Footprints
When her longtime friend claims to have evidence of Big Foot's existence, archaeologist Annja Creed can't resist checking it out for herself–she's been debating the subject for years. Annja's curiosity leads her deep into the woods of the Pacific Northwest, to meet Jenny where the supposed trail has been left by the one and only Sasquatch.But when Annja arrives at the destination, a group of armed thugs warn her to leave the area, and her friend is nowhere to be found. Now the search for Sasquatch turns into a rescue mission, and Annja has only her instincts to guide her in a forest full of predators, scavengers and spirits. And someone, or something, does not want her there….
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Annja knew there was no way she could turn her back on her friend
Jenny had to be protectedâif not from the external threats, like the mysterious gunmen, then from herself. Annja had seen obsession kill people and knew that Jenny could easily fall prey to the same fate. I wonât let her die, she thought.
Joey came back into the camp, dragging branches behind him. âShe still out?â he asked.
âYeah.â
Suddenly Annja heard a low howl of some sort. It sounded like a cross between a coyote and a banshee. She looked at Joey. âWhat the heck is that?â
Joey busied himself thatching a roof together. âI donât know. Now, if youâll help me make this shelter, we can get to bed and hopefully forget we ever heard that. Because itâs not something Iâve ever heard before.â
âNever?â Annja asked.
âNever,â Joey said. âBut whatever it is, it sounds like itâs coming this way.â
Footprints
Rogue Angel>â¢
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jon Merz for his contribution to this work.
THE LEGEND
...THE ENLISH COMMANDER TOOK
JOANâS SWORD AND IT HIGH.
The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd.
Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.
Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are rebornâ¦.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Epilogue
1
Annja Creed ducked around another thick pine tree and paused. A cool breeze blew through her hair, which sheâd recently had cut, thinking she should take a chance and go for a new look. After her stylist had taken a good six inches off, she realized sheâd made a mistake.
âYouâre always on the go,â Rachel said, looking almost guilty. âItâs so much easier to take care of it like this, and besides, a lot of guys like short hair.â
âYeah, but Iâm not sure I do,â Annja said.
Rachel smiled at her and shrugged. âYou can always grow it back.â
Two days after the haircut, Annja hid out in her Brooklyn loft, desperately wondering how long she could get away with her self-imposed hibernation. She didnât have any urgent commitments and she wasnât due to film another segment of her popular cable television series, Chasing Historyâs Monsters, for a few weeks. She realized that having a lot of downtime made her restless and led to rash decisions like ill-advised makeovers. Then the e-mail had arrived that changed her plans and suddenly she was flying out to the Pacific Northwest.
Now she stood in the forest on a trail that the guy who ran the combined gas station and grocery store had assured her would lead all the way to a small encampment hidden deep in the woods.
âStay on the trail,â heâd said sternly. âDonât get off itâwhatever happens.â
âWhat is that supposed to mean?â Annja asked.
Heâd smiled at her. âThat forest is like a maze of pine trees and vines thatâll trip you up and suck you under where no one can find you. You stay on the path, youâll be all right. Venture off, and youâll be lucky to be found by next spring.â
She could see what he meant. Since parking her rented Jeep at the entrance to the trailhead, sheâd had a hard enough time just trying to find the trail itself. It was incredibly overgrown, almost as if the woods themselves were desperate to reclaim it from civilization.
The crack of a branch somewhere behind her caused her to freeze. Was someone coming up the trail behind her?
Annja hadnât gotten the impression that this was a busy recreational hiking area. And the appearance of the trail itself didnât exactly make a convincing argument about its popularity. So who else might be wandering in the woods?
The e-mail Annja had received was from an old friend named Jenny Chu. She and Jenny had taken many undergraduate courses together and their friendship had blossomed over in-depth discussions about American folklore and legends. Jennyâs passion was for things like the Lake Champlain monster and the legends of the Sasquatch.
The Sasquatch legend was why Annja was traipsing through the Oregon woods. Jennyâs e-mail suggested that sheâd found new evidence of the creatureâs existence. It was evidence she wanted Annja to see, as well, in case she wanted to do a segment about it on Chasing Historyâs Monsters. Annja didnât believe for a second there would be any proof of a giant hairy creature roaming the woods, but her producer, Doug Morrell, was a sucker for those types of stories. Besides, Annja figured, I can buy some time before anyone I know sees my hair.
