Wendigo

by Vaughn C. Hardacker

  Feeling temporarily alert, John returned to the abandoned sled and noted its Quebec registration. Was this Guy Boniface’s missing sled? He walked to the Polaris and saw that the gas cap dangled from the tank by a chain. A quick inspection proved what he expected; Dwain had been riding it and it was out of gas.

  He turned and trudged through the shin-deep snow to his sled. He donned his helmet, started the motor, and saw the Wendigo’s tracks heading north, toward the Canadian border. John followed.

  _____________

  Hafford Pond

  Megedagik Askook watched the Dowds depart and began gathering the gear he’d need to spend a prolonged period in the woods. He took his lever-action .308 rifle out of the corner where he stored it, even though he knew it would have little, if any, effect on the creature he would be hunting. He’d long suspected the area was the hunting ground of a Wendigo, but never before had he possessed enough proof to take action. When Buster and Louis Dowd arrived at his cabin doing everything but accusing him outright of the abduction of Buster’s son, Askook knew he had to do what he could to stop the Wendigo. The Dowds were under the misguided impression that they sought a man, not the most evil of manitous.

  Askook knew that the Wendigo would try to find sanctuary in the vast wilderness of Quebec. If he was still alive, the Dowd boy would slow it down and force the Wendigo to stick to trails over which the boy could travel. He also knew that due to recent weather conditions and snow accumulation there was only a single trail that would allow them to easily cross the St. Francis River into Canada. All he had to do was beat them there and wait. They would be coming sooner or later.

  He carried his provisions to his snowmobile and straddled the machine. He sat on the seat and his legs almost obscured the machine. He looked like a teenager riding his six-year-old sister’s bike. He started the motor and headed north.

  29

  Dowd Settlement

  The sound of snowmobiles woke Earl Dowd and he leapt up from the chair in which he’d been dozing. He walked onto the porch and watched as his sons, Buster and Louis, turned into the yard. Rather than drive into the large barn where they normally stored the sleds, they drove up to the porch and shut off their motors.

  Earl said: “You find the boy?”

  Buster was the first off his sled. “No, Dad. Askook may be nuttier than a loon but he ain’t had nothin’ to do with Dwain.”

  “So, where does that leave us?”

  Earl said, “C’mon in and have something hot. When’d you boys last eat?”

  “Ain’t had nothin’ since before we left here yesterday,” Louis said.

  Earl nodded. “There’s hot stew in the kitchen.” He walked inside the main house and saw Amy standing on the stairway that led to the bedrooms on the second floor.

  Her hair was disheveled and her eyes puffy from sleep. “They find Dwain?” she asked.

  “No. I need you to cook up something. We’re gonna eat and then me and the boys are goin’ back out.”

  “What about Grampa?”

  “He ain’t up to it….”

  “The hell I ain’t,” Linwood Dowd protested. “I’ll be goin’ long after you and your boys have quit.”

  “Dad, I ain’t sayin’ you aren’t in good shape for your age, but yesterday damned near killed you. You ain’t nineteen anymore and that ain’t no tropical jungle out there. You’re damn near seventy and we’re goin’ to be pushing hard in below-zero temperatures.”

  The old man stood still, his fists clenched. However, the expression on his face told Earl that the old man was secretly thankful to have someone else make the decision. Still he protested. “Earl, I’m still the head of this family—”

  “Yes,” Earl said, “you are, and that’s all the more reason why you should stay here and keep things together.”

  Earl looked at his sister. “Let’s feed the boys and then let them get a couple hours’ rest. I want us to be back out on the trail by seven.”

  _____________

  T20, R12

  The boy was awake and alert; the meal had revived him as the Wendigo knew it would. With each passing meal he was becoming stronger. Wendigo concentrated on the trail ahead as he ran through the soft snow. If he had not had to stop to feed the boy, they would be safely in Canada. He paused at the top of a ridge and looked into the valley below; on the precipice of the horizon he saw the glow of headlights and shrugged. The Wendigo knew the pursuit was the Indian warden and that he was following the trail. The Wendigo concentrated on the business at hand. There was no recourse but to leave a trail for the warden to follow. He dismissed the warden who was rushing to his death. He turned and in the distance could see the St. Francis River and Quebec beyond.

  Suddenly, a tall man stepped from the woods beside the trail. He held a rifle and had covered himself with Anishinaubae symbols to ward off evil manitous, such as the Wendigo.

  The Wendigo lifted Dwain from his back and placed him to one side. He motioned for him to step aside and turned to face the fool in the trail.

  _____________

  Askook was tall, but his height did not compare to that of his opponent. “Give me the boy and you may pass,” he said.

  The Wendigo responded with booming claps of thunder that sent waves of fear through Askook. Askook swallowed his fear and said, “Give me the boy, before it is too late for him.”

  The Wendigo took a menacing step forward, the talons on the end of his fingers shined in the dwindling sunlight, and displayed a malformed mouthful of jagged teeth and bellowed again.

  Askook removed the rifle from the crook of his arm and aimed it at the Wendigo’s chest. “I know what you are and I also know what is required to kill you.”

  The Wendigo ignored the warning and suddenly his torso became obscured by black storm clouds and the temperature dropped so fast that Askook saw two massive trees split with deafening cracks.

  Askook felt an icy terror that threatened to consume his soul. With more bravado than he felt, he said, “I will kill your physical form, cut out your heart of ice, and will throw it in a great fire.”

  The Wendigo closed with Askook, who raised the rifle and fired without aiming. The silver bullet passed through Wendigo’s side rather than hitting a vital place.

  Surprised by the pain the bullet caused, the Wendigo stumbled. He quickly regained his feet and turned his attention to Askook. A whirling storm cloud enveloped the monster from its waist up and the temperature around him plummeted further. The wind increased from a gentle breeze into a driving blizzard. Driving putrid odor and chill before it, death charged out of the killing blizzard.

  Askook levered the spent cartridge out of the chamber and loaded a second. He pulled the trigger and the weapon failed to fire. He turned the rifle, grabbing it by the barrel and, when the Wendigo was within reach, swung it with all his might. He stepped into the swing like a major league power-hitter swinging for a home run and drove the butt upward into its ribs.

  Askook swung again and slammed the rifle into the Wendigo again. There was a loud crack and the rifle butt separated from the barrel and spun away, disappearing in the deep snow. He threw the useless rifle barrel into the snow and held his left hand in front of his body, hoping to ward off his attacker while he reached for his knife with his right.

  The cold enveloped Askook and before he knew it he was in the grasp of the Wendigo. His talons raked along Askook’s ribs and finally freed his knife from its sheath. The horrible serpentine face of the beast lowered, seeking Askook’s neck. The fangs pulled back when the weakening man drove his knife upward through the bottom of the beast’s chin. The Wendigo threw the Indian and was rewarded when Askook slammed into a large beech tree and yelled out in pain.

  The Wendigo stepped forward preparing to finish the man.

  Askook scrambled to his feet, holding his damaged side with one hand and his bowie knife poised to strike in the other.

  The Wendigo was momentarily perplexed. How was it that this man’s weap
ons were capable of inflicting so much pain? The knife blade flashed and the answer came: Silver. … This one knew how to kill him!

  Askook went on the offensive and slashed its forearm. Blood flew through the air and stained the snow.

  The Wendigo bellowed and then counterattacked with renewed vigor, driving Askook backward.

  He grabbed Askook’s throat with his left hand and drove the talons on the right hand deep into Askook’s belly.

  Askook grunted, bent forward, and backed up a step, freeing himself from the horrible claws.

  The Wendigo stepped forward and retracted his hand from the Indian’s stomach and then drove his talons into the Indian’s chest. He shoved the hand deeper in the cavity, probing for the hammering heart with icy fingers.

  The Wendigo dropped his vanquished foe onto his knees, stepped back, and glared at him.

  Askook’s knife dropped from his bloody hand as he stared up at his killer.

  The Wendigo’s triumphant roar echoed through the forest. He reached out and grabbed a handful of the dying man’s hair and prepared to butcher him. But before he could strike, a snowmobile raced up behind him. He spun around and saw the warden racing up the ridge and motioned for the boy to come to him.

  Rather than obey, the boy stood still, staring at the Indian who lay face down in the snow. The Indian’s body was covered by a cloud of steam caused by the heat flowing out of his body. Suddenly Dwain spun and ran toward the approaching sled.

  The Wendigo ignored the boy and stepped over the vanquished man’s body. Askook rolled aside before the Wendigo could step on him and lay in the snow, staring at the darkening sky.

  _____________

  John Bear saw the Wendigo run away. Its speed astonished him; in three strides it was moving so fast that it was difficult to see. John gave up thoughts of pursuit and ran to Askook’s aid. The amount of blood in the snow told him that there was no hope of saving the trapper. He raised the dying man’s head and smiled when Askook said, “I held him as long as I could—what kept you? It was a Wendigo.”

  “I know,” John said.

  “I was wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “Obviously these stupid Anishinaubae talismans and dream catchers ain’t worth shit.”

  John couldn’t help but smile again. “I don’t know about that. I think you hurt him.”

  “Take my knife—rifle’s broke.”

  John reached into the snow and picked up the bowie knife. “It’s a nice blade,” he said.

  “Blade’s coated in silver. Like werewolves, Wendigo don’t like silver…. Don’t try to arrest him. You know what you have to do.” Askook’s eyes glazed over and he was dead.

  “He fought hard….”

  John turned to find Dwain Dowd standing behind him.

  “You going after him?” Dwain asked.

  “No, I have to get you home. Did he hurt you?”

  “Naw. He took good care of me. You goin’ after him?”

  “I’d like nothing better, but I have to take care of Askook and I have to get you home.” John looked around the area and added, “Did you see how Askook got here? He must have a sled someplace nearby.”

  “Didn’t see nothin’—he stepped out of the trees over there—” he pointed to a spot in front of their position, “and stood in the middle of the trail when we got here.”

  “Well, what you say we check the area out a bit.”

  30

  T19, R12

  John Bear heard the sleds before he saw them, but once they rounded the curve in the trail he knew it was a posse consisting entirely of Dowds. Earl Dowd raised an arm and the following riders halted. Earl peered at John. “That my grandson behind you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Whose sled is he riding?”

  “Askook’s.”

  “So it was that asshole who had the boy.”

  John stepped off his sled and removed his helmet. “No. Something else had the boy, Askook stopped it.”

  Earl nodded. “I didn’t think Askook was involved.” He looked around the area. “How come Dwain is riding alone? Where’s Askook? We owe him.”

  John placed his helmet on the seat of his sled. “You boys wouldn’t happen to have a thermos of hot coffee would you?”

  Earl lifted the seat of his sled and reached inside the storage compartment. He extracted a thermos and offered it to John. He stood silently as the warden twisted the cap off, removed the stopper, and poured coffee into the cap.

  A small cloud of steam formed above the hot black beverage and John took a drink. The strong drink warmed him as it moved down his throat. He swallowed, handed the thermos to Earl, and said, “You’re too late.” He pointed to the eight-foot-long trapper sled attached to the rear of his sled. “That’s Askook’s sleigh—he’s inside. The kidnapper killed him.”

  “Where’s the kidnapper now?”

  John swallowed the rest of the coffee and handed the cap/cup back to Earl, who screwed it onto the thermos. “Don’t know. I came on them just as the fight was ending and it took off. I would imagine that by now it’s either in Quebec or Estcourt Station—either way it’s trying to get to Canada.”

  “You keep saying it, like this thing ain’t human. What’s that all about?”

  John wasn’t sure that the Dowds were ready to hear the truth so he tried to evade answering. “That’s a subject for later.”

  Earl gave him a quizzical look, but obviously decided to let it lie.

  Buster and Louis Dowd dismounted from their sleds and walked to their father’s side. “You didn’t go after him?” Buster asked.

  “Nope. Askook was still alive when I arrived. Once he was dead I figured gettin’ Dwain back was more important.”

  Earl nodded. “We appreciate that. We’ll take him home.”

  “May want to have him checked out by a doctor,” John said. “He’s been out in the cold for most of two days.”

  Buster looked at his son. “You okay?”

  “Yes, just a little hungry,” Dwain answered.

  “Okay, we’ll take him from here, Warden.” Earl turned to his sons “Guess our job here is done. Mount up and we’ll get him home and feed him.”

  John said, “Take the sled with you. We’ll want to talk with Dwain in detail later.”

  “You goin’ after it?” Earl asked.

  “Not much sense in it today.” John replied. “I got to get Askook back to Lyndon and notify the RCMP and U.S. Customs to be on the watch—and to be careful, it’s dangerous, crazy, and running scared. That’s a potentially lethal combination no matter what you’re dealin’ with.”

  Earl nodded and then turned away. In seconds the posse had turned around and was headed back toward Dowd Settlement. John stepped aside as Dwain passed him on Askook’s sled. The boy didn’t acknowledge him as he passed. John Bear stood in the knee-deep snow and listened to the dying sounds of their motors.

  _____________

  Little Black Checkpoint

  Once John Bear was within range of a cellular tower, he called for assistance and Larry Murphy, Bob Pelky, and an ambulance were waiting for him when he reached the small cabin that served as gateway to the northwestern section of Maine’s north woods. Once Askook’s body was transferred from the trapper sleigh to the ambulance, the three law enforcement agents entered the small shack. The warm interior made John aware of how fatigued he was. He’d had at most five hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours and knew he had to get some sleep soon or he’d be useless.

  Murphy poured three cups of coffee from the urn and handed one to John and another to Pelky. “The authorities on both sides of the border have been notified to be on the lookout for this thing.”

  “You emphasize how dangerous he is?”

  “Definitely,” Murphy said. “It was a bit uncomfortable when they asked for a description and when I gave it to them, the silence on the line was deafening.”

  “The state police are also on the lookout,” Pelky said. �
��We’ve contacted the FBI because of the international implications. This is turning into one hell of a manhunt.”

  John drank the coffee and with his free hand rubbed his eyes, which were beginning to feel like two hot coals. “If it reached the Slash and crossed the border into Quebec, it could be anywhere. The only thing stopping it from getting access to the entire continent is the Saint Lawrence River.”

  “Something tells me,” Pelky added, “that we haven’t seen the last of this thing.”

  “In a way part of me hopes we have,” John said. “Too many people have been its victims already—and who knows how many vics there are that we’ve never heard about.”

  “If nothing else,” Murphy said, “his unusual culinary requirements should expose him sooner or later.”

  “Like I said,” John intoned, “I hope we don’t hear about it—in the meantime, I’m headed to my brother’s place. I need sleep.”

  _____________

  Big Twenty Township

  The Wendigo followed the snowmobile until he heard the motor shut down. Another motor was running nearby and he followed his prey’s tracks until he came to a lake. The prey was using a power auger to cut ice fishing holes in the ice. An hour later the Wendigo was feeding.

  _____________

  The Wendigo’s arm ached where the Indian had cut it, but the bleeding had stopped and the gash was already healing. He walked along the top of the ridge, surveying the terrain for any landmark that would help determine his position. All he knew was that the St. Francis River, Maine’s northern border with Quebec, was to his north. There were three towns in the vicinity: Rivière-Bleue, Estcourt Station, and Pohénégamook in Quebec. He was certain that he was west of Rivière-Bleue, but not certain if Kelly Rapids was close by, or if he was west of that too, which made Pohénégamook in Quebec and Estcourt Station in Maine the best options.

  The more he pondered, the more confused he became. He started following the trail. He listened to the sounds around him as he walked. Hungry again, he hoped to hear the drone of another solitary snowmobile rider but heard nothing but the sound of trees swaying in the freezing wind and the raucous cawing of crows and ravens. He walked on.