“Murph’ll know what?” said a new voice.
John turned to see Murphy enter the camp.
“About the warden cabin on Rocky Mountain.”
“Not a bad idea. We could set up there and coordinate the search. Not to mention we can get out of the weather there.”
“Is it heated?” John asked.
“Last I knew there was a woodstove there. Ain’t much, just a place for us to crash while checkin’ out the area.”
“Might be worth checking out,” John said. “What’s access like?”
“No road, but the trail is wide enough for a sled or an ATV to get up there—at least it was last time I was there.”
“In the morning,” John said, “we’ll go up there and make it a basecamp until we’ve determined if this thing is in the area or not.”
_____________
Rocky Mountain
From his perch on the mountain’s summit, the Wendigo observed the activity around the small cabin below. He had no idea how they had found him, but knew that if he was to survive he had to go on the offensive. To remain hidden, in hope of outlasting them, was not going to work. He needed to eat, it had been two days since he’d eaten and the need was driving him toward taking hasty action—if he didn’t get something soon, he’d return to the cave and have a bear feed, although wild game was not his first choice of food.
The snow had stopped and high pressure had settled over the area, driving the overcast that held the heat near the ground. The night was clear, causing radiational cooling, and so many stars were visible that they seemed to smear themselves across the galaxy. He felt his strength returning, but then he always felt stronger and more vital after the sun set. A wave of hunger pangs constricted his stomach and he made up his mind that he would give the posse one more hour to settle in—then he’d strike.
_____________
About one hundred feet back in the trees, the Wendigo circled the camp, paying attention for any lookouts they may have posted. He made two complete revolutions around the perimeter before he was certain where the sentries were located. He knew that his presence so close to their camp was risky; if one of the humans should find his tracks, they would lead them to him. If that should happen, he’d be forced to move to another of his lairs. He should leave now, get away while he still had time—but there was the hunger …
He saw a pile of firewood and knew that they would assign someone to keep the fire going through the night. All he need do was wait. He positioned himself close to the wood where he could see the seven snowmobiles that were parked around the camp. Seven sleds meant at least that many drivers.
The Wendigo settled back to watch and to wait.
Sleeping bags surrounded the fire and their lumpy appearance intimated that they were occupied. A lone man patrolled the campsite. He walked to the woodpile. He gathered an armful of hardwood and turned toward the fire. Before the man could sound the alarm, Wendigo’s powerful hand gripped his throat, crushing his larynx and stifling any sound. With his free hand, he thrust his talons into his chest. Blood pulsed with each beat of the skewered man’s heart.
The Wendigo threw the still-warm body over his shoulder and ran into the protection of the trees.
_____________
The cold woke John Bear up and he slipped out of his sleeping bag. He looked at the fire, saw that it had burnt down until all that remained was smoldering embers. He knew that Galen Dowd had taken the first fire watch and must have gone to get more wood. He shoved his feet into his boots and, without lacing them, walked to the woodpile. He found pieces of firewood spread around, but no sign of Dowd. He called, “Galen, you out there?”
No answer.
“Galen—you out there?”
As soon as John stepped outside the camp’s perimeter he smelled the sickening odor that had become too familiar. He followed a set of footprints into the trees and saw a dark spot in the snow. He walked to it and squatted down. He heard a noise behind him and looked up. Earl Dowd stood behind him. “That smell is him, ain’t it?”
“Grab a flashlight, will you, Earl?”
The senior Dowd disappeared and in short time returned, shining a beam of light ahead of him. “Where the fuck is Galen?” he asked.
The beam flashed across the dark spot at John’s feet, which turned dark red. “Gone,” John said.
“What the hell you mean, gone?” Earl focused the light beam on the spot. “Is that blood?”
“Yup.” John stood up and said, “You armed?”
Earl stared at the red oval in the white snow. “No—but I will be in a minute.” He jogged to his snowmobile.
John heard voices, followed by Earl’s curt voice. When Earl returned he gripped a .30-30 lever-action rifle. “You think … ?”
John pointed to a large track in the snow. “Yeah, I think it got him.”
Murphy stood beside the fire and called, “John?”
“Over here, Murph. Bring my pistol and coat will you?” He squatted down and zipped his boots.
Once he was armed and dressed, John led Earl and Murphy away from the camp, following the tracks. “He must have taken Galen,” he said. “Notice that blood trail headed upslope?”
Earl passed John and began plowing his way through the thigh-deep snow, following the grisly trail.
John and Murphy followed, content to let Dowd break a trail for them. They heard Earl curse and saw him try to run through the snow.
“He’s here!” Earl shouted.
Galen Dowd’s body lay beneath the wide bottom limbs of a towering pine tree. As his body had cooled, the snow beneath him had melted and he’d sunk down below the surface of the snow—John thought he looked as if he’d been laid out in a white coffin. If they had any doubt about who’d killed him it disappeared when they saw that like all of the Wendigo’s victims his body had been ruined. His blood had frozen in the minus-twenty-degree temperature and sparkled like crystal.
“What the fuck?” Earl said.
“This,” John said, “is what I’ve been trying to tell you. This is not a human being. It’s a cannibal on steroids.”
“Why didn’t he mutilate Askook?”
“We came up on it too soon.”
Earl shined the light and the tracks were easily visible as they disappeared into the night. Earl started to follow, but stopped when John Bear placed a hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll wait for daylight,” John said. “These things are formidable in the day, but they’re unconquerable at night. All we’ll do is screw up the trail and leave ourselves open to attack.”
Earl’s shoulders dropped in resignation. “At this rate I’ll have no family left….”
“We take after this in the dark and you’ll be right.” John saw him shiver and realized that Earl wasn’t wearing a coat nor insulated pants. All he had to ward off the frigid night was a flannel shirt and jeans.
“Let’s go back,” John said, “before we freeze to death.”
“What about Galen?” Murphy asked.
“We’ll take what we can of him back to the camp so that coyotes and other natural predators can’t get at him.”
46
Warden Cabin, Rocky Mountain, T18, R12
The posse arrived at the cabin at the base of Rocky Mountain shortly after noon. It was the consensus that they would spend the afternoon setting up a base camp from which they would operate. They unloaded their sleds and moved sleeping bags, food, and firewood inside.
John started a fire in the woodstove and as the inside of the building warmed he felt the fatigue brought on by days of running through the woods in pursuit of the Wendigo. He rested his head in his hands and was tempted to take a short nap.
His eyes closed and he was on the edge of sleep when the door opened and Earl Dowd walked in, allowing a blast of cold air to follow. John raised his head and blinked his eyes against the bright light from the outside.
“Sorry,” Earl said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
&nb
sp; “That’s okay, the heat was getting to me and I dozed.”
Earl opened his winter suit. “Heat sure feels good. It’s been a long couple of days.”
John stood up and stretched.
“You got any idea how we’re gonna do this?”
“Yes, I do. However, there isn’t much we can do until Murphy gets back from Lyndon Station with supplies.”
“Well,” Earl said. “We got to tell the boys something.”
“Yeah, I suppose we do.” He put on his winter parka and walked outside.
John saw the Dowds gathered around a fire in the fire pit that sat in the middle of the open area around the cabin. They turned toward him and Earl patiently waited for them.
Earl walked over and joined his kinfolk. “John has something to say,” he told them.
John studied the faces of the men who stood before him. The Dowds—Earl, Louis, Carlton, and Alton—looked skeptical of anything John might say.
Galen Dowd’s remains were wrapped in a blue tarp and lay on the packed snow in front of the cabin. The four survivors of the manhunt may not have been saying anything, but John had no doubt about their resolve to find Galen’s killer. That resolve was driven by a desire for revenge and John sensed it.
“I know you’re pissed,” he said to the assembly. “But we still got to do this the right way.”
“The right way?” Earl’s fists were clenched. “This bastard has killed two of my kin, kidnapped my grandson, and almost killed my son—I’m gonna kill the fucker the right way.”
“Earl, use your head for something other than a hat rack.” John kept his voice as calm and nonconfrontational as possible. “If you kill him without cause—”
“Without cause? Ain’t you heard nothin’ I said?”
“Yes, I did. If this isn’t done right my higher-ups and the state police are going to look into our actions and a couple of things could result. First, whoever kills him could end up facing a murder charge. Second, if we don’t do this correctly and don’t kill it, it’ll disappear into the wilderness and continue stalking and killing.”
Earl exhaled and kicked a clump of ice and snow. “Where in hell is the rights of Cully and Galen? Don’t the law care about them?”
“Earl, I ask myself that when I go to work every day,” John said. “The philosophy is that it’s better for a hundred guilty men to walk free than one innocent man be convicted.”
Earl pointed in the direction that the tracks had gone. “Well, this sonuvawhore ain’t innocent. Besides,” he turned toward John. “You say this thing ain’t human. If that’s so it’s a rogue animal and we got every right to kill it.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” John said. “The problem is as big and ugly as it is, it still stands on two legs and looks kind of human.”
“Well, we ain’t gonna do anything if all we do is stand around ratchet-jawin’,” Earl countered. He turned to the remaining Dowds. “Carl, you take your brother home and stay there. Your mother has already lost one son, and I ain’t about to put her sole remaining one in jeopardy.”
“I want to stay, Uncle—”
“I know you do. But there are times in life when we got to do what we need to do, not what we want to do. Do as I say and take your brother home.”
“What about his sled?”
“The only way to tow it would be to take the belt off the clutch. Unless you got tools, we’ll leave it here and come back for it once this thing is done. Shit, before this is over we may have them spread from Allagash to Estcourt.” Earl turned and addressed Louis and Alton. “I won’t hold it against you boys if you was to head home—your decision.”
Alton Dowd looked indecisive for several moments and then said, “I got tools, Uncle Earl. If it’s all the same with you, I’d like to head back. My mother will freak out when she hears about Galen.”
“Well,” Carl said. “I guess I’m stayin’ then.”
“No,” Earl said. “You ain’t. Even the military won’t send a sole-surviving son into combat. You’re goin’ home.”
“Dad,” Louis said, “if you stay, I stay.”
“Okay, it’s settled then. Now all we got to do is figure out how we’ll get Galen secured for the ride back.”
“As little of him as is left will fit in my trapper sleigh,” Alton said. “If you’re goin’ after that thing, then you better get movin’.”
_____________
John Bear walked out of the warden cabin and took a pair of snowshoes from the storage component of his Ski-Doo and fastened them to his feet. He heard the sound of a sled approaching and saw Murphy break out of the trees.
He waited until Murphy turned off his motor and then walked to him. “Were you able to get everything?”
“Yeah, but you’re going to owe your sister-in-law big time.”
“Owe her for what?” Earl asked.
John turned and said, “Her silverware.”
“What the hell for?” Earl inquired.
“Wendigos are like werewolves; silver can kill them.”
“Ain’t no such thing as a werewolf,” Earl said.
“Two weeks ago you didn’t think there was such a thing as a Wendigo,” John countered.
“Don’t see how silverware will help. What you gonna do—invite it to supper?” Earl replied.
John laughed. “Nope.” He asked Murphy, “You get the other stuff?”
_____________
The table was transformed into a workbench. John cut two pieces of the silverware and placed it along with a silver ring into a small foundry crucible. He lit and positioned a portable propane torch so that it heated the container, and then used a second to directly heat the silver inside.
Murphy, Earl, and Louis stood to one side observing the process. “Why two torches?” Louis asked.
“Silver melts at 1763 degrees Fahrenheit or 961.8 degrees Celsius,” John answered. “It would take hours to do it with a single torch. The first torch will heat the crucible and the second the silver itself. Murph, did you get the molds?”
“Yeah, Wilmer Johansonn lent us his set. It’s got every conceivable caliber mold we’d ever need.”
John nodded. Johansonn was a local gunsmith who reloaded ammunition for most of the hunters and target shooters in Lyndon Station and the surrounding communities.
As the silver heated, John asked, “What caliber is your rifle, Earl?”
“.30-30 Winchester.”
“I’ll need some of your cartridges.”
Earl walked to the corner of the room where his sleeping bag and gear were stored. He opened a small canvas pack and took out a box of ammunition. He returned to the table and placed it beside John. “That enough?”
“More than enough, I’ll be making five rounds for each of our weapons … odds are we’ll be lucky to get off more than two shots apiece. Before we could shoot a third time it’ll be on us and we’ll be dead—if we’re lucky.”
“Louis—caliber?”
“Rifle’s a Remington semi-auto, shoots a .30-06 Springfield,” Louis answered.
“I’ll need five cartridges. What about sidearms?”
“Me and Louis are carrying Hi-Points, uses nine-millimeter Luger.” Earl looked at John’s pistol which lay on the table. “What do you guys carry?”
“Sig Sauer Model 226, fires a .357 Sig cartridge. Murph you want to get the molds out?”
“Earl, in the bag is a bullet puller, looks like a plastic hammer. Pull the bullets and pour the powder in a container.”
In less than an hour, John had made forty silver bullets and was melting more silver.”
“What’s this silver for?” Louis asked.
“We’re going to coat our knife blades with it. A Wendigo can strike faster than anything you’ve ever seen. Once it has its hands on you, your knife may be your only usable weapon.”
“I feel like I’m starring in a horror movie,” Louis said.
“We are,” was John’s taciturn reply.
_______
______
John was standing outside the cabin, snowshoes strapped to his feet.”
Murphy walked out of the building, saw John, and said, “You going after him on foot?”
John looked up and saw Earl Dowd standing on the top step of the small porch that led into the cabin. “You’re taking a big chance, John.”
“Yup, it’s on foot, so one of us should track it the same way. You boys can scout around the bottom of the mountain, it’ll probably try to avoid you and if you make enough noise you could drive him to me. If I need you I’ll get Murph on the DIF&W radio.”
John tightened the last fastener and straightened up. “We can’t make any assumptions with this thing. Wouldn’t surprise me if it isn’t someplace where sleds can’t go.”
“This killer is a sly one, that’s for certain,” Dowd said. “Don’t go nowhere for a minute.” He disappeared inside the cabin.
John took a last-minute inventory, to ensure he had everything he thought he might need. He heard the cabin’s door slam and turned.
Earl Dowd walked to him carrying a bolt action rifle. He held the weapon out and said, “Take this. It’s Galen’s Remington Model 700. The civilian version of the rifle marine snipers used in Vietnam.”
John took the rifle and inspected it. “This is a nice piece,” he said.
Earl handed him the silver .30-06 cartridges. “I think that Galen’d be pleased to know that his rifle was the one that got his killer.”
“Earl—”
“I know you want to be like that old-time animal guy, Frank Buck….”
“I don’t know him.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. He was big stuff back in the twenties and thirties. Wrote a book, Bring ’em Back Alive.”
“You can rest assured that I won’t go out of my way to avoid killing it … if I can,” John said.
Earl looked up the mountainside and said, “One thing is for certain: it thinks the same. You want to put an end to this, you got to be as ruthless and vicious as it is. Okay?”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ve seen enough of its handiwork to know how dangerous it is.”
Murphy held up his two-way radio. “I’ll be monitoring the frequency all day,” he said.
John nodded and with a wave of his hand turned into the woods. He immediately retraced their tracks to where they’d found Galen Dowd’s body and followed the Wendigo’s tracks.
Wendigo Page 25
