Beneath a Winter Moon

by Shawson M Hebert

  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.

  Th
ey 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.

  The howls came right after Thomas finally dozed off. The first was eerie and long, as if it were the sad lament of a jilted lover in the night. A moment later, however, the howl was sharp and bold, as if it were meant to say, I am here.

  Delmar heard the second howl, and slowly sat upright.

  “That was pretty far away...sounded just like the creepy howls from last night.” Thomas whispered.

  “Probably the same animals,” Delmar said, yawning as he leaned back against the backpack once more.

  “Spookiest howls I have ever heard, for damned sure.”

  “What about the ones from when you were a kid—the story you told us back in the chopper?”

  “True,” replied Thomas. “But then those howls were a lot like these.”

  “Well, since those were far away, let’s just try to get in our last hour of shuteye. Then it is another two hours of walking in this wonderful weather.”

  Thomas chuckled. “This was your idea, Hero.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  * * * * *

  The Other had wasted no time in its haste to reach the humans. His senses told him that they were still there, that they were waiting. He moved faster than ever, at times his footfalls no more than whispers among the trees…and other times he crashed through thick brush, growling as he broke branches and snapped long dead brambles. He salivated even as he ran with all his might. Cold yellow eyes remained narrow, always alert. He smelled so much…so many other creatures of the night. Some were predators, though the largest were no match for him…and there were the pungent odors of those sad, little creatures that knew he was coming and tried to hide under bush, rock, and tree. The smell of their fear was delightful, but nothing compared to that of the human prey. For a moment, he slowed. He sucked in long breaths through his wet, black nostrils. Confused, he cocked his head sideways, and then stopped altogether. There were two sets of human scents, from opposite directions.

  Though his mind was that of a prehistoric hunter…almost mechanical rather than thinking…he was also oddly pragmatic. Forgetting the weaker scent, he pushed onward toward the area where the humans were holed up together in some sort of shelter. The Beast had come last night but tonight it would be different. Tonight they would be his prey. Instinct powered him now…he must move quickly to reach the humans before the Beast began the hunt…for him.

  Daniel’s eyes snapped open and he leaned forward. Jack rumbled a throaty growl at Daniel’s feet. “You heard something too, boy?” He whispered. To his front, sitting on the floor near Jack, covered by Daniel’s sleeping bag, Jenny slept. She had stayed awake as long as she could, holding Steven’s hand and sometimes talking to him, but she finally collapsed, leaning her back against the padding of the passenger cabin door on the cockpit side of the aircraft.

  Jack growled low and bared his teeth.

  “Easy boy,” Daniel whispered. “Easy. Nothing to worry about while we are in here.”

  Daniel struggled to see through the foggy window above Jenny’s head. Their breath had steamed the windows enough so that those in the two sliding doors were all but useless. He reached down beside him and found the night vision goggles. He slipped them on and adjusted them, and then turned to try to see out of the cockpit bubble, where the steam had not settled due to the hole in the windshield. Though a rag was jammed in it, the cold still overpowered the moisture of their breath.

  Jack whimpered softly. Quite a change in his demeanor, Daniel thought. Perhaps it was a female coyote or wolf. That might make Jack more anxious than defensive. He placed the goggles to his eyes once more, losing all peripheral vision in doing so. He positioned himself so that he could get a better look out of the plexiglass bubble.

  A full five minutes passed by and he saw nothing. Then, timed perfectly with a throaty moan from Jack, he saw a blur of movement perhaps fifty meters toward the tree line. The thing was big. Too big, he thought, too big to be a coyote or a wolf. He could not see it anymore but had caught enough of a glimpse to know that the animal was easily as tall as Delmar. “Bear,” he whispered. It felt wrong, but he said it anyway. No bear could have moved th
at quickly and with that much agility. It was as if whatever was out there knew that he would be looking and was doing its best to elude him. There it is again…closer this time. He cursed as he lost sight of it again.

  Daniel removed the goggles so that he could get at the rifle when the window above Jenny’s head suddenly billowed with steam, and then a spot, perhaps as large as a fist cleared up as the fog disappeared. A chill ran up Daniel’s spine as he realized that whatever it was, it was trying to peer into the window, so close that its breath was counteracting the fog on the plexiglass. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he involuntarily sucked in a short breath. Jack whined and pushed his head against Daniel’s leg. Daniel ignored him and slowly put his right hand around the fore-stock of the rifle. He brought it up and waited, shivering, staring at the window. No more steam, no sign of the…thing.

  He wanted to yell out, beginning to believe that it might be a person outside, purposely stalking them…trying to scare them. The hermit-guy came to mind. Would he do such a thing? Had he heard their calls after all and decided to have some fun with them before extending help to the stranded companions?

  He could not risk putting the night vision back to his face. He would lose all depth perception and peripheral vision and it would take too long for his eyes to adjust to the darkness again. He held the rifle, it’s butt jammed into his right shoulder.

  His military training should have helped him. He had a familiarity with all types of situations where an enemy approached a fixed position, but this time it failed to comfort his nerves. He was also a natural with most weapons and had seen his share of varying types of combat all around the globe. Yet—something about this was all wrong. He held his breath. He tried to let his senses gather in everything around him…but something about this wasn’t right. He could not focus.