“It ain’t going to help.” A new voice rang out from somewhere up ahead, amused, with a touch of youthfulness. A young man, freckled and sandy-haired, stepped out from behind a live oak. He wore overalls with no shirt underneath and carried a .22 rifle. Bones put him at about thirteen years old, give or take a year. “Either you’re a woodsman or you ain’t.” The boy cleared his throat and spat on the ground. “You are,” he nodded at Bones, “but they ain’t.”
“They’re trying,” Bones said. “You live around here?”
The boy shrugged. “Not real close by, but I spend a lot of time out here.”
“What’s the gun for?”
“Squirrels or whatever else I might feel like having for dinner.”
Bones nodded. He enjoyed squirrel meat from time to time, though he had to go home to North Carolina to get any. “You got a name?”
“Yep.” The boy’s face cracked into a wide smile and his eyes sparkled. He seemed to think he’d made a great joke.
Rednecks, Bones thought. I can’t even stand the juvenile of the species. “I’m Bones; this is Slater, Carly, and Dave.”
“I’m Jack.”
“You said you spend a lot of time in these woods?” Bones asked.
The boy raised his eyebrows. “Is Danica Patrick a race car driver?”
“I have no freaking idea.”
“She is and she ain’t. She drives a race car but she’s a woman so she ain’t no race car driver.” The boy threw back his head and cackled.
“Youthful misogyny,” Slater mumbled, “such a sight to behold in its nascence.”
“I actually understood that,” Bones said. He turned back to Jack. “We’re tracking something,” he said. “Something that moves on two feet. You haven’t seen anything unusual, have you?”
The boy froze, his eyes suddenly hard and his expression blank. “That ain’t a good idea. You should just go on back where you came from.”
“Can’t do it. You got any idea which way we should go? I’m going to find the trail one way or the other, but it would save me some time if you’d point me in the right direction.”
“There’s twenty bucks in it for you,” Slater said.
Jack spat on the ground again. “Thank you, but I shouldn’t take your money. If you’re hell-bent on this, you need to turn south and head into the swamp. I don’t know if you’ll find much of a trail once you get there, but that’s the place you should look.” He paused and looked away. “I don’t never go in there. Nobody does.”
“Thanks,” Bones said.
“You see them two pines that are leaning together?” Jack pointed deeper into the woods. “You want to walk right under them and that’ll put you on the game trail that takes you where you need to go.”
“Got it.” The kid didn’t seem the handshaking type, so Bones made a curt nod and turned the group south. He kept his eyes on the ground, watching for signs to confirm they’d been steered in the right direction.
“You think he knows what he’s talking about?” Slater asked as soon as they were out of earshot.
“He seems to know his stuff. Worse case, we retrace our steps and find the trail again.” He glanced back over his shoulder. Jack was gone. “He can move in the woods, I’ll give him that much.”
“There’s the two pine trees. The game trail should be right through there.” Dave quickened his pace and moved ahead of Bones and Slater just as they passed beneath the pine arch.
Bones smirked at the cameraman and returned his eyes to the path in front of him. Something wasn’t right.
“Stop!” He dove forward and grabbed Dave by the belt just as the ground disappeared between the cameraman’s feet.
Dave cried out in alarm, his arms pinwheeling as he slid forward, his fall not fully arrested by Bones’ strong grasp.
Slater sprang to Bones’ side and grabbed hold of one of Dave’s flapping arms. “Hold still,” she hissed. Together, she and Bones pulled the young man out of the dark hole that gaped beneath him. Once he was free, he lay back, breathing hard.
What… was… that?” he gasped.
“A Burmese tiger pit,” Bones said, staring down at the dark hole that had been only partially uncovered by Dave’s fall. “You dig a hole, put sharpened stakes at the bottom, and cover it with twigs, leaves, and dirt. Someone comes along and falls right in.” He knelt for a closer look. “This one is deep and there are no stakes at the bottom, just a lot of muck since we’re so close to the swamp. It’s not a killing pit.”
“So what is it for?” Carly asked.
“Trapping. Bones and Slater exchanged a dark look.
“So, was the kid trying to trap us?” she asked.
“I don’t know. How about I ask him?” Bones made to rise but Slater put a hand on his arm.
“Don’t bother. He’s got a head start and you said he moves well in the woods.”
“You don’t think I can catch that little assclown?”
Slater smiled. “I’m sure you can, but it’ll be a waste of time. He’ll just say he didn’t know the pit was there.”
Bones gritted his teeth and gave a single nod. She wasn’t wrong. “It could be that the pit is just there to make outsiders feel unwelcome.” He sighed. “I guess we go back to where we left Jack and try to pick up the trail again.”
“Um, isn’t that a footprint down there?” Carly pointed down the barely-visible game trail. In the middle of a patch of soft earth lay a single, perfect print.
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.