“This isn’t right,” Alan protested. “They wouldn’t go in that barn.”
“Maybe they wanted to see the freak show left by the bears.”
“No way,” Alan said. He decided to ignore the bears comment. It hadn’t been a bear and after Elmert’s call, they all knew it.
The area between the helicopter and the barn was pitch dark. “Don’t you think they’d use flashlights if they were in the barn? It’s totally dark in there, Jaffey.” Alan said. “We’d see their lights if they were in there.”
Jaffey stopped, suddenly agreeing with Alan. “You are right….and I don’t like it.” He pulled a pistol from a holster on the back of his belt and held it out to Alan. “The constable shouldn’t have kept you out here. Take this…but keep it out of reach so that Seffert doesn’t see it. He’ll go ape shit.” Jaffey swung the rifle down from his shoulder.
“Tell me we aren’t going into the barn, Jaffey?”
“We aren’t. We are going back to the tent and use the base station to call out everyone…the RCP, the Navy, Marines…everyone. I’ve had enough of this.”
Alan sighed with relief. At last, someone was going to take a step that made perfect sense. Besides, the pilots must be in the tent, where Seffert went to check…but then why had the corporal not called out to them?
The two men were happy to get back into some light. The lamps set up inside the smaller radio tent were glowing brightly and for Alan the lamps were a great comfort in what was becoming one hell of a scary night. The tent fluttered near the back, pushing outward and rolling as if someone were backed against the tent wall.
“See,” Jaffey said. “They are in there, working on the radio.” A cloud of steam puffed in front of his face as he let out a heavy breath. “Man, I was starting to get spooked. Now, it’s time to call in some real help before we fly out.”
The motion of the tent canopy bothered Alan, who stopped just short of the front entrance. The fluttering seemed strange to him. The jostling of the tent was fast-paced and low to the ground…and an image popped into Alan’s mind…an image of a dog he had when he was a kid. The dog loved to dig up the back yard, always burying bones. The fluttering was like those paws digging back and forth in the soft dirt of his backyard. He wanted to tell Jaffey to be careful, but he didn’t, and he berated himself again for being paranoid.
Jaffey swung open the tent door, which was a large flap with snaps on either side, and began the laborious effort to snap it so that it would remain open. He took the upper right corner of the flap, drew it to the left side of the tent, and looked for the corresponding snap on the opposite side. “I’m calling everyone in on this, you guys. I want our helicopter up and looking, but I am calling in Air Rescue and everyone…”
He stopped trying to force snaps together. Something inside the tent had growled. The sound was frightening and yet it was very low—oddly subtle in all its cold ferocity.
Jaffey didn’t look. He let the tent flap drop back and began to slide his rifle down his shoulder. Alan barely heard the strange growl, but he did see the look of fear on Jaffey’s face. He started slowly backing away, bringing up the pistol at the same time.
Jaffey had his rifle held at his hip, the safety off. He knew he should open that flap again and move in to defend whoever was inside. He’d seen Seffert head for the tent but had not seen him go inside. Maybe the young corporal, for whatever reason, had decided not to. No…Seffert would have come to Jaffey and Alan. Could it be that the pilots and the crewman were inside with that thing…and Seffert to? Jaffey’s grip on his rifle tightened. He had backed about five paces away from the tent.
He stopped backing up but Alan did not. Jaffey turned toward Alan to order him to find safety in the cabin, but the words never came from his lips. Jaffey felt the roar of the animal at the same moment that his mind registered the sound. The nylon ripped and tore as the animal had burst through the tent and then there was the strange crunch of the packed snow as feet and claws propelled the animal quickly forward—a step necessary to begin its leap into the air. Jaffey heard the distinct ‘whooshing’ sound as the thing leapt, followed a millisecond later by a furious roar that bounced off the walls of Jaffey’s mind as it attempted to cope with what the thing was. He heard a second roar just as the air was forced from his lungs by the impact of his body onto the ground, the snow failing to cushion his fall. Jaffey could not scream or cry out. Without any precious oxygen in his lungs, he could not make a sound. Jaffey knew that death itself was on him, now and in his mind he still tried to picture a bear.
All he could do was flail his arms and dig his fists into the coarse, stinking fur of the animal as he felt jaws and teeth find their way through the soft flesh of his neck and shoulder. In that instant, Jaffey gave up, knowing that it was over. There was no reason to resist. There was no reason to be afraid. This was nature, was it not? He was prey to a larger, stronger predator and now his life would end. Strangely, he felt little pain. He could taste the sickening stench of the thing, and could feel its hot breath as it ripped through skin, sinew, and bone. He felt his own warm blood as it flushed over his face.
And while every instinct Jaffey still maintained screamed for him to keep his eyes locked shut against the horrible thing that tore at him…the person that Jaffey was—the scientist—the explorer of new things—wanted to see this creature that was taking his life.
He opened his eyes as the thing lifted its head back. Jaffey tried to scream once more…and something did come out…but it was more of a wet, gurgling noise. The nightmarish creature on him was not a bear. No, it was not a thing of nature at all. It was a demon that must be spawned from hell as there was no place on Earth for this monster. The werewolf looked right into Jaffey’s eyes and he could have sworn its snarl suddenly lifted into a beastly smile as it opened its jaws again and moved downward toward his face.
Jaffey had needed to look and the very moment he saw his attacker was the moment that his pain came back to life. Excruciating, exhausting, overpowering pain assaulted him, once more. If I’d only kept my eyes closed…
As the Other…the werewolf… threw its head side-to-side, shaking the now-limp human body in its teeth, it felt invigorated. Its physical appetite was satiated, having gorged itself on the other humans inside the tent…but it was aware that there was another human close by, which appealed once more to the inner-hunger—the need to kill and destroy—especially the weak humans. The Other opened its horrid jaws and dropped the body to the snow, then sniffed the air for the scent of the last, stray human.
Alan had frozen at first. Nothing on his body or in his mind would respond for what seemed an eternity. He forgot about the pistol in his hand as it slipped from his grip and fell to the ground. The werewolf, for it was a werewolf had launched itself onto Jaffey so quickly that, had it not roared, Alan might have reached the cabin without seeing what was happening. Two massive bites from the massive jaws and Jaffey was dead.
The werewolf was grotesque in every way imaginable, but it was also obviously incredibly powerful. It was animal, but not. Alan now knew Elmert had been right all along. For a split second, however, he calculated the time from the radio-call in which they heard the Elmert being attacked to now as they were being attacked…and the time didn’t add up. The creature would have needed wings to get back here so incredibly fast. In fact, it could not have, super powers or not. Elmert had been at least seven kilometers away just minutes ago. And this werewolf had been here long enough to have already killed the helicopter crew, Seffert, Jaffey…and was now it was after him. Could there be more than one?
In the werewolf movies, there was usually one werewolf against a town. The townspeople were picked off by said werewolf one creepy, foggy, moonlit night after another, until a hero arose to slay the beast with some silver bullets.
Could there be two?
Alan’s legs had finally succumbed to the orders from his brain…and he ran. Now he was moving, but not thinking. For if he had been t
hinking, he would not have headed out into the open, away from the cabin and toward the forest. He was obeying the only command that he’d given to his body, and he would not look back.
The tree line was perhaps fifty meters away, now. Perhaps he could hide somewhere in the thick trees and escape the jaws of the thing…the werewolf. But the snow was slowing him down. He had some hope as he cleared another ten meters in just a few strides but then he heard the howl behind him. Gotcha, the howl said. No need to run, the howl said. Just relax…it will be easier for all of us, the howl said.
The werewolf landed like a cat, settling gracefully into the snow in front of him. It had to have leaped completely over him to land so perfectly in front of him. Alan brought pistol up. At least he could shoot it once before it was on him. But his hand was empty…the weapon lay in the snow near Jaffey’s body—right where Alan had unknowingly dropped it.
The werewolf turned to face him. It had landed with its back toward Alan…which seemed to also indicate its undeniable superiority in every way. So, it turned, and Alan wished he could just die now and not have to suffer through the next moments. Moments that he knew would be beyond horrific. The werewolf seemed to smile at him.
Alan considered bolting to the right, but the werewolf leapt first, keeping its distance, but cutting off any escape. He tried left, with the same results…except this time the werewolf not only cut off his escape, but moved a little closer as it did. It was five feet away from Alan, now.
Alan screamed at it. He didn’t know why…and was just as surprised as the werewolf was when it happened. So, he did it again. This time he put some effort into it, not screaming like a girl, but gritting his teeth and roaring with all his might. The werewolf cocked its head to the side. Just like a dog, Alan thought. Just like a puppy who was curious about that farting sound you were making with your hands. Just like his dog had cocked its head sideways when he had released air from a balloon by stretching the rubber so that it squealed. Was that a good thing? He wasn’t dead. Couldn’t be bad, right?
Alan roared again.
The werewolf snarled and leapt in closer, swinging a powerful handful of claws down across Alan’s chest. The werewolf was more than familiar with the next scream that came from Alan. A scream of pain. But, just as the werewolf was about to end the silly game with the human, the Beast burst from nowhere, slamming into him, full-force.
The Other knew it was in trouble. It had managed to survive against the Beast only by sheer will and determination. But now the Other saw that its own chest was ripped to pieces, and the Beast was on him now, tearing at his throat. How could the Beast defeat him so easily now, when he had failed so many times before? Had the Beast let him live all those times before?
A hole filled with black nothingness was coming toward the Other, now, as it felt the jaws of the Beast around its throat. It felt the pain, but the Other was used to pain. But then, strange images passed through the Other’s mind. Human images. A female, green grass in the summertime…sunlight…a female child in a yellow dress. The Beast wrenched once, the sickening crack resounding in the cold night air. It wrenched again, and the Other’s head fell away from its neck and rolled aside. The black nothingness enveloped the Other, completely.
Alan was running again, running with all that was in him. He was in the forest, blindly charging through, pushing through branches brambles as if they were not there. He leapt deadfall. He fell time and time again only to jump to his feet and continue on. His face was torn. His arms were bloody. His chest and shoulder were ripped open and gushing blood as he ran—but he did not tire and he did not stop.
The Beast, its territorial dispute over, its prowess unmatched, stood to its full height and howled. The life-orb was no longer visible in the sky and he felt the sorrowful tug inside him. Although it was over and the Other was gone, this territory, though defended successfully, was no longer his. He understood that it was lost. He could not remain. He howled again, longer, louder.
Alan heard the howl far behind him and amazingly he found the strength to pick up the pace. He should have been dead or at least unconscious from loss of blood, he knew. He also knew that he should be in horrible pain, if not from the sucking chest wound, then certainly from his torn shoulder. Never mind that his skin was being scratched and torn by everything as he ran. I’m going to live. He thought. He could feel it. I’m not going to die! He would not be killed by the first creature. He’d be somehow saved by a second werewolf, and he was not going to let either of them find him again.
The werewolf held its head high, testing the frozen night air for signs of the last human. He knew the man was running and was badly wounded…but instinct called for him to leave the human—and to escape back into the heart of his territory before it was once again time for him to sleep. He could not stay here. He looked down at the now-human, headless form at his feet. There had been another time when he had to defeat one of these things…and the same thing had happened…the thing died, and a human lay in its place afterward.
He cocked his head sideways for a moment, trying to comprehend but it was beyond him. He shook once to free himself of blood and gore, then loped into the forest not far from where the human had entered.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Delmar and Thomas found Jenny perched on a makeshift stretch of nylon on part of the aluminum pipe framing that used to make up one of the aircraft benches. She held her knees to her face and cried softly. Both men somehow knew Steven was dead. They saw it in Jenny’s face before they were all the way inside the twisted wreckage.
Daniel was not in good shape. The initial shock had worn off and the adrenaline no longer masked the pain. Thomas and Delmar constructed a makeshift cot from the pipes and material from the cabin benches. It took some effort and caused Daniel a lot of pain, but they moved him from the wreckage onto the cot. Thomas closely examined his leg and checked him for other wounds. He was sure that Daniel had a concussion—but it was the broken tibia that might quickly become life-threatening. The bone was broken so badly that Thomas had a difficult time believing that Daniel had managed to move at all after the helicopter had fallen The leg was purple from the ankle to the knee, and a splinter of bone was pressing upward, trying to push through the skin.
Delmar comforted Jenny and searched the helicopter for useful items. He freed the rest of their hunting gear, piling it outside, and was ecstatic to find that Steven’s massive first aid kit contained morphine serrets. They were the combat-style serrets reminiscent of World War II and Viet Nam. Each serret contained enough morphine to take the edge off of the pain, and using multiple serrets could completely eliminate pain altogether, usually rendering the patient unconscious. In the wrong hands, however, the serrets could do more harm than good. Thomas and Delmar were both cross-trained as Army Combat Lifesavers, and were well aware of the dangers.
Jenny said that Steven had twice been trapped with injured travelers and had sworn he would never fly or lead hunts without the ability eliminate the pain of the wounded. Making it out of the mountains with someone badly wounded was a nightmarish struggle at best, but became impossible if the person was in unbearable pain. She smiled at the memory and then double checked the rifle and stared out into the forest.
“Good man,” Delmar said softly as he examined the serrets. “Damned good man.” He stood up. “We’ve got a great kit, here, Thomas. There isn’t enough bandaging to use with a splint, but there I’ve found duct tape and electrical tape to make up for it. They will make all the difference.”
“Good. Daniel is going to need one hell of a setting if we’re going to move him.” Thomas had hung his flashlight in a tree so that the light shined down on Daniel, who did his best to handle his pain.
“The sun will be up in less than an hour,” Thomas said. “Let’s have this leg splinted and ready by then if we can. The sooner we get to some real shelter, the better.”
The wind had already begun to pick up, which was not a good sign. Strong gusts of win
d forming before the sun came up were a sign of bad weather anywhere. High in the mountains of the north in early fall snows, the predawn gusts often meant that another storm would be there soon.
They had decided to try to once again head for Jeremiah’s cabin. They could not make the much longer trek to the lake and could no longer afford to wait with the wreckage in hopes that they would be missed—Daniel needed help. Sepsis would set in, fast, especially in the icy cold. There was also chance that he would go into shock as time passed and the pain intensified. Shock was a death sentence out here. They had to get him to warmth and shelter.
Jenny and Daniel had painted a strange picture of the events that led them to the fall over the cliff. The two could only agree that the creature was bear-like in the way it was built, but thinner and with more muscle…and that it had the facial features of a wolf. Thomas had glanced at Delmar as they described the creature, and later they had all agreed that they would have to let it go for now and focus on getting them all safely back to civilization.
Jenny’s steely calm worried Thomas, but he could not afford to spend time analyzing her. She had Delmar’s rifle and sat on top of the wreckage keeping watch while he and Delmar completed the splints for Daniel, who was unconscious now. Thomas hoped he would remain that way as they applied the splint to his badly broken leg.
The sun finally peaked over the horizon but the warm glow was accompanied by more winds and high, rolling white clouds. Thomas and Delmar worked together to splint Daniel’s leg and by the time the sun fully-lit the valley, they were finished and had placed Daniel on a sturdy pole-litter that had been put together with the same aluminum bench framing nylon seat webbing with which the cot had been made. Daniel was strapped securely onto the litter, zipped inside his sleeping bag and its water-proof Gore-Tex covering. Delmar also strapped a large oval-shaped piece of the helicopter’s plexiglass windshield under the rear of the litter, giving it a more sled-like form. Through all of this, Jack had remained close, never straying more than a few meters from the wreckage. The Husky seemed to keep constant vigilance, as if he too were on watch.
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