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

This one didn’t. She just clapped her hands twice with, “Okay, let’s get to work, a lot of broken glass to clean up.” As Reinhardt took Dan aside, mumbling something about his bad knees, I looked back to see that Bobbi was now alone.

I could see her head was bowed slightly, as she hugged herself, shoulders heaving.

“C’mon, Katie.” Mostar took me by the arm and escorted me down the hill toward her. “Let’s get her home.”

Vincent was gone by then, disappeared into the fog.

From my interview with Senior Ranger Josephine Schell.

Not all chimps throw rocks for dominance. In West Africa, primatologists recently observed them hurling stones against trees. No one knows why. There’s a theory that it’s some kind of “sacred ritual” for some yet undiscovered goal. Personally, I couldn’t care less why they do it, just that they do. It shows me rocks have multiple functions, and we can’t be sure about what all those functions are. If some chimps use stones in their monkey-hunting tactics and those tactics are being used by some of their larger, North American cousins, then both the Mount St. Helens attack and the bombardment of Greenloop weren’t meant to drive the humans away, but to drive them out into the open.

There’s no more lying. To each other, to ourselves. No more denying what they are and what they want.

I haven’t written for two days and so much has happened. I’m trying to keep everything in order in my head. It’s like I’ve lived a year.

After Vincent left, we spent the rest of the day trying to repair our houses. I wondered to Mostar if we, the three of us, shouldn’t just focus on making more sharpened stakes. If they were hostile, and clearly the rocks had proven that, shouldn’t security be our most important priority?

She said, “You’re right,” but followed up with, “broken glass is a security issue. If we don’t clean it up, if someone gets cut and needs stitches…” She also pointed out the need for sealing up the spaces left by broken windows. “We can’t have anyone catching a chill. We’ll need them strong and healthy when they come around.” And before I could ask, she answered, “They will, Katie. Trust me. They’re on the line… no… fence. That’s the American term. They’re all on the fence right now, waffling because of Vincent’s heroic gesture. But they’ll need us soon enough. And we’ll need them.”

There it was again.

Need.

I didn’t ask what would make them come around. I figured I’d know soon enough.

As far as our house is concerned, the master bedroom had to be abandoned. The rock that hit our balcony door pushed the safety glass right out of its frame. Even if we put the mattress and box spring up against the opening there’s no practical way to seal up all the drafts. Better to move them into my office. Move all our toiletries to the guest bathroom down the hall, keep the master bedroom door shut all the time.

The same goes for Dan’s office, which he actually sees as a plus. “More energy efficient.” That’s his rationale. “Two rooms we don’t have to heat.” He’s programmed the system to shut their air ducts. Amazing you can do that. Smart house. He showed me how many amps we’re saving. “Which can all go toward the garden.”

I pretended to share his optimism, his enthusiasm. I didn’t tell him how it feels like a retreat. One more step back. First, they took the forest. Then they took the night. Then a couple rooms in our own house. How many more steps back do we have?

The house told us one of the solar panels was offline. Not cracked, their flexible makeup is shatter-proof. It was just a loose wire connection that could be fixed from the balcony. Still, the idea of Dan out there with his back to the woods. Just one well-aimed rock. I stayed with him the whole time, facing the trees, looking for any movement. Nothing happened. No rocks, no sounds. At least the fog might have given us some cover. That was what I hoped even though it was starting to burn off. Vincent was right. I wondered where he was by now, how far he’d gotten. It was hard to focus on what I was doing. Tired. Achy. But so much to do!

The village took a lot of hits. Back windows smashed. A few balcony doors fractured. Same with the kitchen doors. Safety glass. Fissured but intact. Reinhardt’s took a hit, but unlike our balcony, it was still in the frame. Even the door itself worked, although Dan thought it might be dangerous to use it. He came up with the idea of closing the drapes and setting the kitchen table against it. Reinhardt got lucky. There’s no way to seal off the kitchen. That potential heat loss makes me grateful that the living room window-wall is also paneled with safety glass. Ours now looks like an asymmetric checkerboard, panes intact, others “fogged” with cracks.

None of the other houses were hit on their inward-facing windows. Did that have to do with being seen? The Perkins-Forsters all hid right behind their front door. Bobbi sheltered in the downstairs bathroom. Who knows what the Durants did. Mostar warned us not to waste any time trying to check on them. She’d sheltered in her workshop before running over to check on us. We, I, was the only one standing right in front of an upstairs window. They must have seen me, targeted me.

That moment during the compost fight, when the large female, Alpha, locked eyes on me…

Stop it. Stick to recording what happened.

While Dan helped Reinhardt, Mostar and I went over to see what we could do for the Perkins-Forsters. That car alarm we’d heard last night? That was their Nissan Leaf. Right on the roof, right up and over the house. How much strength does it take to hurl a stone the size of a medicine ball?

At least their master balcony doors were intact, which prompted them to turn the whole bed up against it. They’ll all be sleeping in that room from now on. Palomino’s room was a disaster. Multiple rocks. Window glass mixed with mirror shards. I tried not to think about the stone chunk in the middle of her pillow.

No cleanup there, just abandoned. Another retreat.

Effie must have seen the way Pal was looking at me, the way she held my hand when we came in. “Do you want to stay here for a bit, help Pal move some of her stuff into our room?” I was going to agree, especially when I saw her eyes brighten. But Mostar killed that idea with, “We haven’t stopped by Bobbi’s yet.”

“Bobbi’s.” I just realized that now. Not “the Boothes’.”

Effie gave a resigned, “Oh, of course.” And as I turned to leave, Pal refused to let go. “Would you like to come along?” I asked her, then up to Effie, “Is that okay?”

“By all means,” that was Carmen stepping in, “we can take care of this.” There was something in her face, all of their faces, including Bobbi’s when we came over.

She was in her kitchen, Band-Aids covering her right thumb and forefinger. A rock had gone through the window above her sink. She’d cut herself trying to fish a few fragments out of the drain. “Can’t have them clogging the garbage disposal.”

I noticed the room smelled like chardonnay and some of the pieces on the floor were olive green. Did the rock knock a bottle over, or had she done it herself in a frustrated fit? She looked listless, bleary-eyed. The room’s smell masked if she’d been drinking. I started to regret bringing Palomino along, but seeing her seemed to energize Bobbi. “Oh hi, Pal!” And she jumped up to open the freezer.