Primitive: A Bones Bonebrake Adventure

Chapter 7

They set to work immediately, their spirits buoyed by the discovery. While Dave filmed, Slater took measurements and photographs, all the while discussing her thoughts regarding the print.

“This print is fourteen inches long,” she began. “Not as large as most of the alleged Sasquatch tracks, but certainly large enough to be of interest to us. The toes are elongated, with a pronounced big toe. The depth of the toe prints are not uniform, which is consistent with what we would see with genuine footprints. We don’t tend to evenly distribute our weight when we walk, and certain toes dig in deeper than others, just like this print.”

She looked up and motioned for Dave to move in closer. “You can also see that the extremely moist earth has preserved portions of the foot’s dermal ridges. It requires ideal conditions to preserve these ridges, and the fact that we only see bits of a few here actually adds to the possibility that these prints are genuine. With a forgery, you’re likely to see full ridges.”

She then set about making a plaster cast of the print. She placed a cardboard ring around the print, leaving extra space at the heel and toe. Next, she took out a small bucket, a package of plaster of paris, and a large bottle of water. She mixed the plaster and water and stirred vigorously, explaining to the camera that plaster of paris begins to set the moment it comes into contact with water, therefore speed is of the essence when casting a print.

After banging her mixing bucket on the ground a few times to remove the bubbles, she carefully filled the track, starting with the toes and working her way down. She bit her lip as she concentrated on the task, something Bones found very attractive. When she was finished, she explained that the time required for the plaster to set varied depending on the dryness of the ground and air. In this damp environment, it would take a good hour before they could safely remove the plaster, though the curing process would continue for a few days as moisture leached out of the cast.

They took an early lunch while they waited for the cast to set. Despite Bones’ warnings that they should remain quiet, the crew was unable to contain their excitement. They chatted about their television show, wondering if further discoveries would merit a two-part episode. Bones remained silent, chewing on beef jerky and washing it down with tepid bottled water. When Slater finally proclaimed the casting ready, she covered it in bubble wrap, slid it inside her pack, and they headed farther down the game trail.

The air grew cooler and the vegetation thicker as they proceeded into the swamp. The soft earth beneath their feet gave a little with each step, lending to the feeling of heaviness all around them. The humid air seemed to weigh them down, and the moss-draped, leaning trees only added to the sensation as they trudged on through a maze of greens, grays, and browns. Little by little, the shafts of sunlight grew fewer and farther between until it felt like twilight lay upon them, though it was barely midday.

As they moved deeper, the musky, earthy aroma of the swamp gradually gave way to a dank smell. The scent grew stronger and Bones stopped, crinkled his nose, and sniffed the air.

“What is that odor?” Slater’s face twisted into a ‘Tom Cruise just invited me to church’ grimace.

The scent grew stronger, pungent. Bones shook his head.

“I don’t know. It’s not a… get down!”

Bones dove at the television crew, corralling Slater and Carly in his arms and plowing into Dave. The three fell in a heap to the damp earth as a rock the size of Bones’ fist smashed into a pine tree where Slater had stood only moments before.

Something flashed through the undergrowth — a shadow of indiscernible shape, moving from left to right.

“Get behind that log.” Bones pointed to the remains of a fallen tree a few yards away. Slater and her team scrambled for cover while Bones rolled to his left as another stone flew. It struck the earth with a wet slap like a fist hitting flesh, bounced once, and splashed into the stagnant pool behind him. What living thing could throw that hard? Either Craig Kimbrel had gotten lost on the way to Spring Training or Bones was up against something entirely new. He drew the Recon knife sheathed at his side and crawled in the direction where he’d seen the shadow moments before.

What a time to leave my Glock in the truck.

A third stone came flying out from the dense foliage. This one smashed into a rotten stump a foot from Bones’ outstretched hand and stuck there. Bones snatched it free, rolled to his feet, and hurled it with all his might at the spot from which it had come. He heard a slap as it struck something soft, then a deep, chuffing sound that might have been pain or surprise.

Bones let out a roar of defiance and dashed toward the spot, zigzagging here and there to hopefully avoid getting crushed by another flying projectile. Up ahead, the underbrush rustled, the sound fading away as their assailant fled.

Bones chased it a good fifty yards before slowing to a trot and finally stopping. He hadn’t seen a thing. Whatever it was that attacked them had simply melted into the forest. It was gone. He supposed he should go back and check on Slater and the others, and then search for any tracks it might have left behind. He sheathed his knife and mopped his brow.

And cried out in surprise when the earth gave way beneath his feet.