Beneath a Winter Moon

by Shawson M Hebert

  The man cursed aloud and held up a hand as he rolled over to one side, gesturing that he meant no harm…but Thomas was not taking any chances. He knew that this man had been attacked during the night—by Alastair. The consequences of the attack were set in stone.

  “It was your weapons fire we heard in the night?” Thomas asked, keeping the double-barreled rifle aimed at the man. The man grunted and slowly sat up. He nodded.

  “You were attacked by something?” Thomas said, slowly. “Something…not quite animal but not human?’

  “A werewolf,” the man answered. “Are you one of Steven Svenson’s clients…one of the hunters?”

  Thomas nodded. “Thomas Devereux…and you?”

  “I’m captain Deluth, Royal Canadian Police, special investigative unit. Are you the only survivor?”

  Thomas ignored him. “You’ve been infected.”

  Deluth chuckled. “Indeed, Thomas. Indeed—which is why I need your help. Can you tell me where you think I can find the man…this Jeremiah? He is the werewolf, is he not?”

  “Remove that MP-5 and your sidearm, one at a time, and slowly. Finger and thumb.”

  Deluth smiled. “You know your weapons, Thomas. Were you a military man?”

  “Seventh Special Forces, US Army,” Thomas replied blandly.

  Deluth nodded, truly impressed with both the man standing before him, and the luck that the almighty himself had bestowed upon him in this final hour. He slowly removed the MP-5 with one hand, sliding the sling over his head. He laid it gently on the ground and slid it across the rocky cavern floor. He did the same with the handgun.

  “I have to get to Jeremiah while he is still in human form. I think you know that, though—otherwise you would be staring at me as if I were mad.”

  Jack whimpered and Deluth shifted his gaze to the Husky. “Well, that explains the smaller thermal image.”

  Thomas frowned. “You saw us this morning from that helicopter?”

  Deluth nodded. “We figured you were in trouble, and believed wherever you were, the werewolf would likely be. Instead, he reversed our own game—dropping his pursuit of you in order to come for us.” He sat up. “We didn’t see that coming.”

  Thomas shook his head. “He came back.”

  “I see,” Deluth said. “Our imagery detected another person…”

  “Dead,” Thomas said. “Killed by Alastair…I mean, Jeremiah.”

  “Where can I find him? He has to die.”

  “He’s right behind me, about twenty feet down inside a pit. He’s had a bad morning. He’s…lost his head.”

  Deluth frowned for a moment, though it was hardly detectable through the long, thick scars. “You are being truthful, Thomas? You have killed him”

  Thomas nodded. “Yes—to both. He and the best friend I have ever had are in that pit—both are headless now, and both are due for a funeral pyre.”

  Deluth let out a huge sigh of relief and let his head drop, his chin touching his chest. “Thank God—and thank you. I take it that the…creature did not infect you…but that he did—your friend?”

  Thomas nodded, then sat down on the cavern floor next to Jack. “You can call it a werewolf, captain. I’ve gotten used to the idea.” He paused. “You have obviously been infected, captain. So tell me, what is next? Where are the others and where is your aircraft?”

  Deluth looked down at the ground for a moment. “The others are dead. The helicopter is maybe half a click away, with a pilot standing by and waiting for instructions.”

  Thomas shook his head. “I’m sorry, Captain. I really am…but you won’t be leaving this cavern alive.”

  Deluth sighed, and again silently thanked the heavens for this man. “I know that, Thomas, and I am fine with it.” He hesitated. “Well, that is a lie. Let’s say that the alternative is something I could not stand even for an instant.”

  Thomas stared. “You knew what you were coming out here for…which means that someone has always known. The authorities have always known, haven’t they? And you are about to tell me that you are part of some Canadian task force who hunts the damned things, aren’t you?”

  Deluth nodded. “You have it...although technically we are part of an international task force, with permission to enter and act in virtually every country in the world.”

  Thomas started to say something, but Deluth held up a hand.

  “Listen to me, Thomas. There is another one out there. Well, not literally out there,” he gestured to the cavern entrance. “Jeremiah infected another person. We had that person locked down and he was being transported away last night but the vehicle wrecked and the bastard is loose. You have to go to the helicopter and give this to Lieutenant Snow Eagle.” Thomas gazed at the folded paper Deluth held out in a bloody hand. “This has everything he needs to begin a search. Alan Tucker is the infected man’s name. He will most likely still be near the wreckage and he will be seeking shelter.” He grimaced. “It will be many hours before another team can reach the site, but you can be there in minutes. By now, Alan is back in human form, awake, and panicking. Every moment that Alan Tucker walks this earth, he is a danger unlike anything you have ever known…even more dangerous that Alastair.”

  Thomas doubted that, but he listened. Deluth waited, and finally Thomas nodded for him to go on.

  “He’s dangerous because he is new. Newly infected ones can have unbelievable strength after they have changed the first time, even in human form. Their instincts will take over and despite what they know they have done…despite how many they have killed, they will convince themselves that they must live.”

  He bowed his head. “I have to die, Thomas. I am fighting like crazy to keep that in my head. The infection—or curse, depending on who you ask, is fighting against my convictions even now.

  They can come back from death once they have survived infection. You have to decapitate or burn them—which I gather you already somehow know—so even if Alan took his own life, he would come back. If you can find him and kill him, you must.”

  Thomas removed the silver-bladed dagger from his cargo pocket. “Alastair had this one him. He said he tried to kill himself with it, but regenerated once it was removed.”

  “He spoke to you about his life?” Deluth asked, incredulously. “None have ever done so, willingly, nor said much when being…forced.”

  “He told me some things,” Thomas said. “I only gave him a few minutes, but it was enough for me to fill in some blanks.” Thomas frowned, pausing a moment to reflect on all that Deluth was telling him. “Are you really asking me to hunt this man for you? You don’t even know me.”

  Deluth gestured toward the MP-5 and the handgun. “Those are equipped with silver bullets. They will stop Alan but they will not keep him down forever. He must be burned to ash or decapitated. There is another team like mine coming for Alan, but they are hours away at best. They will want Alan alive if possible, but I am ordering you to kill the man if you have the opportunity to do so.”

  “Ordering me?” Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think so, Captain.”

  “I’m deputizing you, Thomas. Officially and legally. Right here, right now.”

  “And if I refuse? I’ve been through hell the past…” Thomas was confused. How many days had it been? “I haven’t slept for days. I’m not in good shape, myself. I can’t go chasing your man around. What if I’m just not up for it?”

  Deluth shook his head. “You are not going to refuse. You are a man of honor and I know you are duty bound. You do not want others falling victim to Jeremiah. You don’t want others to become infected.” Deluth paused. “Have you thought about what happens if the infection spreads?”

  “Yes, I have. Why do you think I said that you won’t be leaving this cavern in one piece?”

  “There is no time to argue, Thomas. You are a special ops soldier. Trained better than most men...better than most soldiers. You were part of an elite fighting force and you know how to use unconventional tactics. You are a la
st gift to me.” He tried to smile again, but Thomas grimaced at the result. “I don’t believe in coincidences. You are here now and are the only hope of stopping Alan before he is gone. If he gets out of here…and out of Canada, we may never find him…unless it’s through a long trail of victims.” He stared at Thomas, who averted his eyes after a moment, unable to keep looking at the man’s twisted face. “Will you help me, Thomas? Will you help us?”

  Thomas gritted his teeth. “I will…but only until your other team arrives. I’m out after that.”

  “When the other teams arrive, they will debrief you and then relieve you of all responsibilities, I promise you. They will assist you with returning to the states, and they will sterilize this whole mountain.” He gestured around the cavern. “It will be as if none of this ever happened. They will help you, Thomas. They will help all of this go away so that no one knows.”

  “I’m not so sure that it’s a good thing that no one knows.”

  Deluth shook his head. “There is no time to debate these things. Trust that—at least in this matter—the governments of the world know better than we do. Hell, this is one thing that all countries agree on. That should tell you something.” He grimaced. “Will you help us right now—and search for Alan? If the boy gets a head start of so many hours…”

  “Boy!” Thomas exclaimed. “Now wait a minute…”

  Deluth held up a weary hand. “A figure of speech. He is a young man in his twenties. Snow can tell you about him and will be able to fly you straight to the wrecked vehicle.” Deluth slowly reached into a cargo pocket and removed his identification. He placed the blood-stained paper inside it and tossed the leather I.D. badge to Thomas. “This will be all you need when the teams get here. They will find you. You give them this, and tell them everything.”

  He gestured reassuringly toward Thomas. “It’s fine, Thomas. They will understand everything that has happened. They will test your blood and once they see that you are not infected, they will get you back home. You are not the first civilian that has had to be sworn in. The pilot of that helicopter out there was just a mountain rescue officer until yesterday. And he will return to that job as soon as the other teams get here.”

  Thomas looked at the badge and credentials but did not reply.

  “There is no more time, Thomas. This country needs your service. I am begging you for your help.”

  Thomas frowned, angry at himself for what he was about to say. “Alright, captain, I’ll do what you ask. But, now is when you have to tell me what happens to you.”

  Deluth stood up, straightening himself to his full height. Thomas was amazed that he could stand at all when he took a closer look at the rest of the man’s uniform. He had been ripped form head to toe. Deluth gestured toward the handgun. “As you said, Thomas—I cannot live to take a single step outside this cavern. It is loaded with silver bullets, like I said. Once I am dead, you will have to decapitate me, just as you said you did with Jeremiah…Alastair I guess is his real name…and your friend.”

  Thomas stared at Deluth for a moment, trying to feel some sort of emotion. He struggled to find sympathy for the man, but there was none. He was just numb, and was beginning to believe there would be no end to this nightmare. He sighed and picked up the handgun, taking a few steps toward Deluth,

  Deluth smiled at Thomas. “I’ll do the deed, but you have to finish the job.”

  “How do you suppose that I can just hand this weapon to you and trust that you won’t…” Thomas never finished the sentence. Quicker than Thomas would have believed possible, Deluth spun, shoving into Thomas backward while grasping his wrist at the same time, forcing Thomas to release the weapon. With one arm, Deluth pushed Thomas to the ground, then shoved the handgun under his own chin, and fired.

  Thomas scrambled backward and then sat still for a moment in stunned silence. “Sonofabitch,” he whispered.

  Deluth’s body twitched a final time as Thomas stood up and stepped around it, moving over to Jack and soothing the dog. He patted the Husky and spoke softly to him as he took the machete from the frame of his backpack. Then he moved back to the still form of Deluth. He stood over him, ready to land the first blow that would sever the man’s head from his body.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Alan rolled over on his side, stretching his stiff muscles as he did so. He yawned and shivered, curling his body up into a fetal position. He wanted to go back to sleep, but sunlight poured in from a window, shining directly on his face. He yawned again, then frowned. He thought he had covered that window with tin foil at Kathy’s request. She must have uncovered it, he thought. His mouth tasted foul, rotten. He licked his lips and then forced his eyes to open all the way. He needed to get up and…

  He saw that he was not in his bed, not in his room, not even in his home. Suddenly, memories came flashing back. Memories of the mountain and the hospital—then memories of Deluth and being told he would be transported to a new facility. He rolled on the unfamiliar bed and planted his feet to the floor, rubbing his eyes and trying to figure out where he was. He looked around the room. It was definitely a bedroom. He was definitely on someone’s bed. He looked at the nightstand and saw a digital clock—9:21a.m

  He was naked, but worse, he was dirty. He looked at the bedspread he had been laying on. It was a light orange and yellow, covered with white daisies imprinted into the fabric. There were brown and black stains all over the bedspread. He looked down at his body and rubbed at the dirt. It did not come off, and appeared more like stains than dirt.

  “Hello?” he said, loudly. “Anyone home? Deluth? Lieutenant Snow? Hello?”

  He stood up and looked around the bedroom. Some picture frames were overturned on the nightstands, and there were mud colored tracks on the carpet leading to the bed. An ominous feeling shadowed over Alan as he looked at the tracks. They were much too large to have been his, and their form looked—wrong. He followed their trail to the opposite side of the bed and saw a huge, brown stain there, and some sort of—something that looked like the sack of livers and hearts that came inside the body of a chicken from the grocery store. He almost gagged at the site.

  “What the hell?”

  The memories came flooding back. He’d been bitten. Deluth had believed him and said that he would help. He had been infected by a werewolf and here he was, naked, dirty, and looking at some sort of guts on the floor inside a bedroom he didn’t know, obviously in a house he was not familiar with.

  “Dear God in heaven,” he mumbled. “God, please…”

  He went to the door of the bedroom and peered out into an adjoining hallway. It was dim, as there were no lights on inside the house, and the hallway couldn’t receive much of the morning sunlight. Cautiously, Alan stepped out into the hallway.

  “Hello?” he shouted again. “Anyone home? I’m sorry—I can’t remember what happ…”

  He couldn’t finish the sentence. His entire body froze in place as he stared into the living area of what must have once been a peaceful and happy home. It was no more. The destruction was as complete as if a tornado had hit the room. Glass from a ruined window littered the carpet and overturned furniture. A coffee table lay upside down with two of its legs broken off. A television, its screen smashed, sat sideways, having been dragged off of its table. The cord was still plugged into the wall.

  “Please God,” Alan whispered. “Please let the house be empty.” He cautiously stepped forward. There were no bodies in the living area—and Alan held a glimmer of hope that no one had been home when he—in werewolf form, had entered. He rounded a corner slowly, covering his eyes with one hand, the way a child might while watching a horror movie. He looked through the gap between his fingers. He saw them, and dropped to his knees.

  There were two bodies in the kitchen, an elderly man and woman, both completely stripped of their clothing. Their bodies lay in awkward, twisted positions on the floor, which was thick with congealed blood and viscera. Their stomachs and chests were torn open, and
unidentifiable pieces of their insides, still connected inside the hollow bodies, hung out in tangled trails.

  Alan vomited. He wretched onto the area where living room carpet switched to kitchen floor tile, and as he heaved he saw that his hands were finger deep in the muck that had once been the lifeblood of two human beings. He flung himself backward, scrambling away into the living room, frantically wiping his hands on the carpet. He had to get the blood off. His body revolted against the sudden movement, as his stomach heaved with more intensity. Alan could do nothing but stay on his knees as his body rejected everything it could from the contents of his stomach. When the heaving stopped, Alan wailed and rolled onto his side, crying out to God—to whoever would listen. He screamed in agony, tears flowing across the brown stains on his face and chest as he tried to remember something—anything—about the previous night.

  Moments passed, then minutes. Alan managed to calm himself. He had to think of what to do next. Obviously he was guilty of murder—most gruesome murder and if nothing else, he must be stopped. He thought of finding a phone inside the home and calling the police to give himself up. But what good would that do? He would be locked up, of course, but he would still become—the monster. Could a cage even hold him? And what would he tell the authorities? They would examine the bodies and come to the conclusion that a beast had committed the atrocities, not a man. How could he convince rational people that he was a werewolf? How could he make them believe? They would believe if they saw me change, he thought…but that was too risky. He might break free and go on a feeding frenzy inside whatever confines they utilized.

  Could he die, he wondered. Was he now, somehow, immortal? Could a silver bullet kill him—like in the movies? He shook his head. What he needed to do, now, he knew, was to get out of this house, find out where he was, and what happened to Deluth and their plans. If Deluth was still around, maybe even looking for him, then that was who he needed to find.

  Alan found suitable clothes in the bedroom closet, and laid them out on the bed. There was a bathroom connected to the bedroom, and so he climbed into the shower, letting the hot water wash away what he now knew was dried blood. He had found a clock radio on the counter of the bathroom and had turned it on. It was tuned into a country music station. As he showered, he listened, but was unable to determine where he was. He thought he had heard the disc jockey’s voice before, but wasn’t sure. He hoped he was not too far from home.