_____________
The Wendigo had been following the solitary figure since it saw his machine break down. The boy was obviously lost and staggered as he walked—he’d be easy prey. When the target turned into the woods and sought refuge behind the downed tree, the Wendigo knew it was a matter of time before he’d be unconscious.
The falling snow blanketed the woods and muffled all sound except for the occasional rustle of tree branches when a burst of breeze passed. The Wendigo listened; his super-keen hearing enabled him to hear the accelerated heartbeat of frightened prey. However, the boy’s heart had slowed so much that his heartbeat was barely discernable.
The Wendigo advanced and gathered the unconscious form. He looked at the young face and felt a minuscule bit of concern for the boy’s well-being. The human moment was fleeting and quickly passed. The Wendigo carried his prize off into the darkness of the storm.
25
Tobique First Nation, Perth-Andover, New Brunswick, Canada
Benny Graywolf was the epitome of what everyone thought a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman should look like. He was six feet, two inches tall, lean and mean. The only thing that took away from his image was that he looked ten years older than he was. Years of exposure to winter wind and summer sun had given him a ruddy, weathered look. He gripped John Bear’s hand with enough strength to crush hazelnuts. “So you decided to come over and see how a real law enforcement agency operates.
John returned Graywolf’s crushing grip and said, “Actually, I wanted to spend some time hanging out with some of your people.”
Graywolf laughed. “You could have done that without driving seventy miles. If I remember correct your old man still lives on the Madawaska First Nation. So what is it you really want?”
John Bear gave the RCMP sergeant a serious look. “Is there someplace less public where we can talk?”
Graywolf led John Bear to a conference room and when they were seated said, “What’s up?”
“You may know we’ve had several murders up my way.”
“That I do, what about them brings you here?”
“Benny, I think I’m looking for a Wendigo.”
Graywolf stared across the table. “What?”
“The bodies were torn so badly their own mothers wouldn’t have been able to recognize them—and there’s parts missing.”
A female officer entered the room carrying two mugs of coffee, placed one in front of John Bear and the other before Graywolf, and then exited the conference room.
Graywolf took a drink of coffee, the heat from the beverage steamed his glasses. “Okay. Why are you here?”
“I’ve been told that this guy has been working both sides of the border.”
“Here?”
“More likely the remote areas of eastern Quebec.”
“And you want me to … ?”
“Have your people go back, maybe as much as twenty years and see how many hunters, fishermen, whatever have gone missing and never been found.”
“These types of requests are usually handled through Ottawa and Washington, or even between Maine and the province in question.”
“Benny,” John leaned forward, “this perp has killed at least three times in the past month. Two days ago we discovered a root cellar filled with skeletons and bones—I believe it was one of his food caches. By the time the bureaucrats on both sides of the border get the paperwork done I could have who knows how many more bodies on my hands.”
Graywolf sat back and thought for a second. “Okay.”
“I know it’ll take a day or two to get the information, so I’ll come back in two or three days”
“You know Norman Levesque?”
“Not by name. May know him if I see him.”
“His territory is up in Claire and the part of Quebec you’re interested in. I’ll get the info to him, that way all you got to do is drive to Fort Kent, save you a couple of hours of windshield time.” Graywolf glanced at his watch. “It’s twelve thirty—”
“Eleven thirty my time.”
“Whatever, I’ll call Norm and have him meet you in Claire. Who knows? He may already have something that you can use.”
“When you get the information, call me and I’ll meet him in Claire.”
_____________
Big Twenty Township, T20, R11
Dwain awakened when early light filtered in through the dirt- and grime-coated old window. He was still in his snowmobile suit and he was covered with an old canvas. His face was numb with cold, but not as much as it had been when his sled broke down. There’ll be hell to pay when the old man finds that, he thought. Dwain pulled the canvas up to his chin and smelled the mold and rot. As bad as it smelled, it was warm and at that moment he was reluctant to leave.
He scanned the shack with his eyes and saw spiderwebs stretched between the rafters, in some places so thick they looked like a white blanket. In the center of the room was a table with one leg broken so that it tipped to the side. Even at his young age he could tell it was devoid of any modern conveniences, such as electricity. The only source of heat was an old fireplace lined with a heavy coating of creosote. Beside the hearth was a pile of firewood and small bits of twigs and branches for kindling.
Dwain struggled out of his crude bed and used the kindling and a couple of pieces of the wood to create a miniature pyre in the firebox. As he searched around inside his one-piece snowsuit for his cigarettes, he was glad his old man hadn’t yet learned that his thirteen-year-old son was a smoker and taken his lighter away.
He lit the propane in his lighter and touched it to the kindling. A small flame appeared and Dwain impatiently fanned the air above it with his hand, trying to make the flame grow. When the kindling ignited the wood, Dwain held his hands out to the heat that rose from the burning maple. A shadow passed over the window and Dwain turned to face the window and the door. After several tense moments he turned back to the fire. The flames began to grow and most of the heat was being lost up the chimney. Dwain felt a draft of air coming down the chimney and saw smoke entering the room instead of the chimney. He remembered his grandfather adjusting something he called a damper. In the fireplace at the settlement there was a handle in the top of the hearth. Dwain ventured a quick look and bent in and looked up. There was a handle there and he grabbed it. The metal damper had been unused for who knew how long (possibly longer than Dwain had been alive) and refused to move. Dwain gripped it with both hands and tugged. It would not budge. In frustration he jumped up and kicked the stubborn handle. The damper let out a loud squealing noise as years of rust and corrosion broke away and it moved. Dwain grasped the handle and moved it until the gate closed enough to eliminate the downdraft, the fire was at a manageable level and most of the smoke was rising up the chimney.
The interior of the shack warmed quickly and Dwain realized that he was not out of the woods yet—now he realized he was hungry, but a quick search proved there was nothing edible in the shack. He stared at the window. He could find something to eat outside, but recalled the shadow he’d seen earlier.
Dwain stripped out of the heavy one-piece snowmobile suit and removed the exterior boots, keeping on the felt linings. He found a couple of old wooden chairs, placed one by the table, and sat down. He folded his arms on the edge of the table and rested his head on them. used one to hold up the corner with the broken leg, and sat down, resting his head on his hands. As the fire took hold and the interior of the house warmed, he felt drowsy and soon dozed off.
_____________
The Wendigo stared in through the dirty, film-coated window at the boy. The traces of heat that escaped the cabin seared his flesh and he stepped back a step. For over an hour he watched like a silent sentinel and then turned and walked into the woods. He fought against his urge to kill the boy and feed. When the need grew so strong that it was about to take control of him, he began to run.
26
State Route 161 along the Maine–New Brunswick Border
John Bear had just driven through Saint John and entered into Fort Kent when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the display and saw that it was the Regional Communications Center in Houlton. Maine had set up four 1-800 numbers through the public safety dispatch system so that anyone in need of a warden’s services could reach one locally. Houlton was the one for the northern part of the state. John Bear pulled over to the shoulder and answered the call. “John Bear.”
“John, Jane Lewis in Houlton.”
“Hey, Jane what’s up?”
“Got a call from a woman named Amy Dowd. She needs to speak with you as soon as possible.”
John was surprised. The Dowds always avoided contact with law enforcement, in fact not once during his tenure in northern Maine had he ever been called by anyone at Dowd Settlement. To the best of his knowledge they didn’t even own a phone. When Jane read the number he immediately recognized it as Del McBrietty’s. “I’ll call her right now.”
He disconnected and entered the number for Del’s. The phone was answered on two rings. “Del’s”
“Del, John Bear. Is Amy Dowd there?”
“Yup, she’s been pacing like a wolf in a small cage waitin’ for you to call.”
“Well, put her on.”
He listened as the phone changed hands and then Amy Dowd said, “Warden Bear?”
“Yes, how can I help you, Amy?”
“My nephew Dwain has gone missing.”
“When?”
“Sometime yesterday. He went to spend the day with his friend, Murdock Cochran. I went to get him and found his Ski-Doo on Camp 106 Road. Looks like the motor blew.”
“Any sign of which way he went?”
“Ten inches of snow fell last night so any tracks have been covered up. I thought that he may have walked to Dickey checkpoint—”
“Which is unmanned.”
“I called Little Black from the radio call box, but they said no one had called them. Then I headed over here to call you.”
“Stay where you are. I’m in Fort Kent, but I’ll be there within an hour.” He called Norman Levesque, the RCMP officer in Claire, New Brunswick, and explained the situation.
“Okay, I understand,” Levesque said. “We do need to talk though. Benny got some information for you—there’s been more than twenty missing persons in and around the Quebec–New Brunswick border. Obviously, there may be as many or more over in Maine.”
_____________
John Bear arrived at Del’s shortly before ten a.m. Amy Dowd met him at the door and they walked into the dining area and sat below the moose head. Del brought them coffee and slid into the booth beside Amy. “Tell me everything you know,” John said.
“Yesterday morning, Dwain was mad at his father. He wanted to go spend the day at the Cochran place. Buster said no. These killin’s have got everyone’s nerves on edge. Dwain got mad and I tried to intervene, but the boy must have heard his father and me arguing. That was the last time we saw him.”
“When did you realize that he was gone?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Buster went looking for him and we found his sled was gone. We figured that he’d gone ahead and gone to the Cochran’s.” She sipped some coffee. “If we find that boy alive, Buster is gonna kick his ass big time…. It’ll be quite a while before that boy will be able to sit without rememberin’ the beating.”
“Okay. Tell me about the sled,” John said.
“When the boy didn’t come home last night, I decided to go and fetch him—that was this morning. I knew the route he’d most likely taken so I took the same one. I found the old Ski-Doo on Camp 106 Road. Looks like the motor finally blew up. On account of yesterday’s snow I seen no tracks so I figured that he most likely tried walkin’ to one of the checkpoints. Dickey was the closest. I got no idea when he lit out, but if he got to Dickey before nine last night he could call Little Black and they’d send someone to fetch him.”
“But they haven’t heard from him.”
“Not a word.”
John drank the remainder of his coffee and turned to Del. “Okay if I leave my truck here?”
“Sure.”
John turned to Dowd. “I’ll offload my sled and follow you to where he left the Ski-Doo.”
_____________
Camp 106 Road
Amy Dowd and John Bear stopped beside the incapacitated Ski-Doo. It only took a cursory inspection for John to determine that the sled would need a new motor before it would run again. If it wasn’t used as a source of spare parts, it would end up on one of the many piles of scrap and junk scattered around Dowd Settlement. John studied the area looking for any sign of which way the boy may have gone. In short time he knew it was fruitless. The previous day’s storm had completely filled in anything that would help him determine where he should start his search.
“You called the Cochrans?”
“Yes, they haven’t seen him.”
“Okay. Let’s assume that he was walking to Dickey checkpoint. You know this area better than anyone, is there any place where he might have holed up—tried to get out of the weather?”
“Not that I know of. Of course the woods are full of deadfall and he could have made some sort of shelter.”
“We came up that way and saw nothing. He would have heard us when we passed. What about the other direction. You think he might have decided to walk home?”
“Nope, Dwain may only be thirteen but he’s been raised in these woods, he’d know Dickey was closer. Besides, I would imagine he’s in no rush to face Buster.”
As if on cue, they heard the sounds of several approaching snowmobiles. Amy looked up the road and said, “Speaking of the devil….”
Four sleds rounded the curve in the road and John recognized Linwood Dowd immediately. “Looks as if the entire clan is here.”
“That boy is going to be in a lot of trouble….”
John looked at her. “Going to be?”
“Yup. Right now they’re all worried about him, but once he’s found, his hide’s gonna be hanging on the shed next to them coyote skins.”
The convoy of sleds stopped beside them and the riders dismounted. None of the Dowds wore helmets, preferring to don ball or watch caps. Buster wore a Boston Bruins cap with the visor pointed to the rear so that the wind wouldn’t catch it. He reversed the cap, walked over to the inoperative Ski-Doo and stared at it for a few seconds before announcing, “Yuh, it’s fucked. Only fit for the junk pile.” Ignoring John Bear he asked Amy, “Any sign of the boy?”
Amy shook her head.
“He get to Cochran’s place?” Lin asked.
“I called them and they said they ain’t heard nor seen hide or hair of him.”
“Looks a bit worrisome,” Lin Dowd said. He turned, ignoring the warden as his grandson had. “Buster you run down to Little Black, see if anyone seen anything.” He turned to Louis. “You run up the Hafford Pond, see what that nutty fuckin’ Askook’s been up to.” He then turned to John Bear. “You, Earl, and me are going to search these woods.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Amy asked.
“Get your ass home an’ help the women take care of the rest of the brood.”
“I want to go with you,” Amy protested.
“If you’d a discouraged that boy rather than lead him on….”
“Grandpa, that ain’t fair!” she protested.
“You don’t do as you’re told, I’ll show you what ain’t fair. Now get on home!”
“Linwood,” John Bear said, “this is an official missing persons search now. I got to call it in to the state police and the warden service—”
“You go ahead an’ call anyone you fuckin’ want—call the goddamned U.S. Army for all I care. But I believe one of them crazy fuckin’ Indians got that boy and if I find out that’s so, I’ll kill whichever one’s got him.”
“Lin, you go takin’ things into your own hands and you’ll stir up more trouble than you either want or need.”
“Warden, if someone’s
fucked with mine, I’m gonna fuck with his. Now you go call anyone you want, but me ’n Earl are going to find that boy.”
John Bear said, “I’ll go with you, but first I’m gonna call Ashland and set a search in motion.”
“You got ten minutes,” Dowd motioned to the rest of his family. “I told you all what to do, now git to it!”
27
Camp 106 Road
The search party stopped for a break and John Bear noticed that he had a text message from Murphy on his cell phone. He noted the time and realized that he was roaming on a Canadian tower. Regardless of the cost, he called Murphy; in order for the warden to call it must be important. The phone rang once and was answered.
“John?”
“Yeah.”
“We got another body.”
“You’re shitting me….”
“Wish I was—like the others, it looks like a berserk animal attacked the guy.”
John said. “Where did you find it?”
“Not far from Frontière Lake.”
“Approximate age and size of the vic?”
John saw the looks of concern the Dowds were giving him and knew that they too were holding their breath, hoping this victim was not Dwain.
“I’d say midthirties.” Murphy must have realized what John’s concern was and added, “Not the Dowd kid. Thank God.”
“No one has reported a missing person?”
“No, but I got an ID. He has a fishing license from Quebec. I’ll check with the authorities over there.”
“Let me know as soon as you learn anything.”
“You heading this way?” Murphy asked.
John looked at the Dowds and replied, “Not unless you need me.”
“Shit, we’ve had so goddamned many of these I can do it in my sleep.”
Wendigo Page 15
