Wendigo Rising: A Yancy Lazarus Novel (Episode Three) (Yancy Lazarus Series Book 3)

by James Hunter

  “Not me,” she replied evenly, resting one hand on the buttstock of her shotgun, as though to say, See, I have a shotgun, so obviously I couldn’t have made that shot. “Yancy Lazarus. He’s lying in wait about five hundred yards out, covering us all with a very powerful sniper rifle.”

  That last part was a lie, of course, but since neither Fast Hands nor the sheriff knew about Greg, the simple deception would make them think I was present and accounted for. Another score for misdirection and sleight of hand, the true key for magic.

  “Now,” Ferraro continued, “if any of your men get itchy trigger fingers, he’ll make sure that the two of you end up just like that man.” She cocked her head to one side and motioned with the tip of her shotgun toward the dead thug. “We thought an appropriate demonstration of force would be more effective in getting your attention.” She canted her wrist and glanced down at a matte-green watch affixed to the underside of her wrist. “You two should have a radio check in”—she paused, her eyes tracking the watch face—“thirty seconds. Every half an hour, on the dot. We’ve been watching.”

  The sheriff’s hand crept toward the service revolver hanging on his hip.

  “Ah, ah, Sheriff,” Ferraro said. “That could be the kind of thing you’ll regret, though you won’t regret it for long. A fifty caliber round, fired from a military grade M107, has a muzzle velocity of 2,800 feet per second, which means you’ll be dead before you even hear the gunshot. Just something to consider.” She offered him a flat, mean stare, one that said, Just try it sucker, see how fast your body hits the deck. “Now when I tell you—and not a second before—you’re going to pick up your radio, report all clear, then toss your comm gear over to me.” She looked down at the watch again. “Fast Hands, go ahead.”

  The snake-man seemed to debate it for a moment, his muscles tensing. Another crack ripped through the air a heartbeat later. A geyser of dirt and rock spewed up into the air, the bullet placed a few inches away from Fast Hands’s left foot. His gaze flashed to the ground, taking in the mini crater, and he hastily retrieved the radio.

  “This is Sierra Foxtrot, over,” he hissed into the radio as he thumbed the transmit button. The radio let out a chirp as he let up on the button.

  “Go for Hotel Actual, over,” said a sludgy voice, which I recognized straightaway as Doctor Hogg.

  “Post one’sss all clear, I say again, post one’sss all clear. Out.”

  I cautiously stole from tree to tree, moving as stealthily as I could manage, slowly circling in from the right, making my way around the outer edge of trees, drawing ever closer to the entrance. Had our team actually been invading, Ferraro would’ve waited until after the radio check to make a move—but this spectacle was meant to buy me time, and boy was it working. The guards were enthralled by the drama playing out before them. No one even glanced my way.

  “Alright, Sheriff, your turn,” Ferraro said. The man slowly raised the radio and repeated the process, getting an all clear from the evil shithead at the other end of the line.

  “Now, gentlemen,” Ferraro instructed, “please toss your radio this way—and again, let’s try to keep this civil.”

  Fast Hands’s black eyes narrowed into slits, a look of hate and disgust stealing across his reptilian face. He casually threw the radio, which landed a few feet from Ferraro, sending a puff of dirt kicking up into the air. “What game are you playing at?” he asked.

  “No game,” she replied.

  “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he hissed. “There ain’t no winning this fight. And I reckon you’re smart enough to know it. Even if you get past us, there ain’t no way you can stand up against the army waiting on the other side of that entrance.”

  She shrugged. “That’s our concern, not yours.” She hefted her shotgun and pointed at the sheriff. “Your radio, please.”

  The sheriff sniffed, his lips curling down as he regarded the agent and her hairy guards. But, at last, he too pitched his radio, the box landing with a dull thunk. Ferraro swiveled the shotgun and promptly blasted two shots into the communication equipment, one round per. The hard black plastic fractured and the interior electrical guts spewed out.

  “Now listen up!” she commanded, raising the shotgun into her shoulder pocket as she assessed the assembled goons, giving each a piece of her steely-eyed stare. “You are on the losing side. My team is going in there”—she motioned toward the cave—“and then we’re going to walk away with the Wendigo’s head on a pointy stick. No ifs, ands, or buts—you copy that?”

  She smiled a wicked grin, devoid of anything even remotely resembling amusement. “This whole thing is coming apart at the seams,” she said, taking a moment to meet the sheriff’s gaze, before moving on to each of the police officers standing post. “You should know, we are prepared to kill everyone stupid enough to stand in our way, but we’d rather not. So this is your one and only chance. Put down your guns and walk away. Now.”

  A few of the officers shifted on uncomfortable feet. One—Stutzman, the chunky officer who been the first to turn tail and scram at the mill—bent over and laid his service weapon on the ground, before carefully righting himself, hands raised to the sky.

  “I’m done,” he said, his deep voice trembling with fear, his eyes wide as he looked from Fast Hands to the Bigfeet flanking Ferraro. “I don’t want no part of this—I never did.”

  “Stutzman, don’t you dare turn your back on us,” Sheriff Kelly said, his voice dropping low, scorn laced through each word. “You can’t walk away from this. She’s with the FBI, idiot. Even if she lets you go now, you think you’ll stay a free man?”

  “With all due respect, Sheriff,” he said, “I’d rather be locked up than end up with my brains splattered on a rock wall. I’ve got a family to think about. Kids who’ll grow up without a father. No thank you, sir.” He bowed his head, his body heaving as he choked back tears. “This is wrong. Has been from the get-go. I was too much of a chickenshit to say no. Well, now I’m saying it. No. I’m not gonna die out here.” He crept into the open, crossing the clearing to the tree line and breaking into a sprint, his stocky body shaking as he ran.

  “Anyone else?” Ferraro asked.

  Four more officers shared fearful looks before slowly lowering weapons, tossing them to the ground, and following Stutzman’s lead. Finally using a little common sense and getting the hell out of harm’s way before it was no longer an option. That left twenty men standing, only one an officer, not counting Sheriff Kelly.

  Fast Hands swiveled, risking his back to gunfire without any sign of fear or worry. “Any one of you sissy-whores even thinks about leaving, I swear to the devil below, I’ll put a round right into your yella’ back. You hear me?!” he bellowed, brandishing his pistol at anyone who dared to meet his eye. He turned back to Ferraro, stalking forward a few feet. “I’ve had enough of your smart mouth, bitch,” he said, edging closer, a few inches at a time. “You’re afraid of me, I can see it in your eyes. And you’re right to be scared, ssweetheart. ’Cause I’m gonna learn you a thing or two before this is all said and done, slut-bait.”

  Another echoing rifle crack tore at the air, but Fast Hands was already on the move, tearing ass toward Ferraro, his powerful legs pumping while he thrust his metal hand up before him like a shield. Another crack. A flare of blue light erupted around the snake-man in a dome, the incoming round pinging into the construct and ricocheting off at an angle, lodging itself in the neck of a lanky, tat-covered goon not far off.

  The thug collapsed, hands clutched around his throat, struggling feebly to hold in the gush of red seeping through his fingers.

  “Clear the entryway!” Ferraro shouted at the Chiye-tanka just before Fast Hands collided into her, his copper-scaled arms snaking around her center, his momentum bearing her to the ground. The sudden assault propelled the remaining baddies into a frenzy of action. A fistful of thugs hefted weapons and fired at the Sasquatches zipping toward the entryway.

  A few more carelessly sprayed b
ullets into the trees in hopes of hitting Greg—no chance in hell of that. Though a few rounds whizzed by me, coming a little too close for comfort. The echoing bark of Greg’s rifle broke the air in a steady rhythm. Goons fell and chunks of bodies summersaulted through the forest. An eruption of earth, accompanied by a brilliant flare of green light, followed: James, entering the fray.

  “You’re finally gonna pay for what you done to me!” Fast Hands screamed as he groped for Ferraro’s throat. Fast Hands was deep inside her guard and had her pinned to the ground, but it was far from game over, especially for a woman as experienced in the field as Ferraro.

  “We’ll see about that,” she grunted, wiggling beneath him, snagging his good arm in a tight grip. He leaned his weight into her as his hands sought her tan neck—exactly the wrong thing to do against someone who knew anything about ground fighting.

  She used her hips to thrust up before hooking one leg out in a quick, economical movement, sweeping the limb across his chest. Fast Hands toppled over to the side, his good arm caught in a brutal arm bar as her legs locked across the front of his body.

  Fast Hands howled in pain, his legs beating out a staccato rhythm against the ground, swirls of dirt dancing around him as he flexed the entrapped arm, battling to break the hold.

  My eyes were drawn to the scene … I knew I needed to move, but I also needed to know Ferraro would be all right. At last, though, I tore my eyes from the scene, seizing an opening in the pandemonium and bolting from the tree line, inbound for the cave. Kong and Winona had beaten me there handily—one of the creatures stood on either side of the craggy entrance, smacking away courageous souls dumb enough to come close.

  I glanced back at Ferraro—the need for reassurance overpowering my better judgment—just in time to see her flick open a sleek, black-steel knife. Fast Hands had almost broken through the arm bar, ignoring the pain and using his inhuman strength to muscle past Ferraro’s superior technique.

  Finally, she let the lock go, spinning away as he jerked his arm loose. But she was sharp as a razor and wasn’t one to miss an opportunity. Instead of backing away, she exploited the small opening, darting in on the offensive, stabbing the knife downward into Fast Hands’s exposed groin. “I’m not afraid of you, you piece of shit!” she screamed, pulling the knife out and slashing down again, cutting a swath across the inside of his exposed thigh.

  I wanted to throw her an awkward high five and dance a victory jig on Fast Hands’s soon-to-be corpse—there was never a guy who deserved a violent ending more than that dickhead—but there was no time for celebrating. Not yet. Not until we were congratulating ourselves over a plate of ribs and a couple of brews in some trashy dive bar. I rushed past Winona, lowered my mental defenses, and sent a brief message, I’m through, before breezing into the cave proper.

  Power swept over me, like jumping into an ice-cold pond, as I crossed the threshold, stepping from one reality to another. Time stretched out, thinning and distorting for a single heartbeat without end, my body moving in quarter-speed as my mind continued to race and tumble over itself. My right foot S.L.O.W.L.Y. came to rest on the dusty stone floor. In the instant I connected, time caught up with me all at once, travelling up through my extended limb and spreading through me like a double-shot of good scotch.

  I stumbled, staggered, tripped, and tumbled face-first onto the ground, my chin taking a solid knock. Road rash on my face—a perfect opening play. Well done, Yancy. I pushed it out of mind as I pushed myself upright. I wheeled about, staring slack-jawed through the opening and back into my world, Inworld. The battle continued unabated on the other side at normal speed, though it was like watching through hazy, silvered glass. Kong raised his head and bellowed “retreat” into the air—the signal to let everyone know I’d safely made it. On my side, however, the thunderous shout was a mere whisper.

  I turned, eyes searching deeper into the tunnelway before me. Not much to see really, just rough stone walls. Aside from the scrape of my boots over the stone walkway, the tunnel was eerily quiet, the air stale and unnaturally heavy. I was alone. Off to face an army of mindless Sasquatches and a flesh-eating cannibal. It shouldn’t have come as a shock since this had been my plan—and really, there was no other way it could’ve worked. The Wendigo never would’ve let the whole group get close enough to pose a threat. But me by myself? That screamed low-hanging fruit, easy for the picking.

  Still, plan or no, I found myself scared out of my mind. It was easier to be brave and bold when other people were looking at you, when other people were depending on you.

  Sometimes, though, there are things a guy just has to do on his own. Dying is one of them, but I sure hoped that item wouldn’t be on the agenda today.

  I shuffled forward. It was high time I boogied before the surviving guards out front had enough presence of mind to try and warn the Wendigo and Doctor Hogg. I stepped off, bound for trouble.

  THIRTY-TWO:

  Grudge Match

  The twisting passageway let out into a clearing like none I’d ever seen before. A forest stretched out before me, filled with immense trees: giant pines, colossal oaks, mammoth sycamores, all similar to their earthly counterparts, but built on an entirely different scale. Far too broad and impossibly tall. These things were easily the size of small skyscrapers: living buildings of twisted wood, all interconnected by an elaborate series of sprawling, overhead wooden bridges, which didn’t seem to be built, so much as they were grown.

  Buildings—clearly scaled up in order to house the Chiye-tanka—likewise sprawled among the branches, the walls seamless sheets of wood emerging directly from the trees themselves, like strange fruit.

  Kong wasn’t kidding when he said this place was a fortress. I stole a look skyward, the breath momentarily catching in my throat as I stared, mouth agape, at the silver light of a thousand stars. So many stars. All scattered across the heavens like a thick swarm of summer fireflies. The heavens were damned-near overflowing with ’em—a bucket filled to maximum capacity, which might spill its shining lights to the ground at any moment.

  The sky was obscured in places, though, the light blocked out by the flutter and flap of wings. Crows, hundreds of them, circling the air, staring down with beady, black eyes. Holy shit, this friggin’ place was creepy.

  Directly in the center, a regal, giant sequoia—an epic redwood of unearthly proportions—drew my thoughts back earthward, demanding my attention. Fifty feet in diameter at the base, its massive trunk reared up into the sky like a watchtower forever standing sentinel over this otherworldly forest and its inhabitants.

  A single dwelling—equal parts meeting hall and stronghold—perched atop the great sequoia with a balcony jutting off the front. The Wendigo’s ghostly form stood out like a beacon, Doctor Hogg beside him, both looking down like conquerors surveying their latest conquest. That was where I needed to be. Unfortunately, between me and the Kinslayer was an ocean of Chiye-tanka; hundreds of the enthralled creatures were positioned throughout the grove—silent guardians all at high alert, eyes ceaselessly scanning for any sign of intrusion as they patrolled.

  A small voice whispered in the back of my head, It’s not too late to turn back … no one will think any less of you. How could they? This is asking too much, no one could expect this of you.

  I shook my head, as if I could dislodge the traitorous, cowardly thoughts. Now normally, I’m not at all against cowardly thoughts—what many would call cowardly, I’d call wise, pragmatic, smart, and shrewd. And believe me, I’m on board with all of those things. But this needed to end here. I’d seen firsthand what the future looked like if no one stopped Doctor Hogg and the guy or gal he was working for. It was about as pretty as a swarm of cockroaches riding sewer rats like tiny horses. And if I didn’t do something, no one would.

  I pulled my pistol from its holster and carefully slid the muzzle up under my chin, keeping my finger well clear of the trigger. The cold steel, pressing against my flesh, sent a wave of goosebumps racing ove
r my body. I twisted together strands of fire and air into an invisible cone, which hung before me like a megaphone, which is essentially what it was.

  “One. Two. Three,” I muttered. The flows of my rough illusion unraveled, dispersing around me, leaving me painfully visible.

  My sudden appearance didn’t go unnoticed for long. A guttural yowl broke through the air as the first guard spotted me and sent up an alarm, which was quickly carried along by deep voice after deep voice.

  “Achak Kinslayer,” I said, the construct drifting before me amplifying the words until they rang through the whole of the clearing, floating through the air on unseen gusts of Vis-conjured power. “I’ve got a proposition for you, if you’re brave enough to hear it.” The Chiye-tanka before me fell silent, a pregnant pause hanging between us.

  A single Sasquatch, big and broad with deep black hair, like a younger version of Kong, trudged forward.

  “Speak your offer or perish where you stand,” the Bigfoot said, delivering the words in flat monotone, a bad actor reading from an even worse script.

  I carefully pulled open my jacket, revealing my shirtless chest beneath. I readjusted my position to make sure the Wendigo could see me from his vantage point atop the tower. With a deep breath I raised my left hand and placed my index finger at the top of my sternum. I clenched my teeth as I began to drag my finger downward, muttering nonsense words just as Kong had taught me. Pain flared bright and hot. Skin parted. Bones cracked. My legs wobbled momentarily before I managed to draw up earthen strength from the ground beneath me, fortifying my resolve and deadening my senses, if only for a moment.

  After a few seconds, my open chest stared out at the Kinslayer like a single, giant eye, a ruby light pulsating from within, strobing in time with my heartbeat. “I’ve got a feeling you might be interested in something I’ve recently acquired. In case you’ve never seen it before, that sparkly little gem in my chest is the Second Seal.”