Beneath a Winter Moon (19 page)

Daniel knew that he must protect Jenny and Steven. He had made a promise to Steven’s listless form that he would watch over Jenny, and he would keep that promise. With a roar of his own, Daniel stood up and jammed the rifle muzzle past Jack’s still flailing body, stopping just under the creature’s arm (that the Husky seemed intent on tearing off) and fired twice, knowing these shots might be his last opportunity. The rifle held a maximum capacity of five rounds with one that had been locked into the chamber already. He doubted he would have time to dig for another magazine and reload…unless these last shots did some real damage.

The roar that came from the creature as it fought against Jack was of bewilderment and pain, but when the blasts of the last two gunshots dissipated in the cabin, the roar had changed into a howl of fear. The creature summed up enough strength to pull Jack all the way up to the broken window as he tried to retreat. The window was not large enough for Jack’s body, so the dog slammed head first into the door and finally let go of the arm. He yelped loudly in pain as his soft nose slammed into metal. Jack then saw the foot-wide opening caused by the smashed and disfigured door, and he tried to get outside to attack the creature once more. Daniel turned to make sure Jenny was okay, realizing that she had been silent for the last several moments.

She was unconscious, slumped over on her right side against the door behind Daniel. He wanted to come to her aid but he thought that this nightmarish battle was probably not over. As a last resort, he tossed the rifle into the cockpit so it would be out of the way, and then pulled his Bouie knife from its sheath. He had owned the knife since he was a child. It was made to the original specifications of the knife credited to the famous Jim Bouie…not the smaller, weaker version seen in many stores nowadays. Delmar and Thomas had always laughed at the huge knife, saying that he might as well tuck it into his backpack frame for use as a machete, but Daniel was comfortable with the knife at his side. Now, with the knife in hand, he twirled around, waiting for the creature to attack again.

The creature did attack again, but not in the way Daniel had envisioned. Daniel felt the helicopter move and shift violently upward. He found himself falling backward against Jenny and was unable to regain his balance. He tumbled and remembered to point the knife down and out of harms way. Jack lost his footing and plummeted into Daniel and Jenny. The helicopter’s nose suddenly shifted straight down, and Daniel’s face slammed against the steel frame of the co-pilot’s seat. He felt a warm gush across his face as his nose impacted with something hard. He saw a flash of bright colors and cursed loudly in shock with pain. He could not believe that this monster possessed the strength to move the aircraft…at least in its wounded state, but he knew that was what was happening. Suddenly, Daniel felt a tug at his stomach and then he was on the ceiling, rolling once more toward the cockpit. Bodies slammed into him. He knew it was Jenny and Steven, who were now tumbling with the changing gravity, just as he was.
Could we be falling over the damned cliff?
Those were the last thoughts that Daniel had before he blacked out.

Jenny woke up to a searing pain in her forehead. She was tangled up with Daniel. Jack whimpered softly from somewhere in the dark.
Did I pass out?
She was in almost total blackness now, and realized that the helicopter was no longer sitting upright. She could only guess, but it seemed like the aircraft had somehow settled in a nose-down position. Yes…that was it. It was almost nose-down.
Wait…Steven!
Where was he? She grunted and pushed and twisted, trying to push the bulk of Daniel’s weight off of her pinned legs. Jack whimpered louder. She could not see her husband. She twisted to look downward…in the direction of the cockpit, but she could not make anything out other than the back of the seats and more of Daniel’s torso.

Still on her back, she pushed and shoved, trying to get herself upright. She rested for a moment and felt a small, plastic case. She stared. As if by some miracle, it was the yellow case containing the aircraft’s flare-gun, and it was right in front of her face, moving up and down with each breath as it lay on her chest. She forced herself to calm down. Almost straight up, where the ceiling should have been, was a misshapen hole in the aircraft. Once, a sliding door had covered that hole.
The same sliding door that the monster…oh shit…the thing
. Where was it? Had Daniel killed it?

Calm down
. She freed herself and climbed skyward over bits of gear and twisted metal from the benches until she could reach the opening. Her foot pressed against something soft and Jack yelped in pain. She tucked the small case under her left arm and groped around, trying to free Jack. Finally, the dog pulled himself on top of what was left of the bench that Steven had laid on. It was twisted, but still elongated, and the Husky balanced himself on the canvas.

Jenny opened the case and snapped open the breach of the short, fat pistol. She pushed in one of the four shells and pointed it skyward. As she pulled the trigger, she looked upward and was stunned by the clear sky and the stars. There was no sign of the storm that had plagued the area earlier.

The helicopter had indeed fallen over the cliff. She knew the
thing
had done it, and did not even try to make sense of it. She could see that the helicopter rested almost upside down, cockpit facing downward while wedged between some huge rocky outcroppings. She smelled jet fuel in the air. It was thick. She did not take time to make a connection between the firing of the flare gun and the possibility of the fuel igniting. Thankfully, it did not.

As the flare rocketed skyward, she realized she was cold.
Freezing cold
. She shivered and her hands shook as she reloaded the weapon. This time she aimed it in an arc, hoping to get more distance toward where she thought Delmar and Thomas would be…and in the direction of the hermit-guy’s cabin. She placed the pistol back in its case, and went to work to find and help her husband. Daniel would have to wait.

* * * * *

Thomas stirred in his sleep, his eyes darting left and right behind his eyelids. He opened them and could have sworn that there had just been a light in the middle of all the darkness. As he pulled down the zipper of his mummy-like cold weather sleeping bag, trying to free his upper body, another flare arced through the darkness, far away in the direction of the helicopter.

“Those came from the bird,” said Delmar, struggling from his own sleeping bag and forcing himself to adapt to the rushing cold as it attacked his now exposed torso.

Thomas nodded. “No doubt.” He stood up and stepped free of the sleeping bag only to hit his head on the rock overhang. “Ouch! Crap!” He rubbed his head and bent over to begin quickly rolling up the sleeping bag.

“This changes things,” Delmar said as he struggled to free himself from his own sleeping bag.

“I think we can make it back in two hours if we drop these packs and just take day-packs.”

“We could do it in the same time with full gear if the damned moon was still bright.”

Thomas grimaced. “Two hours…”

He stopped his reply short, as his eye detected another flicker in the night sky.

“Another one,” Delmar said. “That one was wild…far over the Northern horizon and low.”

“Let’s take the gear,” Thomas said as he scrambled. “It’s not just risky for us. They might need it.”

Delmar glanced at Thomas, then nodded. “Alright, we take everything. But be prepared to haul ass.”

“You up for it?”

“Don’t start, Hero.”

“Sorry,” Thomas said, meekly.

Two minutes later the men had their backpacks ready to sling across their shoulders. Without giving a single thought to their failed attempt to reach the cabin, the two men took off in the direction of the helicopter, this time at a pace equivalent to a steady jog. The snow would play hell on their shins and ankles, and strain every muscle in their legs as they ran, but they had an edge. Their former careers had instilled the discipline, strength, and stamina that they would need in order to ensure that their movement did not stretch their abilities or cross over their physical limitations. They would select a pace and stick with it.

They strained to see, and their night vision was such that they could make out the trees and stones easily…helped by the reflective snow-covered ground as it bounced light from every star in the sky.

* * * * *

* * * * *

The Other was wounded. The human had stung him several times. The strange, small predator that was with the humans had hurt him as well, tearing at his arm. The pain shocked him, but not as much as an instinctive feeling of failure and inferiority.

While he had no true understanding of the pain that shook his huge body—he understood that it was a signal that he needed to retreat long enough to heal. He knew from instinct that the healing process would not be long…but he also understood that the Beast would be coming for him. He had heard a low howl moments ago, far in the distance. A brief image, almost a true memory, of the Beast’s black eyes much larger and more powerful form flashed before him. Enraged that he had again been thwarted in his pursuit of these humans, the Other pointed his face skyward and let loose a howl. A cold feeling took over the creature’s heart as he ended the howl, and once again the feeling of fear washed over him. His howl may bring the Beast closer.

The wounded creature limped south, slowed by a gunshot wound to his upper right leg. He clutched at his chest with a badly mangled hand—feeling two more wounds and the blood that bubbled from them. The night was still his, however. He knew he would recover very soon, and then he would be free to pursue other victims…but he would not stay here for fear of the Beast.

There were more humans on the mountain, he knew, and he would find them.

CHAPTER NINE

By the time Alan reached the dock, Travis had already swung open the passenger door and entered the plane. “Wait,” Alan yelled to Craig. “If you get in, I won’t be able to climb over you.”

Craig stopped, one leg already at the baseboard of the aircraft.

Alan shook his head and strode to the plane. This was insane. Never mind that he regretted coming out here in the first place…a damned stupid thing to do, even though he had made his decisions based on friendship and compassion, but this whole man-wolf theory was getting to him. It was too much. Were it not so close to dark, he would change his mind and refuse to fly out without having searched the entire property, ensuring that no one lay wounded somewhere they had not yet checked.

Alan had heard a low, far-away drone as they had moved quickly toward the docks, but other thoughts had preoccupied his mind. Now, the drone was louder, closer, and he could make out the distinct
whump
,
whump
,
whump
of an old Huey…only a UH1H military style helicopter made that distinctive sound. He hoped it was Steven’s aircraft, which is very similar, but he saw that it was not and realized they were now in a different type of trouble. Sure enough, as he and Craig stood at the dock looking skyward, the red and yellow silhouette of a government helicopter popped in over the trees.

“Blast and damn.” Alan muttered.

Travis motioned for them to get in, and yelled to Alan that they could still take off.

Alan shook his head as the helicopter looped in a tight circle, viewing the area and looking for Steven’s landing zone at the cabin. Though the helicopter was fitted with pontoons, Alan’s plane blocked the only dock on the lake near the cabin.

“If we take off, they’ll just nail us at the airfield, and we’d make things a whole lot worse if it looked like we were running.”

Craig kept silent as they watched the Huey hover about a hundred meters from the cabin. Travis mumbled something about how it would be better to be charged with murder back at Hope airfield than it would be to be stuck out here after dark.

The helicopter slowly descended just behind the cabin and Alan decided it might be best to meet its occupants rather than make them, the constable likely being one of them, come to him. He told Craig and Travis he’d go talk to them and made his way off the dock and up the hill toward the cabin.

By the time he reached the aircraft, four members of the RCP had disembarked and made their way out from under the rotating blades. Alan squinted in defense of the warm rotor blast and saw that the last man off the helicopter was Constable O’Reilly. Alan turned to look toward the horizon. There was perhaps twenty minutes of decent light, after that the night would come on quickly.

“Well, Mr. Tucker,” the constable half-yelled, still stooping low though he was already far from the rotors. “I see you decided to ignore my orders.” He stopped in front of Alan and shook his head as if he were very sad.

“Well, I…”

“Save it, Mr. Tucker,” the constable said, waving away the efforts to explain. “It’s not good. Not good for you at all.” He paused. “But, since you are here…I’m going to need you to tell me what you have seen or found…and maybe we can figure out just how badly you have screwed up this
possible
crime scene.”

Alan hesitated, unsure where to begin. He did his best to explain the events, omitting Travis’s shooting incident and finally, he motioned toward the cabin. “Can I just show you?”

By this time, two police officers and one man dressed in civilian clothes had reached them. The one not in uniform was carrying a satchel and had a large, ugly, black camera hanging around his neck. The two uniformed men were not the same corporals that he and Craig had met at their office, though he thought he had seen them around town before.

“This is Mr. Tucker,” the constable said to the plain-clothed man. “Alan Tucker. He is one of the men who made the report.” The constable stopped and motioned toward Alan’s plane at the dock. “Is the other fellow with you? The photographer?”

“Yeah. He came with me,” Alan sighed. “And so did a friend of mine. Should I go and get them?”

“No, just lead on for now…before we lose the light. I’d rather just one of you show me. I imagine there has been enough trampling of the scene for one evening.” He motioned to the two corporals. “Go ahead and bring up the two lights and stands, and bring flashlights too. I suppose we will need them pretty quickly.” The two young men nodded and turned back to the helicopter.

Constable O’Reilly turned back to Alan and smiled, gesturing toward the man with the camera. “This is
Jafferty
Roberts…we call him Jaffey. He’s our forensic man on-call. I suspected I might need him…just had a gut feeling, you know.”

The man nodded a greeting to Alan.

Alan glanced toward his Cessna as he guided the constable and Jaffey over to the front porch. Craig sat on the passenger seat with his arms folded while Travis looked on from the rear seat. Alan was surprised they had not walked up by now. When O’Reilly and Jaffey reached the porch, Alan expected to hear the same amazed reactions that he and his companions demonstrated, but neither of them showed any signs of awe, amazement, or excitement. Instead, O’Reilly ordered that the remnants of the door be photographed and blood samples taken. Realizing there was no need in directing Jaffey, he sighed, then said, “I guess you know what to do, eh Jaffey? Been at this for how many years now?”

“Sixteen, sir,” Jaffey answered.

“Carry on then, Jaffey. I’ll let you know of anything special. Have you been inside, Mr. Tucker?” The constable asked.

Alan sighed, “Yes, sir.”

“Of course…and your two friends as well, I suppose?”

Alan sighed again, lowering his gaze to the bloodied floorboards. “Yes, sir.”

O’Reilly made a clucking sound and shook his head. He stepped around Alan and into the cabin. Just as he did, one of the two corporals, a young, fit man in his late twenties, stepped up on the porch, danced around the blood stains and the door, and entered the cabin. He handed a headlamp and a flashlight to the constable.

“Thank you corporal Seffert.”

“Want me to stay with you, sir?”

The constable shook his head as he switched on the flashlight. “You and corporal Elmert set me up one of the big lights right here, facing toward the kitchen. Once you have that done, please assist Jaffey however he needs it.” He paused, looking back toward Alan, who stood where he left him.

Alan retraced their steps for O’Reilly. The constable didn’t say much, just nodded or shook his head as he listened and observed. When they finished, the constable gave Alan some instructions.

“You go and gather your friends and find a spot to sit down outside. Preferably somewhere off the porch where you cannot further contaminate the…scene.” He paused. “And be sure that your friend unloads his weapon and leaves it in the plane. I’m giving you all the benefit of the doubt. I happen to know Travis’s mother. She cooks a great steak over at
Pierre
’s steak house and I don’t want things to get ugly with her son.”

Alan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Craig was okay with coming back to the cabin, but Travis flatly refused, saying that he would take his chances on whatever Constable O’Reilly’s punishment would be for not obeying the instructions. Alan was not about to try and drag the man out, so he reluctantly left him inside the Cessna.

As Alan and Craig walked up the hill once more, they saw bright light shine through the cabin windows. The light fixture that corporal Seffert set up was powerful and the glow reminded Alan and Craig that there would only be a few more minutes of light left.

“Where’s the other one?” The Corporal Elmert asked. The man was tall and lanky…knock-kneed. Alan had a flashback of Ichabod Crane from “
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
.

“You must be corporal Elmert?” Alan had asked.

“I’m the bloody tooth fairy. Now, where is the other guy?”

Alan wanted to grin at the corporal’s sarcasm…thinking it was not quite the manly reply that he thought it had been…to suggest that he were any type of fairy.

“His name is Travis Salmon. He won’t come out of the plane.”

“He won’t?”

Alan shook his head. “Nope.”

“Well, I guess he
will
come out. You two have a seat right there,” he said, pointing at the steps on the far left side of the porch. “And don’t you move a muscle. In my opinion, you should already be in handcuffs, and if you move, I promise that you will be.”

Craig looked glum as Alan nodded and insisted that they would not move. Both men sat down on icy steps. They had a clear view of the dock and watched Elmert walk toward the plane, wondering what the next few minutes would bring.

“Shit,” Alan said.

“What is it?” Craig asked.

“I didn’t think to tell the corporal about Travis’s gun and he wasn’t with me when I told Constable O’Reilly what happened. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

Craig groaned, “Too late, now.”

They heard the corporal yelling at Travis to get out of the plane. Apparently, Travis still refused. The corporal, after a moment, yelled that Travis had a weapon and called for Corporal Seffert, who came out of the cabin promptly and started to run to Elmert, but then stopped in front of Alan and Craig.

“Hey, Seffert…Travis is harmless. He’s just scared…”

The corporal sneered. “Did anyone search you two?” He asked, ignoring Alan’s words.

“No, but we are not armed. Craig here has a camera back on the passenger seat of the plane, but that is it. Travis brought the gun for protection. He is not a threat.”

“Humph. We will be the judge of that.” He looked at them, and then the corporal who stood on the dock, arms held out in a questioning gesture.

“Be there in a second,” Seffert yelled. He looked down at Alan and Craig. “Don’t move. We’ll search you when we get back with your friend.”

He hurried down toward the dock.

“A lot of good that would do if we had guns and wanted to shoot them, eh?” Craig asked in a shaky attempt at humor. “We will search you
when we get back,
” he mocked.

Alan turned toward the cabin and saw the constable stick his head out of the front doorway. He looked toward the plane, then at Alan.

“So much for that.” he said, dryly.

“Constable…he is just scared. He doesn’t want to leave the plane because of what we saw. He’s…well…superstitious.”

Jaffey’s camera flashed and flashed inside the cabin.

“Mr. Tucker…please…come inside. You,” he pointed at Craig, “Stay there.”

“Please…call me Alan.”

The constable huffed and said nothing.