by Jack Castle
The kid, Horatio, had done most of the talking. Hank was hopeful of finding survivors, but he’d read the unspoken truth in Emma’s shattered expression. He had been in law enforcement long enough to know she wasn’t telling him the whole story, but considering what she’d been through, he decided not to press her for now.
Jeb entered his office with two hunter types trailing behind him. They both wore camouflage pants, stained hunting vests, and heavily worn hiking boots. One was pushing fifty, the other about half that. Judging from their similar builds and facial structures Hank guessed them to be related.
“I knew this would happen. I been saying it for years,” Jeb said, as he guided the hunters into his office. “That old bear ain’t been right in the brain ever since people started fillin’ him with lead. And now those poor geologists had to pay the price.”
“Any luck on raising reinforcements?” Hank asked, still loading up his vest.
“Ophelia’s put a call to the troopers but the nearest one is at least two hours away, and she said that’s only if we’re lucky.”
Jeb must’ve seen Hank staring at the two men behind him for he added, “Oh, right. Now Hank, as much as I’d like to take a shot at old Barnabus myself this ole’ body a mine isn’t up for the trek, but I’m sending you with the two best trappers in HavenPort.” He patted the older man on the shoulder. “This here’s Yuri and his son Petor.”
The older man sneezed loudly into his hand.
“Bless you,” Hank said, dryly.
The Russian hunter nodded in thanks as a long oozer dangled from his nose. He wiped the snot on his hand and then offered to shake. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff McCarthy.” His Russian accent was thicker than the mucus in his palm.
Hank shook the mucus-ridden hand without hesitation and forced himself not to grimace while doing it. He immediately disliked the two Russians, although he couldn’t explain it; Hank never figured himself for a racist. When he glanced over at Petor, he caught the younger man staring appreciatively at the photo of his wife in a picture frame on his desk; staring a little too appreciatively.
“Petor, was it?”
The boy remained silent and merely nodded. Regardless, Hank returned the nod and forced a warm smile.
“There’s a lot of bear traps in those woods.” Jeb explained. He rolled his eyes to the two trappers. “There’s not supposed to be any on the trails, but there are. These fellers will be able to help you steer clear of them seein’ how they put most of them up there in the first place.”
“I do not know what Jeb is talking about.” The elder Russian replied disinterested. Clearly this was an ongoing thing between the two men. “He is crazy person or something.”
Jeb snorted, and then continued. “You’ll be able to reach the campsite by going in the back way; these boys know the way. The route’s a lot longer than the trail, but this way you’ll be able to ride in on four-wheelers and get up there a lot faster. Watch out for snow on the ground and the road will be icy in places, but you’ll be able to carry out any survivors on the wheelers.”
“I’d like to go with you, Sheriff.”
It was Emma. The two kids had crept up in the open doorway and must have been eavesdropping. Before he could answer, Horatio, presumably her boyfriend, said to her, “Uh, Emm, maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
Emma shot him a look that clearly stated he was not her boyfriend and she could do what she wanted. Turning back to Hank she meekly asked, “Excuse me, Sheriff?”
When the two had first arrived, Emma had barely said a word. Turning his full attention towards her, he asked, “What’s the matter, Emma?”
“I didn’t say anything before…”
Here we go. Now we’re getting to the nitty-gritty.
“…but I don’t think it was a bear that killed those men.”
Jeb scoffed. “What do you mean, girl. What else could have killed those geologists like that?”
“Emma, don’t,” Horatio interjected, but he was ignored.
“I saw a man.”
Hank took a step closer towards her. “Did you see him well enough to get a description?”
“Uh, I think so, but I’m not very good with describing people.” The young girl before him looked as though she might come apart at any moment. She was literally trembling. Whatever she’d seen hadn’t been pretty. Hank knew he had to slow down or she might clam up completely. “Emma, you’re safe now. You know that right? No bear or anyone else can hurt you. Just take your time and tell me what you saw.”
Emma nodded solemnly. She took a deep breath that seemed to steady her.
As Hank fished for the small notebook he always kept in his shirt pocket, Jeb blurted out impatiently, “Nationality, height, weight, hair color; that sort of thing.”
Emma shot back, “You mean aside from the fact that the guy was naked and trying to kill me with an axe?”
Hank jerked his head up. A chill ran down his spine. “Did you say he was naked?” He remembered full well the first day on the job when he had his own run-in with the naked man in the Rakewell building: the bloody severed head, the smiling jack-o-lantern grin, the ax dripping with blood.
But Jeb still wasn’t convinced, “Horatio, did you see this naked guy?”
This time Emma answered for him. “Horatio was busy climbing up the ladder. I’m not crazy. I know what I saw.” Her fists clenched at her sides.
Jeb waited for Horatio’s answer. Horatio avoided Emma’s gaze and sighed before answering. “No, Jeb. I only saw Barnabus when he stuck his head over the ledge.”
Emma shot Horatio a look. She seemed a touch heartbroken at his betrayal; then that heartbreak turned to an expression of anger. Horatio finally noticed and added weakly, “But Emma was the only one who set foot on the ridge. Just because I didn’t see him, doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.”
Jeb appeared as shocked as he likely was, but Hank felt vindicated. Another eyewitness. It wasn’t possible for both of them to be crazy. The jack-o’-lantern guy was real.
The older hunter, Yuri, glanced between them, “Well, if there was naked man up on ridge in these temperatures either bear ate him or damn fool would be frozen to death. Either way, we should go now.”
Hank eyed the two untested hunters. They had Jeb’s recommendation and their equipment appeared well used though serviceable, but for some reason, he just didn’t trust them. If he thought his old “coffee-talk” pal and avid outdoorsman, Doc Clemens, was up for the journey, he would’ve preferred to take the doc with him instead. Deciding the two hunters would just have to do, he turned to Jeb and said, “Okay, have Ophy call in the doc and tell them both to meet at the trail head with the ambulance. Tell them to be ready for wounded.” Turning to the hunters he asked, “You sure you boys are up for this?”
“Da, Sheriff. Back home we seen more than our share of bodies.”
That didn’t exactly give Hank the warm fuzzies.
Both men headed for the door. Emma filed in behind the two trappers as they made for the well-used four-wheelers parked outside by the curb.
Jeb blocked Emma’s path, “Whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going little lady?”
Hank saw the expression on Emma’s face; she liked being called little lady about as much as she liked Horatio not backing up her story. Staring at Jeb she said, “Sheriff, would you please tell your deputy to move his arm?”
For a moment, Hank actually considered Emma joining the rescue party. She was young and inexperienced, but she seemed fairly levelheaded, she seemed to be managing her shock well, and he certainly could use an extra pair of hands. If he didn’t have the trappers to guide him, and a good location on the victims, he might’ve taken her. The reality was he didn’t have enough manpower to search for survivors and protect her — if it came to that.
Finally he answered, “Thank you Emma, but you’v
e done more than enough. We’ll take it from here.”
“I wasn’t asking for permission, Sheriff,” Emma fired back.
Horatio stepped forward, “Emma, let the sheriff do his job.”
Emma shot Horatio a venomous glare. That boy was batting a thousand today. Emma was also probably wondering why Horatio wasn’t volunteering to go too.
Hank took a less aggressive approach. “Emma, do you even have a four-wheeler?”
Before she could answer, the younger Russian Petor stuck his head back inside and offered a tad bit too enthusiastically, “Girl can ride with me, Sheriff.”
Emma looked back at the sheriff with a smug expression and raised eyebrows.
Hank remembered the young man ogling his wife’s picture and answered Emma, “Yeah … I don’t think so.”
Emma spun around on her toes and headed after the trappers. She stopped only to give Horatio a dismissive glance.
Horatio wore a look of shame but clearly he had no intention of joining them, and then he too filed out the door.
Despite the extra weight, Hank grabbed one more box of ammunition and stuffed it inside his coat pocket. He slammed the drawer closed and moved into his outer office. Perfect. He should have known these past few weeks were too good to be true. A multiple homicide. The only silver lining of this latest nightmare is at least now someone else had seen the naked man.
From the reception area he heard Emma call his name and he was surprised to see everyone standing stock still, all staring intently through the front window.
When he switched his gaze from them to the street outside he saw a man strolling down the center of Main Street.
He was naked.
Chapter 17
The Naked Pedestrian
Emma stared out the front window of the sheriff’s office.
Are you kidding me?
She realized the old sheriff and the trappers had their backs turned. “Uh, Sheriff McCarthy?”
The other men in the room turned and froze as they caught a glimpse of the naked freak strolling down Main Street. Is that blood?
“I’m sorry Emma, the answer’s still…” Hank began, walking out of his office. Sheriff McCarthy’s eyes widened. A pistol appeared in his hand out of nowhere and before anyone else could move, he was sprinting outside. She watched along with everyone else as he drew a bead on the naked man and walked heel-toed towards him. “Stop right there!” she heard him shout in a voice that said he was not going to be messed with.
Once they recovered from the initial shock, everyone filed outside too. When Emma arrived on the sidewalk with everyone else, it was immediately apparent that the naked man’s skin was indeed smeared with blood.
Heedless of the sheriff’s commands, the naked man continued walking. Hank shouted one more time, “Stop, or I will shoot!” At this, the naked man stopped his forward momentum but he kept walking in place, swinging his arms like one of those speed walkers. His body pointed in the direction he was going for a few more steps, and then he very mechanically marched around in place to face them, still wearing that wide-eyed, pie-eating grin.
Emma shivered. This guy is so freaky. As much as she wanted to run away, her legs were rooted to the spot. At least she wasn’t alone this time.
“Don’t you move!” the sheriff yelled, startling her. If possible, the naked man’s smile grew wider, but this time he slowed to a stop.
Stepping up beside the sheriff, Emma heard herself say, “That’s the guy, Sheriff, that’s the man I saw on the ridge.” She suddenly recalled the sheriff’s expression when she had first told him about the naked man. Thinking back on the memory there was something about her description that had really rattled him, and Hank sure didn’t seem like the kind of guy who was easily rattled. She had seen him take down two burly drunks without breaking a sweat, or losing his temper.
Then the sheriff asked her something weird in a voice loud enough so only she could hear. “So you see him too?” He didn’t wait for the answer and stepped forward.
Not crazy…
Emma turned to Horatio, her face flushing, “See, I told you he was real.”
Horatio only raised his hands in supplication, his face betraying a sufficient amount of horror and shame.
As the sheriff approached the naked man, Jeb reached up to lower the two Russian hunters’ rifles. “Damn it Yuri, lower those things, will ya? You want to hit the sheriff in the behind?”
Jeb then glanced at her, “You sure this is the same guy?”
Emma merely rolled her eyes. “I didn’t take a photo, but yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s the same guy,” she answered dryly.
The sheriff and the naked man faced off in the center of the street about fifty feet apart reminding Emma of the old westerns her Paw liked so much when she was a kid.
Grinning like the madman that he clearly was, naked guy yelled, “Hi Sheriff! I’m still working on that poem for ya!”
“You just keep your hands where I can see them,” Sheriff McCarthy ordered evenly.
To Emma’s surprise, the naked man raised his hands up, palms facing outward, but as he did so, he began chanting rhythmically, like he was reciting a limerick.
“Boy, that Hank McCarthy sure is sore.
Since his family got dropped down that nasty gorge.
Wife drowned first on her own gore
Kids in the back seat, alive no more.
Better not cross him, or…”
The naked man paused here. He tilted his head to the side, face deep in thought. Emma watched his eyes and mouth smile widen at the same time. “You’ll be done for.” He bobbed his head in self-satisfaction. Then, as though he forgot he had an audience he gazed back toward them, his eyes dancing with challenge, and said in a terrible John Wayne impersonation, “How um-I-ah doin’, Hank? About right?”
Emma had to hand it to the sheriff, he kept his cool. In a commanding voice he answered, “Put your hands on your head, and get down on your knees.”
The naked man’s face abruptly turned shocked, then quite serious, but Emma couldn’t tell if he was faking it or not. “Sure Sheriff, sure,” he said raising his hands higher in supplication. “Don’t shoot. I know I done wrong. Puh-lease don’t shoot.”
Without glancing back at him the sheriff called back, “Jeb, you got him?”
Emma saw the old sheriff now had his gun out and was waddling up the street towards the naked man. To Hank he asked in a whisper, “So is this the guy you saw in the pool?”
“Yep.” Hank answered evenly, and then slowly holstered his sidearm with his right hand while at the same time he removed his cuffs from his belt with his left. Then to the naked man he said, “Now don’t you move.”
The naked man shook his head, and stated with mock sadness, “I won’t. I is sorry for whut I done.”
Hank was a couple of feet away from reaching the naked man with his cuffs when the man sprang to his feet with impossible speed. A shot rang out and everyone ducked reflexively.
Hank spun around, his face angry with shock, and stared hard at Jeb. The old sheriff had panicked and fired off a round into the street only inches from Hank’s boot.
Like a missed deer in a clearing, the naked man bolted out of the street and into a nearby alley.
The sheriff cursed and sprinted after him.
Still holding his smoking gun, all Jeb had to say was, “Damn that boy is fast.”
Chapter 18
A Not-So-Merry Chase
Quickly leaving the others behind, Hank chased his target into the alley with his revolver drawn.
He ran up to the approaching brick building and flung his back to the cornerstone for cover.
Gripping his pistol, he carefully peered around the alley, ready for attack. Seeing no immediate threat he pressed on, staying close to the wall to make himself less of a target. It
was a long alley for the town of Havenport, far longer than any alley he remembered being. As he approached an intersection between his alley and a second he expected to see one of two things, the naked man with his jack-o’-lantern smile, or an empty alley with discarded trash dancing in the wind.
He negotiated the corner—
What he did not expect to see, what he never could have imagined seeing in a million years, was the monstrous shadow that towered over him.
As Hank straightened, he found himself staring at a pair of large eyes, one scorching red, the other a dead and milky white, twelve feet off the ground. The gaping mouth split open wide, revealing a maw of sharp, glistening teeth, and the demon’s black, furry mass seemed to absorb any and all light.
Hank’s mind went numb.
Nearly paralyzed with fear Hank had enough presence of mind to realize this was not the naked man, but Barnabus, the big ole’ grumpy bear.
Barnabus studied him also. Jaws smacking, lips rippling back to reveal all his massive fangs; his growl sounding like a thundering lawnmower. Having left his radio back in his office, Hank had no way to radio for help. Not that help would have changed anything. He was trapped in the alley with a monster.
His breathing grew faster. The alley walls seemed to close in around him.
When Barnabus’s growl surged into a roar, Hank’s muscles loosened enough that he managed to duck back behind the corner.
The thing is huge! Far too mammoth for the modern day world. Hank wasn’t even sure his service pistol would even slow the beast down.
Back to the wall, struggling to control his breathing, he knew he couldn’t leave this monster roaming the back alleys. What if some kid wandered by? Any minute now one of the shopkeepers could come out the back door of their business. Summoning his courage he took some quick, calming breaths, or at least tried too, and flung himself back into the alley. He held the barrel of his gun up as steadily as he could muster; his finger taut on the trigger. He knew he was hopelessly outmatched, and prepared to go out firing every last bullet until he was dead.
