by Bret Tallent
"No shit?! What kind of bear is it?" Mikes eyes flashed and there was a strange look on his face, a look of astonishment, wonder, and fear.
"From the size, I think we're dealing with a Grizzly. And now that he's tasted human blood . . ." Hayden's voice trailed off. He didn't even want to think about the consequences. A brief tremor rippled through him. Mike nodded slowly, understanding the significance of that. Nick stared past Hayden, thinking something entirely different.
He couldn't explain the feelings he was getting, but he was positive that it wasn't a bear. Some primitive fear deep inside told him it was something else, something that they were totally unprepared for. This feeling was aided in part, Nick thought, by the eerie storm they were caught in. He had a horrible sinking feeling about the storm as well. That it was the predecessor to some horror yet to come.
He could feel the evil in the clouds that had engulfed them. It was fluid and pulsating like a living thing, a mass of intertwining tendrils miles long and eons old. It had conscious thought. Nick looked up at the roof of the cab but saw beyond it. He looked up into the storm front and saw it looking back at him, laughing. And as if to verify this, the wind buffeted the Suburban just then. Just for Nick.
***
Sarah awoke with a start, barely stifling a scream. She sat bolt upright in bed, her hazel eyes wide opened and wild. Her long brown hair was matted to her forehead in wet clumps and tangled in the back. Her thin face and high cheekbones seemed distorted in her panic. The blankets that had been pulled up tight around her head when she had first gone to bed were now twisted in knots and sweat soaked at the foot of the bed. She let out only a whimper and quickly raised her hand to her mouth. She didn't want to wake the others over some silly nightmare.
But, like so many dreams do, this one faded quickly so that she couldn't even remember what it was about. The harder she tried, the further its content slipped away. All she could remember were bits and pieces. Incoherent things that were even now becoming more and more obscure. She could remember that she and her brother were being chased. She couldn't remember what it was that was chasing them though, but it was very bad and they were terrified of it.
Then it was only her brother that was being chased and she didn't know why. For some reason, she thought that it was because she was dead, but she just couldn't remember. The next thing she could recall was a feeling rather than a thought, she remembered extreme cold. Cold like she had never known before. A cold that made her think of the grave. She trembled, as much from the feeling as from the fact that she had been sweating and had thrown off her covers.
Sarah pulled the blankets back up around her and listened to the house. It was deathly quiet inside. All of the others were sound asleep, she thought. But it would be a long while before she would be. The wind hammered at her bedroom window and whistled and whined around the eaves. She lay there in the darkness trying to recall the dream but its elements were already diffusing. What she had recalled only moments ago was already vague and nondescript. Soon she would recall nothing, only that she'd had a nightmare.
***
Barbara Smith tossed and turned in her queen size bed. She still slept, but in her sleep she thrashed and murmured and gasped and squealed. She was aware that Hayden had left, lost somewhere in that state between full sleep and wakefulness. The phone, she remembered him answering the phone. Then he was gone. She had drifted back to sleep almost instantly, and had thus begun her dream. The nightmare in which she was now embroiled. The nightmare she would be unable to recall in the morning.
Barbara saw a man. She knew it was Hayden, even though she did not have a clear image of him. He was lost in a world that was completely white. No ups or downs or dimensions of any kind. He was alone there and she wanted to go to him but couldn’t move. Behind him there was suddenly a large mass, a dark shape like that of a man but larger, much larger. It was emerging from the white that surrounded Hayden and he didn't see it. She tried to scream out to him but she couldn't. She tried to warn him but he couldn’t hear her.
Then Hayden turned around to see the dark form standing before him, towering over him. She could feel the dark thing's thoughts coursing through her as if they were her own. It was a jumble of emotions, delight, hunger, anger, satisfaction, and pain. Beneath all those feelings was something else, an underlying thought, or feeling, or sensation; buried deep but, it was there and as real as the rest of the impulses she was getting.
She had to concentrate hard to pull in the innermost feeling of the dark thing, its face beneath the face, its true identity. When finally she did touch it, see it, she gasped in horror. She was staring into the face of pure evil. It was a thing without conscious, a thing that did not feel pity or remorse. It was a thing that lived on hate and grew darker with every passing day. A thing that she sensed would destroy Hayden, a thing that was already among them.
***
The wiper blades drummed out a tempo to the tire chains and wind like a metronome, a strange symphony that tried to lull Mike to sleep. He stared out at the wipers and watched them push assault after assault of driving snow from the windshield. His head would grow heavy and droop then he would jerk it upward violently, blinking several times. But the jerks got less violent and the blinks longer in duration. Finally, he lightly dozed off into a memory.
Mike waved to his sister as she disappeared around the corner. She left him standing at the curb in front of "the guys" house, knee deep in ski gear. Mike was excited. Ever since Nick had called him, he'd been anxious. Granted, he didn't ski nearly as well as Nick and not even close to Mo and The Tails, but a road trip with the guys. It was just what he needed. That and a Blake's Lottaburger with green chile. He laughed to himself.
Since Mike had moved to So. Cal. he discovered that he missed only a few things. He missed his family, his friends, Albuquerque in general, and Blake's Lottaburger. He knew deep down that he would return to Albuquerque to live. It was just where he wanted to be. But he needed to get his career going first. And save up some money.
His was a close knit Catholic family and he was the youngest of six. And up until he moved away six months ago, they all had Sunday dinner together. Now, he came home at every opportunity, and his parents still complained that he didn't spend enough time with them. Which was probably true, he always ended up spending more time with his friends. But come on, there was only so much family togetherness a guy could take.
So Mike spent most of his time back home with Nick and Taylor, sometimes Mo, but usually Nick. Nick was probably his best friend. They'd roomed together for several years and had been friends for several years longer. They suited each other and Mike really liked being around him. Nick was boisterous while he was soft-spoken. Nick was outgoing while he was rather shy. Too shy, Mike thought. But, they were a pair. They agreed on practically everything except music. Somehow though, they always found a happy medium.
And, Nick loved Blake's. They had the best burgers in the world and you could only get them in New Mexico. Throw some green chile on one with cheese, and you had a classic. Now, every time Mike came home to visit, he had to have a Blake's fix. Mike's stomach grumbled at that thought and he decided he needed one before they went out tonight.
He turned toward the house and started to drag his belongings up the walk. The place looked the same. Even the same old Silly String in the juniper bush from the fight they'd had at his going away party. Mike smiled. It was probably from another fight, it was one of their favorite toys. Then his smile faded. He thought about Nick being married.
He still couldn't believe it, boom, bam, thank you ma'am. In a few months Nick would no longer be Nick. He would be Mr. and Mrs. Nick. Mike wondered how it was going to change his relationship with Nick, how it would change Nick. He was happy for him, no doubt. The whole reason for dudedom is babedom, but you never really expect it. Mike sighed. A long, thoughtful sigh then rang the bell.
***
The Suburban jogged from a particularly strong gus
t of wind and jolted Mike out of his doze. He looked over at Nick and found him staring out the windows at the sky. Not that he could see anything up there. The darkness that surrounded them was complete. But, you still knew it was there. He seemed wrapped up in his own world and not the best for conversation just then. And Mike didn't want to doze off again, he needed a distraction.
So Nick was out, and Sheriff Hayden had been morose ever since they had talked about the bear. Probably deep in thought about something else, Mike guessed. Mike shrugged, reached forward, and turned the knob on the radio. Its face glowed with a pale green and all he heard was static. His hand moved quickly to the other knob and began indiscriminately flipping the dial around. He could hear faint voices drowned in static fade in and out, but nothing more.
Hayden spoke up then, "Radio doesn't work too well up here, all the mountains around us. TV’s no good either, unless you got a satellite dish. No cell phones either. We all use either land lines or radios. But the only radio that will get out of this valley is at the Ranger Station, because of the tower. Try the glove box; I think I've got a CD or two." Almost as an after thought, "Hope you like country?" Hayden smiled briefly. It was the first smile that Mike had seen him give. It was warm and did tremendous things to soften his chiseled face. Mike decided that he liked Hayden's smile.
"Thanks. Anything's fine. I just need some background noise to help me stay awake." Mike began rifling through the glove box until he came across three CD cases. He pulled them out and held each one on turn up to the glow from the radio so that he could make out its label. Tom T. Hall. Tom T. Hall and Fats Domino. Mike chuckled in spite of himself. Suddenly, Hayden Smith reminded him of his own dad.
Mike decided that as soon as he got home he was going to do something with his father, anything. He looked over at Hayden who was looking at him, and smiled. "I'm not making fun of you," he explained, "it's just that these remind me of something my dad would have in his car. Something I would give him a hard time about." Hayden only nodded. Mike picked a Tom T. Hall and pushed it into the slot. After a moment, old Tom began singing about, "Old dogs, and children, and watermelon wine."
"Good choice Mike, I always liked that one best." Hayden's smile was genuine and it filled Mike with warmth.
"Yeah, my dad listens to it all the time too," he smiled back. Then, he missed his father tremendously all of the sudden. He sighed and began to sing along with Tom T., under his breath. Beside him he could hear Hayden do the same. So the two men rode on singing in unison with old Tom. Both a little out of tune, but neither one cared.
Nick sat there sullen, oblivious to what was going on next to him. His face was cold where he had held it against the glass, but he was heedless of that too. The window had fogged from the heat of his body next to it and the world was a blur through it. Nick didn't care. He could see what was beyond it anyway. He knew things would get much worse before they got better, much worse indeed. And as if to verify that thought, it began to snow.
***
Route 14 twisted and curved through pine and aspen, then cleared a knoll to drop into the tiny community of Copper Creek. It sat pretty much at the base of Mt. Sand, along side the frozen river called, appropriately enough, Copper Creek. The mountain that towered two thousand feet above the town to its northwest was lost in the gloom of the winter tempest. The town itself was nearly nine thousand feet above sea level and looked like any one of a hundred such Colorado mining towns.
The storm however, kept them from seeing the angular rooftops and alpine buildings. Yet, they knew they were there just the same. In the torrents of white that obscured their vision they could make out a few of the brightest lights in town. Other than that, only a glow in the haze marked its existence. As they pulled into town on the one main street, Nick and Mike could barely make out dark forms in the driven powder, forms that they assumed to be the shops and stores of Copper Creek.
Nick could picture them in the daytime, all very picturesque and quaint. He could see the tin roofs glistening in the sun and all of the old weathered storefronts whitewashed and peeling. Some of them with covered wooden porches along the street and a few large brick buildings, none of them very modern. He figured nothing totally new had been built here in twenty years, and was probably correct. There would not be one single fast food place or trendy shop. It had the feel of a town out of its proper time.
Ahead they could see the amber flashing of the town's only traffic light, but they had passed under it nearly as soon as they had seen it. Visibility was non-existent. Nick rubbed a hole in the frost of his window with the sleeve of his coat and looked out. The town seemed unreal, dreamlike in the storm. It was a ghost town. Appropriate he thought, bemused. Mike and Hayden had quit trying to sing with Tom and just let him play it solo. At a distance, Nick could hear him crooning out, ". . . one night I did dream, that I passed from this scene, on to a world so sublime. . ."
"Boy! You can't see your hand in front of your face!" Mike had finally broken the silence with his observation.
"Yeah, it's really coming down out there. Going to be a bad one, that's for sure." Hayden was holding tightly onto the steering wheel, pulling himself up to it. His face was nearly against the windshield and the wheel was against his chest, his breath formed two small fog patches in circles extending from each nostril that quickly dissipated, to be replaced by his next respiration.
Nick looked out his window and watched the side streets disappear into the void at the edge of his vision. He counted a total of seven streets before the main road they were on abruptly ceased at the far end of town. It ended in a parking lot in front of a large two story building where they came to a stop.
"Yeah, Copper Creek is little more than a wide spot in the road. Or should I say, at the end of the road?" Hayden was looking at Nick who was unaware that he'd been counting the streets aloud.
Nick blushed, "Oh, sorry. I've just been off in my own little world." Nick had surprised himself at first then he was curious. "What's that building in front of us?" Nick said, pointing to the dark hulking figure, a single light on above the entrance?
"That's our County Courthouse, so to speak. It's really just an old hotel that's been converted. Upstairs are the government offices, such as they are. Down below is our jail. We've only got one cell and have never had much cause to use it. An occasional drunk and disorderly, that's about it."
"So this road just comes out here and stops?" It was just a curious situation for a town, Nick thought.
"That's about the size of it. There is a road behind the jail that leads up to some places in the mountains, and a few other dirt roads out of town that just sort of dry up along the way somewhere. But, this is it!" Hayden threw his arms wide to exaggerate it. Nick and Mike each smiled. Hayden had a way of putting you to ease when you needed it most. "Shall we dash?" he prompted.
The three of them bundled up and bounded for the front door of the jail with Hayden in the lead. Their heads were bent and their bodies leaned against the wind and snow and cold. By the time they had reached the safety and warmth of the building, they were all panting hard from the exertion, all frosted in white. At first the heat from the room was overwhelming next to the cold of the outside, but they adjusted quickly. Except for Mike's glasses which had fogged instantly and were taking a while to clear.
Hayden led them into his office and they each began removing outerwear down to basic clothing, jeans and flannel shirts. They looked at each other for a moment then broke out in simultaneous laughter; gales that seemed too much for what they were amused at, but seemed just right considering the circumstances. The three of them looked like demented lumberjacks. All were wearing jeans and plaid flannel shirts with long johns poking out at the neck and arms. Their hair was wild and uncontrolled from the headgear they'd been wearing, and their shirts were un-tucked and wrinkled and looked like they had all seen one too many wash days.
The laughter ebbed and things didn't seem quite so dark. Hayden walked behind his de
sk, opened a drawer and retrieved a partial bottle of Black Velvet. He sat in his wooden swivel chair, ignored its creak of protest, and uncapped the bottle. The others found chairs in the room and moved them to the desk. Hayden took a long hard swallow, sighed then passed it to Nick. He took it and followed Hayden's lead, giving it to Mike. Mike did the same and back to Hayden it went. For some reason, Hayden found it gratifying that neither one had bothered to wipe off the mouth before he took a shot.
The three of them sat there drinking in gulps, waiting for the morning sun to come and cast away some of the gloom of the night. They talked of things unimportant and never once mentioned anything that had occurred this night. Had a passerby seen them through the window, they would have looked like old friend reminiscing over old times, or fishing buddies exchanging lies. No, more like a father and his two sons finishing off a great day together. They just looked like friends.
CHAPTER 5
Tom Willis was in a piss poor mood. He'd been unable to get back to sleep ever since that Park Ranger had called him. Not that he even really wanted to go back to sleep. He'd been having the dream again. It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't let it go. But the dream was the least of his problems, and now, in the early morning hours in one of many sleepless nights, they were all converging on him. Every worry, every care, everything that had gone wrong was being thrown at him.
He leaned back in his recliner and thoughtfully rubbed his brow with his right hand. He pushed his hand back over his balding head and down his gray hair until it stopped on the nape of his neck. Tom dropped his elbow to rest on the arm of the chair then propped his right cheek on the closed fist he'd made. The whiskers of his neatly trimmed beard and mustache tickled his fingers lightly but he ignored it and only stared off blankly. He looked to nowhere in particular and began to think.