Stop being such a pussy. Get your head on straight, boy, so we can find that abomination and be done with him.
The Hunter reclined and rested his head against the back of his chair. He closed his eyes and walked himself through everything he knew about Walker. The man was fast. Unnaturally fast for a human being.
That’s ‘cause I told you…
“I know. He’s more than a man. I heard you,” the Hunter said quietly. He knew he shouldn’t be talking out loud to his father, but he hoped the sound of the overhead air vents on high would drown out his voice.
If people heard him talking to himself, they’d think he was crazy. And the Hunter was a lot of things, but he wasn’t insane.
Then again, the Son of Sam, David Berkowitz, claimed that a black dog told him to kill. Maybe the Hunter was just as crazy as Berkowitz. Maybe he was imagining the voice of his father inside his head, helping him justify why he was flying to Whittier to kill Trent Walker and his woman.
Not that again. I’m as real as real can be, boy.
“You’re not real enough to hit me anymore, asshole.”
You should be thanking me for making you that tough. Otherwise, you’d already be dead.
The Hunter drained his cup of whisky and set the empty container where the attendant could easily see it the next time she passed by.
“If you’re so real, tell me something I don’t know about Walker.”
There was silence in the Hunter’s mind as the plane rose slightly and dipped down sharply in response to some minor turbulence.
Don’t know much about who he is. But I can tell you what he is. One of our own people back in town bit him. She was supposed to take the pills to keep her from changing, but she must have fucked up. The spirits can enter anyone, anytime if the person ain’t protecting himself. But if one of them enters through a path of blood, they’re a lot harder to get rid of—the changes are more intense, and they try to take over whenever they can. During the full moon, the person don’t stand a chance of fighting off the change.
“You’re saying he’s a werewolf? I never saw him change into an animal.”
They don’t look no different. The spirit takes over the mind and the soul and gives them the strength of whatever the spirit was when it was alive—same way I’ve been helping you.
The Hunter looked out the window at the blue sky and the dense, white clouds tinted underneath with shades of dark gray.
“Assuming you’re right about him going back to Whittier…”
I already told you, he and his woman went to Whittier. Remember what the nice flower lady said?
“Just shut up for two seconds, and let me finish,” the Hunter said out loud. Two passengers across the row turned their heads to look at him briefly before seeing his blistered face and quickly returning to their affairs.
He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“If Walker really did go back to Whittier, we should find him in plenty of time before the next full moon. As long as the spirit hasn’t taken over, he’ll be just like any other man. Easy to hunt. Easy to kill.”
His father’s laugh filled his head, and the Hunter reached up instinctively to cover his ears.
Wishful thinking, boy. When there’s a path of blood, the spirit always takes over when the moon is full. But, it can try to possess someone whenever it wants, even in the middle of the day. It comes down to a matter of will power and how long someone can stay focused and fight to keep control. But the animal spirit can always outlast a person if it really wants to. Whatever spirit’s attached to Walker has stayed with him from Alaska to Las Vegas, and it’s probably still with him right now. For whatever reason, it wants him bad, and I can guarantee you one thing for sure, right now.
“What’s that?” the Hunter said, staring out at the open sky.
That spirit ain’t gonna let you do anything to Walker without one hell of a fight.
For the rest of the flight, the Hunter tried as hard as he could to think as little as possible—hoping that would keep his father silent. At one point he even fell asleep and was out for almost half an hour before the voice of his father woke him up.
As soon as his father started speaking again, the Hunter ordered more whisky, and when the attendant told him she couldn’t serve him anymore, she slipped her a hundred dollar bill in exchange for just one more.
With the help of the booze and a Valium his doctor had prescribed for him last month, the Hunter finally passed out and was able to sleep through several hours of the seven-hour flight.
Once he awoke and had some more food, the plane was only an hour away from landing.
About time.
The Hunter ignored his father as he paged through a SkyMall magazine, wasting away the final hour of the flight.
As they came in close to Anchorage International, he buckled up and prepared to land.
Considering the long flight, he felt well rested and ready to get in his rental car and make it to Whittier as soon as possible.
As the passengers in the first class section shuffled off the plane, the Hunter blended in as best as he could and walked off the plane, down the connecting hallway, and into the airport proper.
He only made it a few steps before three DHS security guards stopped him. Unlike Sheila, these three men were in very good shape and had the air about them as being trained.
“Would you mind coming with us, sir?” the smallest of the three said.
“Do I have a choice?” the Hunter said.
“This won’t take long.”
What the hell do they want now?
The Hunter remained silent and did not answer his father.
As the four of them made their way through the airport and into the airport’s security offices, people took notice and stared openly.
After almost half an hour, at last, the Hunter and the three men ended up together in a small room. The smaller man was sitting across from the Hunter. The two larger men stood on either side of him.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” the Hunter finally said. “Do I need to have my lawyer call your boss?”
“No need to get hostile, sir.”
“That wasn’t hostile.”
The two larger men each took a half-step closer to the Hunter.
“Just tell me why I’m being detained.”
“You made some of the other passengers a little…nervous.”
“I have that effect on people.”
The smaller man referred to his cell phone before looking back at the Hunter.
“Says here that you were talking out loud the entire flight about killing someone named Walker.”
The Hunter was quiet for a second. His eyes darted across the room. The two larger men had Glocks on their hips. The one doing all the talking had one as well, although the Hunter guessed that he didn’t know how to use it very well.
Just make something up. It ain’t no crime to talk to yourself about killing someone.
The Hunter exhaled loudly, as if he were about to unburden his heart.
“Look,” he said, “I hate flying. The doc gave me some really strong stuff to help me sleep through the flight. I had a couple extra drinks, and the next thing I know, I am out of it, even though I barely got any sleep.”
“Who’s Walker?” the smaller man asked.
“He’s just some guy I lost a lot of money to back in Vegas. If I was talking about killing him, it was just wishful thinking. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. I wanted to get away from that asshole. Clear my head, if you know what I mean.”
The two larger men seemed to relax slightly. The smaller man tapped his fingers on the top of the table.
“Nothing else to tell us?”
“There’s nothing else to tell,” the Hunter said. “It’s not a crime to fantasize about getting even with someone who did you wrong is it?”
“No sir. It isn’t.”
“Can I go now?”
The smaller man stood up and motioned for the Hun
ter to join him.
“We’ll take you to your baggage.”
Get their names, too. These assholes need to die.
The Hunter stifled his response to his father.
As they were leaving the room, the Hunter turned to the smaller man.
“You don’t by any chance have a business card, do you?”
“Why? Going to report me?” the man said, with a mocking laugh.
“Not at all. I’m glad we have people like you looking out for bad people out there. I just like to know who I’m dealing with is all. Plus, I have a bad short-term memory, and I want to make sure I remember your name when I tell this story to my hunting buddies.”
The man pulled out his wallet and handed one of his cards to the Hunter.
The Hunter looked down at it.
“Thanks…Charlie,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get my luggage and be on my way. I can’t wait to get started on my vacation.”
Chapter 20
THE CABIN in the woods was smaller, but much nicer than Trent imagined it would be.
It was also a lot neater.
The cabin consisted of a single room with a twin bed in one corner and a wood-burning stove near the opposite side that served as a kitchen, along with a small wooden table and two chairs. The corner nearest the door was used for storing firewood, but the few logs already there weren’t nearly enough to keep them warm through the night.
Luckily, there was also an axe leaning against the wall.
Donning the black hiking boots he’d purchased in town, Trent stepped outside to gather firewood while Zana unloaded the car and settled them into their home for the next few days—or until they found Christina.
By the time they both finished with their tasks, it was almost dark, and they were too tired to go back into town and look for more clues about Christina’s whereabouts.
Instead, they unzipped one of their sleeping bags and laid it on top of the bed before thinking about what to eat for dinner. Although the cabin sheltered them from the wind, they could still see their breath, so they lit a couple of lanterns they found on one of the shelves, and decided to get the stove up and running.
Trent knew a lot about a lot of things, but he had never before used a stove like the one in the cabin.
He opened the iron door of the stove and looked over at Zana.
“I’ve used something like this before,” she said, as she walked over and gently pushed Trent out of the way.
After checking to make sure the flue was open, Zana scanned the room. She saw a small pile of old newspapers, took a few sheets, and balled them up before throwing them into the stove.
“Match, please,” she said, as Trent handed her a match.
Once the paper was on fire, she added some wood and fanned the fire slowly.
Trent chuckled.
“Not bad for someone from the desert.”
“First of all, sometimes it gets pretty cold at night in the desert. And secondly, I wasn’t born in the tunnels. I’ve lived in other states, and I’ve even seen snow before, smartass.”
“Finally ready to tell me where you were born?” he said.
Zana closed the door to the stove and looked away.
Trent gestured to the interior of the cabin, even though Zana couldn’t see him.
“Now that we’re living together, don’t you think we should know more about each other?”
Zana turned back to Trent and forced a grin.
“Maybe after dinner,” she said.
Trent reached over and playfully pulled her to him. He leaned into her and kissed her, and she responded in kind.
As they embraced, the heat from the stove warmed the cabin, as the passion between the two of them also ignited.
Zana softly pushed him back.
“I’m hungry, Trent. Plus, we’ve got all night to fool around. Why don’t you go fill up that cooler over there with some snow so we can keep our food from going bad before we have a chance to eat it. How do you feel about breakfast for dinner tonight?”
Trent stood in front of the door—the empty cooler held by his side.
“Breakfast is good anytime, as far as I’m concerned,” he said, as he opened the door and stepped out into the pitch-black night.
As he walked, the snow crunched under his feet.
After ten yards, he stopped and took in the situation. He and Zana had come to Alaska to find Christina, who had gone missing. Meanwhile, they were staying in a remote cabin in the woods of Alaska, about to make dinner together, and then later, he was pretty sure they’d have sex.
He sighed as he leaned over and scooped snow into the cooler before starting to walk back to the cabin.
In the distance, he heard twigs breaking, as if someone or something was walking toward him. He registered the sound but noticed that his fight or flight instinct wasn’t kicking in. His pulse wasn’t quickening, and his breathing was still calm. His logic told him that he should be concerned about whether there was some kind of wild animal close by, his body and his instincts didn’t seem to care.
He walked up to the cabin door and stopped as he heard the same noise again, only this time closer, just beyond the umbra of the weak yellow glow thrown off by the light from the cabin’s single window.
Trent set the cooler down, and took a few tentative steps back into the darkness. He noted that the regular sounds of the forest had gone silent. Then the breeze shifted, and he smelled wet fur and dead fish.
His mind flashed back to the campsite just across the Canadian border, and he prepared himself for another strange, unexplainable encounter with something.
He took two more steps forward, approaching the darkness as if it were a curtain through which he was about to walk. He stopped at the edge of the fading light from the cabin and listened.
A deep snorting only a few feet in front of him broke the silence, but his instinct to flee remained at bay.
Without thinking about it, he pulled back his shoulders and pushed his chest slightly forward, still staring into the night.
Thirty seconds went by. Then a minute.
Finally, he heard another snort and the sound of crunching snow moving farther and farther away.
He didn’t know what to make of his near encounter, but he was glad that whatever it was had decided to leave.
Despite his relief, he still felt no fear.
When he turned to walk back to the cabin, he was surprised that he could no longer see the cabin lights. He prided himself on being acutely aware of his surroundings, but somehow he had walked much farther into the woods than he had realized.
When he finally made it back and stepped into the cabin, the faint light from the lanterns was enough to make his eyes pulse in pain.
Zana walked over to him and smiled as the smell of freshly made omelets filled the interior of the cabin.
“Dinner’s been ready for ten minutes. How far did you have to go to find a good place to go to the bathroom?”
Trent laughed.
“Didn’t go to the bathroom.”
He motioned to the cooler full of snow.
“Just filled that up with snow, like you asked.”
Her smiled dimmed and her expression changed to one of concern.
“You were gone a long time, Trent.”
He sat down at the small wooden table and told her about the noise he’d heard and about how he’d ended up so much farther away from the cabin than he’d realized.
Her furrowed brows lifted, and she tapped her fingers on the table, thinking.
“I’m not sure what to make of that, but maybe having that spirit attached to you attracts other animals.”
Trent reached over with his left hand and touched the still-raw bite wound on his shoulder.
“Maybe so,” he said. “That would explain a few things.”
“Are you sure it was a bear?”
“I recognized the way it smelled. I heard it snort. Just like back at the campground. Except t
his time, I didn’t see its eyes. But I knew it was there.”
“I believe you,” she said. “But there’s nothing we can do about that now. I think we should sit down and eat these cold eggs, then get to bed and call it a night.”
Trent raised his eyebrow.
“Are you sure you want to eat dinner first?”
Zana smiled.
Chapter 21
TRENT AND ZANA woke with the dawn. Even though they had both had intended to make love the night before, the omelets had proven too tempting, and by the time they had finished eating and had washed the dishes in the waterless sink, they had both fallen asleep immediately upon crawling into bed.
Trent poked his head out from under the sleeping bag and saw that the fire in the stove had died out. Despite this fact, the walls had done a good job of keeping in the heat, and it was still warm in the cabin.
Even so, he was hesitant to get out of bed. With the skin of their bodies pressed together, it didn’t take long before Trent felt the urge fill his body. He woke Zana up with a kiss, and soon they were both kissing, each drinking in the other’s scents and tastes.
Unlike the night before, they both had plenty of energy this time.
Before Trent was fully awake, Zana disappeared under the sleeping bag as he arched his back in pleasure. When she surfaced for air, he returned the favor, and soon their slow explorations of each other’s body became more hurried and passion-filled.
As if possessed by an animal herself, Zana crawled on top of Trent, mounted him and leaned forward, pressing her breasts against his chest. She rode him until he felt that it would soon be over, then he rolled her over and pressed himself on top of her.
When they finished, they were each breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. Almost at the same time, they started to laugh as Zana curled herself under his arm and placed her head on his chest.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he said.
She nodded, her head still pressed against his torso.
“That there’s nowhere to shower in here?”
“Maybe you are psychic after all,” he said, with a chuckle. “There’s got to be a stream nearby we can freshen up in before we go back into town.”
The Whittier Trilogy Page 40
