I Had Bigfoot's Baby!

Max Allan Collins

It started with the National Inquisitor, not exactly the normal course for a case to arrive at the BPRD. I was halfway through a sausage-and-pepperoni pizza when I saw the story. The newspaper, and I use the term loosely, featured another in a series of fuzzy photos of a purported Bigfoot roaming the woods of Iowa. Any other Bigfoot article wouldn't have caused a ripple around the offices of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense — after all, Bigfoot's not really our bag — but this story was different. Written by a photographer, a guy named Louis Walker, the piece chronicled the year-long search for the reporter who'd been with him when he took his blurry pictures of the beast. Allegedly the female reporter had been carried off by the Bigfoot in question.

No matter what you've heard, a Bigfoot carrying off a lady reporter will always grab my interest, whether it's paranormal or not.

Accompanying the story and the blurry Bigfoot pix was a photo of the missing reporter. Cute, brunette, mid to late twenties, but her face, something about the eyes pulled my thoughts to Anastasia Bransfield. No matter how I tried to forget her she always seemed to pop back at the least likely moments. "Hellboy, what're you doin'?"

I turned to see Abe Sapien approaching my desk. "I found Bigfoot," I crowed. "The missing link is living in Iowa."

Sapien grabbed a piece of pizza and smirked. "Funny, I always figured that's where he'd turn up."

He took a bite of his slice. The missing link held little fascination for Abe, who was the next link — an icthyo-sapien. A gill man to those of us in the subspecies of nose-breathers. A science experiment gone wrong, Abe has been at the BPRD nearly as long as I. He was the world's oldest test-tube baby, having been conceived on April 14, 1865, the day Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. His long incubation had left Abe with skin the color of wet newspaper, piercing blue, pupil-less eyes, and absolutely no body hair. At this moment he wasn't wearing the false beard, fedora, shades, and trench coat that allowed him to enter the so-called normal world and not create a stir.

Abe and I share a bond about looks. The fact that my skin is crimson — I have horns, a tail, and one hand made of stone, and am bigger than the average bear — seems to put some people off in the same way that Abe's gills make them uneasy. Go figure.

"I think we should look into this," I said.

"Bigfoot?" he scoffed. "What's next, the Loch Ness monster?"

"A woman disappeared."

That slowed him down. "When?"

"Almost a year ago."

"And you want to go look for her now?"

"First I've heard of it," I said.

Abe shook his head. "What's Liz say?"

"Haven't asked her yet."

The click of high heels on the office floor announced the entry of the third member of our team, Liz Sherman. She'd been with the BPRD ever since her pyrokinetic gift got out of control and torched her whole neighborhood back when she was twelve. Tall, raven-haired, with deep-set brown eyes, Liz had ceased looking like a child a long time ago.

"Haven't asked me what?" she said as she strode up to the desk.

Abe cocked a thumb toward me. "Hellboy wants to go tromping through the woods to find Bigfoot."

One of Liz's dark, rich eyebrows arched. "Really?"

"There's more to it than that."

"Isn't that enough?"

"Probably, but there's more, anyway."

"You gonna tell me what?"

She studied me as I laid out the story for her. When I finished she asked, "That's not really our area, is it?"

Standing just behind her, Abe grinned but said nothing.

"Probably not, but ... "

As Liz turned to face Abe, his grin disappeared.

"And what about you?" she asked.

"I ... I'm on your side."

Liz shook her head. "I'm not sure we should even get involved in something like this."

I kept my eyes steady on hers.

"Tell you what, Hellboy. You go and if you need us we'll come."

I nodded.

"But try and wrap this up quick, willya?"

My plane landed in Chicago just after noon. From there a cab dropped me at the Inquisitor office and after sweet-talking the secretary, I found myself chatting with the cigar-chomping managing editor, a fiftyish bald man named Goorwitz.

"We'll help you out on one condition," he said.

"I thought I was helping you out."

"Either way, it's gonna cost you."

"Cost me what?"

"Sitting still for a photo and an interview. Boy, you're Inquisitor material if I ever saw it!"

He hooked me up with photographer Louis Walker and a reporter named Stephanie Keenan. The three of us jumped into a rental car with the rail-thin, rawboned Walker driving, and were on our way to Iowa before sunset.

Stephanie occupied the seat next to her partner while I stretched out in the back. She wore jeans and a green Dartmouth sweatshirt over a white polo shirt with just the collar peeking out. Her blond hair, pulled into a loose ponytail, lay between her shoulders. Turning to face me, she folded one leg under her.

"Why 'Hellboy'?" she asked.

I stared at her for a moment. "Did you really go to Dartmouth?"

She laughed at that. It was an easy, free laugh that sounded like water bubbling. "I meant why not something a little less ... obvious?"

"Like Bob maybe?"

She just looked at me, but her smile remained in place.

"Bob Hellboy," I said. "Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?"

"Kinda like it," Walker said without turning.

"My father, or the man I called my father, gave me my name." My eyes caught hers and held. "I like it."

"I ... I'm sorry," she blurted. "I didn't mean — "

I waved her off. "No harm, no foul." I changed the subject. "Lou, what can you tell me about the missing reporter?"

"Her name was Pam Cervantes. She'd been with the paper for about six months when we caught the story about the Bigfoot. I thought it was probably just another asshole in a gorilla suit until I saw him carry Pam into the woods."

"So, you're a believer now?"

Walker shrugged as he passed a semi. "Sure as hell wasn't like anything I've ever seen before."

"Anything else about Pam?"

"Nice kid, right out of journalism school, went to Iowa State."

"Married?"

Walker shook his head.

"Anybody special in her life?"

Again the head shake. "She kept her personal column pretty much to herself."

Stephanie piped in, "Do you think there's a Bigfoot running loose in a state park in Iowa?"

I shrugged as noncommittally as possible and saw Walker watching me in the rearview.

"You think I'm nuts?" His voice was steady but the eyes were hard.

"No."

"Then you think I made up the whole thing," he said, his voice rising in anger.

Shaking my head, I said, "I don't know if you made it up; you don't seem to be nuts, but I don't know what the hell is going on, so that's why I'm here — to find out."

Then he fell into a sulky silence, his eyes darting between the road and the glares he threw my way in the mirror. We pretty much observed those rules for the rest of the drive to Palisades State Park, just east of Cedar Rapids, Iowa.

With the late afternoon sun sprinting for the horizon, Walker pulled our rental car through the gate and eased to a stop in front of the ranger's cabin next to a brown Ford Bronco with the words 'Park Ranger' emblazoned on the door in gold. The ranger, a tall, broad man whose gut had long since turned to Jell-O, stepped out onto the porch as we climbed out of our car.

Adjusting a dirt-brown-colored campaign hat low on his brow, he puffed out his chest. "What the hell are you?" he asked, looking in my direction. Even at this distance, he smelled like he'd been dipped in Brut cologne.

"I'm an investigator for the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense."

That did not seem to be the answer he sought. He continued to stare at me. I stared back and noticed a pin over his shirt pocket with the name Holliman engraved on it.

"Name's Hellboy."

He nodded slightly. "Seems about right."

I told myself that I was not going to let this backwoods yahoo piss me off.

He glanced at the stubs on my head. "Them horns?"

I ignored the question. "I'm here because ... "

"Bigfoot and this ... photo-journalist over here," Holliman said jerking a thumb toward Walker.

I nodded.

Placing his hands on his hips, curiously close to the pistol he wore on his left hip I noted, the ranger studied each of us in turn. "Ain't no Bigfoot around here. Never has been, never will."

"You're sure," I said.

"Look ... " Walker began tightly, but I caught his eye with a cold look, and he clammed up.

"You've never seen a Bigfoot, or footprints, or — "

"I ain't seen shit," the ranger said impatiently. "Bigfoot shit or otherwise."

"Doesn't surprise me," I said evenly.

His eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out if I had insulted him. Finally, he said, "Park's gonna close. You oughta be on your way 'bout now."

"Yes, sir," I said. "Thanks for your time."

Walker took a step forward. "Are you just going to ... ?"

"Yes, I am," I said, stepping between him and Ranger Holliman. "Come on, we're going."

The ranger's eyes stayed on us as we piled back into the car and left the park, turning east on Highway 30.

"Walker, can you find the place where Pam disappeared?"

"Sure, we were there for almost a week before she got abducted."

"Can you find it on foot? In the dark?"

At the first gravel road past the edge of the wooded park, Walker turned right and drove nearly a mile before pulling the car as close to the edge of the road as he could. Stephanie and I looked at him.

"This feels about right," he said. "I think we were just about a mile deep in the park when Pam disappeared."

Walker jumped out of the car and we followed. He opened the trunk and began rummaging through the bags of camera equipment looking for the correct night-shooting stuff. I checked the clip in my .45 and Stephanie's eyes widened even more than when she'd first seen me.

"You're not going to shoot him are you?"

"Which him?" I asked as I turned to glance at Walker.

"Bigfoot."

I jammed the pistol back in its holster. "I just like to be ready. I'm not gonna gun down any missing links unless absolutely necessary."

As night descended around us, Walker adjusted the last of three bags over his shoulder. "Ready," he said.

Stephanie said, "Geez, Walker, how many cameras do you need?"

He just grunted.

"Which way?" I asked.

Walker looked into the darkened recesses of the woods. "Mile, maybe two. There's a rise. I'll know it when I see it, even in the dark."

I nodded. "Better get goin' then."

We fell into a single-file line, Walker in the lead, Stephanie in the middle, me bringing up the rear. The uneven terrain and unrelenting darkness made for slow going. Walker convinced us flashlights would just drive our quarry deeper into the woods, so we picked our way over fallen branches, exposed roots, and the dense underbrush by only the light of the moon that barely filtered through the branches and leaves of the tall trees.

"How far have we gone?" Stephanie asked breathlessly.

Walker shushed her, then dropped to one knee and gazed through the night vision lens of his Nikon. After a moment, he faced her in the blackness. "Keep your voice down. It carries at night and we don't want to spook him."

Stephanie whispered, "How far?"

"Maybe a half-mile, maybe a little less," I said.

"Shit, this is going to take forever!"

Walker shushed her again and she waved him off.

"It's not much further," Walker said as he turned back and moved ahead.

"Fuck this," she said. "Even a Pulitzer wouldn't make up for crawling around in these godforsaken hills in the middle of the night."

"Maybe you'd like to head back," I suggested. "By yourself."

I waited till she dropped into line behind Walker.

The summer heat, which had turned the ground hard, caused beads of sweat to pop out on my forehead, back, and arms as we made our way uphill. I had fallen maybe twenty yards behind Walker, Stephanie a few steps in front of me, when I heard his scream. Actually, it was more like a yelp, and for a moment I thought perhaps Walker had tripped and fallen.

I grabbed Stephanie by the arm and barked, "Don't move," as I moved past her and up the trail toward Walker.

Halfway to him I heard an animal snarl that seemed to be coming from all around me.

Stephanie whimpered, "Hellboy, Walker — don't just leave me ... "

I popped up to the top of the hill and looked over the crest mesmerized by the nearly seven-foot-tall giant looming on the path before me — Bigfoot!

Though the darkness remained almost complete, I could make out the height and shape of the beast that towered over the fallen Walker. In one of its massive hands it held a football-sized stone that reflected black against the moonlight.

Blood.

The photographer's blood probably, from where the stone had landed against Walkers skull.

Hearing my footsteps, the monster turned to face me, raising the stone to bash my brains in, should I stray within bashing distance. An aroma, something animal yet unrecognizable, filtered to me from the direction of Bigfoot.

"Remind me to get you some Right Guard for Christmas, big guy."

The beast grunted, its red eyes wide in the moonlight. He waved the stone like he meant to throw it, but I made no move to duck for cover. That threw the animal off a little — I don't think it knew quite what to make of my bravado.

I wasn't being that brave — I was trying to see if Walker was still breathing.

I felt Stephanie behind me, her hands coming to rest against my back as she practically ran into me in the dark.

Bigfoot's yowling grew louder, more agitated, and this time it raised the rock as if it were about to crash it down on Walker's skull again. Pressing back, I knocked Stephanie to the ground as I planted my feet and leapt forward. Bigfoot swung the stone in a long, flowing, almost artistic arc. My right hand, the stone one grafted on to my right arm, extended before me as I pushed to get to Walker before Bigfoot's rock could inflict more damage. A split second before the rock would hit Walker, it collided with my stone hand and glanced off.

Bigfoot screamed in anger and rage, his voice almost human, as he leapt out of the way of my second lunge.

I groaned as I smacked into a tree and fell to the ground. I rose to my knees and prepared for Bigfoot's counterattack, but it never came. Instead, a metallic roar erupted, lights flashed over our heads, blinding us, and dust swirled all around. I blinked furiously to clear my vision, but to no avail. I rubbed my flesh-and-blood hand across my face to clear the dust and then the lights and roar were gone. I blinked my eyes until I could see again, but gone along with the lights and noise was Bigfoot.

"What the hell was that?" Stephanie asked as we moved next to Walker.

I checked Walker's neck for a pulse — weak, but there.

"We gotta get him to a hospital."

Stephanie's voice was small. "How?"

I grabbed Walker and tossed him over my shoulder. "You lead the way," I said. "And use the flashlight. It's all right now."

"You don't think that ... thing ... will attack again if it gets the chance."

"No, I don't," I said, nudging her to get started. "I'll explain when we've got more time. For now, trust me. Turn on the flashlight and let's get moving. Walker's time is running out."

She did as she was told without further argument. With the flashlight we traveled only slightly faster than before. By the time we got to the car, even I was wondering whether we'd get to the hospital in time.

We sat in the waiting room while the doctors fought to save Walker. The only news I'd gleaned before we were unceremoniously kicked out of the ER was that Walker's skull had been fractured.

"Is he going to make it?" Stephanie asked.

I tried to look truthful. "Yeah, he's tough."

She didn't buy that and shook her head. "I've never seen anybody so white before. It was like he didn't have any blood left in him ... " Her voiced trailed off.

I put my flesh-and-blood hand on her shoulder. "I told you, he'll make it."

She sat down in a waiting-room chair, picked up a plastic cup filled with coffee, and absently took a swig. Her face screwed up as she realized the coffee was cold, then she swallowed it. "What the hell was that creature, Hellboy?"

My eyes met hers and held. "Bigfoot."

Again, Stephanie shook her head. "I thought Bigfoot was supposed to be friendly, scared of people. This thing seemed ... homicidal."

I shrugged but said nothing.

"What is it? You know something."

I continued to just look at her.

"Come on, spill. What was it?" Her face creased in thought, then she practically jumped out of her chair. "That noise before Bigfoot disappeared. That's it, isn't it?"

"There's nothing I can prove yet."

"But there's something, tell me."

I explained my theory. We discussed it, looked at it from every angle, examined it thoroughly trying to find holes. We were just deciding our next course of action when the doctor came into the waiting room. She was a tall, thin woman with wispy blond hair peeking out from under her shower cap. Her greens were sweaty, but she smelled surprisingly good.

"Are you the ... people with Mr. Walker?" she asked. I guess it took her a moment to classify me as more or less human.

Stephanie stepped forward. "We work together."

"Well, you got him here just in time. He's going to be all right. It'll take some time, but barring any surprises, he should be as good as new."

"Can we see him?"

The doctor shook his head. "He's resting. Probably be the day after tomorrow before he's up to visitors."

Stephanie nodded.

The doctor answered a couple more questions for Stephanie, then left us alone.

After we got some sleep, Stephanie dropped me off near where we'd entered the park the night before, then she hit the road to interview some of the neighboring farmers to see if any of them had seen Bigfoot or signs of the monster in the fields that bordered the state park.

Though traveling through the dense forest was easier during the day, it wasn't a lot easier. The tangled undergrowth still pulled at my feet while the trail remained obscured in the shadows cast by the leaves and trees that seemed to go on forever, though I felt sure now that somewhere in this forest the trees stopped at least for a small space. Finally, I reached the foot of the hill where Walker had met Bigfoot the night before.

I made my way to the crest, then standing there I looked down at the drying puddle of blood in the grass. Bugs hovered near, and in the bright sunshine the fluid appeared more crimson than it had in last nights moonlight. Other than the pool of blood, though, there seemed to be little sign that we had been here. Even the rock Bigfoot clubbed Walker with had disappeared; all that remained were a few footprints.

Bending to examine the footprints, I smelled something on the breeze. Not the animal smell from last night, something different. I caught another whiff and willed myself to relax. I had the feeling something had been following me, and now I knew what.

I looked down into the wide, surprisingly deep footprint and watched as a faint shadow crossed over it from right to left. Moving slowly, without any apparent rush, I leaned more forward, so that my weight now rested on my hands. Then, suddenly, I extended my right leg and swung to my left using my hands as the fulcrum. My leg caught Ranger Holliman at the ankles and swept him off his feet, dropping him on his ample keester. He fumbled for his holster, but before he had the strap undone I had a hoof on his chest and my own pistol pointed at his kisser.

"You've got to stop wearing so much Brut, Ranger Holliman."

He snarled, "I should have you arrested for assault, you fucking geek."

"That's not nice," I said pressing my hoof down a little harder on his chest. "Do you really want to call me a geek?" I could hear him gasping for air but he said nothing. Tough guy. I liked that. I pressed down harder yet.

"I'm ... " he huffed, " ... sorry ... " he puffed, " ... I called you a geek."

I released the pressure on his chest but didn't let him up. His breaths came in short ragged gulps as he struggled to replenish the air in his lungs.

"Why don't you move your hand away from that holster so I can let you up?"

Holliman's hand remained frozen for a moment, then eased away from the pistol. Reaching down, I plucked the gun from its holster, then offered Holliman a hand and jerked him to his feet. He brushed himself off, tried to recover what little dignity he might have left and held his hand out for the gun. I ignored him.

Instead, I nodded toward the footprint on the ground. "Still think there's no Bigfoot?"

He looked at the print but said nothing for a long moment. "Don't have to be no Bigfoot."

I nodded. "That's right, Ranger Holliman. In fact, I'd bet it isn't. I'd bet your chickenshit salary that this footprint is part of a hoax."

An aroma far closer to last night's than Ranger Holliman's Brut passed between us on the breeze. We both turned to see a furry head disappear behind a tree.

"That look like a fucking hoax to you?" Holliman asked, eyes wide. "Give me my gun and let's go bag the son of a bitch!"

I didn't even take time to glare at him, I just took a step in the direction I had last seen the Bigfoot; but before I got far, I caught a glimpse of the beast to our left. It was sprinting to outflank us, get behind us. It looked bigger, taller, than the one we had encountered the night before, though at this distance, over uneven terrain, it was hard to tell. I wheeled and took off straight for the animal with Holliman lagging behind me, when it slipped into a shadow and disappeared again. By the time I got to the shadow, there was no sign of Bigfoot. This thing was a hell of a lot better at playing hide and seek in the woods than I was.

Hanging onto a tree, Holliman gasped for breath, his face nearly as crimson as my own. "What the hell was that?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, but it didn't move like a hoax. It just disappeared."

After unloading the clip from his gun, I returned Holliman's pistol and went back to the motel. Stephanie was waiting for me at my door when I arrived.

"How's Walker?" I asked.

"I called earlier but they didn't have much to say. He's still under sedation."

I nodded, unlocked the door and held it for her as we entered. "I saw it again ... sort of."

She whirled back toward me, blond ponytail swinging. "You did?"

"It looked different in the daylight, but I couldn't catch it. If it's a real Bigfoot, it's faster than I would have believed. What'd you find out?"

"Some of the local farmers said they've seen tracks, broken corn stalks, things like that. A couple even claimed to have seen the Bigfoot."

I nodded.

"And there was one ... "

"Yeah?"

"One even claimed that he once caught a glimpse of a Bigfoot baby with its father."

"What?"

She plopped onto one of the two double beds in the room. "That's what he told me. Said he was coming home late one night and this thing was in the middle of the road, got caught in the farmer's headlights, and dove out of the way at the last second. The farmer slammed on his brakes and stopped, but he couldn't find the Bigfoot or the baby."

"Some story. You believe him?"

Stephanie shrugged. "No reason to think he'd lie or make it up."

"Not even to see his name in the National Inquisitor?"

She considered that for a moment. "Nope. Not the type. What's our plan?"

I fell onto the other bed, stretched, and thought about that. Something still didn't feel right about this. "You game to go back into the park tonight?"

Smiling, Stephanie said, "I thought you'd never ask."

We parked the car in the same place as the night before, but this time we got there earlier. The sun sank behind the tree-tops and darkness enveloped us, though that was of little concern to me, since we were already hunkered down in position.

Three hours later, our legs cramping, and the chill of the May air infiltrating our bones, I saw the beast climb the hill. I tapped Stephanie, who lay next to me, and I looked through the night-vision lens of Walker's camera.

Bigfoot scanned the horizon, looked our way for a second, didn't spot us, and resumed his reconnoitre. As I continued to watch and occasionally snap a picture (I figured it was the least I could do considering what Walker had been through), Bigfoot reached into a furry hip pocket and produced a walkie-talkie.

I snapped three rapid pictures, thinking this boy had nothing on Kubrick's apes in 2001.

"We just might have a fake here," I whispered.

"Let me see," Stephanie whispered back.

I handed her the camera, and she peered through the lens, saw him say something into the radio, and return it to its hiding place.

"Stay here," I said.

"Where are you going?"

"To end this," I said. "Get pictures, if you can do it without moving."

She nodded.

I edged out of our hiding place and around the base of the hill, the stale animal aroma from our last visit re-assaulting my nostrils. Bigfoot had his back to me. I got as close as I dared and sprang at him. He must have felt me coming because he turned just as I leapt, and instead of hitting him square in the back, I smacked him in the side, glanced off, rolled, and came up face to face with the giant.

He let loose with his most menacing roar and I grinned at him.

"That'd be good if you weren't just a seven-foot asshole in a Bigfoot suit."

"Fucker!"

Apparently Bigfoot spoke English.

He lunged at me. I threw an overhand punch with my stone right hand that hit him full in the chest and dropped him in his tracks. I was about to press my advantage when the mechanical sound came again and dust and leaves rose all around me. In the cup-sized clearing on the far side of the hill, a helicopter sat down quietly. Three men sprinted out of the woods, unloaded some crates, and melted back into the blackness of the woods as the chopper lifted, hovered a moment, then disappeared into the night as well.

I turned back to the fake Bigfoot as he rose to his feet. I took a step toward him and froze when I heard a shell get racked into a shotgun. Turning, I found myself face to face with Ranger Holliman and his twelve gauge. I kicked myself for not noticing the aroma of his cheap cologne.

"You damn freak. I knew you'd screw up this deal."

I tried to appear nonchalant. "What's in the crates, Ranger? Your monthly Brut delivery?"

Holliman grinned. "No harm tellin' you since you'll be dead in a minute. It's chemicals. Me and some of the local farmers found out that there was a lot more money in Ice than there is in corn."

Ice, I knew, was the newest of the designer drugs. It behaved like Ecstasy but kicked like a mule. In short, it made crack look like Mountain Dew. "So," I said, "you talked them into going into the recreational-drug business."

Holliman shrugged. "Gotta keep the wolf from the door. Even a red-skinned freak like you oughtta understand that."

He was beginning to piss me off again.

Bigfoot lifted my pistol and stepped over by Holliman. I had no chance to jump both of them, and if I went for one, the other would get me. This felt a lot like trouble. I was just figuring out which one of them I was going to take with me when I noticed a small movement in the bushes behind them.

Stephanie — shit!

She hadn't had sense enough to stay in the hole and get enough pictures to convict these assholes, and now she was probably going to die with me.

I took a deep breath, probably my last one, and prepared to jump. Then the bushes parted and a dark shape half a foot taller than the ersatz Bigfoot stepped into view. I gulped and leapt toward Holliman as the shape grabbed Bigfoot by the neck.

The ranger's gun exploded, the bright light nearly blinding me as the buckshot whizzed past my ear. I grabbed the barrel in my stone hand and yanked it from Holliman's grasp. In the next instant it became the club I used to pummel him to the ground.

I heard the fake Bigfoot scream as the shape lifted him and threw him like a toy. He crashed into the trunk of a tree with a sickening crunch, and then all was quiet. I looked up, and under the moonlight, I found myself face to face with a real Bigfoot. A nearly eight-foot-tall beast whose face was far more animal than human. Yet the eyes held something I couldn't quite put my finger on. His gaze held me in an understanding that I've seen on the faces of only a scant few humans.

For a moment there, we understood the beast in each of us.

We both turned when we heard a noise and found Stephanie struggling up the hill.

"I got it all on film," she said. "We're gonna be rich. This is the scoop of a lifetime."

"I'd rather you didn't do that," a female voice behind me said.

I whirled around to see a strong-boned woman of around thirty, dressed in animal skins, holding a baby. Her dark hair shone in the moonlight.

Stephanie turned too, her mouth agape.

"You're Pam Cervantes, aren't you?" I asked. She looked so much like Anastasia Bransfield that I had to will myself not to embrace her.

She nodded.

Stephanie stepped forward and peeked at the baby, part Bigfoot, part human.

"It's a boy," Pam said.

Grinning, Stephanie said, "He's beautiful."

Pam looked hard at the reporter. "He won't be if you show the pictures of his father to the world."

"Pam!" Stephanie said. "Do you realize what a story like this could mean?"

"Sure — 'I Had Bigfoot's Baby!' Just another Inquisitor story."

"Not this time," Stephanie said, holding up her camera. "Not with real proof!"

I took the camera from her. Stephanie watched wide eyed as I smashed it with my stone hand. "You don't have to worry about us, Pam — your family is safe."

Bigfoot, the real one, stepped forward and wrapped me in an awkward embrace. Then he released me, held out a hand to his wife, and the family disappeared into the woods.

"Shit," Stephanie said. "There goes my Pulitzer."

I grinned. "You've still got a good story about the drug-running park ranger."

"Yeah, but no art."

The camera lay in pieces at my feet. "Sorry."

She shrugged. "Still a good story, I guess."

"Look at the bright side," I said. "You can go tell Walker he's not nuts."

Stephanie laughed. "Just because there really is a Bigfoot doesn't mean Walker's not nuts."

Though his meeting with the tree had taken the fight out of him, the fake Bigfoot seemed to be all right. Holliman already had a nasty lump on his face from the shotgun stock, but he too would live. I handcuffed them together and marched them to our waiting car.

I returned to the BPRD office with a copy of the latest National Inquisitor. The headline read, "Bigfoot Deals Dope, Busted by Inquisitor Reporter." Turned out Stephanie had used more than one of Walker's cameras and had some pictures of the fake Bigfoot both with his suit and without. There were no pictures of the real thing, and she went out of her way to say that Bigfoot was a hoax, and that most scientists doubted the existence of such a creature.

Though I didn't much like the story, I knew she had a job to do too, and that she had done her best to protect the family that still lives somewhere deep within Palisades State Park.

Abe saw me looking at the Inquisitor. "You reading that trash again?"

I shrugged.

"Didn't you learn anything on your wild-goose chase to Iowa?"

I thought about that a moment and tossed the paper into the garbage. "I learned," I said, "that there are lots more things in life more important than Bigfoot."

Abe stroked his chin. "Like what?"

I didn't bat an eye. "Pizza. And it's your turn to buy."

I wish to acknowledge Matthew Clemens for his contribution to this story.