Once the Park Rangers were all brought up to speed, the procession began to move toward the campsite that Washerman was supposed to be using. It was still fairly early morning so, it was expected that Washerman would be at the site. The Park Ranger we had been talking with took the lead, but the FBI SUVs followed him directly. The Park Ranger driving the truck that was pulling the trailer was at the end of the formation. The theory was to try to hide the fact that we expected Washerman to turn himself into a Bison when we caught him.
The ride to the campsite went quietly and we rapidly came to the specific site that Washerman was using. From my spot in the back of Agent Harris and Agent Blustunn's SUV, the only thing I could see that demonstrated that Washerman had been using that campsite was the white Toyota parked in the gravel parking space provided for campers. As we came to park in a spot where that Toyota couldn't back out without totaling itself going through our parked vehicles, I looked out the side window to see the truck's license plate. It read: ANLUV01. Just as the license plate of the vehicle that had been parked at Michael York's ranch. That was conformation that whoever was here was the guy who did it. This was Horace Washerman's campsite. Now, all that could be hoped was that we would have enough surprise that he wouldn't have time to take his dose of the Animatrix Serum. I still didn't think I could take on a North American Bison in a straight fight, and I didn't want to have to shoot someone.
"That's the same truck that was at Michael York's ranch," I said in a low voice as everyone began to get out.
"You recognize the plates?" Officer Won asked.
As part of the investigation that he had led, I had informed him that I had seen the same truck there when I had gone into work that morning. I didn't mention it when we were talking with Frank Rhoer and his family as they reported the attack on Michael York, as they had mentioned the truck. But when Officer Won arrived at our station the next day to take over the investigation, I confirmed the plates on the truck that had been there.
"Yes," I nodded, "that is Washerman's truck... not that he'll be able to use it if he takes the serum."
"It'll merely be evidence if he does," Agent Harris spoke as he lead a couple of FBI agents forward.
The other agents and Agent Blustunn were quick to check the truck out while the Park Rangers moved with us toward the rest of Washerman's campsite. There was a small gas stove type cooking kit under a large metal lid near assigned cooking fire area. It didn't look as though Washerman had used the campfire at all. Near the edge and close to a couple of pine trees was a domed orange tent. At present, everything was zipped up, and with it being morning and in an area shaded by trees, it was tough to see any shadows inside the tent. We couldn't see if Washerman was in the tent. I couldn't even see in.
"Excuse me, sir, could you come out please?" the lead Park Ranger spoke near the front flap of the tent.
"What the... don't warn him!" Agent Harris gasped and was about to say more when a gunshot rang out from inside the tent.
The shot went through the tent and caught the Park Ranger in his left knee. The man screamed with pain and dropped to the ground near the tent. Agent Harris turned to fire into the tent in response when a second shot was fired from inside the tent. It grazed Agent Harris's arm, but it also happened to be the arm that was holding his gun. When the bullet went along the side of his arm, he dropped his weapon.
The tent's flaps were then undone from the inside and a lone man rushed out. With Agent Harris between us and Washerman, no one could shoot him. And we also quickly found that despite the gaunt and skeletal look of his face, and his obvious age, Washerman had a fairly fit build. He looked like he was in his mid forties to early fifties.
"Washerman! Think about what you're doing!" Agent Blustunn spoke from beside Washerman's Toyota, as Washerman took Agent Harris hostage, holding the back of the Agent's coat with one hand and holding a revolver to Agent Harris's head.
"Aren't you supposed to make sure no one is armed in a National Park?" Officer Won growled to one of the Park Rangers nearby.
"We aren't assigned to do strip searches or go through his vehicle," the closest Park Ranger answered.
And Washerman finally spoke.
"I know precisely what I'm doing," Washerman spoke, "I am protecting those that can not protect themselves! All ranching is is murder! Animals being raised just to kill them!"
"And what would you have people eat?" I asked.
"Bread and vegetables, fruits and nuts!" Washerman ranted, "people don't need meat to get protein!"
"And what about Officer Wayne?" Officer Barnes asked, "He can't digest anything besides meat."
"That tiger's the worst of you all!" Washerman answered, "a traitorous animal who kills his fellows!"
That was a reminder of how nuts Washerman had to be. Animals in the wild needed predators. Without animals like lions, tigers, wolves, bears, leopards, jaguars, and others, the animals they ate would over populate the region so much that they'd eat all the food available to them. After that... there would be no animal life whatsoever. Just as predators needed prey animals, prey animals in their own way needed predators to keep the "circle of life" going.
"You don't need to do this," Agent Blustunn spoke, "put the gun down and give yourself up."
"And let you people senselessly torture more innocent animals?" Washerman challenged, "I've seen too much! You kill animals for sport. Your raise animals to kill them! You kill animals for fashion, and the animals have never had a voice to defend them!"
"Has he heard of PETA?" Officer Barnes whispered to me.
"Well... no more!" Washerman answered, "the animals will have a defender and that defender will be me!"
And with one squeeze of the trigger of the revolver, he blew Agent Harris's brains out. Watching it looked like a red explosion erupted from the front of his head. Agent Harris then fell to the ground, clearly dead. Washerman then fired a few shots at the rest of us and then fled into the trees and bushes near his campsite. We took the best cover we could, but after a moment noticed he wasn't shooting anymore.
"After him!" Agent Blustunn commanded, "Officer Wayne with me! Someone look with the leading Park Ranger!"
"What about Agent Harris?" I found myself asking, looking at the FBI man's body.
"He's in a better place," Agent Blustunn said grimly, "let's go!"
We spread out and followed the area where Washerman had fled into. It was on a slope that did go up hill, but the path was not so narrow that we could stay in a close group. Keeping my ears perked for the noises of movement I managed to zero in on where Washerman was. As I followed him into a fairly rocky area with some fewer trees on what was a small localized plateau. At that moment, some of my fears of him taking the serum went away because he hadn't taken it right away. I figured he would remain human and I could stand a chance to talk him down. Though I still tried make sure one of the large trees was between me and him, should he take another shot at me.
As I approached, however, I found that his gun was no longer an issue. I felt the cold metal touch the pads on the bottom of my feet. Washerman was unarmed, as far as I knew, and was struggling to get up after tripping over a rock.
"It doesn't have to be like this," I pleaded, holstering my weapon, figuring he could do me much harm as he was... and thinking his dose of the serum was in his tent or in the truck.
"You must really be stupid if you're going to think I'm going to give in to a traitor to animals everywhere," Washerman shot back.
"You're outclassed here," I told him, "just give in and come quietly. I promise you won't be hurt."
And then he did something that made my skin go pale... though no one could probably see that under my fur. From his shirt pocket, he produced a syringe.
"You soon will be!" Washerman growled and jabbed the syringe into his shoulder.
His transformation began almost immediately. He gave a groan of pain, which I couldn't tell was from the syringe or the transformation itself, but that wasn't the only problem for me. I could see his pointer and middle fingers enlarging, along with the finger nails. The nails were rapidly taking on a black color, as they began to transition into what would be hooves. I could hear bones cracking and rearranging as his remaining fingers began almost shrivel into what would look more like "dew-claws" behind his two front fingers. His thumb, however, didn't shrink. It in fact grew. Not as much as his pointer and middle fingers, but it did grow larger then it was before.
"GRRRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!" Washerman practically bellowed as he kicked off his shoes at me, revealing feet that were going through a transformation similar to his hands. His big and second toes were enlarging, while the rest were shrinking and being pushed into a new position so that they were nothing more then "dew-claws".
I wasn't entirely sure if that was entirely anatomically correct for Bison, but I guessed that since the Animatrix Serum couldn't remove limbs that were already there, that was the result.
I could also see fur beginning to grow on him. His human hair, that which remained, turned dark brown and was joined by dark brown fur that began to grow on his head. It seemed to get extremely thick near the top of his head. His ears also started to lengthen and move to the back and top of his head. Fur appeared to be growing on his hands and on his feet, above his hooves, obviously as well. The fur on his feet was a dark brown, not as dark on the fur on his head, which was so dark it was nearly black, but still a dark brown. The fur on his hands closer to normal shade of brown.
"Stay still!" I roared at him, pulling the gun that had been made for me to use and pointed it at him.
I didn't know how well it would work against a Bison, but it would be better then nothing. And the reason for my nervousness became all too apparent. Washerman began growing larger. His shoulder's widened considerably more then they were in proportion to his hips. Layers of muscle grew on top of one another as he began to slowly stagger toward me. His progress was slow, as his clothing was fighting against his enlarging body, and he was giving short pained grunts as the buttons on his shirt began to pop off and seems began to rip. And as he reached full size, the clothing rapidly lost the battle and practically exploding off of him.
"GGGRRRRRUUUUUPPPPP!" Washerman roared in pain as his body grew free of his clothes.
I looked on at his nude form, his member already concealed inside a dark brown fur covered sheath, thankfully, and I found the form to be dangerous to me. Every instinct I had screamed to give this beast the space he wanted. The normal brown fur on his shoulders was thick and was rapidly beginning to curl. Almost like wool.
He was already my height, and was still growing taller. He was gaining more and more muscle. His hands could barely be called hands anymore. He still had a thumb and two fingers, but the large hooves at the end of each digit and the heavy robust nature of his fingers would make any sort of dexterity difficult. But his size more then made up for that.
"Stand still!" I roared at him, "Hands up!"
Still I didn't fire on him. I could also hear some calls and movement coming from elsewhere in the forest in the area. The others had heard all the noise I or Washerman had made and were headed toward us.
Washerman, however, didn't stand still. Standing to digitigrade legs ending in two toes tipped with strong hooves, he slowly walked toward me, giving pained grunts as he did so. His nose was slowly widening out and the bovine muzzle that all Bison had was pushing out. I could hear the bones of his skull cracking as they altered shape and pushed into new positions.
As he slowly ambled forward, I noticed a short tail slowly swishing behind him. It was tipped with longer dark brownish/black hairs that were almost like a tassel. And then with a roar of sorts that could rival anything I could make, the defining piece of anatomy of all bovines burst out from the top and back of his head and curved upward. The large, thick horns of the North American Bison.
"Heh... like that pea shooter will hurt me," Washerman snorted at me as he stood up properly.
He was heavily hunched over, even in an area where his head had the room to stand erect. Most of that was because of the size of his shoulders. They were utterly massive. The distance between each of his shoulders was about as long as one of my legs... perhaps longer. And even though he was hunched over, he still stood close to fifteen feet tall.
"Hands in the air!" I commanded, managing as much bravery as I could.
"How about I gore you instead, traitor!" Washerman snorted, dropped down to all fours and charged.