe you, but they wouldn’t. Too many mental hurdles. Believing the unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Like being warned that the country you’ve grown up in is about to collapse, that the friends and neighbors you’ve known your whole life are going to try to kill you…” She sighed deeply, hands up to the sky. A flash of anger. “Denial. Comfort zone. Too strong. And who are any of us to judge them?”

I certainly wasn’t. I would have given anything to stay in my comfort zone. Even now, when Mostar mentioned the enigmatic trauma of her past. I could have asked about it, just like I could have asked all the other times she’d brought it up. But I didn’t. I just stood there, hoping she’d change the subject, then wishing a second later that she hadn’t.

“People only see the present through the lenses of their personal pasts.” Her lips soured. “Maybe that’s my problem too.”

She sat down on the steps, focusing on the ash. “Violence. Danger. That’s my zone of comfort.”

She looked up at us again. “You probably thought I was crazy that first night.” Her head jerked toward our house and, I’m guessing, our garden. “But I knew what I was doing. I know how quickly society can burn. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived through it. But this…”

Eyes back to the footprints. “These may be real.” Head up to the trees. “They may be out there.”

“They”? Not “it”?

“But how do I know that they’re dangerous?” She shook her head. “I don’t. They might be friendly. They might just be passing through. And the fight with that big cat. How do I know it wasn’t self-defense or that Vincent’s not right about scavengers? I don’t.”

And then I understood what had come over her. And it chilled me.

Doubt.

“Bear spray.” She huffed. “That was just the start. You don’t know how far I would have taken you all today if the others hadn’t stopped me. And maybe they were right to do so.” Her eyes, meeting ours. Apologetic? “Do I have any evidence that they’re threatening, any proof of anything except”—she blinked, hard—“the lens of my personal past?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I still can’t. It’s been a couple hours since Mostar told us to go home. We haven’t seen her since. Dan’s off to work, brushing the Perkins-Forster roof. I’ll meet him over there after I’ve done some gardening. Not much really to do. The seeds are all in, even the rice now, scattered over a square-foot patch with some soil thrown over it. The drip line works great, so there’s no need to hand water anything. Not that anything’s coming up. Basically, my “gardening” consists of looking over a room full of mud.

I should probably go check on Mostar first. I feel so bad for her, and, yes, scared for the rest of us. We’re depending on her, Dan and I, and the whole village, whether they know it or not. We can’t have her doubting herself, ending up as lost as the rest of us. We need her to be strong. We need her to be right.

But in this case, with those things out there, what does it mean for all of us if she is?

From my interview with Frank McCray, Jr.

Yeah, I’ve read The Sasquatch Companion, and for the most part, I agree with the official origins story. I think the book makes some good points about being descended from Gigantopithecus and the migration from Asia to the Americas. But co-migration? I’m not so sure.

Now, I don’t have a shred of evidence to back this up, so if you want to nail me on that, be my guest. But given what happened to Greenloop, what if… what if… they weren’t just co-migrating along with us? What if they were hunting us? Isn’t that why we came over? Following the grazing animals across the Beringian land bridge? What if we were stalking the caribou while they were stalking us? It wouldn’t discount any of the adaptations, just give them a different purpose. Nocturnal hunting would catch us at our most vulnerable. Camouflage skills are ideal for an ambush. And broad running feet would give them the speed to chase us down.

And when they caught us… if the stats are right, then we’re talking about three times the strength of a gorilla, which is already six times stronger than us. And that large head, the same conical shape we see on gorillas, that’s a sagittal crest, the skull plate that anchors their jaw muscles. Those muscles give a gorilla one of the most powerful bites in the world, thirteen hundred pounds per square inch. Now triple that in a Sasquatch and picture what it would do to our bones.

Maybe they used that bite, and strength, and speed to compete with us for food, or maybe we were the food. You’ll have to talk to Josephine Schell about that part. She knows more about carnivorous apes than me.

But for whatever reason, we were the ones, not them, who couldn’t wait to flee into this vast new continent. And what if enough time went by for us, this weak little species, to build up our numbers, and our confidence, to eventually challenge the larger primates for dominance of North America? What if that’s why they’ve remained so elusive, because they knew what would happen if they stepped out of the shadows? They saw what we did to the saber-toothed cat, the dire wolf, the giant bulldog bear. They saw what we did to enough of them to realize that they were on the wrong side of evolution.

At least until Rainier.

Josephine Schell thinks I’m going too far. She’s all about ecosystems and caloric needs, and maybe she’s right. But maybe there was also some latent gene that woke up in those creatures when they stumbled across Greenloop and found themselves facing a herd of cornered, isolated Homo sapiens. Maybe some instinct told them it was time to swap evolution for devolution, reach back to who they were to reclaim what was theirs.