Gordon couldn't let it drop. "Damn, bro, I did what any man would have done in my place."
"This is Nevada," Norville whispered. "Not a smart place to shoot people. Did you know they give you the needle in this state? Sometimes it takes them a long time to find a good vein."
"You don't got call to be mean," Gordon said.
For a brief second, Norville considered apologizing, because the convict was right, there wasn't any point. He was just in a foul mood from lack of sleep and a long-standing anxiety about flying. Once he'd turned Gordon over to the Reno PD and collected that $7,500 fee from the bondsman, things would be copasetic.
For some reason it bothered him that young Jennifer, seemed so frightened. Maybe that was because his own daughter had stopped speaking to him years ago.
Gordon looked out the window. "Hot damn is it snowing down there. Looks like the North Fucking Pole."
"Could you watch your language please, gentlemen?" It was the passenger across the aisle. Norville felt an unreasonably hostile flash of adrenaline course through his veins. He turned. Looking back at him was a portly, balding man wearing a dark jacket and the collar of a minister. "Hugh Miller." He held out his hand. "I don't mean to impose my values, but as you can see, I'm a man of the cloth."
Norville reluctantly reached out to shake, but just then the tiny plane lurched to one side and dropped a good fifty feet. Soft drinks and coffee floated momentarily in the air and then crashed and splashed. People all over the aircraft gasped and muttered. Lights off, lights on. The traumatized plane moaned like a woman approaching orgasm.
A compact, muscular young man in the seat behind Norville leaned forward. "Jesus, are we safe in this thing?" He grabbed Miller's hand and shook it. "Chris Drake. I hope you're saying a prayer for us, father."
"Call me Hugh."
The lights flickered. Stewardess Janet came rushing past them. Her face seemed pale and there were twin red dots on her cheeks.
"Ma'am?"
"Not now, Mr. Cork."
She moved to the front of the plane and strapped herself in.
Cork, a red neck fellow in a cowboy hat and boots, whistled under his breath. "Sweet Baby Jesus," he said, "I think we're in trouble. That filly looks plenty spooked."
Norville sat back and closed his eyes. The plane slid another hundred feet down and this time everyone screamed.
"This is your pilot, Captain Jack Kramer speaking." The voice on the intercom had a frail quality to it. Norville considered barfing, but couldn't find a bag in the pouch in front of him.
"We are somewhere over the town of Salt Lick," the pilot said. "The town doesn't have a runway. As you can tell, we've run into some very bad weather, and on top of that we're experiencing mechanical difficulties. I'm going to have to ask you all to stay in your seat. Buckle your belts, and be prepared for an emergency landing."
Stewardess Janet called out bravely. "That means everyone put your head down between your knees."
"And kiss your ass goodbye." That jock again, Chris Drake; the kid looked at Norville and swallowed. "Am I going to die in a crash on my way home from a football game, for Christ's sake?"
"Calm down, calm down, calm down," the salesman said. What was his name again? Bernie Cooper? Little Bernie didn't look or sound too relaxed. "These people know what they're doing. They train for these things."
"Nobody's going to die in a crash," Norville said. Bullshit, of course, not to mention that we could freeze to death even if we do survive.
WHAM. The lights blew, the little plane went dark, and they fell four stories in a couple of seconds. Norville bent forward, felt his prisoner do the same, as the plane dropped like a stone towards the frozen mountains below.
Norville had one thought circle his brain like a great white shark: Sometimes nightmares do come true…
The impact knocked him senseless.
….Some time later, a very cold breeze blew in the open window. It stroked his cheek then crawled down his torn shirt like a spider. Norville coughed, felt a needle dig into his chest. My ribs? He opened his eyes. Crisp moonlight illuminated a gaping hole in the crumpled fuselage. Snow flurries sparkled in the midnight air. He remembered, then. We crashed. Norville forced himself forward, released his seat belt and struggled to balance himself. He looked outside and saw only white wilderness crouching beyond, and a few still-burning pieces of luggage. Something seemed to be feeding that fire. He sniffed the air.
Jesus, gasoline!
"Up! We have to get out of here!"
Norville grabbed at Bob Gordon's seat belt, yanked on the cuffs. "Gordon, come on. The plane is going to blow."
The prisoner shook himself awake. His face was smeared with black blood from a scalp wound. "Okay, okay."
Norville pulled the other man up and made for the opening, calling out as they crawled. "Hello? Who's alive? Can anyone hear me?"
"Me, I think." Bernie Cooper, the meek salesman. "Me too," called Drake. Norville watched as the athlete crawled over the top of the seats and helped Cooper get free. "Gas, let's hurry."
"I'm okay, praise God," said Hugh Miller. "Can anyone see the women from there?"
Norville pushed Gordon out into the snow. The convict stumbled a few yards away and sat down heavily under a pine tree.
"No, go over there," Norville barked, "by those rocks, under the natural shelf. That will give us some shelter."
Then Cooper and Drake came out, arm in arm. Norville crawled back through the opening, looking for more survivors. He found the two female passengers beginning to come around.
"Lucy, Jennifer, get outside."
He didn't wait, just kept moving through the debris, and then found himself out into the snow again, because the plane had been sheared neatly in two. Norville discovered the front crumpled, and a grisly part of Captain Kramer's lower torso that trailed multi-colored intestines. Stewardess Janet had been neatly decapitated by a piece of the cabin door. Norville didn't see her head. He worked his way back through the rear section toward the opening, into the darkness. He heard a WHUMP sound from outside as even more fuel ignited.
"Fuck me, my arm's broken."
The voice was so close it startled him. Norville pictured the big rancher, Cork, who groaned. "Somebody give me a hand."
BOOM! There came another explosion from somewhere to the left. Norville heard the passengers outside. They were all shouting for him to hurry.
"Come on," Norville said. "Move it or burn."
As they crawled rapidly out into the snow, Norville felt his hands slip in something slick and wet near the torn metal lip. He didn't look down to see what it was. "Chris, Bernie, Hugh, gather up some reasonably dry wood and put it over there, near Bob, under the rock shelf. Move it."
No one questioned his right to give orders. The three men moved in different directions, searching for branches that weren't soaked or covered with ice. Norville helped Cork, who's right arm and shoulder seemed oddly misshapen. The rancher's eyes were glazed from trauma and pain.
Soon everyone had gathered in the shelter of the cliff, away from the plane, encircling a large pile of reasonably dry timber and branches. Norville lumbered back to the wreck one last time. The fire was spreading rapidly up the fuselage and a quick flare burned the skin of his face. He managed to light a branch in a pool of gasoline, turned and walked heavily back through the snow to the others. He started a fire and then collapsed, exhausted.
BOOOOM!
The rest of the aircraft blew into pieces and belched black smoke into the starry winter sky. Moments after that, it went silent. The world was all ice and whispering wind. A relentless snow continued to fall. The survivors huddled close to one another, facing down toward the fire that offered their only chance of not freezing to death…
ArroOOOOOooooooOOOooo.
Gordon's eyes bulged and he showed his big teeth. "What the fuck was that?" No one minded the profanity this time.
Chris shrugged. "Sounds like coyotes. They won't come near the
fire."
"Those ain't coyotes, son." Kevin Cork grimaced, clutched his broken arm. The rancher's voice was compressed with pain. "But they may be the biggest goddamned wolves I ever heard."
"Wolves?" Janet and Lucy Peterson said the word in perfect, almost comical, unison. Lucy, the mother, still seemed dazed.
Norville listened intently. The sound came again, and this time it was louder. Closer….ARooOOooooooOOOooo.
"Everybody move in a bit closer," Norville said. "And I want every other person facing out, towards the woods. We'll start with you, Chris. Is your watch working?"
The kid checked. "It's broken."
"Father?"
Hugh Miller did not object to being called Father this time. "Mr. Norville, my watch is fine."
"Then you're the monitor. We're trading, so nobody gets too cold. Let's change places every fifteen minutes."
Norville stood up, sheltered his eyes from the snow. He was shivering, even this close to the fire. He felt for the comfortable heft of the Magnum at his hip. The butt was cold. Had he brought a backup speed loader, or just the six in the chamber? He could not remember.
"M-M-Mr. Norville?"
"What?"
"I saw something moving out there."
Norville looked down at his small band of survivors. They seemed like terrified children. "What? What did you see, Bernie?"
"It could have been my imagination, or something, but it looked more like a man than a wolf."
A man? Up here in the middle of a snow storm? Norville peered into the darkness, where the shadows danced.
He saw a pair of glittering eyes looking back.
He pawed at the Magnum, but by the time he'd brought it up the eyes weren't there any longer. "Did anyone else see that?"
Lucy Peterson was sobbing. "Oh. Oh. Oh, my God."
I guess she did, Norville thought. Maybe it was a bear. Do they still have those up here? He turned and looked down at the fire. "We're going to need more kindling." The impact of his words registered on everyone. Someone was going to have to risk going out into the night, and soon, or they would all freeze to death.
Norville swallowed his own fear. "I'll make the first run for more firewood. Who's volunteering to go second?"
No one answered. Finally, Bob Gordon grinned that silly, gap-toothed grin, lifted his cuffed hands. "I'll go too, chief, but you'd best take these damned things off of me first."
Norville hesitated, but then dug in his pocket for the key. Where the hell was Gordon going to run to up here, in the middle of nowhere? He unlocked the cuffs. "When I get back, you go. And take a torch with you to keep the animals away."
Gordon rubbed his wrists and nodded. He sat down next to Hugh, facing out toward the wilderness.
OOoooooooOOOooooo.
Norville felt everyone's eyes on him. He checked his pockets and holster. No extra rounds. He had six shots to work with, only six. He scowled as he grabbed a stick, stuck one end in the fire and gripped the Magnum in his other hand.
"I'll be right back. Stay warm."
Norville felt like he was running through frozen molasses as he fought his way past the rim of the firelight and out into the trees. He held the blazing stick aloft, trying to gauge how long it would last as he cast about for more wood to bring back.
The woods are hungry, dark and deep. Maybe not exactly what Robert Frost had in mind? Norville pushed on through the snow, his breath steaming ahead of him in the frigid mountain air. His eyes searched the gloom. His ribs hurt. He found some dead brush slanting against the trunk of a pine, gathered it in his arms and turned to go back.
GRRRrrrrrrrRRrrr.
The eyes were back, and Norville felt his skin ripple as he realized they were about chest high. Unless the creature was crouched in part of the mountain, it was nearly his size, and that was very mother fucking big. He almost wasted a bullet, but moved away instead, one careful step at a time. Norville knew that if he lost his balance and ended up helpless in the snow he'd be a dead man within a matter of seconds.
It watched him, and Norville fancied he caught sight of a long, saliva-laden red tongue. Heart pounding, he walked carefully backwards to the fire without turning around.
"Gordon," Norville said, "There's definitely something out there. You'd better be careful."
"We heard it growl. Let me have the gun."
Norville shook his head. "I can't do that. But I'll follow you part way, give you some cover."
Gordon swallowed. "I suppose it's too late for me to change my mind?"
Norville didn't answer, just threw his sticks on the fire. The answer was obvious. Feed the flames or die.
Gordon lit a torch and stumbled out into the night. It took every ounce of courage Norville possessed to follow him. He gripped the Magnum and swept the brush with his eyes, looking for a trace of the creature. Nothing moved. Gordon wandered a bit and almost fell over before catching himself. He had to go quite a bit further to locate a decent bit of wood. Finally he bent over and collected some sticks. He turned to come back.
Whatever it was managed to cover fifteen yards of moonlight snow within a few seconds; Norville saw a huge, monstrous shadow, heard paws chuffing through snow, and Gordon shrieked. Somehow his face and hair just disappeared to be replaced by a mask of pulsing red and a patch dull, white bone. The convict fell to his knees, clutching at his ruined features.
Norville fired once, twice, but instantly knew he'd only hit Gordon, who grunted, held his stomach and vanished into a bank of steadily reddening snow.
"What is it? What happened? What happened?" It was those two women, again almost in unison.
Norville tried to look away but couldn't as the monster's immense teeth flashed in the moonlight. It bit down into Gordon's thigh and tugged him out of sight, into the trees. Norville almost fired again, more to feel powerful than to accomplish anything, but kept himself in check. He'd already wasted two bullets.
Gordon began to scream.
Norville turned and ran, as best he could run through the dense powder. That scream rose higher, it became a sound as filled with horror as pain, as if Gordon were watching himself being devoured alive, and then it cut off abruptly. After one ghastly, choking sound, the woods fell silent. The survivors huddled around the fire were weeping.
Hugh spoke first. "What happened to him?"
"I think it's a bear," Norville lied, "a really big bear."
Cork shook his head. "There's no bear left in Nevada big enough to take a man whole," he said, wearily. "What the hell sounds like a wolf and can do something like that?"
They still needed wood. The fire was already beginning to die out, snowflakes sizzling and dampening the blaze. Norville swallowed, turned around. "Give me another torch."
"Maybe if a few of us go we'll be safer," Chris said. "I'll come along. Hugh? Bernie?"
Bernie had his head between his legs. He was sobbing with fright.
"You and me, Chris," the preacher said. He got to his feet. "Isn't there something else we can use as a weapon?"
Kevin Cork was still holding his broken arm. He spat. "They wouldn't let me bring my knife on board, or I'd cut us some spears."
"Fire's the best weapon we have," Norville said, "it's also our best signal for help, and the only way to stay alive in this weather. Let's go."
Bernie managed to get to his feet. He was shaking badly. "I'll come to."
"You and Mr. Cork stay here with the ladies," Norville said, and thought: You'd likely be more trouble than you're worth, anyway.
The three men stayed close together and moved out into the inclement weather. Norville kept the torch high. Their eyes swept the darkness in search of reflections or movement. Feet crunched loudly through six inches of frost. Hugh spotted a dead branch sheltered by some thick pine.
"I'll get that one."
Chris squinted, found a target. "There's some dead sage over there, near the boulder."
"I'll cover you," Norville said. He raised the Magnum and the f
laming stick of wood.
Chris went left, Hugh center right. As they moved farther apart it became difficult to track them both. Norville swore, softly. His nose was running, irritating him. He wiped it on his sleeve and momentarily lost track of Hugh.
That's when he heard another scream. No, it was more than one; a low and guttural sound mixed with something else.
Norville raised the weapon and swiveled left and right. Hugh was coming towards him with an arm full of wood. Chris was bending over in the snow. Norville whirled around just in time to see Kevin Cork's boots being dragged away from the fire. Jennifer was screaming, high and shrill. Lucy, the older woman, had already passed out.
Chris had a bundle of sticks and started to put them down. Norville shouted. "No, bring everything you can find. Hurry!"
Hugh was already half way back, but his arms were so full he was off balance. He slipped down to one knee. Norville opened his mouth to issue a warning, but something huge, furry and black sprang from the rocks and took Hugh down, out of sight, into the drifts. A tall, red geyser erupted into the chilly air. Norville heard something behind, something that sounded like ragged breathing. He spun and fired three more times.
The wolf-like thing stalking him was massive, tall and wide. It towered over him and glared down with bulging eyes. The teeth were long, the jaws wide open. The bullets seemed to startle and annoy the beast. It whined a bit, as if in pain, then dropped back down onto all fours and growled.
Norville raised the gun. One bullet left. Before he could fire, the werewolf sank low into the snow and crawled out of sight.
"Help! Help me!"
Hugh? Norville turned just in time to see the preacher go down under a thick carpet of snarling fur. Chris was running as best he could, still holding on to the firewood, but now one of the werewolves was approaching him from behind.
Norville waved the torch. "Hey, over here!" The creature spotted him, but stayed focused on the young jock. He was significantly closer. Then Chris was also taken, this time without a sound.
Three grown men were gone, and within a matter of seconds. Norville made for the two women, and the dying fire.
Dark Thoughts Page 4
