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

That’s Scenario Two, and it’s backed up by the fact that they didn’t have a map of the area. She wrote, more than once, that they didn’t know which was the best way out. It’s possible that they tried a series of day-hikes to get the lay of the land, and that she didn’t leave a note because when they stepped out the door that morning, it wasn’t supposed to be for the last time. They could have gotten lost or hurt, or stuck in the first storm of winter.

Remember how brutal that was? I mean, c’mon, God, give us a break! A contact at the USGS told me that those kind of one-two punches can happen, like the typhoon after Pinatubo. If she got caught out in that polar vortex, with the blizzard and bitter cold… Their bodies might still be up there now, half-buried in snow and ice, thawing and rotting as scavengers pick at any exposed pieces. That’s the ending of Scenario Two, and it’s a lot less attractive than Scenario Three.

In this one they make it! Found some cave somewhere in the mountains, kept a fire going, lived on melted snow and Sasquatch jerky. Then, when the weather cleared enough to get moving, they started off again and are right now about to walk out of the wilderness next to some busy road. They might have done that already. The two of them, in some hospital, too weak and traumatized to speak. Someday soon she’ll open her eyes, whisper her name to the nearest orderly. I love Scenario Three.

But my gut tells me it’s Scenario Four.

“We have to kill them all.” That’s what she wrote. That’s what she’s doing.

I’m not talking about revenge. This is deeper, more primitive. What if those poor dumb brutes flicked a switch in Kate that’s waiting in all our DNA?

What if she didn’t stop at driving those creatures away? What if she went after them?

She knew their tracks, their scent. Kate had winter gear, and I’m betting little Palomino did too. I’m also betting that the jerky we found was made for that purpose. It’s light, easy to transport, and if you add up all the meat the rangers found versus what those animals probably weighed, I bet the deficit would be enough to get them to their first kill.

And that kill would mean more food. That soba-kiri axe was perfect for chopping up bodies, roasting a nice juicy leg on a spit. I wish I didn’t think of her that way, sitting in the dark with Palomino, the two of them warming their hands by a roaring fire, stomachs growling at some steaming limb.

It’s also hard not to feel sorry for the surviving troop. Wounded, scared, cringing at any sound that might be the smaller hungry primates coming for them. Kate’s not the only one in our family with a vivid imagination.

I’ve pictured her stalking them, maybe using Palomino as the flusher. The little girl’d yell, beat the brush, make enough racket to scatter them in terror as Kate waits patiently for some straggler to blunder into her spear. I can even picture one of them. Princess, the youngest and most vulnerable, chattering in torment as Kate jams the Damascus blade between her ribs. I can also picture my sister “playing” with her kill, torturing her. Not for fun, that’d be a waste. She’d try for a Vincent Boothe tactic, hoping to draw out a lone rescuer. And maybe it’d work. Scout, running to help, turning in surprise to see his Achilles heel severed by Pal’s swinging axe.

And the others, the two young moms, holding each other, hearing the screams die, then smelling smoke and cooking meat. I hope their brains aren’t too advanced to imagine fate, to know their babies won’t live long enough to reach adulthood. I also hope they’re not intelligent enough to feel remorse. “What have we awoken!” If there’s anything worse than visualizing your own death, it’s knowing that you caused it.

Maybe I’m totally grasping at straws here. Maybe they did just get caught in a storm. For all I know, their bodies are on a Tacoma slab. I check every week, and so far, no remains match.

But if by some miracle they kept stalking those things, killing them one by one… living off them long enough to… find the others? We haven’t talked about this till now. There can’t just be one troop out there. That wouldn’t be enough to sustain the species. What if Kate and Pal let those young mothers live just long enough to lead them to another troop? Hard to believe, I know, but so is everything about this story.

At this point the figure from the game trails has come down to meet us. It is Gary Nelson, McCray’s formerly estranged husband. The two men share a long embrace. Gary shows McCray the map in his gloved right hand, and the red grease pencil marks he’s made. McCray utters a resigned sigh and unslings his rifle.

Hard to accept why she left the journal behind. She never said it, but I know. One journey ends, another begins. Hard to reconcile the memories of my soft, sensitive baby sister with the predator that might be out there now. Mother of a tribe of two. The killer apes.

The wind howls in the distance. At least I think it’s the wind.

You hear that?

To Henry Michael Brooks: May you conquer all your fears.

First and foremost, a giant, Sasquatch-sized thank-you to Thomas Tull, who generously gave me back the novel rights for a movie I once sold to him.

To my editing team, Julian Pavia and Sarah Peed, for their relentless diligence and objectivity.

To Carolyn Driedger (USGS), Leslie C. Gordon (USGS, Ret.), and Professor Barry Voight of Penn State for their technical help with the Rainier eruption.

To my friends Kevin and Jo for introducing me to the town that inspired Greenloop, and to Jo’s brother John for his technological guidance in turning that inspiration into reality.

To Rachel and Adam Teller for their advice on glassblowing.

To Diana Harlin and Jonny Small for their culinary and pop-culture references.

To Nate Pugh for his knowledge of home construction, Cousin Robert Wu for kitchen knives, and Arigon Starr for her navigation through the world of Sasquatch in Native American cultures.

To Rosemary Clarkson at the Darwin Correspondence Project for setting me straight on the real author of that Darwin quote.

To Major John Spencer (US Army, Ret.) for his military language.

Professor Lionel Beehner (United States Military Academy at West Point) and Major Michael Jackson (US Army) for introducing me to my Bosnian experts.

And to those experts, Jasmin Mujanovic and Leila Disdarevic, who expertly brought Mostar to life.

To my agent, Jonny Geller, who filled some very big shoes.

To my childhood friend Richard Cade, for his unforgettable, second-grade declaration that “Bigfoot is indestructible!”

And, always, to my brilliant, supportive, and superhumanly patient wife, Michelle.

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Max Brooks is a senior nonresident fellow at the Modern War Institute at West Point and the Atlantic Council’s Brent Scowcroft Center for Strategy and Security. His bestselling books include Minecraft: The Island, The Zombie Survival Guide, and World War Z, which was adapted into a 2013 movie starring Brad Pitt. His graphic novels include the #1 New York Times bestseller The Harlem Hellfighters .