Night of the Wendigo

by William Meikle

  The first showed the rear of the building; an unbroken snowscape.

  “It’s drifted up bad out back,” Jon said. “My car’s under there somewhere.”

  The shot to the north showed more of the same; a buried car park, the cars, even the SUVs, little more than indeterminate mounds of snow.

  Jon moved on to the shot taken from just above the delivery bay doors. Six figures, silhouetted against blue-white arc-lights, stood, silent and still, thigh deep in the snow.

  “Maybe they’re finally, really, dead?” Cole said.

  Mina laughed hollowly.

  “You wanna go and check it out for us?”

  Jon moved on to the last camera; a view out of the front of the building. The camera looked out over the flat landscape of the park. Cole could clearly see the deep tire tracks left by the ambulance, the ones he’d followed in. And there was something else; a swift movement just at the edge of his vision.

  “Wait,” he said, squeezing forward between the cop and the technician. “What’s that?” He pointed at the left-hand side of the screen.

  Using the mouse the technician panned sideways.

  Long grey shapes drifted like ghosts on the surface of the snow; bushy tails held high, long snouts sniffing the air as their thick manes swung in time with their loping walk. A pack of timber wolves, twenty strong, hunted across the park.

  Even from this distance the milky white of their eyes showed silver in the moonlight.

  “Donor memory translocation, eh?” Mike said. “Buckle up boys and girls. I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

  * * *

  Cole was alone in the office reading the last pages of the journal when Jackie Donnelly limped in.

  “Where’s Mina?” the archaeologist said, just as she recognized the man behind the desk.

  “You should be resting,” Cole said.

  Jackie slumped in the visitor’s seat opposite him.

  “I’d got that bit already, thanks,” she said. “What I don’t get is what you’re doing here? This is Mina’s morgue, right?”

  Cole nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew a place to start trying.

  “Let me tell you a story,” he said. “About a geek, and his obsession with Hunter’s Dock.”

  He told the whole thing again.

  “Dick North?” she said at the end. “You’re telling me that Dick North is responsible?”

  “It’s the only explanation.”

  “What the hell was in those drugs Mina gave me?” Jackie said. “It feels like the world’s gone mad and I’m the only sane one left.”

  “Welcome to my world,” Cole said. He leaned forward and brought up the video clip from the Brooklyn Bridge on the screen, turning it to show Jackie.

  She watched in stunned silence.

  “That’s Dick North,” she said incredulously.

  Cole nodded.

  She didn’t say any more for a long time, merely sitting staring at the screen, face almost as pale as that of the man she stared at.

  “How does it end?” she asked.

  “How does what end?”

  “Their story. On the Havenhome.”

  “I was just reading that.”

  Cole picked up the journal and read out loud.

  * * *

  Taken from the personal journal of John Fraser, Captain of the Havenhome, a cargo vessel. Journal Entry date 19th October, 1605.

  Transcribed and annotated by Dick North, 19th March.

  I am decided. This will be my last ever entry in this journal, made in the hope that what is related may help some other Christian souls from sharing the fate of my crewmates. In the meantime I can do little more than offer up prayers, for the First Mate, and all the other brave men of the Havenhome who will ne’er return home.

  This proud ship, my home these many years, has sailed its last, and I am no longer Captain of anything other than my own soul. In truth, I do not think I will ever be able to lead men again. If I make it to home port alive I will retire.

  I will spend my time sipping beer in the harbor and telling tall tales with the other old gentleman, content to keep my feet warm before the fires of hearth and home.

  But that seems like a long way off, another lifetime where the sun shines hot and yellow on the fields, and my Lizzie stands at the door, smiling. I have some of the Havenhome’s tale yet to tell before I can begin my journey towards that most welcome of sights.

  After the Mate had made his sacrifice I could do naught but stand there, staring at the smoking ruin of all that was left of my friends and shipmates. I paid particular attention to the charred mass where lay the Mate and the native, half expecting at any moment that a white figure would rise from the dockside to mock me once more.

  Nothing moved except the stirring of acrid smoke on the breeze.

  The wind died, like the last sigh of an old man on his deathbed. A cloud ran over the full moon. Slowly at first, then faster until water ran in runnels off the deck, the snow thawed.

  And still I stood there, long into the night, long after the sun came up and the last of the frost was taken by the morning.

  I felt empty, devoid of action, abandoned by hope. I was only brought out of my reverie by old Stumpy Jack, who emerged, blinking into the sunlight, looking near as dead as some of those lying on the dockside.

  “Are we alive, Cap’n?” he said, “Or in Paradise?”

  “Does this look like any Paradise you might expect?” I said.

  He stood beside me for a long time, staring out over the smoking dock.

  “Is it over?” he whispered.

  “I know not whether it will ever be over,” I replied. “But it is over for now.”

  It was Stumpy Jack who brought me inside, him who made me drink and eat, that I might stay alive when all of my brethren lay dead around us.

  And even now, while I write this, the old man is showing more fortitude than I thought he possessed. He has brought the remains of the Mate and the native inside the ship.

  “The rest of them Cap’n? What shall we do with the rest of them?”

  There are bodies, mostly charred and unrecognizable, strewn all across the dock. The Mate’s pitch and powder concoction did for them all in the end.

  “By rights, these people deserve a Christian burial,” I said.

  “Nay, Cap’n,” Old Stumpy said. “Whatever part of them belonged to the Lord has already gone. And neither you nor I have the strength, or the heart, to waste in spending another night near this place.”

  I reluctantly had to agree with him.

  We will scuttle the Havenhome here, on this dock. I will leave my journal in my chest, wrapped in oilskins. In that manner, if anyone should chance on the drowned boat, they may, if the Lord is with them, find this journal first, and stop before they unleash what Jack and I have left at the bottom of the hold.

  We have gathered our provisions. We will leave tonight. The only other thing I take with me from my cabin is my bible, in the hope it will give me solace in the nights to come. But I fear I will ne’er find hope again in the words of the Lord, for I know the Pastor’s white eyes will ever accuse me, even in the deepest depths of slumber. If the Lord did not see fit to save such a holy and devout man as the Pastor, what hope is there for the likes of me, who has done so many things that require repentance?

  Forgive me, Lizzie, for I know now you will never read this. But if the Lord gives me strength, I intend to head down the coast, for warmer climes and friendly company. Mayhap I shall return yet to home port, and your soft arms.

  You will fill my dreams until I am once more at your side. Be well my love. Be well for both of us.

  Your loving husband, John.

  * * *

  “Is that it?” Jackie asked.

  “No. There are a couple more pages. But you look all in. Stay right there. I’ll go and get Mina.”

  * * *

  Mina and Mike were down the generator room. Jon had been with them but he�
��d been forced to leave due to the bitter cold. Icicles hung from pipe work. Mina fastened up the sealskins. Her breath steamed as she spoke.

  “How bad is it?”

  Mike stood over the small generator, which was obviously struggling; chugging and coughing like the diesel engine of Mina’s old VW Beetle.

  “If we don’t get the temperature up in here, it’s not going to last more than an hour,” Mike said. “The gas gets thick and sluggish, and the engine burns itself out after a while. Are there any heaters we can bring down here?”

  Mina shook her head.

  “And if we try to start a fire the automatic sprinklers will kick in. We’re running out of options, aren’t we?”

  “Yep. If it was only the two of us, I’d say we get out of here and head for the dock; see if we could end it, one way or the other. But we have civilians to think about.”

  Mina nodded again.

  “Jackie won’t get ten yards on foot.”

  “Looks like I need to find us some better transport, and fast,” Mike said.

  “You’re not going outside,” Mina said.

  “That sounded like an order,” Mike replied. “I thought I was boss tonight?”

  Mina didn’t feel like smiling. She’d had a sudden mental picture of Mike being pulled down by a pack of slavering wolves, all alone in snowy wasteland.

  She grabbed him in a hug. She held tight. Tears flowed. She let them come, her shoulders shaking with deep sobs.

  Mike lifted her chin and kissed her softly on the lips.

  “Hey. It’s okay. I’ll take the heavy ordnance with me. And I’ll be real careful.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  “No way,” Mike replied. “You’re on civilian watch. I need somebody to hold the fort apart from a geek, an archaeologist and a lab technician.”

  The generator wheezed and the lights flickered.

  “And I don’t have time to argue.”

  Mina stepped away from him and wiped her eyes.

  “Okay then,” she said. “You’ll need a diversion though.”

  * * *

  Minutes later all five of them were gathered in the lab once more. Mina checked on Jackie. She gave her more painkillers, while Mike outlined the situation to the others.

  “I say we stay here; wait it out,” Cole said after Mike finished.

  “Yeah?” Mina replied. “Well, luckily we’re not a democracy.”

  “And even if we did, you wouldn’t get a vote,” Jackie added.

  “Don’t rile the womenfolk,” Mike said to Cole. “You wouldn’t like them when they’re angry.”

  “You’re determined that you’re going then?” Mina asked, hoping this time for a different answer.

  Mike nodded.

  “I’ve got a plan. There’s a municipal works depot less than five blocks from here. I’m hoping there’s a snowplough waiting there with our name on it.”

  “And if there isn’t?”

  “Then I’ll find something else. What choice do we have?”

  In her heart Mina knew Mike was right. That didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “Okay. But you can’t go out the bay door. They’re waiting there.”

  Jon went into the office and checked the laptop.

  “Mina’s right. They’re still there. They haven’t moved.”

  “How about the front?” Mike called.

  “All clear. For the moment.”

  Mina looked at Mike. The big man was afraid…she knew him well enough to see it in the set of his chin and the narrowing of his eyes. She also knew that he’d made his mind up. She had to resign herself to it.

  “I’ll take the bay door,” Mina said. She held up one of the Molotov cocktails. “When you hear the bang, get running. Jon. You go with Mike and make sure the door gets shut behind him. Jackie, you watch the cameras. My mobile is beside the laptop. Dial 199 and you’ll be able to tell Mike what you see. Cole. You’re with me.”

  Nobody complained, which was fine by Mina…she wasn’t exactly in any mood for backchat.

  She grabbed Mike as they left the room. He already had his suit zipped up. He carried his pistol in one hand and the shotgun in the other.

  “If you’re not back in an hour, I’m coming looking,” she said. She felt tears in her eyes and brushed them away angrily.

  “No,” Mike said. “It’ll be too late either way by then. If I come back after an hour, check my eyes. And make it quick.”

  She understood what he was saying.

  “You’d better come back, or I’ll make your life a misery.”

  “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  He lifted her chin and kissed her softly.

  “I love you,” she said. She hadn’t known she would say it, but as soon as she did, she knew she meant it.

  “I love you, too,” he replied. This time he was the one with the tears.

  “I’ll be back before you know it.”

  By the time Mina wiped her eyes he was gone.

  * * *

  The delivery bay was cold and quiet until Mina hit the intercom.

  “Jackie. We’re here. What does it look like out front?”

  “All quiet,” Jackie replied.

  “Okay. Tell the Moose to count to ten, then start running.”

  Mina nodded to Cole Barter who stood to one side of the door next to the controls. The white-faced man hit the button.

  The door rose. The quiet was broken by the whirr of the door opening and the tinkling of shattered glass falling to the floor.

  Mina looked out over the courtyard beyond. The six figures stood, stock-still, backlit by the arc lights.

  “Light me up,” she said to Barter, just as the first of the figures shuffled forward.

  Barter moved away from the door towards her, but far too slowly.

  “Hurry, man.”

  She saw that Barter was only now fumbling to get the lighter out of his coat pocket.

  Dammit. What does a girl have to do around here to get some service?

  “Here. You’ll have to do it,” she shouted. “I’ll cover you.”

  She tossed him the Molotov one handed. He caught it, almost dropped it, and in the process sent the lighter skittering away across the floor.

  Mina didn’t have time to look to see where it had gone. Three of the frozen ones were already shuffling towards her.

  She took careful aim and blew the top of the head off the nearest one. It fell backwards, soundlessly. It was immediately lost in the snow.

  The second attacker was almost at the doorway.

  Mina was vaguely aware that Cole Barter was scrambling at her feet.

  “If you’re going to do something, now would be a good time,” she said, trying for calm as she sighted.

  “Fire in the hole,” Cole shouted.

  He threw a lit Molotov straight at the nearest advancing figure.

  It hit full in the chest, and immediately engulfed the creature in flame.

  Mina leapt forward to hit the door control…just as the creature fell, still burning, half-in and half out of the doorway.

  The door came down and banged on the creature’s torso, lifted an inch, then banged down again.

  Four feet away on the other side of the burning body, the third creature had reached the door.

  Blue fingers gripped the bottom.

  The engine whined and complained as the door rose.

  Mina took careful aim at the fingers and fired.

  A fine spray of pink haze hung in the air. The door fell again, but only as far as the burning torso.

  “Barter. Give me a hand here. We’ve got to move this body.”

  But even as Mina bent towards the torso, more hands grabbed at the bottom of the door and lifted.

  She couldn’t stop them.

  “Marines, we are leaving!” she shouted. She backed away across the delivery bay.

  The door was now more than half-way up, dark figures crowding
the courtyard outside, too many to count.

  * * *

  Mike took off at as fast a run as he could muster in the thick, powdery snow.

  Behind him a shotgun boomed. With all his heart he wanted to turn around, go back and help Mina. But he knew that was the worst thing he could do. The generator would still give out, and they would have less ammo than before; their situation would be worse.

  Besides, Mina would kick my ass from here to doomsday.

  At least visibility had improved. The sky above was completely clear. A huge off-white harvest moon hung high overhead.

  There was no sign that there was anyone else alive in the city. The buildings above loomed dark, like walls of a canyon; no lights showed in any window, no traffic in the carpeted street.

  The gunfire had stopped. Mike hoped that Mina was now safe, locked inside the complex. Elsewhere everything was a white-blanketed silence.

  Mike had dreamed of winters like this when he was a boy, but in the city, even after a heavy snowfall, the streets get cleared all too quickly. Unbroken white snow all too quickly turns to dreary grey slush. Except for tonight.

  This is no time to get maudlin, Mikey.

  The snow was almost up to his thighs, but it was powdery stuff. He ploughed a furrow through it.

  I’m making good time.

  * * *

  Jackie Donnelly looked in horror at the monitor in front of her.

  The screen was split in two. One showed the courtyard beyond the delivery bay, packed with dark shadows pressing forward, disappearing under the camera’s viewpoint. It was obvious that the door was breached.

  The second view was no less disturbing. The furrow that Mike had left outside the front of the building was clearly visible in the snow. Four timber-wolves, looking almost silver in the moonlight, crept along the furrow, in single file, low to the ground, sniffing the air as they went. They had his scent.