Beneath a Winter Moon

by Shawson M Hebert

  Snow Eagle had seen that coming, and felt bad for his commander, but understood the reasoning. “Sorry.”

  Russeux shook his head. “We both knew it was coming…and to tell you the truth, I am not all that upset about it. I don’t think it reflects on me personally…this is more about public relations and crowd control. I am not the guy they want in front of the cameras answering questions.”

  “You’d do just fine,” Snow interjected.

  They were interrupted by the doctor. He stepped out onto the porch, glancing back into the cabin to nod at Alan.

  “He’s okay to travel…I can’t explain the high fever and the rapid heart rate…never seen anything like it. It’s extremely rare but it is possible that the physical symptoms are being driven by the psychological trauma and not by his exposure to the elements.”

  “Is he still sticking to the story that he was wounded by the…animals?” Russeux asked.

  “Yes, he is, but like I said…those scars cannot be from a day ago…hell…they couldn’t be from a month ago. And, I’d argue with anyone that they come from a human hand…and then I would contradict my own self because no one has a hand that size or with nails strong enough or long enough to do that sort of damage.” He scoffed. “I’m going to ask the real doctors to try to explain them…because I sure can’t.”

  A few minutes later, Snow escorted Alan aboard the helicopter and they lifted off. Their weather window was short. They had maybe an hour more before the storm was too bad to fly even at the lake. Alan had been given a camouflaged jumpsuit to wear…and he was glad for it. Snow handed Alan a headset and beckoned him to put it on.

  “I was hoping you and I could talk on the way in,” Snow said through the whirring static of the headset. “I was thinking that maybe being up here, just us, might help to put you at ease a little bit…maybe help you recall what happened.”

  Alan managed a smile and adjusted the small square microphone so that it hung in front of his lips. “I want to remember…I do. It scares me, but it’s worse not knowing, I think. I’m trying, Lieutenant.”

  Snow moved so that he was sitting across from Alan. “I know it’s bad. I believe that you were attacked…I want you to know that…I’m not doubting it.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

  “Call me Snow. We know each other, Alan.”

  “Okay.”

  “James…Captain Russeux, I mean, said that you had flashing images of what attacked you. He said you think it was a bear…but that you’re not positive.”

  Alan nodded. “I just see something black…something enormous. I keep thinking that it must be a bear.”

  “Great…so, it was black. Was it dark out when it happened? Was it daylight?”

  Alan frowned. “Had to have been dark because the Constable left after dark…way in the middle of the night.”

  “Think about what attacked you. Try to capture one of those flashes for just a moment longer. You might be able to recall something more.”

  Alan closed his eyes, but opened them after a moment. The face that he glimpsed in those split-second memories was too much for him to bear. He shook his head. “I want to remember…but…it scares the hell out of me. I can’t keep it in my thoughts.”

  “That’s okay,” Snow said. “Let’s do something else. You said that your last memories were of being inside the cabin, on the couch. Can you remember what time it was?”

  Alan shook his head. “It was dark, late at night. I don’t know what time.”

  “Okay, now, close your eyes and try to listen. Try to smell. Remember who was there and what was being said…how it felt…whether you were hot or cold.”

  Alan closed his eyes again. The helicopter was buffeted by wind. They were jarred in their seats. “Turbulence,” Alan said, opening his eyes. “It’s always bad over the lake.”

  Snow nodded, and gestured for Alan to continue.

  Alan closed his eyes.

  “Tell me what you see and hear,” Snow said.

  “I was on the couch. The constable was behind me at the kitchen table. I don’t know what he was saying. Wait…I was complaining that he had not sent anyone out to try to locate the Svensons.”

  “Good, good.” Snow said, reaching across to pat Alan on the knee. “Now keep your eyes closed and go from there.”

  “The constable explained why he wasn’t wasting assets on a hunch.”

  “Try to move forward now. Let the memories of the conversation come…and then try to step forward. What do you remember?”

  Alan kept his eyes closed, and Snow noticed that he was squinting…clinching his eyes shut. After a long moment, Alan said, “The man with the dogs is going to track whoever came down on the horse…the man on the horse that we’d photographed. It was dark. No one thought it was a good idea.

  Snow was ecstatic. He had just heard a completely new piece of information.

  “That is great, Alan. Now, stay with it. Hold your thoughts right there for a moment, and then try to move forward. Go easy.”

  Alan kept his eyes shut. Snow was getting a little worried when at least two minutes had passed, but then Alan started talking again.

  “The Constable is gone…but he is…no…the corporal is on the radio. Something…something has attacked them.” Alan’s voice cracked.

  “Easy, Alan. Take it easy. You are safe and sound. Nothing can hurt you. Stop if you think you can’t handle it.”

  It was too late for that. Alan could not stop. The floodgates were open, now, and he could not shut them off.

  “Oh God…the thing has killed the dog handler and the constable…and the corporal is running. His radio is stuck on…so that we can hear him, but we cannot reply. Oh….God.”

  “Open your eyes, Alan. That’s enough.”

  Alan opened his eyes, but it didn’t do any good.

  “It’s attacking the corporal. He is shooting. We can hear it all.”

  “You are safe, Alan…it is over. It is just a memory. It happened days ago.”

  Alan leaned forward and clenched Snow’s arms. “Jaffey couldn’t find the pilots. We couldn’t find them.”

  “Take it easy…” Snow tried to remove Alan’s hands, but they were like vise grips.

  “We were looking for them. We…were….looking for them.”

  Snow turned to look over his shoulder. The co-pilot was watching, a worried expression on his face.

  “Listen, Alan. Look at me. Look in my eyes.”

  Alan stared, blankly.

  “It is over, Alan. It is over.”

  “Oh, Jesus…oh, God…it killed them all. It killed Jaffey…then it came for me.”

  That caught Snow’s attention far more than anything…even more than the grip that Alan held on both of his arms. “What came for you?’

  Alan did look into Snow’s eyes, then, and Snow saw the abject horror, the primal fear behind them. He tried to wrench free of Alan’s grip.

  “It….it’s a werewolf. Oh God…it really was. But….but then there was two of them. One attacked the werewolf that was trying to kill me.”

  Snow stared into Alan’s eyes. He was at a total loss for words. This poor kid was obviously far worse off than anyone had expected, and all Snow could do now was hope that his interrogation had not jeopardized the poor kid’s chances at getting some help.

  “The…the other one stopped the one that attacked me. I think the other one killed it. I’m running….I mean…” he stammered. “I mean…I ran into the forest. I was bleeding everywhere. My chest was ripped open.” He leaned back. His face went blank. I was attacked by a werewolf…oh, God.”

  Alan collapsed then, slumping forward so that his helmet clacked with Snow’s. His grip on Snow’s arm came loose, and he slumped all the way down into Snow’s lap…sobbing.

  “Easy, Alan. Take it easy.” He was sure he had done too much, driving the young man to some sort of psychotic break. “I should not have pressed you.” He tried to hold the sobbing young man. “It’s going to
be okay, Alan. You’ve been through hell…and we are going to get you the help you need.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Och…Jesus Christ have mercy on my soul.” Alastair said it instinctively, as he was sure that there would be no mercy for his soul…assuming he still had one. He groaned as he rolled over enough to bring himself to his knees. He kept still for a minute, contemplating the flashes of memory that had stayed with him from the change. He knew he’d killed Daniel, and was not so surprised even though he had chained himself. In the moments before he clicked the lock into place, he wondered if it would really be enough. Though the werewolf had never broken free before, it had also never been faced with such a powerful desire to kill. It was more like a need, he thought as he raised his hands to look at the shackles on his wrists and around his ankles. Even after all this time, he still expected to see tears or bruising of the flesh but there was none. The chains bolted to the shackles were ripped open, the lock mechanism was gone, of course, probably laying on the platform. He pulled free the half-inch thick pushpins that held the shackles in place, and let them clang loudly to the cavern floor.

  “Good Christ,” he muttered as he stood up. He refused to look at the carnage, and focused solely on the dim glow of sunlight at the cave’s large opening. He carefully stepped over to the entrance, avoiding corpses in various stages of rot, then moved right until he found the pile of brush. He shoved it aside, revealing a large, airtight container of sorts. He spun the combination lock until it clicked and dropped open. He flipped the hasp aside and opened the container. Inside were a complete set of cold-weather clothing, a leather vest, a 30.30 Winchester rifle, and four MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) alongside four one-quart containers of water. Jeremiah cursed himself for not having put back one of his winter parkas or waterproof jackets. Ah, well, he thought. It’s not like I won’t survive the distance to the cabin.

  Jeremiah was used to waking in the lair, as he often allowed himself to transform so that the werewolf could hunt, though he had needed this cache a lot more since he had taken Parker in. Thank God that is over, he thought. Of course, he’d killed more than just Parker and his companion. There had been a few hikers, a photographer, and one other poacher who fell to the beast’s attack. He sighed. His life here was over now, and he would have to be on his way and out of the mountains…and out of the country.

  In the beginning, Jeremiah didn’t know where he might awaken. He had placed caches in eight different locations around the cabin, each one in an area where he had woken up when the night was over. He had soon realized that the werewolf had declared its own territory…like that of a dog. He decided he didn’t like that comparison. Like a wolf, he had thought.

  He started to dress but then stopped and took a rag from the locker, soaking it with water. He spent several minutes wiping the blood and gore from his body, paying close attention to his hair, face and chest. Afterward, he finished dressing, all the while trying to ignore the bones, corpses, and rot inside the cave.

  “A hell of a morning,” he said aloud.

  Something felt different, though he could not put his finger on it. The incredible longing…the need to kill that specific person…was now absent, but in its place was a refreshing feeling…a feeling of confidence and energy so intense that it bordered on aggression. He took measure of the feeling. “Easy lad…no sense in feeling high on having taken another poor man’s life.” He shook his head as he stepped out of the cave and into a world of white, never once looking back at the corpse that had been Daniel Coahoma.

  * * * * *

  “Jackpot!”

  Thomas hurried over to Delmar as he stood in front of a tall, open cabinet. Inside, mounted on a sliding shelf, was a radio. Delmar slid the shelf out until the radio was in full view. The shelf clicked, locking into place. “Very fancy,” Delmar said.

  “There must be a generator out back,” Thomas said when he saw that the radio plugged into a strange, but obviously electrical socket. There was a generator, and Thomas had it humming away within a few minutes. He ran back into the house and saw Delmar already turning controls on the radio. “Damned storm is coming again.” Thomas said. “Winds are gusting already and snow clouds are above us right now.” He sighed, “We catch one break only to be shit on, again.”

  “Might not keep them from flying in,” Delmar offered as he put a headset on and turned dials. “

  Jenny had finished with the fire and had come to stand and watch the two men. Thomas was losing his patience and was about to ask Delmar if he could figure out how to operate the thing. “Got it,” Delmar said. He looked up and saw Jenny. “What’s the emergency air frequency?”

  “You want mountain rescue,” she said, and gave him a four-digit number.

  “Your aircraft identification?” He asked.

  “C-FX109,” she replied, her eyes blank.

  “Turn on the speakers so that we can hear,” Thomas said. Delmar pulled the earphone plug and moved the one earphone away from his ear but kept the headset on to use the microphone.

  “Mayday, Mayday. This is C-FX109.” He read it phonetically, charlie foxtrot one zero niner.

  Thomas shouted ‘YES!” when an answer came almost immediately.

  “We read, C-FX109. This is Mountain Rescue. You are speaking to Sergeant Jean LeRoy. We are glad to hear from you, 109. We have a search and rescue waiting to lift off in your honor. Over.”

  Thomas grasped Jenny’s shoulders and smiled. “We are going home, Jen.”

  She managed a smile, but lowered her face, turned, and walked back to the couch. She reached down and patted one knee, calling Jack, who had been curious at hearing the strange voice over the radio, to follow. Thomas looked after her, wishing there were something he could do. He was glad to see that she wanted Jack near her. Good boy, he thought.

  Delmar smiled. “Roger that, Sergeant. C-FX109 is down and we have two casualties. Over.”

  “Copy, 109. What is the condition of the casualties? What is the position of the aircraft…can you provide coordinates? Over.”

  “One casualty still inside the aircraft. Steven Svenson, the pilot and owner. He is deceased. We were unable to remove him. Wait one on the coordinates. Over”

  “Sorry to hear that, 109. Please identify yourself .Who am I speaking to? Over.”

  “This is Delmar Forsythe.” He spelled his name phonetically. “I am here with the co-pilot, Jenny Svenson, and also one more of our party, Thomas Devereaux, is with us. Over” He motioned for Thomas to get the map, then spelled out their names for the sergeant.

  “Roger, 109. What about your second casualty? Over.”

  “Daniel Coahoma…we were on a hunting trip together…Daniel, myself, and Thomas. Over.” Delmar then spelled out Daniel’s name.

  “What is his condition, 109? Over.”

  Delmar leaned his head down until it touched the radio. He took a deep breath. “We believe he is deceased. Over.”

  “Say again, 109? Is the casualty not with you? Over.”

  “Negative, sergeant,” Delmar paused and cursed under his breath at having to say the words. “He was attacked by an animal and his body was…taken. Judging from the amount of blood, we do not believe he could have lived. Over.”

  There was a long silence. “Did you copy, sergeant? Over.”

  “Roger, 109. Give me your present location…and we are still waiting for the position and the condition of the aircraft. Over.”

  “Shit,” Delmar said.

  “I’m still looking for the damned map,” Thomas said still looking through their gear. Finally, he remembered that he had stuck it under the top flap of his backpack. “Got it…one sec.” He did a quick reading of the circled cabin location on the map, and then called out a six-digit coordinate for the wreckage and for the cabin. Delmar repeated the coordinates over the radio. He also explained that the helicopter was far too damaged to fly, and would be difficult to salvage.

  “Roger 109. So you are at Mr. Johnson’s cabin, c
orrect? Over.”

  Thomas and Delmar stared at each other, eyes wide, and shook their heads. His name really is, no shit, Jeremiah Johnson, Thomas thought.

  “Uhmmm…roger, but he is not here. Over.”

  “Roger that, 109. We need to get you out of there A-S-A-P. That location is in lockdown and search and rescue has been preparing to sweep the entire area for C-FX109 and to fly Mr. Johnson out. Do you copy? Over”

  Delmar raised his eyebrows. “We sure would appreciate a lift. Copy?”

  “Roger that, 109. We are socked in right now, but as I said, we have search and rescue standing by. Air rescue made one attempt but had to turn back twenty minutes ago. We have the perfect storm going on here. Whiteout conditions. Over.”

  “Shit,” Thomas muttered. “They must be getting what we already did...and now there is more headed our way.” He groaned.

  Delmar sighed and rubbed his side. Surprisingly, his bruised ribs were not causing him much pain. He felt much better. “Understood, sergeant. We will sit right here with the gear. Any E-T-A? Over.”

  “Negative, 109. It is a helluva time to be up in those mountains.” The speakers clicked as the sergeant lifted and squeezed his microphone. “Wait one. Over.”

  Thomas and Delmar looked down at the radio, hoping that the sergeant would come back to say that they were coming after all. They were quickly disappointed.

  “109, we have some authority types that really need to speak with your party. They are on their way here with an E-T-A of no later than one hour. Can you continue to monitor this channel? Over.”

  “Roger that. We copy and will stand by. Over.”

  “To confirm, 109. You and those with you are uninjured. Over.”

  “Affirmative, sergeant. Cuts and bruises, only. We will be alright. Over.”

  “Roger, 109. Hang in there, Delmar. Give Mrs. Svenson our condolences and the same goes for you, for your friend. Monitor this channel. We will be back with new news as it comes…and with the authorities within the hour.”

  “Roger, sergeant. 109 out.” Delmar removed the headset and set it down beside the radio. “I thought we’d seen the last of hurry up and wait when we left the Army.”