by Katie Berry
"But, Dad!"
Another shot rang out inside the bar. With a shriek of pain, the creature freed itself from the broken window frame. It turned and disappeared into the greyness of the compound and the forest beyond.
"No buts, stay here!" Austin said, slamming the door.
He approached the side of the building, then stopped and gaped. The picture window was gone, now replaced by a massive hole. Austin peered inside. Splintered wood and broken glass were scattered everywhere -- it looked like a war zone.
He now had an excellent idea of why the traffic was in such a hurry to get away from Frostbite Fred's tonight. He cautiously stepped through the broken window frame.
There was no movement inside the bar; the only sound, the hiss of static from an amplifier that had fallen off the stage and was now lying on its side. On the floor near the front door were two seniors, a man and a woman, not moving, but it looked like they were still breathing. Looking at the stage, Austin felt his stomach do a backflip. Smeared all over the raised platform was something that may or may not have been a person at one time, as well as what might have been the lower half of someone else at the foot of the stage near the hissing amp.
Austin stepped the rest of the way into the pub. His snowboot ground down onto some shattered glass scattered across the floor.
A sudden metallic 'click' vibrated in his right ear.
The click had come from the hammer of a Mossberg shotgun pointed at his temple as it tried to fire on a nonexistent shell, its magazine chamber fortunately empty.
Trip dropped the shotgun in horror, realising that if he had fired one less shell at the bear, thanks to his famously itchy trigger finger, he would have probably blown Austin's head off just now as he stepped through the window frame.
"Jesus Christ! Holy shit! I'm so sorry, boss! I thought you were the freaking bear trying to sneak back inside!"
Eyes wide, staring at the Mossberg on the ground, Austin said, "I think I'm really glad you just shot your wad!" He looked back up, his face white, "What in God's name happened here?"
Trip said, shakily, "I don't think God had anything to do with this. I just pumped a total of four rounds into that thing, and it only pissed it off more! If it hadn't been for my last shot that blew the goddamned thing's ear off, it might still be in here snacking on me!" Trip blurted everything out in a matter of seconds, one word tumbling over the next, he was so agitated and stressed by the attack. He continued, "Bear came through the window, got the lead singer with his claws first and then squashed the bass player over there. If that thing had been able to get its fat ass the rest of the way through the window into the pub, who knows what would have happened,"
"Are there any other survivors?"
"I haven't had a chance to look yet."
"How about the police and ambulance? Has anyone called them?"
"I did!" Max said, poking his head into the room from the galley doors of the kitchen. Seeing the coast was clear, he brought the rest of his long-framed body through the door. Max observed the carnage as he approached, shaking his head. "I called the police about fifteen minutes ago when I found the Toker torn apart, along with the rest of the compound. The ambulance I just called a couple of minutes ago."
"What did they say? Are they on their way?"
"I got through to the ambulance on 9-1-1, but I only got a recording from the police, so I left a message. I'll try again now," Max turned toward the phone at the bar. As he spoke, a bottle lying near the edge of the red-spattered bar fell off and smashed onto the ground, making all three men jump.
Jenny Smith peeked sheepishly over the edge of the bar, her brilliant green eyes darting back and forth. She quickly ducked back down again and called out, "Is it gone? Is it safe?" Only her high ponytail was visible as she spoke, bobbing up and down behind the mahogany bar, like part of some alcoholic Punch and Judy show.
"Yes, ma'am, it's gone now," Austin said, gently. The girl slowly stood, her eyes still bouncing around in her head like pinballs as she scoped things out as if in disbelief she was still alive.
As an afterthought, Austin added, "Do you have anything you can put over the bodies? The reason I ask is that I have my son sitting outside in my truck, and I don't want to leave him out there with that thing lurking around. But then again, I don't want him seeing the carnage in here."
Jenny looked like she didn't comprehend Austin at first, but then things clicked, and she got with the programme, saying, "Yes, absolutely." The girl went running off to the storage room at the back to look for something to cover the slaughter.
"Trip, are you up for checking on survivors while I grab Alex?"
"You bet, Boss."
Normally cool and confident, Trip's voice wavered a bit, still sounding shaken from the recent events.
"Great! I'll go grab Alex."
"You got it, Boss."
Austin pushed open the double doors at the front of the bar and walked down the three steps to the parking lot. He scanned the fog, looking for any sign in the swirling mist that the beast might still be nearby. Sighing with relief, he saw his son's wide-eyed face pressed against the passenger side window, his breath steaming up the glass. As Austin approached, the boy wiped himself a viewing portal in the foggy glass to observe the outside world. Alex slowly opened the door of the vehicle and looked cautiously around in the fog as he stepped out.
"What happened, Dad?"
"Remember that bear?"
"The one you put the signs up about?"
"Yes, it's hurt a few people inside the bar, and some of them are dead. I don't want to leave you out here by yourself, but I don't want you touching anything inside the bar. The police will be here soon, and we don't want to mess up any part of their investigation."
"I understand, Dad. Hands in pockets, right?"
He smiled at his son, saying, "Right."
Austin pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialled Christine's number, knowing she would want to be out at the scene as well. After several unanswered rings, it went to voicemail, and he left a message. Knowing the police and ambulance would soon be there, Austin thought it might be best to check things out a bit further. He said to Alex, "Let's get inside." The boy nodded, saying nothing.
Father and son walked side by side into the bar. Austin sat Alex down at a table in a corner seemingly untouched by most of the horror. Tending to the unconscious couple on the floor, Jenny looked up as Austin brought his son inside. She walked over to the bar, filled a glass with Coke from the soda fountain and brought it over to the table, placing it in front of Alex. "Thought you might be thirsty," Jenny said, a small smile on her lips.
"Thank you, ma'am," Alex said, blushing slightly.
"It's Jenny, not ma'am," she said gently. "And you're welcome."
"Sorry, ma'am, I mean, Jenny," Alex said, his cheeks grew even brighter as he talked to the pretty young woman before him.
"That's better. Say, I know you, don't I? What's your name again, honey?"
"Alex."
"That's right, you've been here quite a few times with your dad, haven't you, Alex?" The boy nodded at her. "Mind if I sit here with you while we wait for the police and ambulance, Alex?" Jenny inquired.
"Sure thing," The boy reached over and pulled a chair out from the table for her.
Austin smiled and nodded appreciatively at Jenny. She smiled nervously back at him, still obviously quite terrified. She seemed to be holding up well, however, and Austin was grateful for her help.
"I'm going to see what's happened around here. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Please be careful, Dad." Alex sounded worried.
"I'll be fine. Don't you worry about me, Skipper." Austin said, running his fingers gently through the boy's hair and hoping that would be true. Though he sounded confident, he was deathly afraid the beast was going to regroup and try to come back inside after them all. And here they were, defenseless, with a shotgun that was out of ammo to boot.
Austin appr
oached the broken window frame, and Trip suddenly appeared at this side, rifle in hand. After checking on survivors, he must have run out to his pickup truck to grab his gun, thinking they might still need some protection. "Thought you might want some backup," he said, cocking the rifle.
"I thought you'd never ask." They stepped through the broken window frame together, the thick fog outside coalescing around them, seeming to swallow them whole.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Of course, never fails,” Christine said, hearing her cell phone ring the moment she stuck her head under the shower to wash her hair. She’d just gotten home a few minutes ago and decided that tonight was the night she was going to shampoo her hair.
“Well, they’re just going to have to wait, whoever it is,” she said aloud as she started the lathering process. Ten minutes and several litres of hot water later, she wrapped her hair in a towel to absorb some excess water still in her shoulder-length blonde hair. She picked up her phone and checked her messages. As Austin’s message played back over the cell’s speakerphone, she ripped the towel from her head, tied her damp hair in a quick ponytail and set a new personal best for the fastest time she’d ever gotten dressed.
Moments later, Christine jammed her hat on her head and flew out her front door, unzipped parka flapping in the breeze. Pulling her house keys from the lock, they slipped from her hand and bounced off of her snow boot, landing a short distance away. She bent down to pick them up and felt a sudden hard tug at her shoulder, and realised she’d locked part of her fur-lined hood into the door jam.
“Shit!” Christine reached to pick up her keys but discovered her arm was not quite long enough. She slid the keys over slightly with the toe of her snowboot until her fingertips grazed the metal ring to which they were attached. It was at this point that her hat decided to fall off of her head.
“Double shit!” Keys now in hand, she unlocked the door to extract her trapped parka hood. She let out a small laugh. All things considered, she felt lucky she’d dropped her keys when she did. Otherwise, she may not have noticed and walked away from the door with her outerwear still trapped in its frame, tearing her parka. If that had happened, it would have made for a very drafty evening indeed.
Slapping her hat back on her head, she jumped into her truck and cranked the engine. She wanted to get to the scene of the incident at Frostbite Fred's quickly, but she knew it would be slow going as the weather was still not cooperating. Squinting through the windshield, she drove slowly down her laneway into the dark, foggy evening.
***
The Gold Rush of 1895 that struck Lawless was one of the biggest things to ever happen in the area, period. When the rush was in full swing, just before the turn of the century, the townsite boasted a population of over twelve thousand people, consisting mostly of gold-crazed prospectors and their hangers-on. In a matter of only two years after its founding, the town swelled to fifty-three saloons, twenty-two lawyers, seventeen hotels, five banks and four brothels to service the growing population.
Over the ten year period that the gold rush lasted, over fifty-seven thousand prospectors came through the Cascade mountains in search of their fortune in the gold-filled hills around Lawless. Some came through the lower mainland from Vancouver, and others poured in from south of the border from Washington state. All of those eager fortune-seekers attracted another element that was not quite as law-abiding as the rest of the populace.
Numerous gangs and racketeers also set up shop in the area, and it came to be known that if you were planning on travelling to this part of the interior in your quest for fame and fortune, you were advised to best keep one hand on your gold, and the other hand on a loaded gun. It was a town that got its name for what is was, lawless.
The North-West Mounted Police, a precursor to the modern-day RCMP, were coming off the heels of the North-West Rebellion with Louis Riel. They had minimal manpower available to police the area and had stretched their coverage until it was tissue paper thin. Criminal enterprises were more than aware of this lack of enforcement, and things went from wild to wicked very quickly.
Shopkeepers, bankers and saloon owners in Lawless decided that more protection from crime was required than what the North-West Mounted Police could provide, and the Lawless Police Department was born. For the most part, it did what it was designed to do and brought law and order to the rugged mountain town.
In 1897, the LPD boasted just three members who had their hands full most nights and quite a few days as well. When a rich gold miner blew into town with a thirst for liquor and a lust for the ladies, it came to be known that, despite the name of the town, if you didn’t watch your step, a constable from the Lawless Police Department would damn well make sure that you did.
In an attempt to house the local miscreants, a small wooden building was initially built for the local constabulary, with only a couple of holding cells available for use. However, business was brisk, and in a matter of only one year, more spacious accommodations were warranted for the LPD and a larger, more permanent building was erected. The new facility boasted over a dozen holding cells to accommodate wrongdoers and was host to a complement of almost seventy police officers.
The hills around Lawless were a madhouse for several years. Many men and quite a few enterprising women were made very, very wealthy during this time. But after the turn of the century, the deposits of readily accessible ore began to decline, and new strikes diminished dramatically. With less gullible and unaware miners from which to pilfer and suck dry, criminal enterprise in the region went in search of greener pastures. The crime rate tanked, and so did the manpower requirements of the LPD. Now, over one hundred and twenty years later, the town’s current population of seven thousand residents were protected by a police department that boasted a total of seven members, plus one dog.
Constable Oscar Olsen was one of those men. He sighed heavily and adjusted his position in the uncomfortable pressure-moulded orange plastic chair in which he sat. His legs were stretched out to an identical orange chair from the next table over, his feet propped up on the edge. Tonight, he was the officer in charge at LPD headquarters. He sighed once more, this time contentedly, feeling relieved. He’d just gotten back from the most amazing dump of his life. It seemed the big bowl of chilli he’d had for lunch today had already begun working its magic. Another noxious gust from south of his beltline reminded him that his work in the washroom might not yet be done.
He was currently relaxing in the lunchroom, waiting for his dinner to finish being irradiated. The television on the wall blared hockey scores and league standings on TSN. Oscar watched it for a while, almost drowsing off while he waited, his double chins resting on his ample chest. In the microwave behind him, a family-sized tray of President’s Choice Mac & Cheese, the White Cheddar Edition, nuked away. Its cellophane overwrap, still attached, was now fusing to the bubbling cheese inside at a molecular level. According to the timer on the front, Oscar’s plasticised cheese-curd-and-wheat dinner was now only one minute and forty-nine seconds away from perfection. He snorted himself awake, then yawned, wiping away some drool that had built up at the corner of his mouth with his shirtsleeve.
Oscar wasn’t pleased. He thought of the planned dinner out with his sweetie, Thelma, that was not to be this evening. He’d been showering and getting ready to head down to the local Tim Hortons to see her when Chief VanDusen had called, scuttling Oscar’s plans. The Chief told Oscar he was giving himself the evening off and didn't want to be disturbed, so Oscar was going to be the man in charge of law enforcement for the area this evening.
He wasn’t a stupid man and knew by now that being the man in charge meant that Reggie would be in the midst of entertaining his ‘special’ lady friend again for another evening of carnal delights. On those special nights, VanDusen always made it explicitly clear to Oscar or whoever was on duty that he did not want to be disturbed under any circumstance.
Ever since the gold had been discovered at the cavern, O
scar noticed he’d been experiencing more and more frequent evenings as OIC than ever before. He also knew that VanDusen had been stealing quite a bit of the gold for himself and feathering his nest with the precious yellow metal as well as showering his special lady friend with baubles and furs.
Even though Oscar received his fair share of the proceedings from VanDusen on a regular basis, on several occasions, he had nonetheless decided to mimic the Chief when up to the cavern. He’d pocketed dozens of nuggets that he’d come when the opportunity had presented itself. Being the attentive Constable that he was, Oscar learned by example. He’d observed how the Mayor was embezzling from his longtime business partner, Ray Chance, with VanDusen's help. When he saw the Chief screwing them both over on top of that, well then, logic seemed to dictate it must be okay. Still not being a stupid man, part of him knew if he didn’t hide his own gold thievery or turn a blind eye to the Chief’s embezzlement, he'd be checking out the bottom of one of those pits at the cavern himself first hand.
