Beneath a Winter Moon (17 page)
Read Beneath a Winter Moon Online
Authors: Shawson M Hebert
“We’ll do it,” Alan corrected. “Travis, put the damned cannon back in your pants.”
Travis was silent for a moment, and then muttered, “That’s what
she
said.”
Alan could not help but burst into a nervous laughter and a moment later, all three men were laughing and reenacting the events, Alan holding up his hands, fingers curled to simulate claws as he hissed, mimicking the raccoon. Travis cursed in mock-fear. The laughter settled their nerves and they were extremely happy to see that the loft looked untouched.
Back outside on the porch, they closely studied the shattered door and the blood. “You think it could have been a Grizzly?” Alan asked Travis, deferring to someone who was supposed to know a lot more than him when it came to the subject of local animals.
“I thought that was exactly it—until just now. Now, I am not so sure. Look really close at the wood.”
“That’s what
she
said,” chuckled Craig. It didn’t have much effect, so he turned away and took some photos, obviously disappointed.
“It was definitely a big animal,” Travis continued, “but I don’t know about a bear. See the few claw marks on that large hunk? The pattern doesn’t fit. It’s not like a bear. Hell, it’s almost like the thing had opposable thumbs. Look at the striations. See on this piece how it’s like that thumb or maybe it’s a dew-claw, but see how it turns and digs in…it’s almost like a man’s handprint.”
“I don’t know much about tracking for bear or just everyday old tracking the way you do, but I have to tell you that there isn’t a man alive who could make those marks.”
“Never said there was…I’m just saying that if it’s a bear, and maybe it is…then it’s a fucking deformed bear. It’s a big bastard, too. Look how high up some of the marks are.”
Alan stared down at the dried blood. He felt sorry for whoever had been there when it was destroyed, and he found himself hoping that it was Kyle and not Steven or Jenny. He was wracked with guilt for the thought, but it was true. He didn’t want it to be anyone, much less anyone that he might know, but he desperately wanted it to be someone other than Steven or Jenny.
“We better check the stables and barn…and then up where we saw the fire and the…body.”
“Don’t you think we should get on the radio to the constable and let him know he needs to get his butt over here?” Craig asked timidly.
“That was my first thought when we saw the blood…but I am afraid he will just haul us in and arrest us.” Alan sighed. “No...I think that we need to ensure that no one is hurt and in need of help up here, and then we’ll get out of Dodge before the Marshall actually does decide to come to town.”
“And before the storm kicks in again.”
“Absolutely.”
Travis spoke up, “Why in the hell are we going to worry with the barn and that place you said a body was dragged? We know what happened here. Christ’s sake…you don’t need to be a rocket scientist to see that someone got their guts ripped out and became dinner for something big. Maybe someone came in later and wanted to clean up the mess.”
“C’mon…that doesn’t make sense,” Alan replied. “Any idiot knows that you do not mess with a scene like this. You tell the police or the rangers and you leave well enough alone. Besides, I came here to be sure that no one is lying wounded around here…in need of help.” He thought about that for a moment, realizing he had not brought any extra first-aide gear…and had left his plane’s kit back in the aircraft’s cabin. He shook his head, upset with the oversight. “It doesn’t look like Steven is or was here, but there might be someone else. We can’t be sure what happened to—whoever was inside the cabin. Once we check out the stables and up toward that the burn-pile, we are out of here.”
The three men made their way to the stables, Alan in the lead, Travis behind him with his gun drawn and held low, followed by Craig who now wished he’d never signed on to this expedition…in fact, he wished he’d never come to Canada at all. The rough-cut timber that made up the fence around the stables had been kicked down near the southwest corner. The snow had covered any tracks, but Alan guessed that a horse or two might have made it out alive. Even so, he feared what they might find inside.
He had reason to fear. Two horses, dead, horribly mangled, lie in awkward positions inside the stall. The stable’s straw and dirt floor was drenched with blood.
“Jesus, Almighty…” Travis muttered. “
Ain’t
no one bear did this.” He wiped his mouth and nose with a sleeve, and feared he might vomit. Craig beat him to it, stepping back outside and wretching loudly as he heaved up the two meals he’d had today.
“What about two, Travis?” Alan asked.
“Two?”
“Yeah…remember in the early eighties in
Yellowstone
? Something about a bunch of hikers and campers being attacked, some of them killed, by a pair of rogue bears working together. Two big females, I believe it was. I think it was the first time something like that had ever happened.”
“I remember something, yeah. I suppose two big ones might wreak this kind of havoc, but for the life of me, I just can’t see it. They posed no danger and look…they haven’t been eaten.” Travis backed up from the carcass nearest him and looked down at the ground. What he saw chilled him to the bone.
“We need to go,” he said meekly, his face pale.
“What? Why?”
Travis pointed down at the soft patch of dirt. His footprint from a moment ago was neatly pressed into the powdery soil. Next to his footprint, so close that it looked like he had planted his right foot beside it for comparison, was a track that anyone in this part of
Canada
would know. It was a wolf track.
Alan stared. The problem with this track—and the others that they now saw all around the stable interior was the size and the depth of the print. A normal wolf track…a big one…might leave an imprint the size of a man’s hand, fingers slightly curled at the top joint. This track was easily three times that size, and had a freakish elongation at the rear—almost like that of a human arch and heel.
Huge indentations in the dirt showed that the animal had claws larger and longer than any normal wolf. The claws dug deep into the soil. In places where the animal must have braced itself while attacking the horses, the claws had dug an inch or more into the soil.
“We need to go.” Travis said again.
Alan was speechless. They were obviously much like a wolf but they
had to have
come from a badly deformed animal…and one much heavier than any of the wolves known to roam this area.
“Right after we take a look at the burn pile.” Alan said, not noticing the shaky sound of his own voice as he stared down at the tracks.
“Fuck that,” Travis said. “We need to get out now. This shit isn’t right.”
“You have a gun.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass. This shit isn’t right.”
“Okay, we got that. The shit isn’t right. Now, calm down for a second. The wolf…whatever…it’s gone now.”
“You don’t know that—and you think those tracks are simply wolf tracks? You ever seen a wolf with a six-inch human heel attached to it?”
Alan looked up at Travis as if the man had lost his mind. “Human heel print? Are you crazy, Travis? Are you suggesting that this was a man?”
Travis shook his head as he backed away toward the exit. “Uh
uh
. I’m not suggesting it was a man.”
Alan furrowed his brow in puzzlement. “You just said
human heel print
.”
“Yeah, I did. You figure it out. I’m going back to the plane, and if you don’t bring your ass with me, I am going to figure out how to fly it myself.”
Alan finally understood. “Tell me you are not saying this was some sort of a wolf man? A werewolf?” He actually smiled at the absurdity. “That’s the craziest damned thing I’ve heard in all my days in these mountains.” He pointed at the dead and mauled horses. “You think a walking
fairy tale
did this damage? You think a
myth
attacked whoever was in the cabin? You are out of your mind…this was a wolf. A big, fucked up, messed up…wolf.”
Travis shook his head and went back outside. Alan followed him. “Think about it, Travis. A deformed wolf…he won’t be accepted by the pack…not deformed like this one must be. He’d be a pissed off, messed up in the head…a rogue.”
“You are missing the damned point, Alan,” Travis said as he stormed past Craig and away from the stables.
“What point?” Alan implored, his arms spread in bewilderment.
Travis stopped, turned around and looked at Craig and Alan. He shook his head and chuckled nervously. “Do I have to point it out? Didn’t you see it, Alan? It was walking on two legs. Upright—just like you and me—on TWO legs, Alan…TWO legs.”
Alan did not know how to react…and found that instead of speaking, he was calculating how long they had until the sun began it’s descent into the Western mountain range. Maybe forty-five minutes. His spine prickled as he searched his mind for an argument that would quell this irrational line of thinking. His mouth was suddenly dry. After a moment, he shook his head, said nothing, and motioned in the direction of the dock and his Cessna.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You hear that?” Thomas asked as he pushed a snow-covered pine branch away from him.
“What?” Delmar asked in turn.
“That’s it, exactly,” Thomas said.
“What’s it?”
“Exactly.”
Delmar smiled in the dark as they both stood still. The sun was not completely down yet, but it was in perfect position so that the shadows that had completely taken over. The trees, spaced meters apart from one another, looked like chess pieces…the snow and the trees’ dark shadows making up the board. The men had been walking unhindered by vine or bush for some time when they stopped to pay homage. The snowy landscape, nothing but boulder and tree, took on an eerie magnificence as the sun eased lower and lower behind the forest trees.
“It’s the quiet,” Thomas said. “For the past few minutes it has been totally silent.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Kind of spooky.”
“You’ve always been afraid of the dark.”
“Not always.”
“Since I’ve known you, Thomas.”
“C’mon…I’m not afraid of the dark. It’s the Hide-Behinds that scare me.”
“The what’s a what?”
“The Hide-Behinds.” Thomas looked at his friend, who seemed as tall as a tree as his shadow stretched far from his feet, animating the white snow as it perfectly mocked his movement. A twelve-foot-tall forest tree of a friend—a man who had saved Thomas’s life on more than one occasion. A heroic giant about to be felled…not by Paul Bunyan’s great axe, but by a lecherous disease that would whittle him down to a sapling before it was through.
“Didn’t I ever tell you about the Hide-Behinds—not in all these years?”
“Nope…don’t think so.”
Thomas started walking again. “The Hide-Behinds can come out anytime, but they prefer the night. They like the dark, so that’s when they usually get you.”
“They get you, do they? Lucky them.”
Thomas continued, undaunted. “They are dark and furry, with huge claws and teeth, and they are fast…I mean…fast like Superman-fast.”
It
was
quiet, Delmar thought, as he walked beside his friend. He could hear every crunch of their boots in the snow…heel to toe, heel to toe.
“They sneak up behind you, and once they are there, they stay that way, tormenting you for a while.”
“How so?”
“They enjoy your fear, so, they might breathe on your neck…or maybe touch your hair. Of course, you whip around and make all kinds of crazy moves to see what is back there…but they are always faster. They always stay
behind
you.”
“Sounds like a cat I once had,” Delmar chuckled.
“Cats don’t rip out your intestines and eat your liver.”
“With some
Fava
beans?”
“Raw…but who knows what they use as a side dish.”
“A nice Chianti?”
“Your cat must have been quite the connoisseur.”
They both laughed.
“My dad used to tease me about the Hide-Behinds when I was a little kid. He didn’t make them
quite
so scary…but scary enough to give me nightmares the first time he teased me.”
“Sounds like a great guy,” Delmar smiled, having heard much about Thomas’s father.
“He was…in some ways.”
“Yeah…most Dads have their days.”
“So do dogs…but at least you get to
choose
which one you want.”
They laughed again.
“Your dad must be what…like ninety years old now?” Thomas asked.
“Just seventy-two.”
“Does he know?”
“Told him just before this hunt. Went to see him in
Chattanooga
…wasn’t a good trip.”
“I can only imagine.”
“You know,” Delmar began, “I thought he would be upset…guess that goes without saying. But he seemed to turn everything on him. How he shouldn’t outlive his kid…how he’d be all alone now…mom gone, now I’m going. He never once asked me how I felt or how I was handling it.” He shrugged and they started walking again. “He asked me about treatments, experimental stuff…whether I had a living will…stuff like that—but he never asked me how I was handling it or what I expected. The man had no advice.”
Thomas shook his head. “Sorry, bro. That sucks…but he’s old, you know—he probably just doesn’t see it right.”
“Yeah.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes as the shadows of the trees slowly expanded and then gave-way altogether. Soon, however, the moon, full and bright, was perched on the eastern horizon, and new shadows, even spookier than before, pointed westward.
Not wanting to force his friend to talk more about the cancer, Thomas tried to focus on a few of the more entertaining events that happened while they served together in the Army.
“Remember the first time I used a concussion grenade…well…the first time I used one in action?”
Delmar chuckled, “Yeah…in Hondo at that arms warehouse.”
“Remember who it was who told me to use both of them at the same time?”
“Must have been a silly bastard.”
They laughed again.
Thomas, Delmar, Daniel, and three other team members had been ordered deep into the Honduran jungle to a massive, tin warehouse in the middle of nowhere. The owners had used some old WWII camouflaged netting over the top of the building to try to hide its silhouette, but the netting was not good enough to fool NATO satellites. Their team was sent to investigate, get photos, send them back to base in real time by way of satellite uplink, and get out without engaging. Unfortunately, as the team was taking a thorough inventory of the huge stash of weaponry and ammunition inside the warehouse, a truck pulled up outside.
It was an old deuce and a half…a troop carrying truck. The truck had an open back covered in a thick, olive drab canvas. Peering out through head-high windows that spanned the walls of the warehouse, Thomas could make out several Hondurans in the back.
There were only two exits—the huge, vehicle-door at one end of the building or the double doors, conveniently, right next to where the truck had parked. Thomas had two concussion grenades, but the team was unsure whether they would do the job in an open-ended truck covered with canvas. So, Delmar had directed Thomas to use both.
Thomas threw the grenades through one of the warehouse’s open windows, placing them perfectly inside the back of the truck. The grenades bounced in, there was a pause, shouts, and then the blasts, one after the other.
The team bolted through the door, ran right past the back-end of the truck, weapons at the ready. What they saw was comical. Rather than only disorienting the men in the back of the truck, it had rendered them unconscious. One man hung upside down and backward over the tailgate, blood oozing from his ears. The rest were sprawled out in the back.
They made a quick escape into the jungle, and though they were eventually pursued, they made it to their pickup point without any problems. Later, in an after-action review of the operation, Delmar would give a lengthy report on how effective the new ‘stun-grenades’ were…but failed to mention that they had unleashed two of them in a tightly enclosed space on a group of men that they had not even determined to be hostile.
There was no doubt that the men in the jungle that day would have attacked the team, but rules of engagement being what they were…the team realized they had probably overstepped a few boundaries.
“Remember Daniel slowing down to get a look inside…and the driver bolting into the jungle—right in the same path that we needed to hit?”
“Yeah.”
“Those were the days, eh? Communist regimes, revolutionary soldiers in the jungles…drug lords...working alongside the DEA…watching the mansions burn.”
“Yeah,” Delmar said again. “Those were some wild times. I am truly surprised we all made it back from a few of those missions.”
“Bah. You were always the optimist.”
“Maybe.”
They stopped to check their position on the map—Thomas held his mini-light in his mouth while turning his pace count into meters, then made comparisons to the map. Occasionally he switched the light off, waited a moment as he viewed the shadowy terrain to help solidify that his reading was correct.
“You want to take a look?” Thomas offered, knowing that Delmar would want to see for himself. Delmar nodded, and Thomas pointed out their position using a pine needle. “It is obvious we are here, given our pace count, our direction, and the terrain. It all fits.” He paused, “I think we can reach the hermit-guy’s cabin right before daylight.”
“We should consider resting up for an hour or two. We need it, plus that will ensure we don’t have to knock on the cabin door in the dark of the night.”
“Works for me.”
They kept a slow but steady pace for the next two hours. Delmar noticed a heavy outcropping of rocks and boulders. The moon was waning, but there was enough light to see that one particularly large overhang of solid rock, which formed a natural shelter from the wind and snow. The temperature had dropped quickly and both men had frost on their polypropylene face masks. Snowfall had been intermittent, sometimes coming down hard and other times in gentle flurries, but always there was snow. It would do them good to get under that outcropping and settle into their cold weather bags for an hour or so. They agreed to set up a quick camp and get into their sacks for some rest and some warmth.
Under the outcropping, both men dropped their backpacks removed the items they would need for a few hours rest. Their self-inflating, one-inch thick bedrolls made for good insulation between their bodies and the cold ground, and their extreme cold weather bags combined with the Gore-Tex covers would keep them warm and comfortable.
They decided not to build a fire. They did not carry shavings or materials to quickly set up a blaze, and they would not be there long. Delmar stretched out, keeping his head propped up against his backpack, only his face showed through the small hole in the mummy-like sleeping bag. Thomas chose a reclined position that would allow him to use the rifle and starlight scope if he chose.
Delmar managed to fall into a fitful sleep within a few minutes, while Thomas worked the starlight scope and scanned the dark horizon. Standing watch was a tough rule to ignore. It was ingrained in every soldier and Thomas had a hard time quelling the feeling of guilt if they both slept. Usually it was more of a fire-watch than anything else, but in the wilderness there was no room for errors or mistakes. This was bear country, and two men bundled in mummy-like sleeping bags, no fire, snoring away in the night might prove to be too interesting for some of the predators in the area. Thomas shivered even more when he thought of the howls from the night before.