Forsaken An American Sasquatch Tale - By Christine Conder
Prologue
The Sasquatch served no purpose, but still they fought to survive. There were different rules in every settlement, but no matter where they lived, three were fundamental, considered commandments:
1. Stay focused.
2. Stick to the path.
3. Trust nothing.
Remembering the rules like they remembered their name was the cornerstone of survival.
From the moment they began to walk and talk, the commandments were drilled into their heads. If they followed them, they got to grow up. And then, after they survived childhood, they picked a mate, found some hole to climb into, and more or less stayed there until they rotted. There were certain milestones to break things up, of course, like having children of their own or moving to a new colony. But otherwise, the Sasquatch life was unremarkable.
If they followed the rules.
Liberty Brewster tended to stray off the path, but she blamed her rebel streak on her mother, Sarah Fleming. She’d overheard the awful things colonists whispered about her mother. Heretic. Birdbrained. Unstable. The last— used most often and with the most malice— was the worst to be labeled with. Unstables didn’t stick around too long.
Her mother talked a lot, spoke of the outside world, and claimed to be psychic, but it was harmless, imaginative babble. Liberty never believed she’d been in danger of an escort. Thank goodness her father governed the cavern, because it afforded Sarah some immunity.
Behavior that jeopardized the colony wasn’t tolerated. The guilty party got a warning, sometimes more than one if the offense hadn’t caused an incident, but any more and the guards took the person, the unstable person, aboveground. And they wouldn’t be seen again.
“Dream big, baby,” Sarah said one night, in barely a whisper.
“Huh?”
“No one said you can’t have an idea.” She’d sat behind ten-year-old Liberty on the feather stuffed mattress and started to braid her hair. “They aren’t against the rules, you know.”
Liberty shrugged.
“Sure you do,” her mother’s voice sounded soft and calm, like a fuzzy caterpillar.
Liberty closed her eyes and relaxed. Her hair was long and tricolored, thick strands grew out in clusters of auburn, sable, and blond. She loved the way her mother braided it, pulling the colors into individual sections, each hue separate and snaking around the next in the plaits.
Whenever she tried it, the colors refused to stay apart, they’d mishmash together and she’d look like a calico mess.
Sarah continued in a more serious tone, “Like, I have an idea that out near the stream there are hundreds of plump, red raspberries begging to be picked.” She gently tugged and pulled, fastened one finished braid with a blue ribbon. “And I’d like to go this very minute and eat some.”
Liberty’s eyes popped open and she turned around. “Really?”
Sarah nodded, a playful smile on her lips.
“Just you and me?”
Sarah winked.
Liberty searched her mother’s face, waited for her to say she was joking, but Sarah didn’t flinch. Patience, her three-year-old sister, demanded most of their mother’s energy. Ever since Patience had been born, Liberty had relinquished the majority of her one-on-one time. Except for this, their cherished bedtime ritual.
Sarah put a hand up to quiet her, and looked toward the open doorway of the bedchamber. “Can you keep it a secret?” she whispered.
“Yes.” Liberty bounced on the blanket, and crossed her heart. “I swear it.”
The children of Proem had been banished to the cavern since an elder Sasquatch had died in a mysterious way the children hadn’t been privy to. It seemed her mother had also been kept from the surface, though Liberty couldn’t be certain of it. The Council had determined it was for their own good, which of course they didn’t question, but the elder had died months ago. Liberty wanted to run free more than anything.
“Be patient, little ladybug.” Sarah patted Liberty’s head, turned her around, and started the second braid.
Sarah recounted the dream again, the one she’d had before Liberty was born.
Her mother said she came into the world bathed in white light and said she saw her walk through a wildflower field wearing a pretty yellow dress with a hem that fluttered in the breeze. Sarah then envisioned her strolling down a crowded street filled with activity and noise. Liberty held the hand of a human with a white aura, pointed in shop windows, and was beautifully human herself.
“Where was the street at?” Liberty interrupted.
This was their little game.
“Hmm…” Sarah leaned over Liberty’s shoulder, “I believe it was in Baltimore.”
Last night it had been Portland. Liberty giggled and listened to the rest. The dream always had a happy ending.
After everyone had fallen asleep, they crept down to the end of the cold corridor where a ladder waited to take them to the surface.
Sarah put a finger to her lips and carefully avoided the creaky rungs as she climbed. Liberty shut her eyes, waiting to hear the hatch close behind her mother when Sarah reached the surface.
Going from human below, to animal above, hadn’t grown on her yet. Some of the other kids snickered, called her a jennie. But she was only sensitive, not a half-grown turkey, so the taunts rolled off her.
Though it wasn’t, when she watched people get all twisted and rippled, it looked painful. While the change was nonnegotiable, it didn’t mean she was required to watch it.
She listened for her mother to lift the hatch again, the signal it was clear, then she opened her eyes and ascended one rung, waited, then another rung, and another.
On egress, an intense seizure overtook her body, but the wave only lasted a few seconds. She emerged as Sasquatch and before she had any time to dwell on the experience, it was over.
Guided by a fat moon that hung low in the sky, they ran away from the cavern. Liberty wanted to thank Sarah, tell her how free she felt, but the Sasquatch couldn’t speak. Not in words anyway. The tongue and throat didn’t coordinate aboveground and the best she got were high-pitched grunts and grumbles. But she didn’t need to say the words out loud; Sarah would understand how she felt. Liberty’s energy danced in the air around her, a bright orange aura with flecks of yellow, perfectly mirroring her mother’s.
They reached the stream, kneeling on the dewy grass near the edge. Surrounded by the sweet aroma of raspberries, they cupped their hands into makeshift bowls, gathering the tiny fruit a dozen at a time, before eating them all in one bite. Crickets chirped, fireflies danced above the surface of the water, and a pair of owls called out to one another high in the trees. Liberty tipped her head back and took it all in. She’d missed the fresh air.
Turning to Sarah, Liberty stared into a pair of brilliant green eyes. The one part of her which stayed the same, whether she was above or below ground, reflected tiny silver orbs in the center. Liberty nudged her, merged their auras for a moment, and smiled, happier than she’d been in a long time.
As they reached out for more handfuls, Sarah froze. Liberty saw her mother’s aura beat crimson and she whipped her head around to look in the shadows behind them. Sucking in a breath, Liberty tuned in to the surroundings, but before she could pick up anything, her mother grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.
In a flash, they were running. Sarah dragged Liberty along and Liberty followed in a blind panic. She kept up the best she could, tried not to stumble. What had she missed? The red in Sarah’s aura showed she was bustling—sending wavelengths to confuse predators—giving them a chance to escape. Ahead, to the right of them, a beam of light splashed against a tree trunk. Another sliced through the darkness and flashed to the left. Liberty suddenly understood.
Voices. People.
Sarah hadn’t signaled her beforehand, but Liberty knew they were headed to the dugout. Located in the opposite direction, Proem needed to stay protected at any cost. On instinct Sarah was drawing the humans away from it. Liberty imagined when her father discovered, and had gotten over his anger of, their misadventure, he’d be proud. They zigzagged for nearly half a mile, managing to confuse and, for a time, elude the humans.
Her mother slowed, gazing upward. This part of the woods consisted mainly of fir trees, but hardwoods dotted the landscape here and there. Sarah spotted their marker—the thing called a pitch—in a tall hemlock. The pitch didn’t stand out, but looking closely near the very top of the tree, three of its limbs were stripped bare.
They made their way off the path and toward a fallen oak lying adjacent to the hemlock. Dirt and moss clung to the unearthed, massive root ball of the dead tree. Sarah pulled her around the roots, and then shoved her under the trunk into the hole.
Going from Sasquatch to human felt different than from human to Sasquatch. It felt like losing your footing the last several steps down a steep hillside and trying to stay upright. She transformed as she fell—a double whammy—and her stomach objected, threatened to give back the half-chewed berries she’d eaten. Her mother, out of breath and shaking, landed next to her in a heap.
Liberty and Sarah huddled in the dugout, waiting for the hunters to pass over. Twigs cracked overhead and heavy footfalls scuffed through the woody debris that littered the forest floor. Every hard snap of kindling amplified in the pit, jolted Liberty’s insides. Her mother jerked as someone or something kicked an acorn, it rolling into their hiding place and landing on her bare foot. Liberty shook. She felt like a rabbit cornered in a dead end thicket as the hunters closed in above them.
Sarah tightened her arms around Liberty. Liberty imagined her mother thought the gesture would soothe, but between the adrenaline surges, the small pit, and the commotion above, the embrace felt like a restraint.
Liberty closed her eyes and tried to steady her pounding heart. Breathing in the musty air she could almost believe she was back at Proem.
The men trailed off, circled back, called out to one another in excited, hushed whispers. Goosebumps formed over Liberty’s body as she resisted the urge to scream, hanging on to her sanity one second at a time.
“You sure it came this way?” a voice asked.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You think, you don’t know?”
“Yes,” the voice sounded agitated, “I’m positive. And there were two of them.”
“Two?”
“Shut up and look.”
It. Them. Liberty knew what they meant. She focused on her surroundings. The dugout, a temporary safe place, existed for emergencies. Quite fitting with them hunkered down in the cramped space, naked bodies pressed together for warmth as they listened to men discuss them like they were animals. She peered into the darkness. Why hadn’t whoever created the space thought of arming it so they could defend themselves?
Liberty pondered the idiocy of it for a few moments, then started to feel around. She located the acorn, picked it up and placed it in her mother’s hand. She pulled Sarah close and whispered into her ear, “Can’t you throw this back the other way? They’ll chase after the noise.”
Diversion. A tactic they used to stay alive in situations like the one they were in. It worked most of the time, or so she’d been told.
Sarah shook her head. “It’s too little.”
Sarah handed it back and Liberty dropped it, feeling around for a stick, a rock, an object with substance. All she found was packed dirt and pebbles. Aboveground, they could read auras, bustle, use strength to defend themselves. But as humans, they only had each other.
As the sound of the hunters grew close again, her mother whispered, “Be brave.”
Sarah covered Liberty’s mouth before Liberty had a chance to respond, so she nodded. She might not be great at making her way around the woods on her own, but she happened to be okay in bravery. Earlier in the year, before the sanctions, she’d successfully stood against her first opponent, a black bear. Her father had patted her on the head, seemed proud of her for bustling and not backing down. Didn’t matter the bear had been a yearling and quite easy to control with her thoughts.
“I’m sorry baby, I made a mistake,” Sarah said, “but I promise we’ll be safe if you do everything I tell you.”
Liberty nodded, still muffled by her mother’s hand. Her ear felt damp from the warm breath and she shivered. Sarah held her daughter tighter, rocked her a little and smoothed her hair, which had fallen out of the braids. For a moment Liberty felt like a baby in Sarah’s arms. She surrendered and let herself be comforted.
A shout ended the moment of peace. Liberty glanced up, then looked at her mother, noticing mud streaked down Sarah’s cheeks like war paint. She held her breath, tried her hardest to make herself invisible, and waited motionless. The man called out again. Would they ever give up?
“Ray, you see anything over there?”
“Nah. I’m going back to camp to get the dog. Keep your ears open ‘til I get back.”
“Don’t be stupid. By the time you return they’ll be long gone.”
“Lucy’s a good tracker,” the Ray person said. “She’ll pick ‘em up before they get too far.”
Sarah stared down at her and Liberty didn’t recognize the expression. Her eyes looked fierce, almost feral the way they flicked from Liberty, to the surface, and then back again. For the first time that night, Liberty questioned their safe escape.
The hunters walked as they talked, their voices getting quieter as they left, but the one called Ray said, “You get a gander at the smaller one? What color you think it was?”
They walked out of earshot, but he meant her. Where Sarah was larger and a sable, Liberty’s straight, symmetrically-colored human hair, became a short coat, alternating between stripes and swirls as a Sasquatch. She felt a tickle, a spider or a worm on her toes and on instinct started to kick at the dirt, not even stopping when her heel connected with something hard. Sarah grabbed her by the arms.
“Stop it,” she whispered, a sound as gruff as the hunters. “You want them to find us?”
Liberty couldn’t help it, she hated when stuff crawled on her. A weakness, especially in a home underground—where every creepy element in the world happened to live. Liberty did her best to look apologetic and winced as she rubbed her heel. It throbbed. Inspiration hit. She dug at the floor and discovered what felt like a large stone encased in the soil.
“Look,” she said, started to clear the dirt around it. “Feel here. It’s a rock and I think it’s big enough. You could use it to save us.”
Sarah peered at the half-buried stone and then up at the opening. “There isn’t time. Close your eyes.”
“What? Why?” Liberty asked, even though she already knew. ‘Close your eyes, I’m going to change’ hung unspoken between them. Liberty clung to Sarah’s legs in desperation.
“Shh.” Sarah untangled Liberty’s arms and placed her hands on her cheeks, forced reluctant eyes upward to hers. “Listen to me and shut them right now.”
Liberty shook her head no.
“Do it, or don’t. But I have to go now, before they get back. You’re going to stay here. ”
An unfamiliar urgency filled her mother’s voice, and because Liberty thought it would please her, she did it.
“You stay hidden until your father comes to get you, no exceptions. Understand?”
“I will.” Liberty said. Sarah would go to Proem and would send Liberty’s father back to rescue her. It made sense. He was a hundred times stronger than her mother was.
“And Liberty?”
“Yes?”
“No matter what anyone else says to you, the white auras are real. You can trust them.”
“Uh—” Liberty peeked open an eye and watched her mother start to climb.
“Don’t forget,” Sarah said when she neared the lip.
Liberty squeezed her eyes shut again. The white auras? Everyone knew there was no such thing. But before she had a chance to question it, Sarah had lifted herself out of the pit. Liberty heard leaves crunching and counted Sarah’s steps until she couldn’t detect them anymore.
She decided she’d been tricked. Like the first time she’d gotten hiccups, they’d lingered the whole day until out of the blue her mother told her to think of someone who was talking about her. The words caught her off guard and by the time she’d thought of everyone in the cavern who might indeed be talking about her, the hiccups had vanished. Another diversion.
Liberty opened her eyes. Digging and kicking at the dirt, Liberty tried her hardest to unearth the rock. If the men happened upon her before her father made it back, she hoped to be strong enough to use it to defend herself. She continued to excavate, pausing every few seconds to listen, until the men approach again.
“Ray!” the other one shouted, “It’s over here!”
A crash in the woods, like a tree had fallen in the distance, and then footfalls thundered to the right of the dugout. She maneuvered, trying to get a good angle to see up above. See anything at all. A moment later, pounding steps came from the opposite direction. Had they turned back? A man’s voice hollered out, “Which way did they go? Sam?”
Sam. Now she knew the names of both the men who had caused her mother to leave.
“Left! Left! Off the trail,” Sam answered.
“I’ll head ‘em off this way,” Ray said.
She stood on tiptoes and glimpsed a beam of light as it bobbed and bounced off the spruce. Heard the men’s excited voices as they talked over each other. And the unmistakable sound of gunshots and a brief wail. She dropped down to her knees and in a frenzy, pulled the rock free.
“Whoa! Did you see that? I hit it,” the Sam person called out. “Point your light over here.”
They couldn’t have been more than fifty paces away. How far had her mother gotten? Liberty refused to accept the cry had come from Sarah because she’d gone for help minutes ago. She couldn’t be the ‘it’ they’d hit. Liberty picked the rock up, balanced it in her hands near her small shoulders, and prepared to heave it toward anyone who looked into the pit.
The footsteps stopped. The air was still and the woods grew silent. Liberty waited, finally peered up at the opening, curiosity getting the best of her. “Holy shit, man. Oh man,” Ray said.
Liberty didn’t understand, but the terror in his voice was clear. His fear fed hers. She put the rock down, sat on top of it, and hugged her knees.
“I swear to God, brother, that isn’t what I shot at.”
“How the hell did she get out here?”
She. The word resonated in Liberty’s head.
Sam started to whimper and babble nonsense.
“Knock it off, dumbass. We gotta hold our shit together,” Ray said.
Liberty heard a grunt. It sounded like one of them fell.
“What the hell you do that for?”
Ray ignored Sam’s question. “You drop anything out here?”
After a few seconds, “I don’t think so. Why?”
“You better know so, because we’re going back to camp, packing our crap up, and getting out of here. We ain’t coming back because you realized you lost your f*cking hat full of hair samples in these woods,” Ray’s voice grew louder.
“So we’re just gonna leave?”
“You wanna stick around, pray or something?”
“I just thought—”
“You think whatever you want. I’m going to the truck.”
Leaves crunched and Sam hollered, “Ray! Wait up, Ray, I’m coming.”
Their voices reached Liberty as they walked, but she didn’t listen. She continued to sway back and forth inside the pit, knowing two things for sure.
One, her mother’s body lay out there in the woods.
Two, she was dead.
She didn’t know how long she’d lain there, but early dawn hinted the night had passed. When her father finally came, he found her in the shadows of a black cherry tree, curled up on a bed of blood-soaked leaves next to Sarah’s dead, human body. Death had broken the curse. It always did.
He touched Liberty's shoulder, tried to pull a little. Nothing moved her. He let out a deep growl and yanked her arm. She let go, kicking him in the leg on instinct. He turned and raised a fist to her. Unable to communicate in words, it was common for the Sasquatch to lash out physically, but she didn’t care. She flinched, but an image of her mother appeared in her mind, and she didn’t cower an inch.
They stared at one another for a long moment, her pale green eyes into his dark brown, as she willed him to do it. Grief filled her, but frustration had, too. She hated him then. He’d allowed the others to mock his wife. Her mother. Hadn’t protected Sarah against the taunts and ridicule. And now he’d arrived too late and looked no different than when he showed up late for dinner. Liberty met his gaze with indifference, like he’d looked at Sarah. He lowered his hand slowly, not striking her.
Liberty watched as her father, bending down, lifted Sarah up over his shoulder and started off. Her mother looked so small and pale, like a child. Liberty hurried to his side so she could hold Sarah’s hand, maybe offer some comfort to her in a spiritual way.
When they reached the dugout, he lowered Sarah into it and stood still a moment, looking at his wife. Liberty studied his aura, but it remained a guarded dark gray. What did he feel? Was it pity? Relief? She didn’t believe it could be love the way he handled her like a deer carcass. Unable to bring herself to assist in the ceremony, she sat nearby and watched as her father filled in the hole.
With every push of soil Liberty said goodbye to a memory. Push--Sarah’s laugh. The hollow thump of dirt as it landed on the body--gone was the mischief in her mother’s eyes. Another--Sarah’s hands in her hair. All the things Liberty cherished were gone, one excruciating thud at a time.
After a while, she imagined when he could no longer see skin, her father stood, gathering bundles of twigs and in the pit they went. Boughs of pine on top of the twigs, and Sarah’s big dreams for her children were gone. As he neared the top he added large rocks, followed by a last layer of soil. In the end, the only thing left for Liberty to add were the lessons Sarah had taught her, and those she wanted to keep. Intertwined so completely within herself, burying one of those would be like gouging out an eye or cutting off a limb.
And self-mutilation would make her unstable.
Once he tamped the ground a few times, satisfied with his work, her father moved to the base of the hemlock tree and stripped the bark in three places. A signal to end the ceremony. Without another glance at his daughter or the grave, he started back toward Proem. She got up to trail behind, but stopped and traced the tree’s fresh wounds. No name. No heart. Just the strikes. The tree, once a symbol of safety, became Sarah Fleming’s grave marker.
The following weeks and months, Liberty caught snips of the colonists’ conversations. A few were affected by her loss, offered tears and wordless hugs in sympathy. Others relaxed and let down their guard, feeling somehow safer with her gone.
But the majority agreed a mother’s instinct was a distraction. It compromised the skills needed to survive. The poor thing may have been able to bustle more effectively if she hadn’t had her daughter with her.
She stayed until she reached the age of pardon, twenty-one, which her father granted without argument.
And soon she saw the white auras.