The Turning (Book 2): Whisper Lake

by Micky Neilson

  Ignoring the sudden, screaming agony in his muscles, the nausea, the urge to clear his bowels... Jason raced back up the stairs and over the catwalk to the window overlooking the rough drying shed.

  Whoever was firing on CJ was blocked from Jason's sight by the firewall. He needed to get a bead on the shooter—fast.

  Though the elevated slab bin had deteriorated so that only one wall remained, the chute that ran from the second floor to the slab bin was still mostly intact. Jason crawled up and onto the chute, pulling himself out into the cool, wet night air. Far out to his left, the machine shop was a raging inferno. Beneath and to his right was the conveyer that transferred sawdust up to and over the firewall. Jason crawled to where the chute ended, on the one remaining wall of the bin used to store slab for the boiler. Looking down he could see the shooter's muzzle flash; the flickering firelight illuminated the very top of the man's head.

  Jason steadied his rifle, took a deep breath… and grimaced as a wave of cramps, nausea and pain overtook him. Biting down hard he fought off the pain, breathed out, and aimed once more…

  He blew off the top of the gunman's skull.

  Rolling onto his side, Jason now felt the pain right down into his bones. The drizzling sky to the east had brightened in advance of the full moon's appearance.

  The grinding, shifting forces within him went to work. He scooted as best he could down the chute, onto the second floor of the old mill, and then he could move no more. The time of the turning had come… and he knew that so far they had only killed half of Boil's men.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  It had begun with rifle shots, followed by automatic weapons fire. Boil hollered like an old cowboy at a hoedown and ran to Coolidge's truck. He fumbled around in the cab and a second later Coolidge's fog lights came on. When they did, Carter was standing close to Mamba's man. Uncomfortably close. The Bagger had looked Carter up and down, and then taken a sideways step toward the vehicles, grip tightening on the nine millimeter Beretta in his right hand.

  Boil had lowered himself out of the cab and stepped into the fog lights, eyeballing Carter wearily as the gunfire echoed through the woods. It had continued for several minutes, and then there was silence, broken only by the sound of tumbling thunder.

  A voice broke through on the boss man's radio. He pulled it from his pocket—"Say again," he replied into it. "I said they all dead, near as I can tell." it was Mamba. Another voice broke in, it was Coolidge. "No contact from our first group either," he said.

  The old man hissed through his teeth. "How many gunmen?" He asked into the radio. "One on our side, we think," Coolidge said. "I been watchin' over here…" Mamba replied. One of 'em in the woods… "

  Boil checked his watch. "All right, second group on both sides: wait five minutes… then go in," he said into the radio.

  Coolidge's voice came back. "Some of the men, uh… they're havin' second thoughts about this," Coolidge certainly sounded like he was having second thoughts.

  "Remind them that with half the crew gone their cuts are all doubled," Boil growled back.

  Mamba shot back: "I got this shit. You white boys fuck up on your side, I'll handle that shit too. The one in the woods, I'm gonna fix his ass."

  Boil replied: "All right, Mamba handles the gunman in the woods the rest of you go in and do your fucking job!" The old man ended the transmission, looking like he might smash the walkie against a tree. Instead he replaced it in his jacket pocket. He checked his watch again and ran a hand up his wet forehead, appearing to struggle with some difficult decision.

  "When's he gonna make his move?" Carter asked, tilting his head toward Mamba's man.

  "Huh?" The old man replied.

  "You think I'm stupid," Carter said. "You've probably always thought that." Even through the rainfall he could hear the Baggerz' finger brushing over the trigger guard, could hear the old man's hand squeezing his own weapon, a Smith and Wesson .45. Carter continued: "Those closed-door meetings with Mamba, making sure I was well out of earshot… and now, this. There's no way you'd risk being out here when I turn, unless you planned on eliminating me. I get it, it makes sense. You know you can't control me... and you don't really like things you can't control. Does this guy even know why he's supposed to kill me?" His guts felt like they were turning inside out. It was all he could do to stay standing, but he couldn't show them that. "Nonsense," Boil said, stepping forward nonchalantly. It was the same body language Carter had seen before, in the seconds preceding the old man killing someone. "It's not like that…"

  Boil raised his gun. Carter snatched the Bagger, holding him in front just as the old man fired. The bullets ripped into Mamba's man but didn't pass through. Carter shoved the body at Boil, smashing him back into the truck's grill, knocking the pistol from his hand. Faster than Carter had ever seen him move, the boss man darted around the truck and ran past it, back toward his Beamer. Carter started to chase him but his entire body stiffened; his heartbeat pounded in his head, and his knees gave way. His jaw began working back and forth on its own, teeth grinding. Headlights three vehicles back came on; tires spun against mud and those headlights pulled away.

  No sense in the old man waiting around here when he could retreat to a safer distance and wait for events to play out, one way or another. Carter had to hand it to him; Boil was nothing if not a survivor.

  Curling into a fetal position, Carter experienced the most intense pain he had ever been subjected to. His body felt like it was coming apart, piece by piece. But through it all, between the screams, the steady rain, and whenever his shifting anatomy allowed, he smiled.

  ***

  Celine had only been on the logging access road for a few minutes when she saw the headlights through the wet haze. Whoever was behind the wheel was driving fast, and it was clear they had no intention of stopping.

  Seconds before collision, Celine spotted a clearing just large enough to pull her Jeep into. The angle of her headlights lit up enough of the car as it sped past to reveal that it was Boil's BMW. "Son of a bitch," she said, forgetting for the moment that she had both Trish and Bethany in the vehicle with her. Boil's car was scratched and dented, as if he had hit just about every tree and plant on his way out.

  Was Jason chasing him? The moon would be rising right about now. Whatever had happened, the old man was no immediate threat. Celine put the Jeep in gear and hit the gas. Trish made delighted burbling sounds every time the Jeep bounced. Bethany had remained silent, clutching the seat belt at her chest for dear life. Soon Celine's headlights revealed the rear of a Bronco as she pulled to a stop behind it. She had the window rolled down, listening. Somewhere ahead of the Bronco, lights were on, washing the tree canopy in a white glow.

  After waiting a moment and hearing nothing, Celine exited the Jeep and opened the back. There, along with Trish's wheelchair, were two of the automatic weapons Bagby had taken from the armed strangers. Celine took both, walked back to the cab and offered one to Bethany. The old woman simply shook her head. Celine continued on, past the Bronco up alongside a Ford F-150. It looked like the same truck Celine had seen broken down on the highway when she had left…

  Of course. Boil's men had found them. Had been watching. The gunmen at the Dreiling farm…

  Stepping to the front, Celine found a black man a few feet from the bumper, lying on his side in a puddle of rainwater and blood. She knelt down, turned him over and saw that he was very much dead. Just inches from his head was a discarded pistol. Celine set one of the rifles down, put the pistol in her belt behind her back, then picked the rifle back up and hurried to Bethany.

  The rain was falling harder now. "I need to make sure Jason's okay," Celine said. "You can drive out of here, wait for me somewhere…" Bethany shook her head. "We'll wait here," she said.

  "It may not be safe," Celine pressed. "These men might come back without me seeing them—"

  "We'll wait here," Bethany repeated. There was no time to argue. Celine pulled the pistol from her back
and put it on the driver's seat. "You know how to use this?"

  "I won't be needin' it," Bethany said. Above them, thunder boomed.

  "Well I'm leaving it anyway," Celine responded. "Good luck," she said and walked away, past the Bronco and the Ford and the fog lights' glow and on into the unknown.

  ***

  There had been the sound of the gunfire cutting through the trees, another shot—a rifle shot, and then the bullets had stopped coming CJ's way.

  Jason. CJ had thought. Had to be.

  He had felt his side and determined that the bullet had passed through. He was bleeding, but it wasn't gushing. CJ had waited for more gunmen but none came. Had Mamba attacked on Jason's side? Was he dead? There was only one way to find out…

  CJ started making his way east through the treeline, wondering if the moon was up. If it was, had Jason become… whatever it was? Was it really possible? Ghost had certainly seemed convincing, and Jason had looked so different.

  He stopped as he heard something over the increasing rain: growling noises from the woods. An animal, maybe a dog. Behind him. Was that Jason? There was a rapid thumping… something crashed through the underbrush and came straight for him. CJ ran out of the timber and onto the lot by the machine shop. If he could see what it was by the firelight, he would have a better chance of…

  It was a dog alright, and it was fast. CJ had hesitated just long enough for the animal to close the distance, and he was fairly certain it was not Jason. CJ put out his arm for the dog to latch onto, held it out as far from his body as he could… the force of the mauling spun him around as he lifted the barrel of the AK to the canine's belly and pulled the trigger. Bullets ripped through the Rott's body and the shredding jaws on his arm went slack. CJ had lowered the corpse to the wet ground when he heard something else coming, nearly on top of him…

  And turned to see Mamba's fist smash into his face. Pain exploded across his nose and fireworks crackled across his vision as he dropped flat onto his back.

  CJ squinted against the rain. Mamba lifted the dog and tossed it to the side. "Didn't see me sneakin' up, huh white—oh hey, you one o' Boil's men! The fuck you doin' here?"

  Breathing through his nose was impossible. When CJ opened his mouth to suck in air he tasted rain and blood; he turned and spit.

  "Don't matter," Mamba said, then yelled "Hey bitch asses! Let's go!" Mamba pulled the big ass Rambo knife CJ had seen the first time they met from behind his back. The gang leader looked down and smiled, revealing gold teeth that glinted in the firelight before he yelled:

  "This mothafucka dead!"

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  She wouldn't make it in time. She wouldn't make it and Jason would die and it would be her fault.

  Hurry!

  Celine ran as fast as she dared through the downpour, grasping an automatic weapon in each hand. She wished for her enhanced senses; to be able to see and hear and know so much more. She felt helpless. Weak.

  And then she heard the screams. They were male voices, though the pitch was high and terrified. Something else too… animal sounds: growls and snarls. She slowed down, slung the rifle in her left hand over her left shoulder and brought the butt of the rifle in her right hand to her right shoulder. She walked forward slowly, drenched hair sticking to her head, trying to control her breathing.

  Through a break in the trees she saw it; the wolf. Huge. It was standing at the quarantine fence, and it held something in its right hand.

  Was this Jason?

  She couldn't tell. Jason had bitten Boil's muscleman, so the beast could be the meathead…

  A jagged branch of lightning crashed down in the woods and lit up the field. The beast reared its head back and let loose a long, loud howl… and in that brief second, a part of Celine wanted to do the exact same thing. She felt like she should have been doing the exact same thing. Even as she was thinking this, that first howl was answered by a second, from within the mill, echoing through the old rotting wood. The wolf in front of her turned, dropped what was in its hand and nimbly leapt over the wire fence.

  Celine rushed forward. The wolf inside the mill was more likely to be Jason. If she hurried she could shoot the first beast. Unfortunately, that would just slow it, since the rifle didn't have silver bullets…

  Or did it? Would Boil have been able to get his hands on silver bullets? She hadn't removed any of the magazines (didn't exactly know how—these weren't like a hunting rifle,) hadn't checked. Although she had found and engaged the safeties before loading the weapons into the Jeep.

  Whatever the case, she had way too many questions and not enough answers. Then, as she came past the tree line just before the fence she stopped.

  Scattered around the area before the fence and brownfield sign, revealed by a series of lightning flashes, were bodies. Bodies and parts of bodies. What the beast had thrown down was a severed arm. There were at least two guns that she could see as well, though she didn't think any of the men had a chance to fire them. The faces that she saw among the dead were shocked, terrified, silently screaming.

  The beast…

  Celine looked to the field outside the mill. The hulking first beast was there, walking on two legs toward the gaping black void of the new mill section's main cutting floor. It had turned its head and was sniffing the air.

  Tilting the weapon's side upward, Celine began looking for the lever that would release the magazine. She found it at the bottom of the grip, pressed, and the magazine slid into her left hand. At the magazine's top, silver gleamed brightly.

  I'll be damned…

  She shoved the magazine back into the well, raised the rifle, and took aim just as a primal, snarling form launched out from the darkness of the cutting floor. The two beasts collided and spun, ripping, gnashing, clawing, biting… a blur of motion rendered in stop motion by intermittent flashes from above.

  Though she was fairly certain which one was Jason now, there was no chance of shooting the larger wolf without the risk of hitting her boyfriend. Maybe if she got closer…

  Celine ducked through the fence, advancing steadily, weapon raised in one hand, wiping rain from her eyes with the other. Ahead, the larger wolf picked up the smaller with both arms, holding him over its head like some kind of WWE wrestler. It tossed the lighter figure into the mill's open-sided main floor, obliterating a support post in the process.

  The massive beast ran into the mill after it. There was a single gunshot, from where exactly Celine couldn't tell. Following that was the sound of heavy automatic fire.

  Celine ran as fast as her legs would carry her, hoping desperately that she could make a difference before it was too late.

  ***

  A rain-blurred Mamba stared down at CJ, mouth set in a wide grin. CJ thought it was the way a shark would grin if it could, just before it gobbled up its prey. Lightning flashes glimmered off of the massive blade in the gang leader's right hand.

  Mamba looked away toward the mill, as a long howl that sounded like it came from the other side of the structure sounded out... and was followed by a second, from inside.

  Jesus, could that be Jason? And the other one they had talked about? Can't worry about that now, not just yet…

  "Alice," CJ said.

  Mamba turned back. "What that?"

  "Alice," he repeated, louder to be heard over the rain. "That was her name. The Native American who came to you a couple days ago. She OD'd. Did you even know that?"

  That shark grin widened on one side. "That what you steppin up about? Some rez ho?"

  CJ turned his head toward the mill. There were sounds coming from beyond it, like the guttural snarling and thrashing sounds two animals made when they fought.

  A handful of Boil's men were creeping toward the mill, weapons ready, their shadows shifting in the machine shop fire's light. When Mamba had yelled to those men, CJ had reached under his shirt, to the handle of the old colt revolver tucked into his jeans. He had removed it and put his hand just under his right butt
cheek when Mamba turned back and cracked into that shit-eating grin.

  "Her name was Alice," CJ said again, and this time he pulled out the revolver, cocked it, and fired point-blank into Mamba's crotch.

  The tall man fell back and to the side, screaming AAAGGGHHHH! and clutching both hands—even the one with the knife in it—to his junk.

  Transferring the pistol to his left hand CJ got up, took a step and retrieved the AK from where he had dropped it. He raised the weapon, spun, and unloaded on the men near the mill who had stopped and turned back around, gawking.

  Three of the men fell to CJ's barrage. The other two ran like hell for the mill—one over by the narrow dock and dry rollway, the other ran past the firewall toward the old mill section.

  CJ would have to pick one to follow but before he did…

  Mamba was lying on his side, knees tucked together, hands in his crotch, sobbing. His mouth opened and closed like a gold fish's.

  Thoughts of Alice, of a life that could have been, ran through CJ's mind as he leveled the AK barrel at Mamba's head and squeezed off a full burst.

  ***

  Pain…

  The other wolf was stronger. The beast that was Jason bled from multiple wounds. The power in the other wolf's jaws and claws was overwhelming.

  A voice, Her voice, entered his mind:

  Your defiance brought this upon you. Only the strong survive.

  Pain flared. The other wolf attacked again, and again, and again.

  I will fight, the beast that was Jason vowed. I will fight until all of the blood has left my body.