Condor quickly made up his mind. He turned and headed south toward Dowd Settlement.
33
Dowd Settlement
Dwain felt his presence before he saw the immense figure framed by the light of the open door and he immediately knew who it was. He stood and ran to the silhouette and wrapped his arms around his waist. “I knew you’d come for me,” he said.
The Wendigo turned and motioned for Dwain to follow him out into the frigid night. They crossed the open yard and entered the woods behind the log house. The behemoth broke a trail through the snow making it easy for Dwain. The unlikely duo crossed the open ground and disappeared into the primordial night.
_____________
Amy Dowd picked up the plate and, before walking to the barn, checked the temperature on the thermometer that hung outside the kitchen window—minus twenty degrees Fahrenheit. She shook her head, wondering how Dwain had been able to spend the night in the unheated barn. She left the warmth of the house, wrapping her coat tightly around her as she walked to the barn. The distance was short, not more than fifty feet, but by the time she got to the door her toes were stinging from the cold and her nose felt frozen. She saw a huge footprint in the snow that had mounded up in the threshold and her heart skipped. She darted inside and called out, “Dwain! I’ve got your breakfast….” When she received no answer, she placed the dish on a bale of hay and searched the barn. Dwain was nowhere to be found. She grabbed the plate of now frozen eggs and ran back to the house. She placed the plate on a table beside one of the recliners and climbed the stairs to Dwain’s bedroom. She opened the door and saw that the room had not been slept in nor was there any sign of her nephew. She ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, where her family sat at the table drinking their morning coffee. “Dwain is gone!”
Linwood looked at her and said, “What you mean gone?”
“Gone, he’s not in the barn, he’s not in his room, he’s not nowhere.”
Earl looked up. “You searched everywhere?”
“Only the barn and his room.”
Linwood addressed the rest of the family. “I want every inch of this place searched.” He directly spoke to Buster: “If that kid run off again, you better wear his ass out when we get him back. Now get to it.”
“There’s one other thing,” Amy said, “I saw a giant footprint headed into the barn.”
Earl, Buster, and Louis leapt to their feet, and Buster’s chair fell over backward with a resounding bang. He stopped by the hearth and took a lever-action Savage .30–30 from the gun rack on the wall and grabbed a box of 170 grain cartridges. He fed ammunition into the rifle as he walked to the barn. Louis had also armed himself with a .44 Magnum revolver and was behind him. As they rushed inside the barn Buster said to his brother, “You check the loft, I’ll look around here.”
Louis walked to the threshold and studied the massive track in the snow. “That motherfucker come and took him.”
Buster stood beside his brother, “Better get some food inside us, we’re in for a long day….”
_____________
Lyndon Station
John was having breakfast at Del’s when Murphy walked in and sat across from him. “You heard?” he asked John.
“Yup, Amy called me a half hour ago.”
“What’s our game plan?”
“The first thing we got to do,” John said, “is keep the Dowds from chasing after him—we don’t need no vigilantes running around the woods, messing up any trail there might be.”
“Unless I miss my guess,” Murphy said, “we’re already too late for that. Earl and his boys are most likely already on the hunt.”
“You’re right.” John drank the last of his coffee and stood up. “We’d better get our asses out there.”
_____________
Dowd Settlement
When John and Murphy arrived at the Dowd compound, Amy met them in the yard. “They left after him over an hour ago.”
“Who went?”
“Everyone, including my grandfather.”
John said nothing but was hopeful that the old man would slow them down a bit. He looked toward the back of the house and saw where several sleds had gone off into the woods. “That where they went?” John asked.
Amy nodded.
“Let’s off-load our sleds, Murph.”
The wardens took their snowmobiles out of the beds of their state-issued pickup trucks and then moved the trucks off to the side of the barn. They donned their cold-weather gear and started the snowmobile motors. After a few moments they took off after the Dowd posse.
They followed the trail about two hundred yards into the woods where they found the tracks. John and Murphy turned onto the path beaten into the snow by the Dowds and accelerated.
34
Little Black River, T19, R12
John Bear saw the Dowds ahead and gave his throttle a twist, sending him speeding forward. He passed the last sled in the line and recognized Louis Dowd. He believed that Earl and Linwood rode the two lead sleds. As he came abreast of the first sled, he motioned the driver to stop. As soon as the convoy halted and Murphy joined them, John removed his helmet and the lead Dowd rider did the same.
“Earl, what in hell do you think you’re doing?” John inquired.
“I’m going after my grandson—again.”
“This ain’t the way to do it, man. It’s a police matter and we’ll take care of it.”
Linwood Dowd sat on the second sled and he said, “Police matter my ass. This is a Dowd matter.”
Fatigue was evident on the old man’s face and John said, “Lin, you ain’t up to this. You have heart attack or stroke out here and you’ll be dead before they can get anyone to you—then where will your great-grandson be?”
“Fuck you, Bear. I’ll be going long after you and these young pups have give out.”
John leaned back on his seat. He realized that the Dowds were not about to forego the quest and opted to make the best of a bad thing. “Looks like he’s running for Big Black River, and from there he can easily get to the border. How you boys fixed for gas? There ain’t no place for fuel between here and St. Pamphile. Most likely, he’ll head for St. Pamphile and try and cross over in the wilderness south of there. We’ve alerted the RCMP, the Border Patrol, and every other agency we could think of. They’re patrolling the Slash from the air as well as from the ground, still there’re hundreds of places where he can cross and we’d never know it. All that bein’ said, why don’t you boys head on home and leave this to us. Whether you believe it or not, we know what we’re doing.”
Murphy sat in awe. Never before had he heard John Bear talk so long. He also saw the Dowds thinking over what they’d been told. Maybe, he thought, they’ll listen. His hopes were dashed when Buster said, “I don’t give a shit about what anyone else does, but I’m going after my boy—and when I catch that crazy bastard … ,” he slid his rifle out of the special scabbard that was mounted to the front of his sled, “I’m gonna kill the sonuvabitch.”
“Buster, you do that and I’ll have to come after you and place you under arrest.”
“Ask me if I give a shit.”
John turned to Linwood. “Lin, be rational about this. Go home, before this kills you. If your boy and his sons want to go on I won’t stop them, but I don’t want to see you die out here.”
Linwood Dowd looked at John for a few seconds and then at his sons.
“He’s right, Dad,” Earl said. “We got to go faster, we don’t know how far ahead he is. You’ll only slow us down.”
John saw a look of resignation cross Linwood’s face. He knew the old man was here only because to turn back would be a tremendous loss of face and one thing Old Maine men had plenty of was pride. Linwood had fought valiantly in a faraway war, then returned home to forge Dowd Settlement from primeval forest and then fathered and raised a family on that land. Nevertheless, he was forced to accept the wisdom of Earl’s words. He nodded in surrender.
“Okay, you boys go on, I’ll head back.” He pointed a warning finger at his son. “Earl, you bring that boy back no matter what it takes—or you’ll all answer to me.” As he made that last statement he looked John Bear squarely in the eye. “That goes for every damned man jack of you.”
The senior Dowd turned his Arctic Cat around and headed down the trail they’d cut.
Murphy watched the old man depart and when he was out of sight said, “What do you think, John?”
“I think you should follow him. Once you see that he’s safe get in touch with Michaud and tell him what’s happened and get an air search going … have them place emphasis on the Slash between Lac-de-l’Est and St. Pamphile.”
Murphy nodded and set off behind Linwood Dowd.
John turned his attention to Earl and his brothers. “If I can’t talk you out of this, we might as well work together. Let’s figure out what we’re goin’ to do.”
_____________
T18, R13
The Wendigo stood in the trees studying the rudimentary cabin before him. Smoke furled from the chimney and hung low in the air, smelling of the not-unpleasant scent of burning hardwood. He motioned for the boy to join him and together they watched until an elderly man walked out of the cabin and followed a path of packed snow around the side of the cabin. Moments later he returned with his arms full of firewood.
When the man was back inside the cabin, the Wendigo led Dwain to a copse of alders.
“I know,” Dwain said, “stay here.”
The Wendigo returned to the spot where he’d stood vigil and waited for a few moments before approaching the cabin. Upon reaching the door he saw that it was secured by the simplest of door latches, a metal handle with a flat piece for the thumb to press down, releasing the catch inside. He yelled and kicked it open. The door broke into pieces and he was inside.
In minutes the Wendigo returned to the boy and handed him a piece of raw meat.
Dwain looked ravenous as his teeth ripped into the meat.
_____________
John stopped and spied footprints leading out of the trees. The scent of wood smoke was in the air and he removed a Maglite from his storage compartment. He trailed the light along the prints in the snow and followed them. He walked about fifty yards and saw the small cabin. A thin stream of smoke rose from the chimney and the door was either open or missing. As he approached he heard noise inside and he removed his service pistol from its holster. When he was within twenty-five feet of the door, he shined the light inside and called out, “Hello in the cabin …”
The only reply he got was a low guttural growl. In the harsh beam of the Maglite, he saw that the door had been smashed into several pieces. He took another step and heard movement inside. Suddenly four shiny dots appeared inside. Whatever the cabin held, predators—coyotes most likely—had found food and they were not about to give up their bounty easily. John stood still, raising the pistol up and aiming it at the door. Two coyotes appeared in the door, their snouts red with whatever they’d been feasting on. John fired a shot into the air and the two canines burst out of the cabin and bounded off into the woods.
John heard noise behind him and then Earl Dowd say, “What you got?”
Without turning, John replied, “Unless I missed my guess, I’d say they stopped here for supper.”
They entered the cabin and John shined the Maglite around the interior. When the light beam hit the eviscerated corpse, he heard Earl spin and rush outside. Moments later he heard the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting. He ignored the activity behind him and studied the mess on the table. He’d seen worse carcasses before, but none of them were human. He took out his GPS and made note of the coordinates so that he could either return or send someone to recover the body—or what remained of it.
John turned and walked outside into the night. “Well,” he commented, “I guess we aren’t spending the night in there.”
“No shit,” Earl Dowd said.
John walked to his sled, threw one leg over the seat and said, “We need to find some place to settle down for the night—then I need to tell you guys what it is we’re chasing.”
_____________
John Bear and the Dowds found a thick stand of evergreen trees and used the snow-laden lower branches to create cover for themselves. The Dowds had come prepared for a prolonged stay in the woods and in no time had spread tarps on the ground and made crude shelters. Buster had a good-sized fire going, beside which they sat drinking hot coffee while they waited for Earl to finish cooking fish on a camp stove.
Earl turned away from the Coleman stove and used a pair of tongs to pick the hot fish out of the cast-iron skillet he’d cooked them in. When he tossed a portion onto John’s plate he asked, “What’s gonna happen to this sumbitch when we catch up with him?”
“I won’t be able to arrest him,” John commented.
“Why not?” Buster queried.
Earl scoffed. “Because some asshole judge will let him out, either on a technicality or he’ll let him post bond—then he’ll light out for the woods again—probably never again to be found.”
John swallowed a mouthful of fish and washed it down with a drink of coffee. “Earl, this thing ain’t human—it was once but no more.”
“You lace that coffee?” Earl asked.
“Tell me something, you boys have grown up and made your living in these woods, right?”
“So?” Louis said.
“You ever before seen a track like this thing leaves?”
His audience was quiet.
John finished his coffee and reached for the pot. “This thing is old … real old. My people have known of its existence since the beginning of time—it’s an evil spirit that we call the Wendigo….”
35
T17, R14
The Wendigo looked east, where a distinct dark red slash ran horizontal across a section of the sky. The phenomenon, called the crack of dawn by the locals, was a harbinger of the approach of daybreak. He cast a look toward his backtrail, where he knew his pursuers were—and he knew they were coming, his senses told him so. The Indian warden and the boy’s people were on his trail. He turned his head and looked at the sleeping boy.
The boy was still weak but there were signs that he was toughening up. Each and every day he was growing. He stared at the boy and wondered what was keeping him from feeding on him. He recalled the way the boy stood when they had first faced each other. The kid was not intimidated at all by the Wendigo’s giant stature. He looked at him and showed not so much as the slightest nervousness—the boy had a strong spirit and if there was anything the Wendigo understood it was a strong spirit.
The Wendigo turned back to the east and saw that the light had become a wide swath and had changed from dark red to a lighter hue of pink. It was time to get moving, the boy had slept long enough. If all went as he planned they’d reach Little East Lake by noon. From there it was a short run to the easternmost shore of Lac-de-l’Est and the Quebec border. Once they were out of the soft snow and onto the hard pack and ice of the lake they’d be able to run faster. Once into eastern Quebec with its thousands of square kilometers—he had already started thinking in Canadian measurements—of virgin forest no one would ever find him, ever. The biggest challenge would be getting to the other side of the Saint Lawrence River, but once that had been accomplished there was an open gateway to the Saguenay River and the uninhabited millions of acres of Quebec’s interior.
He shook the boy awake.
While the boy stepped off into the deep snow and trees to empty his bladder, the Wendigo took a piece of meat out of the pouch that served as his larder while traveling. When the boy returned, the Wendigo handed him his breakfast and waited as his friend gnawed at the sinewy meat.
Dwain swallowed the last morsel, looked at his mentor and said, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
The Wendigo took the boy’s hand and effortlessly lifted him onto his back and then loped off into the forest.
_____________
T18, R13
John Bear was already up and foraging for fuel for a morning fire when the Dowds shook themselves awake. It was the coldest morning yet and the day showed little promise of warming up. The air seemed crystalline, as if ice floated in it. There was a ground-hugging cold that seemed to penetrate John’s bones and he had to force his body to move. He carried the deadwood he found back to the campsite and squatted down to start a fire. His cold, stiff legs ached and seemed to cry out for a return to the comforting warmth of the heavy goose down–filled sleeping bag.
The Dowds each returned from a short trip into the woods and set about breaking the camp down, rolling sleeping bags, and storing all their equipment in the sleigh behind Louis’s sled.
“Colder than a well-digger’s ass,” Earl said, squatting beside John.
John grinned at Earl and stifled the urge to grunt and moan as his muscles, sore and stiff from sleeping on the snowy ground, cried out as he stood. He rotated his arms, forcing them to work and increase circulation. “We’d best get some food in us and get goin’ if we want to catch them before they get across the line.”
“Where in Christ’s name is he headed? There’s any number of places where this Wendigo, or whatever in hell it is, could have crossed.”
“Can’t tell,” John replied. “But if I was to guess, I’d venture it’s headed for the Slash.”
“How much of a lead you reckon he has?” Buster asked.
“Hard to say, but I doubt it’s much more than a couple of hours.” John nodded at the single track that led off to the south. “Ain’t no one cuttin’ in here, so none of the roads are plowed. He’s havin’ to break trail the whole way. Slows him down some.”
Buster Dowd crawled out of his sleeping bag and walked over to where John Bear was starting a fire. “Shouldn’t we get our asses in gear? Once he gets to the Slash, they’s nothin’ to stop him from crossing over.”
Wendigo Page 19
