Lake Nutaq (Berkley Street Series Book 6)

by Ron Ripley

  “We can’t walk,” the captain protested. “Not without boots.”

  “Pretty sure we’ve already established what you can and can’t do,” Frank said, his voice cold. “Help your buddy to his feet, and then get walking.”

  Shane watched the captain stomp over to the wounded man and pulled him to his feet. The injured man turned his ravaged face towards Shane, saying, "I'm going to kill you."

  “No,” Shane said. “You won’t. I’m pretty sure whoever hired you is going to take care of you and leave me alone.”

  Shane was pleased to see fear blossom on the man’s face while the captain’s went pale. He watched as they turned and limped towards the frozen lake.

  “Ready?” Frank asked.

  “Course not,” Shane answered, watching them for a moment longer. “But that doesn’t matter, now does it.”

  “No,” Frank agreed. “It doesn’t matter at all.”

  Chapter 57: A Rescue Attempt

  Mark lay on his side, not daring to breathe. Jonathan sat beside him, the ghost’s cold presence oddly comforting. They listened together, waiting to hear what would happen.

  The muffled roar of a shotgun caused Mark to jump and howl with pain. Beneath the agony of the broken leg, there was a spike of joy.

  Shane had taken Jonathan's word and waited to confront whoever the Watchers were.

  A moment later, the ground shook, though, and Jonathan whimpered.

  “What is it?” Mark whispered.

  “Broken Nose and Patience,” Jonathan cried. “They know what’s happened. They know Shane hasn’t been stopped, and now they’re coming for him.”

  “How do you know?” Mark asked, feeling panic rise up within him.

  “The ground has only shaken once before,” the ghost answered. “A long time ago. And they all came out. Broken Nose and his braves, my sister and her arms. Each of them had arrived, and destroyed those who sought to cast Broken Nose out of this world forever.”

  “No,” Mark whimpered.

  “Yes,” the dead boy answered. “It was terrible. And they are all coming again.”

  “What do we do?” Mark asked, throat threatening to close. “Can I do anything? Can’t I get out?”

  “No,” Jonathan said. “But if there is silence, if there is a lull in the battle, you must scream.”

  “Why?” Mark asked, shaking.

  "You have to let them know you are still alive," Jonathan said. "You must let them know they do not fight in vain. Otherwise, they might leave you here to suffer at the hands of Broken Nose."

  Mark nodded, not knowing if Jonathan could see him or not, and started to prepare himself to scream as loud and for as long as he could.

  Chapter 58: Meeting upon the Field

  By the time they had returned to the center mound at the far end, Shane knew they were in for a fight.

  Broken Nose stood in front of his mound, with Patience on his right and three of his men spread out in front of him. Where the fourth man was, Shane didn’t know, and it worried him.

  The whole situation bothered him.

  Broken Nose’s body was in the mound, and for them to defeat the ghost, Shane and Frank would have to get to Broken Nose’s remains to salt and burn them. The entire time they would have to fight off the dead, who could be shot with rock salt and sent back to their bones.

  Located in the mounds on either side of Broken Nose’s, which meant they would return within minutes, if not seconds.

  But we need to get the boy, Shane thought, and he knew he would die before leaving the boy to be tortured to death by Broken Nose and his soul imprisoned within Patience’s twisted specter.

  “You have cast off the yoke of the Watchers,” Broken Nose said, his voice deep and melodious.

  “We have,” Shane replied.

  “And you are ready now to face me,” Broken Nose said.

  “No,” Shane said. “But, we will.”

  Broken Nose’s broad shoulders shook with laughter beneath his dark cloak.

  “I like your spirit,” Broken Nose began, but Shane silenced him with a blast from his shotgun.

  The second barrel took care of the closest Indian while Frank knocked the other two out with shots from his own gun. As the sound of the weapon blasts died out, the two men were left with Patience, who let go of the edges of her blanket and screamed at them.

  Shane staggered back in surprise as dozens of arms reached out of her, each limb growing and stretching towards them.

  “What the hell?!” Frank shouted, reloading while stepping away.

  Shane didn't reply, lashing out instead with his diminished left hand. The iron ring came into contact with a hand and Patience howled as the limb disappeared. Frank brought the weapon up to fire at her, but an Indian appeared from the far right mound, racing towards them.

  Frank focused his attention on the Indian, and Shane dropped his own shotgun and faced off against Patience. He clenched his hands into fists and felt a dull, black rage settle over him. As each phantom limb sought him out, Shane struck it aside. Fury danced upon Patience’s face and madness burned in her eyes. She lunged towards him, and Shane drove his right fist into her head, causing her to vanish.

  Broken Nose stepped out of the wall of his mound, arms spread as he began to chant.

  Shane threw himself at the dead man and scattered the ghost with the rings on both fingers.

  Shane was at the side of the mound. Behind him, he heard Frank fire the shotgun twice more, but then Shane’s attention fixated on the snow covered mound.

  With his anger barely contained, Shane plunged his hands into the snow.

  Chapter 59: On Lake Nutaq

  Allen’s feet were freezing, literally, as he led Phil across the ice. Phil was blind and silent, and Allen was more frightened of the man than he had ever been before.

  He held onto Phil as gently as he could, not wishing to seem like he was taking control. Allen suspected Phil was capable of more than he seemed, even when blind.

  Neither of the men had used their phones because both of them had kept their cells in their coat pockets. Their only hope lay in making it to one of the houses across the lake, and that alone might cost them both their feet, in spite of the assurances from Shane's friend.

  Allen stumbled on his numb feet, and Phil jerked his arm away.

  “Idiot!” Phil spat.

  Allen straightened up, anger flaring up and his fear vanishing.

  “Shut up,” Allen ordered. “You want to make it across this ice?”

  “What do I care?” Phil demanded. “I’m blind!”

  Allen didn’t answer.

  One of Broken Nose’s men had appeared behind Phil.

  “Did you hear me?” Phil asked. “I’m blind!”

  Allen’s breath caught in his throat, his warning dying in his mouth.

  The dead man stepped forward, a brutal tomahawk in his hand.

  “Allen,” Phil said, his voice low and dangerous. “You better answer me.”

  Allen would never know if Phil intended to elaborate on his threat, for Broken Nose’s brave drove the tomahawk deep into Phil’s head.

  Horrified, Allen watched Phil stiffen, his arms shaking and his hands trembling. Foam appeared at the corners of his mouth, and then it was as if someone ripped the man's spine out as he collapsed boneless onto the frozen lake.

  The dead man smiled, his teeth stained bright red. He said something unintelligible, gesturing with his tomahawk.

  Allen turned and ran.

  But his legs were too stiff. His feet were numb.

  He fell, crashing into the ice, snow scattering at the impact. Screaming, Allen turned around onto his back and looked up. His mind raced as he tried to think of a way to defend himself.

  But it was no use.

  The dead man was upon him, the tomahawk raised above his head and a look of glee on his face.

  Allen shrieked as the tomahawk raced towards him.

  Chapter 60: Fighting for the Boy
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br />   Shane was thrown backward from the burial mound. A sharp, stinging blow had landed on his chest, causing his heart to miss a beat before he struck the ground hard. His breath rushed out of his lungs and his vision blurred for a moment.

  When his sight cleared, Shane saw Broken Nose step out of the mound and move towards him.

  Shane got to his feet and laughed, calling out, “How weak are you, Broken Nose?”

  The question brought the dead man to a halt. Even his braves stopped, looking with surprise at Shane.

  Frank reloaded.

  “Weak?” Broken Nose asked. “Weak?”

  “Look at you,” Shane sneered. “Your little boys running around you. A little girl standing by your side. Protected by everyone but yourself.”

  Broken Nose straightened up. “Weak!”

  “Pretty sure I didn’t stutter,” Shane said, laughing. “You’re weak. You can’t even defend yourself from me. A cripple.”

  Shane held up his left hand and wiggled the fingers that remained. He tore his hat from his head, revealed the bald and scarred scalp, and laughed again. “You’re weak. And a coward.”

  Broken Nose’s men looked from Shane to their shaman and their arms lowered ever so slightly.

  “I am no coward,” Broken Nose hissed, stepping forward.

  “Prove it,” Shane said.

  “I need to prove nothing,” Broken Nose hissed.

  Behind the dead men, Frank crept toward the center mound.

  "Sure," Shane said. "Tell yourself that. You don't need to prove yourself at all. You just go on letting others do all the heavy lifting for you. Let them gather your victims. Did you ever collect them yourself, or did you talk them into it? Promise them glory after death?"

  Shane looked at the dead braves, a fourth one appearing beside them.

  “Did he?” Shane asked. “And is this glory? Coming out only in the cold? And for what?”

  “We are power beyond death,” the men said in unison, their voices quivering with rage. “All seek to serve us. The fools in their cabins worship us.”

  “Do they?” Shane asked, looking at the others. “Or do they worship him? Did they ever call your names out? And what weak willed people are doing that? What do they do, Broken Nose? Make sure no one bothers your little burial ground here?”

  The sharp expressions that leaped onto the faces of the dead braves told Shane he had hit his mark.

  “They did,” Shane said, chuckling. “Oh, that’s good.”

  To the other men, he added, "And you've helped to protect him too. You've added to his strength, haven't you? He's fed off those you've brought to him. But have you grown stronger?"

  Without looking at his men, Broken Nose said, “Take him!”

  None of the men moved.

  Broken Nose turned halfway and demanded, “Now!”

  The men stepped forward and advanced upon Broken Nose. They formed a rough ring around him as he screamed profanities. One of them leaped forward, slamming his war-club down.

  Broken Nose spun out of the way, and the five dead men became a swirling mass.

  Shane raced past them to the burial mound. Frank raised the butt of the shotgun up and smashed it into the dirt. A hole opened up, and Shane reached his hands in, ripping out clumps of dirt.

  Shane glanced behind him and saw the dead men still engaged in a fierce fight, and then turned his attention back to the mound. The opening was wide enough for Shane to put his head and shoulders in.

  “Give me a light,” Shane said, leaning forward.

  Frank pulled out his flashlight and shined the beam into the hole as Shane peered in.

  On the small floor, Shane saw a boy; the young teen’s face was a pale white mask of fear.

  Shane followed the boy’s gaze and saw Patience.

  Her hands lashed out, latched onto Shane’s head, and dragged him into the burial mound.

  Chapter 61: Shock and Awe

  For a split second, Frank stood still.

  Jerking his shotgun up, he aimed the weapon into the mound, the flashlight showing him the scene within.

  Shane was fighting with the monstrous little girl, and each time he hit her, she vanished, only to reappear a heartbeat later. A young boy pushed himself against the far wall, letting out a long, hoarse scream.

  Shane struck the girl in the head, shot a glance at Frank and yelled, “Get the kid out!”

  Then the girl appeared from behind, grabbing onto Shane's face. Shane let out an agonized growl and lashed out, hitting her hand.

  Patience disappeared again, and Frank snapped, "Kid! Kid!"

  The teen looked at him, his eyes wide, his face a sickly white.

  Patience appeared in front of Frank, snarling.

  Frank pulled both triggers, blasting the girl with rock salt.

  “You need to move!” Frank yelled.

  The teen shook his head.

  “My leg,” the boy whispered.

  Shane turned to the teen, grabbed him by the arm, and shouted, "I don't care! Get out!"

  As the last word left his mouth, Patience launched herself out of the shadows, striking Shane in the face.

  Frank winced at the howl of pain torn from Shane’s mouth, but as Shane battled the dead girl, the teen crawled forward.

  Dropping the flashlight, Frank reached in, found the back of the boy’s jacket, and dragged him up and through the hole. He fell backward, the teen screaming as he landed on top of Frank. From the mound, Frank heard as Shane let out an agonized howl.

  A moment later, Shane screamed, “The bag!”

  Frank pushed the teen off him into the snow, grabbed the duffel bag, and threw it into the mound. Then, getting to his feet, Frank looked around and saw Broken Nose was held firm by two of the Indians. The other two approached Frank.

  He grabbed hold of the teen with his free hand, aimed the shotgun with his right, and pulled the trigger.

  Both hammers fell on spent casings.

  He hadn’t reloaded the shotgun.

  Dropping it, Frank dragged the boy backward.

  But the dead men didn’t follow him.

  Instead, they entered the burial mound.

  Chapter 62: Help Needed

  Shane sank against the inner wall of the mound. Huge portions of his scalp and face were numb, and he knew the flesh was dead, killed by Patience's touch.

  A dim light filled the interior, the girl across from him, her eyes narrowed. Her own arms hung limply at her sides, the limbs and hands of her prisoners extended from her shattered ribs. They waited for her to move closer to him.

  The temperature in the mound dipped, and a pair of Indians materialized.

  Shane’s hopes sank as they looked at him. Their expressions were cold and unfathomable.

  Shane's heartbeat slowed, and he chuckled, shaking his head.

  I’m going to die here, he realized. Here, in a god damned hole.

  Yet as the thought finished, one of the dead men grabbed Patience. Her eyes widened in surprise, and as she struggled to free herself, the Indian tightened his hold.

  The other man turned his attention to Shane.

  “Can you free us?” the dead man asked.

  Shane could only nod, his shock robbing him of his voice.

  “How?” the Indian asked.

  Shane cleared his throat, winced at the pain as he swallowed and said, “I have to salt and burn your bones.”

  “They are here,” the dead man said, pointing to the ground. “With Broken Nose’s and the girl’s. Set us all aflame. We would move on to something else.”

  "Okay," Shane said, and ignoring the pain, he crawled to the bag. He unzipped it and took out the plastic bag of rock salt, the fluid, and the matches. Quickly, before the dead men could change their minds, he scratched at the floor. Beneath the first half inch of dirt, Shane found a woven mat, and in a few minutes, his fingers pried loose the edge.

  He peeled it back and looked down at scattered bones.

  Shane's heart thund
ered in his chest, and he felt a wave of relief crash over him as he tore open the bag of salt. He opened it and poured the contents out onto the human remains. Shane saw the glint of a golden button mixed in with the salt and groaned as he realized what he had done.

  “You bloody git!” Jack screamed, freed of the salt. The dead man slammed Shane backward. “I’ll have your eyes!”

  Before Jack could make good on his threat, the Indian smashed into him.

  “The bones!” the brave yelled.

  In the dim light of the mound, Shane saw Patience renew her struggle against her own captor. The hands of her prisoners reached out, yet they didn’t fight against the dead man. Instead, the limbs stretched into the air, twisted around themselves and back to Patience. Fingers, long and dead, grasped and pulled, stretching the girl’s face, and tearing apart her flesh. Her eyes widened in shock as her captives tore her apart. The girl’s terrified screams filled the mound for the briefest of moments before her mouth vanished in a child’s small hand.

  Shaking with exhaustion and pain, Shane ripped his eyes away from her, grabbed hold of the lighter fluid and sprayed the liquid onto the bones. He picked up the matches only to have them knocked out of his hands by Jack, who was screaming profanities, the dead man’s voice so loud that it made Shane nauseous.

  Shane found the matches, pulled out a trio of them, and struck them on the side of the box. They burst into flames, the smell of sulfur overriding the scent of the lighter fluid. Jack’s screams rose to a fevered pitch and then went silent, the fire and salt destroying the ghost’s bond to the golden button and returning him to his hidden remains.

  Without any ceremony, Shane threw the matches down onto the bones.

  A foul, greasy smoke erupted, causing Shane to cough and hack. He struggled through the new darkness, found the hole, and pulled himself free.

  Gasping for air as he fell, Shane vomited into the snow. Mucus ran from his nose and tears from his eyes as he climbed to his feet, wavering on unsteady legs.

  Frank was off to one side, standing over the teen. He pointed behind Shane, and Shane twisted around.