Wendigo

by Vaughn C. Hardacker

  _____________

  The Wendigo passed the hibernating bear and entered the bowels of the cave. His side still pained him and he needed to find out why. He came to the rear of the cavern and sat against the wall. He probed the wound with the long claw of his right index finger. He felt something hard and it made his finger burn. Ignoring the pain he worked the small projectile out and studied it—a bullet. His fingers burned where it touched the round and he knew why it had hurt him so much. It was a silver bullet. If he had any doubts that the Indian warden knew how to kill him, they were gone. This called for a change in strategy. He leaned back and let his body rejuvenate now that the silver was removed.

  49

  Warden’s Cabin

  John heard the sound of snowmobiles and walked to the door of the warden cabin. He opened the portal and stood in the threshold watching representatives from every law enforcement agency, state and Aroostook County. The lead vehicle was a John Deere trail groomer. When it stopped, the door opened and two men scrambled out of the enclosed cab. John immediately recognized them as Lieutenant Michaud of the warden service and a state police sergeant who he knew was the leader of the SWAT team. The groomer was followed by a convoy of snowmobiles of various manufacture.

  John nodded to Michaud. “Where’d you boys steal that?” he quipped.

  Michaud looked over his shoulder at the groomer. “Belongs to one of the local snowmobile clubs. When I told them what we needed, they lent it to us. Their club members want this over as much as we do so they can start riding again. Of late they been too damned scared to venture out into the woods.”

  John looked at the armada of snowmobiles and said, “I hope you brought supplies and some sort of shelter. There’s nowhere close to being enough of either for the army you brought.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We brought everything we need to set up a base camp here,” Michaud said. He climbed the three steps and entered the cabin, followed by the SWAT leader. “Now suppose you fill me in on what the fuck has been goin’ on up here. I particularly want to know how in hell Murphy got killed.” He pulled off his gloves and opened his coat. “I hope you got some coffee….”

  “It’s on the stove. Mugs are over there on the counter,” John said, bracing himself for the ass-chewing he knew was sure to follow.

  When Michaud had his coffee he sat at the table and, for the first time, noticed that he and John were not alone. Louis and Earl Dowd walked through the door and Earl said, “If you want to know what happened to Murphy, it’s us you want to talk to. John wasn’t there. He was up on the mountain following its tracks.”

  “So you saw his murder?” Michaud said.

  “Not exactly. We were behind him and he’d gotten quite a ways ahead of us. When we caught up with him, his killer was bent over him …” Earl hesitated and then said, “We think that’s when it opened him up and—”

  “So,” Michaud said looking at each of them in turn, “he’d been—”

  “As far as we could tell his heart was ripped out,” John said.

  Michaud shook his head. “What the fuck is with this guy?”

  “He’s a Wendigo,” John said.

  “A what?”

  “A Wendigo—the physical form of an evil spirit that roams the woods preying on solitary hunters, fishermen, whoever it can find.”

  Michaud stared at John. “An evil spirit.” His tone and attitude indicated his disbelief in what he’d been told.

  “It’s a cannibal. It eats its victim.”

  “Is this some of that Indian bullshit? Like that Jeremiah Johnson story where Indians believe that if they eat the heart of a brave enemy they’ll somehow get braver?”

  “No,” John said. “This is a manitou, a god, if you will.”

  Michaud stood up. “John, I think you been chasing this guy too long…. You’re making him sound like a super-villain in a movie.”

  “Lieutenant, no movie character could be anywhere near as dangerous as this thing. We believe that it was once a kid named Paul Condor.”

  Michaud stood up and looked through the window at the activity in the yard. “How in hell has he stayed below the radar this long?”

  “All I can figure,” John said, “is it finds its victims in the middle of the woods. Unless it’s hunting, it avoids any contact with humans, especially those traveling in groups. It’s obvious it’s been at this for a long time, so we shouldn’t underestimate it.”

  “So,” Michaud asked, “how do you want to do this?”

  “Encircle the mountain, keep it from getting off and running for Canada.”

  “He won’t be able to go there,” Michaud commented, “we’ve alerted the RCMP about what’s going on here. They’re watching the border.”

  John grunted.

  “What? You don’t think they can stop him?”

  “Lieutenant, they can’t even stop hunters from shooting Maine moose and lugging them across the Slash. There’s no barrier between our countries and neither we nor the Canadians have enough manpower to watch the entire border.”

  “Well, it is what it is, we’ll do what we can.” Michaud switched the subject. “Once we have the mountain cordoned, then what?”

  “Then the SWAT people and I go up the mountain and drive it down.”

  “What about Louis and me?” Earl Dowd asked.

  “You can join the guys surrounding the base or you can come with me.” John looked at Michaud, who nodded his agreement.

  Michaud started for the door. “I’ll get things going. We’ll have a command post with radio comm set up by sundown.” He watched two of his wardens loading Murphy’s body into the trail groomer. “And John …”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Shoot the bastard first. Then, if he’s still alive, we’ll worry about reading him his rights.”

  _____________

  Rocky Mountain

  The Wendigo circled around the mountain, amazed at the sudden increase in activity below. The humans were surrounding the base and setting up outposts; it was obvious they were prepared to be there for a while. Immediately, he knew that to attack would mean death, especially if they were armed with silver. The now-healed wound had cost him the opportunity to take the fight to his enemy— with the arrival of this new group, they were too numerous. His objective changed from that of observing what all the activity was about to that of finding a way through the cordon of armed men that hemmed him in.

  He took his time circling the ridge. There was four hours until sundown and he wouldn’t be able to do anything until then. One thing about the situation did make him feel secure—finding food for his trek was no longer a problem.

  _____________

  Lieutenant Michaud listened to the reports from the various outposts on the two-way radio that had been set up in the warden cabin. He looked up when John Bear entered, bringing in a blast of freezing air with him. “Everyone is in place,” Michaud said.

  “How many men per outpost?” John asked.

  “Three, I gave them orders that two were to be on watch at all times.”

  “I hope this doesn’t backfire on us. This thing is anything but an everyday perp.”

  “John,” Michaud didn’t try to hide his irritation, “I hope you aren’t gonna go on about some crazy damned Indian myth.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m thinking about seven bodies, all killed and similarly mutilated. What or whoever this killer is, it knows these woods and how to move around in them better than anyone I’ve ever encountered.”

  Michaud listened to the warden service’s most experienced criminal investigator, acquiescing to his knowledge and experience. “Well, at least you haven’t tried to convince me that he’s some sort of supernatural demon….”

  “Oh, I believe it’s not entirely human, that’s not an issue. Nevertheless we have to take into consideration what it’s capable of. He’s avoided us and outsmarted us at every turn. I firmly believe it’s a Wendigo and I will take whatever action I can to kill it
.”

  “Okay. I’ll accept that he’s off his nut and thinks he’s some sort of evil god. How does that help us?”

  “Lieutenant, maybe I should explain to you what it takes to kill this.”

  Michaud walked to the stove and filled a ceramic mug with coffee. “Maybe you should.”

  “The Wendigo has preyed on the Anishinaubae people since the dawn of time. The Native American peoples’ struggle against starvation during the long, cold winters has always given it opportunity. As the food supply dwindled, hunting parties had to travel farther and farther from their territory. A lot of them got turned around and lost. These were the Wendigo’s prey—lost and solitary people in the woods were an ideal source of food. When a Wendigo feeds, it grows and so does its hunger and its need for more food. Hence, the more it eats, the more it needs.”

  “Okay, so the more this guy kills, the more he has to kill. Am I interpreting what you’re saying correctly?”

  “Yes. Now the rest of the myth. A Wendigo is incredibly strong. It can run so fast that a human can’t see it. Silver can hurt or kill it.” John reached into his pocket and took out a silver bullet. “I made these and Earl shot it with one, otherwise he and Louis would, in all probability, be dead. Even if you render it unable to fight, you can’t assume that you won. It also has the ability to resurrect. The only way to make sure you killed it is to cut the body into pieces and throw its heart—which is made of ice—into a bonfire.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  “You’re probably right, but it’s what the Anishinaubae peoples, as well as other nations, and I believe.”

  “I’m struggling to see your point, John.”

  “My point is that his powers are most strong at night, that he can attain gigantic height, and cannot be killed by any mortal human. Think about most wartime heroes. They seem to be possessed of some powerful source of energy while they are performing their heroic deeds—many of which seem insane to rational people. However, we aren’t dealing with a rational being.”

  “Let’s hope that what you describe isn’t the case, that all we’re dealing with is just another nutcase. What’s your suggestion?”

  “By now he’s aware that he’s surrounded. The Dowds, the SWAT team, and I will head up the mountain tonight.”

  “John, climbing a mountain in the dark during winter will be tough going. It’s supposed to clear off tonight and thermal cooling will drop the overnight temperature well below zero.”

  “Our best chance of finding him will be when he’s moving around and that’ll be at night.”

  “Okay. Have you notified the others?”

  “I did that before I came in here.” John turned toward the small room where their sleeping bags were spread. “I figure we’ll head up around eight tonight, so I’m gonna get a few hours of sleep. In the meantime, we got to make some silver bullets—at least one or two per man.”

  50

  Del’s Place

  Laura Wells was surprised to see the bar at Del’s Place was full of local men, all listening intently to Del, who stood behind the bar and looked like a judge holding court. She walked to the door between the dining room and the bar, leaned against the door jamb, and listened.

  “What in hell is goin’ on up at Rocky Mountain?” Bill Kelly shouted to be heard over the chatter.

  “You guys shut your pie holes and I’ll tell you what I know,” Del raised his voice and the din ceased. He placed his hands on the edge of the bar and leaned forward. “A couple of the Dowd boys were in the store early yesterday afternoon. They told me that Earl and a bunch of his kin had cornered the killer, up at Rocky Mountain.”

  “They get him?” asked Phil O’Connor.

  “I’m gettin’ to that.” Del was obviously enjoying his role as being the man in the know. “To get to the point, no. As a matter of fact Cullen Dowd got killed.”

  A rumble rolled through the room as everyone began talking at once.

  Del raised his hands and shouted for quiet. “I ain’t done yet.” When the room quieted down he continued, “John Bear and Murph caught up with the Dowds and took charge. They camped up at the warden cabin on the mountain—that night Galen Dowd got killed.”

  Again a fervor of protest filled the crowd. “What the hell are they doin’ ’bout this?” O’Connor shouted, taking on the role of spokesman for the group.

  Del ignored him. “You boys …” He noticed Laura standing in the threshold of the door to the dining room and nodded. “You folks may have noticed all the cops and wardens that were here this mornin’—well, I heard on the scanner that one of the wardens was killed yesterday afternoon.”

  Again everyone began talking at once. Laura felt her knees go weak. A warden dead! She felt a stab of fear. She raised her voice and, in a tone she hoped sounded like a dispassionate reporter and not a scared significant other, asked, “Did you hear which warden?”

  “Nope, but there’s cops of every sort up there.” Del waited a second for his words to sink in and then added, “no matter which warden it was I don’t think the killer will be coming down from that mountain alive …”

  Laura didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. She darted out of the building, jumped into her SUV, and headed for Dowd Settlement.

  _____________

  Dowd Settlement

  The lights were on when Laura turned into the yard at Dowd Settlement. She pulled up in front of the main house and shut off her motor. Amy walked onto the porch as Laura exited her vehicle and stood with her arms wrapped around her torso, looking haggard and worn in the harsh illumination of the spotlights that lit the area. She stared at Laura for a second, looking like she was at a loss for words, and then said, “You heard?”

  “Yes. I’m so sorry—”

  Amy turned as if to brush off Laura’s words. “Come on in. I can’t stay out long, Granddad’s taking this hard. Whatever this goddamned thing is, it will be the ruin of our family.”

  The sudden transition from twenty below zero to the super-heated atmosphere of the house was like walking into a wall, and Laura immediately took off her heavy parka and placed it over the back of one of the recliner chairs that faced the raging fire in the large stone hearth. She sat and turned to Amy. “How are you handling this?”

  “I’ll be all right. You want some coffee?”

  “That’ll be great.”

  Amy turned toward the kitchen.

  While Amy got the coffee, Laura sat, bent forward with her arms resting on her knees, staring at the wood fire. The flames mesmerized her and she thought about the dead warden and tried to imagine how she’d handle it if it was John. The sap in one of the logs boiled to steam and snapped when the log burst open. She jumped and broke away from her reverie.

  Amy placed a serving tray on the small coffee table that sat between the couch and the hearth and then sat on the opposite end of the couch. “You all right?”

  Laura realized that Amy must have seen her jump when the log burst open and said, “Yes. I just got lost inside my head for a moment.”

  “You take it black, right?” Amy asked.

  “Yes.” Laura looked Amy in the eye. “I should be serving you.”

  “No, I need to have something to do or I’ll completely lose it.”

  “Have you heard which warden was—?”

  “Killed? No, I haven’t. In fact all I know is what Alton told me he heard on his scanner. The wardens and the cops know that many of us have them, so they’re very careful what they say over their radios.”

  Laura nodded that she understood. “Which of your relatives—”

  “My nephews, Cullen and Galen.”

  “How many of your people are left out there?”

  Amy paused for a second appearing to hold a roll call in her head.” My father, Earl, my brother, Louis, and my cousin Kane are there. Buster wants to join up with them, but he’s still laid up from the last time they chased it.”

  “Do you know that the hunt has grown? They’ve cal
led in people from every level of law enforcement.”

  Amy grew pensive. “I heard that on the scanner. But I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”

  “Oh?”

  “That bastard will know about them and be on his toes. A single man who knows his way around the woods will have a better chance of finding him—especially if it doesn’t know it’s being hunted.” She stared at her hands for a few moments. “At least that’s what I think.”

  Laura gave thought to what Amy had said and she had to agree with her. However she didn’t like the idea. The only man capable of tracking it was John—if he was alive.

  The front door opened and a young woman entered. “Amy, any word about Dwain?”

  “No,”

  “He’s been gone for two days now and not a sign of him.”

  “What’s that, you say?”

  The three women turned to see Linwood Dowd helping his grandson Buster down the stairs that led up to the second floor. The bandages wrapping Buster’s chest were visible through the open buttons of his heavy wool shirt. Linwood’s face was red with anger and once he had his grandson off the stairs he released Buster’s arm and his voice rose as he asked, “Why in hell hasn’t anyone told us?”

  Amy’s face reddened, but stood her ground and absorbed her father’s anger. “Granddad, don’t be getting yourself all worked up, it ain’t good for you.”

  “Nothin’s good for me … at my age a man’s livin’ on borrowed time anyways. Now what’s this about Dwain?”

  “He took off again—we didn’t want you and Buster to get all upset, so me’n Dad decided to keep it quiet.”

  “You checked everywhere?”

  “Me’n Alton looked ever’wheres and he ain’t nowhere to be found.”

  Linwood assisted Buster to a chair and then walked across the room and flopped into one of the easy chairs that fronted the hearth. “Gone off with that goddamned killer agin, ain’t he?”

  “We don’t know that for certain,” Amy countered.

  “Girl, you know as well as Buster and me do that Dwain ain’t been actin’ normal since we got him back from that crazy bastard—he’s gone off to find him and there ain’t no doubt about that.”