The PriZin of Zin (6 page)

“Can we get there soon?”

Bigfoot shook his head. “Not ready. Need protection.”

“Protection from what?”

“Evil,” Bigfoot said. Again patting the platform, he said, “need rest”.

“What kind of protection?” Hunter pressed.

“Rocks.”

“Rocks?” Hunter looked at his new friend, confused. “Like the ones that you threw at the deer?”

Bigfoot nodded.

“And at me?”

Bigfoot nodded again.

“Why did you throw those rocks at me?”

“Scared.”

“I scared you?”
Some protector. You’re just as scared as I am
.

“Flew down from the sky,” a big finger pointed upwards. “Evil can, too.”

“You thought I was evil?”

Bigfoot shrugged. “Need rest.” He patted the platform again.

Hunter sat silent for a long minute, taking in his new surroundings. Looking off into the distance, he could see the mountainous area that was his destination, volcano bubbling and hissing steam into the sky. Bigfoot belched and smacked his lips to get rid of the taste, eyes never opening from his slumber. Hunter lay down next to his Bigfoot, and tried to get comfortable. He covered his nose to hide the horrid smell of his companion.

“Mikey?” Hunter asked after a long silence. “How will I get this protection?”

“Friends.”

Chapter 6: Warrior

war·rior
noun,
often attributive
\ˈwȯr-
yə
r, ˈwȯr-ē
-ə
r, ˈwär-ē-
also
ˈwär-
yə
r\

a person engaged in some struggle or conflict

Day 2

The sun was warm on his skin. There was a slight breeze in the air, cooling his face. The motion of the tree branches was an ever so small sway with the movement of the air, the scent in the sky was – horrid. Hunter gagged and tried to cover his nose. His arms were pinned down and he couldn’t move. He wiggled and tried to break his arms free with a loud groan.

Bigfoot woke up. Snuggled up against Hunter, giant arms wrapped around him and his head nestled against Hunter’s shoulder, Mikey yawned, released his young friend and threw his arms over his head in a giant stretch. Hunter rolled away to the edge of the platform and retched. Clearing his nostrils, he gasped for fresh air, hoping not to throw up. Glancing down from the top of the tree, branches gently swaying in the breeze below, another wave of nausea hit him, and he held down a another retch that climbed up the back of this throat. Closing his eyes from the height and the moving branches, Hunter’s stomach slowly settled back down. He heard Mikey still yawning and moving behind him. He cracked open one eye and peered across the platform.

His Bigfoot yawned, baring enormous teeth and jaws. With his mouth open, he let out a rumbling sound that resembled a purring cat. At the same moment, Hunter heard some rumbling coming from the other end, and then a waft of yet another horrid and even more offensive smell.
Great
, Hunter thought.
A Bigfoot that farts. Didn’t think this could get any worse.

Mikey sat up straight and looked around at his behind. He sniffed the air, winced, and turned back to Hunter. He pointed at Hunter’s stomach. “Eat?”

Hunter shook his head.
Not with this smell
.

“Down,” Mikey said, and turned to descend the tree. Disappearing below the platform, Hunter crawled over to the spot where Mikey had just been. He looked down and another wave of nausea overtook him. He pulled back and took a deep breath. Sitting there on the platform, he tried to decide what he was going to do next.

“Down,” he heard Mikey command from below.

Hunter tried again to inch toward the edge of the platform, but the mere thought of looking down again made his stomach somersault. “I can’t,” he called down.

The branches rustled and jerked to the side, and a large brown head popped back up into view. “Down?” he said again.

“I can’t,” Hunter said. “It’s too high.”

Mikey hoisted his great bulk back up onto the platform. Standing, he towered over Hunter. With one hand, he hoisted the young man up, and once again threw him over his shoulder, then scooted down from the tree in less than a minute. Hunter felt as though he were on a water slide as Mikey shifted and twisted to avoid all of the branches and obstacles. Once on solid ground, Hunter was again unceremoniously dropped to the ground hard, his feet jarring and his stomach near revolt. He stood for a moment, holding on to Mikey, the only thing within reaching distance until his nerves and nausea settled. Mikey stood still as long as Hunter was holding him. When Hunter released his grip and stood tall, Mikey started off back through the forest. “We go,” was all he said.

“Where?” Hunter asked.

“Friends.”

“What’s that?” Hunter inched closer to the strange object hanging from the tree. He noticed another, and another in the other nearby trees. There were dozens of these strange little objects on the low-hanging branches of nearly all the trees that Hunter could see.

They were circular in the middle, with woven strings. Some had beading, and some not. Most were colored brightly, and all had feathers hanging down from the bottom.

“Dream catchers.”

“Dream catchers?” Hunter walked close to one and reached his hand out.

“No touch!” Mikey snapped. “Evil there.”

“Evil?” Hunter inspected the object closely, without touching it. “How can these catch evil?”

“Friends believe. Must respect.”

Lingering in the forest to see how these mystical charms worked, Hunter was filled with a foreboding sense of doom. Stepping close to a large and particularly colorful one, Hunter heard a faint sound. He put his ear up next to the catcher. There it was again, as faint as a whisper.

“Hunter.”

His heart raced.

“Hunter, can you hear me?”

“Dad?”

“Help me, Hunter.”

“Where are you, Dad?”

“Help me. I’m lost.”

“I’m coming, Dad. Hold on,” Hunter told the tree. “Mikey!” he screamed. “Mikey! Help me!” Hunter spun around in circles, nerves on edge, looking for his helper. “Mikey!”

“Here,” the voice came from behind.

“My father. He’s stuck in one of those things. We have to get him out.”

Bigfoot lowered his head. “Evil has him.”

“We have to get him out. It was this one—“ Hunter’s hand reached out to grab it, but was batted away by Mikey’s large brown mitt.

“Not touch,” he warned. “Father not there,” he pointed at the woven piece of string and feathers hanging from the tree. “Father lost with evil. Must rescue.”

“But I heard him. He’s in there.” Tears perched on the corners of Hunter’s eyelids, threatening to erupt at any second.

“No.” Mikey stepped in close. “Comm-un-i-ca-tion.” A large hairy finger pointed to the dream-catcher again. “Not there. Lost. Must find.”

“How?” Hunter cried.

“Friends,” Mikey said again and turned back on the trail leading through the dangling charms. “Friends know.”

Up and over the top of the rise, Hunter began to see pointy-shaped, triangular structures. Even from their great distance, he recognized them as teepees
. Indians
, he thought.
No, not just Indians - warriors.

‘Seek the warrior’
Alistair had said. Mikey had called them friends. He sighed with relief. They would help him rescue his father.

Hunter ran ahead. “Come on!” He beckoned Mikey to catch up. The two picked up their pace, Mikey taking longer strides with his great height, and Hunter running alongside to keep up.

After what seemed like forever, they were within meters of the tribe.

People
, Hunter thought,
human contact again
. He was so excited to meet and greet others of his own kind, he recklessly turned off the main path to take a shortcut through some brush, down a hill, and out into the meadow where the teepees were. Running downhill he began to barrel forward, unable to control his speed. Once on a fast-paced rate down the hill, he could not stop, bursting forth into the clearing at the bottom. Out in the open again, he ran for the first being that he saw, but stopped dead in his tracks.

Between Hunter and the Indians stood a tribe of Bigfeet.

Friends
, he thought.
Of course
.