Макс Брукс - Devolution - A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre

Effie shouted, “Stay still!” and the puma’s crouch deepened. The flesh of its mouth curled back, revealing these long, yellow fangs. The growl rose to a sharp hiss.

Palomino turned and ran.

A high-pitched “Stay!” from Carmen.

Everything happened so fast! I saw Palomino stoop under raised arms, Effie and Carmen running toward her, the cougar rising up, and then this pole, this long, thin, green stick streaking past my face to smack right into the animal’s ribs.

The mountain lion fell sideways, skidding clumsily on the ground. It jerked and twisted, clawing at the stick with rapid swipes. I’m not sure if it actually succeeded or if the motion of its running dislodged the point, but in a flurry of sharp, phlegmy snarls, it dashed into the trees, leaving a trail of blood.

“Are you okay?” I turned to see Mostar stepping out from between the houses, her attention on Palomino, who was practically smothered by her mothers.

I looked down at the spear, or javelin, whatever you call Mostar’s weapon. Because that’s what she’d made, a weapon. A bamboo stalk, a half inch or so wide and about as tall as her. Taller when you include the tip, a bloody paring knife, stuck on with equally bloody packing tape.

Mostar said, “Thank you, Katie,” as I handed the pole to her. I don’t remember picking it up. In fact, I don’t even remember how I got there. I just remember wiping bloody hands on my jeans as she turned to Dan. “This is what I needed it for.”

I guess Dan had cut the shaft for her when he was making his roof-cleaning thingy. Dan managed a shaky “uh-huh” as Mostar pursed her lips at the knife’s bent blade. “Would have never worked on a deer,” she huffed. “Too flimsy. And I need to figure out a way to barb the blade for it to stick.” She shook the dripping weapon back at me. “See how easily it came out? If someone has a file, maybe I can…”

“What are you doing!” That was Yvette, behind us, with Tony in tow. They must have been standing in between the houses, along with everyone else. The whole neighborhood was suddenly there, crowding the alleys. Shocked faces. Pale.

Not Yvette though. Her cheeks were red. She looked angry; no, I take that back. Indignant. A parent or vice principal when a child has made “bad choices.”

“What are you doing!”

Mostar ignored her, kneeling next to Palomino. “You okay?” Her free hand reached out to stroke the girl’s cheek. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

I looked over at Yvette, who was glaring at Tony, who wasn’t saying anything. I noticed he was licking his lips a lot, sucking them in and taking short, loud breaths through his nose.

I saw Yvette’s eyes widen slightly, that silent “Well?” look couples give each other. Without facing her, he responded with another lip chew. Yvette whipped her head back and called for Mostar, who remained focused on the Perkins-Forster family.

“Mostar!” Demanding this time. Commanding. I could see she was gripping Tony’s arm, giving it slight, signaling yanks.

“Uh, yeah,” Tony said without making eye contact. “You know… I think… maybe if we all just…”

Mostar interrupted by turning away from them back to Palomino. “I don’t know about you, Little Doll… but I was so scared, I may have just wet myself.” That was the first time I saw Palomino smile, which became a tearful giggle, which set off both her mothers. All three of them, crying and laughing, and then Effie let out this loud snotty-snort that made everyone smile.

Except Yvette. I could see her jaw muscles throb. She let go of Tony’s arm, threw it aside, and strode over to Mostar. “That was incredibly selfish and irresponsible what you just did!”

Mostar gave a slight “oh, here we go” sigh, then grunted as she stood up to face her. “It was?”

Yvette seemed taken aback by this answer, as if she expected Mostar to cave. “It was!” she repeated, and I noticed, as she spoke, that her accent had definitely changed. A strong hint of, what, Australia? New Zealand? “That animal wasn’t going to hurt her!”

“It wasn’t?” Mostar responded calmly. “You didn’t see it about to pounce?”

Yvette said incredulously, “No, I didn’t! I saw a frightened animal that you hurt for no reason!”

“Actually”—my heart skipped a beat when I heard Dan speak—“it really did look like it was gonna jump.” His voice was shaking a little, and it got louder as he said, “She… like… saved her.”

Yvette’s eyes flicked back to Tony, her head cocked to one side. He was gone. Not physically, and I’m not being poetic—well, maybe a little—but the guy we’d first met, this dynamic, confident alpha with the big neon sign above him that flashed TRUST ME, I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING? Gone.

I remember reading somewhere that perception of height is distorted by positions of authority. Doctors, cops, anyone we designate as powerful sometimes appear taller than they actually are. I’m not sure if I 100 percent believe this, and maybe Tony was just hunching badly, but I can swear, at that moment, he seemed a lot shorter.

Yvette’s eyes flashed this microburst of anger at her husband, so subtle but so hot that I felt my stomach gurgle. And when she turned that look on Dan, I nose-burped acid. She spat, “Do you know that? Do you know what mountain lions are like? Do you know that it wasn’t just scared by us all and trying to get away, and now it’s hurt unnecessarily, and what you did could’ve provoked it to attack… kill Palomino!”

I should have said something. I should have stood up for Dan. I might have, if Mostar hadn’t jumped in. That’s what I hope. But Mostar just shrugged and sighed with, “Well, it didn’t and now it’s gone. It’s all over.”

She was trying to defuse the situation, and it seemed close to working. I noticed people around me start to relax. The Perkins-Forsters got to their feet. Reinhardt raised his hands in a “well, that settles it” gesture. And the Boothes even turned back to their house. But Yvette… how big are her veins that I could see them bulging from that distance? A half beat to think, regroup, find a way to reassert her authority.

“No, no! No, it’s not over. You could have seriously hurt her with that!” Her arm shot toward the javelin. “You’re making this an unsafe space! And”—her hand opened—“I’m going to have to confiscate this.”

“No.”

The word, the tone. Absolute fact.

Yvette exhaled through her nose, eyes flicking from side to side. Was she looking for support? Judgment?

“Mostar.”

“No.”

“Just give it to me.”

“No.”

“Mostar!” One step closer, Yvette’s fingers curling around the green wood. Did Mostar wait for that, for her to get a good strong grip?

I remember this in slow motion, the hard yank, pulling Yvette forward and down into Mostar’s face.

“NO.”

And then something happened. Something that still makes me want to run and hide from the memory. Mostar’s lower jaw, jutting out as she lunged. An inch, barely, and so quick. A rapid stab forward of her face into Yvette’s.

And that face, eyes wide, jerking back suddenly.

Fear.

I keep coming back to this moment, the notion of strong and weak.

I understand beauty or money. Wit, popularity, sex.

Influence.

But I’ve never seen a physical fight, or even the threat of one. Not with girls, not even boys. Not in my world.

Primitive. Primal.

Dominance.

I have the power to cause you pain.

Yvette released the spear, retreating from the waist up. Mostar gave another lunge, shoulders back, head forward.

Yvette winced! Head turned, eyes shut, retreating a couple steps as her hands came up to shield her face.