THE SENTINEL (A Jane Harper Horror Novel)

by Robinson, Jeremy; Bishop, Jeremy

  McAfee stops as the giant male lifts his head high and roars. “Whoa,” he says, shaking his open palms at the beast. “It’s okay, we’re friends.

  To my surprise, the bull actually lowers its head and stares into McAfee’s eyes, perhaps trying to determine whether this small man is a killer. Unfortunately for McAfee, that’s exactly what he is and the bull must sense it, because it lunges forward, pulls back its head and slams its foot and a half long tusks into McAfee’s chest. The tusks, thrust by thousands of pounds of muscle, tear through McAfee’s bone, muscle and sinew like paper. The twin spears of ivory explode out of his back, cutting off his scream. When the walrus pulls its head back, McAfee’s body sticks and is lifted into the air. Blood drips from the bull’s tusks and McAfee’s dangling arms. The slow tug of gravity pulls the body down with a wet slurp until it falls free with a dull thud as it lands on the sandy shore.

  For one still moment, all I can hear is the crashing of nearby waves. Fog rises up as the snow and ice melt in the sun. But as one hundred walrus heads turn toward Willem and me, I don’t think there’s any amount of fog that could hide us from them.

  Our only chance is to head back and hope the bear has given up the chase. But that option is erased a moment later as the bear charges over the rise behind us and clumsily tumbles over the five foot drop. The fall slows the bear for only a moment, though. It scrambles up and commences its insane charge.

  The walruses react to the presence of the polar bear immediately. The small specimens turn and run. The larger bulls rise up, like warriors defending castle walls, spear-tusks out. They outweigh and outnumber the bear. And the bear should know this. But it shows no sign of slowing. In fact, it looks hungrier and more frantic than ever. I see the five fresh bullet wounds. The red spots are easy to find in all the white fur, but not one of the wounds is bleeding. They’re just small red dots.

  “Jane,” Willem hisses.

  I turn toward his voice. He’s a few feet away and moving into the herd, which is preoccupied with the bear. I follow him quickly, and together we flee the bear along with half the herd. We move in pace with the giants, careful not to run directly in front of any tusks. A few angry roars chase us, but none of the walruses stops to take a swipe. Instinct pushes us all forward. As we approach the low outcrop of stone that Chase used to escape the beach, we have to leap over the body of a large bull, but by the time he swings around to do something about it, we’re up and out of his reach.

  I turn around in time to see the bear reach the noble bull walruses, still standing their ground. And what happens next… Being in the undercover documentary field, I’ve seen just about every nature special ever made, some for information, some shot by acquaintances. So I’ve seen just about every scenario of polar bear versus walrus there is—polar bear kills walrus, walrus kills polar bear, the stalemate and polar bear kills walrus only to be killed by a rival. Most outcomes are violent and bloody, but this…this is something else.

  The bear takes on the big bull, which probably outweighs the bear by a thousand pounds. It just charges straight ahead, jaws open wide. It stands about as little chance against the giant as McAfee did. The walrus slams its head down, using its tusks to kill a creature for the second time in a single minute. The bear buckles under the weight of the walrus and for a moment is pinned to the sand.

  Job done, the walrus pulls its tusks out and shuffles back.

  I actually let out a small shout of surprise when the bear leaps back to its feet and strikes. The walrus matches my shocked cry as the world’s largest land predator wraps its long arms around the walrus. Before the walrus can react, the bear snaps its jaws onto the walrus’s lower neck and bites down hard.

  The walrus bellows and smashes the bear down again and again. But the bear can’t be shaken.

  “What the fu—”

  Chase’s voice makes Willem and I both jump. He’s crouched down behind us, watching the scene. “Where’s McAfee?” he asks.

  I look for the body in the sea of fog-shrouded brown bodies and find it beneath the big bull. He’s being pulverized, along with the bear.

  A second large bull shuffles up next to the bear. He and the dominant male probably stab the shit out of each other when mating season rolls around, but right now, they’re both part of the herd. The second male jabs the bear in the side, sliding those big tusks between the bear’s ribs and piercing all sorts of vital organs. The bear is yanked away and tossed onto the sand.

  And still, it comes.

  This time for the second bull. The bear rounds the big bull and leaps onto its back, dragging its claws and leaving ten bloody streaks. The bull rolls and stabs at the bear again and again. More bulls join the fight. Tusks, claws and teeth meet and soon all of them are covered in blood.

  I’m sick to my stomach. I take a deep breath and say, “I’ve seen enough.”

  Chase and Willem look equally mortified. In fact, there is a small pool of bile at Chase’s feet. I didn’t even hear him puke. We slide away from the scene, careful not to be spotted.

  As we start up the hill, I have more questions than ever, but I keep them to myself. At this point, I don’t really want answers. I just want to get the fuck off this island. “We can’t stay here,” I say.

  Willem just charges up the hillside, his face grim. I take his fast stride as agreement. We’ll pick up his father, Jakob and Peach and make for the mainland.

  Chase is a little more vocal. “Absolutely. I think I’d rather swim the distance than face that bear. But there’s no way it walks away from that. No way. It got skewered, what, four times?”

  “Didn’t make a difference,” Willem grumbles. He gives me a knowing glance that says, You and I both know what we just saw.

  I ignore the absurdity of it all and try to focus on reality. But Chase saw the look, too.

  “What are you thinking?” he asks.

  Willem’s only reply is a quickly sniffed breath.

  “Hey,” Chase complains, stopping on the side of the hill. “What is it?”

  Neither Willem nor I turn around. That is, not until we hear his sharp breath. I don’t know how people can hear these kinds of things, but the noise registers as a gasp of understanding.

  “You don’t think...” Chase says slowly. “You do. Holy shit. You think that bear was a Draugr. Is that even possible?”

  Willem slows and turns around. I stop as he looks past me and faces Chase. His face is red and frightening, not so much because he’s gripped in some kind of rage, but because he’s afraid. He points down the hill behind us and says, “You tell me.”

  I turn to look and wish I hadn’t.

  It’s been ten minutes since we left the savage battle behind. The bear should be long since dead, and maybe some of the walruses with it. But there on the beach, beneath a rising curtain of fog, the battle continues. The bear, now more blood red than white, continues its one-man hack and slash attack. Behind it, several large walruses lay dead.

  As much as this is the perfect time to let loose expletives that would make your mother’s heart explode, the three of us remain silent. The scene is beyond description.

  As my hand comes to my mouth, a flash of movement catches my attention. “What was that?” I blurt out.

  “What?” Willem asks.

  I point toward the dead. “I saw something else. Something smaller moving around the bodies.”

  “I don’t see anything,” Chase says.

  Willem puts his hand on my shoulder. “C’mon, we shouldn’t—”

  A distant howl cuts through the air.

  “Was that—” Chase starts.

  “Wind,” I say. I hope.

  The sound repeats.

  Not wind.

  The sound came from a human being.

  A man.

  “My father,” Willem says, and then he bolts up the rise with Chase and me on his heels.

  I have no idea what we’ll find when we get there. My greatest fear, the polar bear, is behind us. So w
hatever is making Jakob scream is something else.

  Something new.

  26

  Chase grunts as he stumbles and falls, sliding along the smooth slushy grade for ten feet. He comes to a stop on his back, staring at the dark blue sky. I stop and backtrack to make sure he’s okay while Willem charges forward, fueled by concern for his father. We’re near the bottom of the hill, and the Viking ruins are straight ahead, but no one is in sight. They’re either on the other side, or somewhere else.

  I stand above Chase, who’s blinking his eyes and staring up through his glasses. His chest heaves with each breath. “You okay?” I speak quickly, out of breath from running.

  “I’m fine,” he says, pushing himself up. “Go ahead.”

  Chase looks tired. Winded. And it’s brave of him to send me ahead, but I’m not leaving him behind. I offer my hand to him.

  He takes a deep breath and winces, holding his side. “I have a cramp. Just go.”

  I look to Willem. He’s a hundred feet away now. If he finds something dangerous at the ruins, he’s only going to have that knife for protection. I’m torn. Willem might need help, but leaving someone behind would be the final offense against my father. He’d probably haunt me for the rest of my life as punishment.

  Motivation, I hear the Colonel in my memory. When I had trouble in school, with my peers or really just about anything else, my father would find a way to motivate me, usually through the threat of something worse than what I faced. See, he would say, all you needed was some motivation.

  I turn my head up, widen my eyes with fear and shout, “polar bear!” And then I run. I don’t look back. I just run. And Chase does the same. A moment later, the wiry, long-legged man passes me like he’s an honest-to-goodness greyhound chasing a rabbit.

  He slows as we near the ruins. As I jog closer, he turns around, chest heaving, eyes wide. He looks past me. “Where’s the bear?” he shouts.

  I slow as I pass him. “What bear?”

  Anger fills his eyes. “You said the bear was coming.”

  “And you needed motivation.”

  He shakes his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

  “By the way,” I say, “Thanks for leaving me in the dust. If there had been a bear, it would have got me and not you, so well done.” I only half mean it. I don’t think many people put a lot of thought into their actions when they think they’re about to be mauled by a bear.

  But Chase lowers his head with a frown, the anger drained out of him. Before I can tell him I understand, Willem shouts. “Jane! Help!”

  His voice is followed by a high pitched wail.

  “C’mon,” I say to Chase, and charge around the wall. The first thing I see as I round the other side of the building is Jakob lying on the ground. At first, I think he’s dead, but then he moves and starts to get up. He must have fallen.

  A pain-filled shout bring my attention back to the wall. Willem clings to the top of the wall, hanging a few feet above the ground. He’s got a grip under Alvin’s shoulders and pulls the man up. There’s something inside, I realize.

  Alvin is yanked back. His eyes go wide and he lets out a panicked yelp. The high-pitched angry scream repeats and I realize the awful truth. Peach is inside, and they’re trying to get away from her.

  I throw myself onto the wall and heave myself up. When I see Peach on the other side of the wall, I’m stunned into silence for a moment. Her eyes are milky white. Her face—her body—is puffed up, making her look nearly twice her size. His face is twisted with rage, her bared teeth revealed by a wolf-like sneer. She looks like a rabid animal, all traces of humanity erased.

  “Help!” Willem shouts.

  One of Alvin’s pant legs is torn open. Blood seeps from the tear. Peach has a grip on both of Alvin’s legs, playing tug-a-war with the old man’s body. I take hold of Alvin’s jacket and pull, adding my strength to Willem’s. We pull Alvin up a few inches, but we’re suddenly yanked back down.

  Peach is incredibly strong. Even if Chase or Jakob helped, I don’t think we’d win this fight.

  Alvin’s face is just inches from mine, so when he whispers, “Draugr,” I hear him loud and clear.

  No way, I think. I’m not ready to go there. It’s just not possible. We are not facing fucking zombie polar bears and a zombie…Peach. God, that sounds so stupid.

  Then Peach goes and bites Alvin’s leg. A horrible sound rises in his throat and makes my eyes tear upon hearing it. Peach comes away with a chunk of flesh and chews hungrily. She’s eating him. Peach is eating Alvin!

  I look at the fresh wound. It’s red, and bloody, but there’s something else. Something small and white. And moving. Maggots? I think. But then they’re gone and my attention shifts to the man’s pain-filled face. He shakes. His eyes are wide. “Draugr,” he says again. And then he shouts it, “Draugr!”

  Willem snaps his head toward me. “He’s right.”

  “What?” I say. It’s all I can manage.

  “You have to shoot her,” he says, and he’s deadly serious.

  “I can’t.”

  “You have to!” And then he says three words that will haunt me for the rest of my life, however long or short that might be. “She’s already dead!”

  Wet smacking sounds draw my attention back to Peach. She’s enjoying the fresh flesh in her mouth. She closes her eyes, as though gripped by ecstasy, and swallows a piece of Alvin’s leg.

  Something in me breaks and my doubts wash away. Holding onto the wall with one hand, I use the other to draw my weapon. I’ve fired six rounds already, all at the polar bear, and none had any effect. If the bear and Peach are indeed afflicted by the same zombie-making plague, then I’m not sure this will help.

  Alvin grasps my arm so tight that it hurts. “Head,” he says. “In head!”

  Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? I mean, shooting my roommate in the fucking head should have been the first thing that occurred to me, right?

  I take aim, but don’t pull the trigger. I am decidedly not okay with killing someone.

  Peach opens her mouth and leans in for another bite.

  “Peach!” I scream.

  Her head snaps up toward me. I look into her pale eyes. There’s nothing there. No recognition. No remorse. No humanity.

  Her eyes are dead.

  She’s dead.

  Dead.

  I pull the trigger.

  The blast echoes off the hills surrounding the plain and sets my ears to ringing. Peach’s head jolts from the impact and a spray of bone and brains splashes onto the snow inside the ruins. Her grip on Alvin’s legs loosens, as she tips back and falls to the ground. She’s motionless now. Even more dead than before.

  Willem hoists Alvin up and over the wall. Alvin clenches his teeth against the pain, but can’t keep from shouting out when he’s laid on the snow. He stares up at the sky, his breaths coming quickly. Jakob dives to his old friend’s side and they have a quick conversation I can’t understand. But by the darkening look on Willem’s face, I know it’s not good.

  Alvin grunts, clutching his stomach, which doesn’t appear to be injured. I can see he’s sweating now, too.

  I hear the word Draugr a few times and put the pieces together for myself. I know enough about zombies and vampires to know that being bitten by the infected can spread the curse. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize how much zombies and vampires have in common. They’re both living dead. They both feed on the living. Could they really just be different modern interpretations of these ancient monsters?

  Jakob stands, walks to me and opens his hand. “Gun.”

  I look at the weapon, still clutched in my right hand, index finger still wrapped around the trigger.

  “Gun!” The old captain shouts.

  His loud voice sends a jolt through my body and I hand over the weapon without thinking about what it’s going to be used for. When Jakob stalks back to Alvin, I realize what’s about to happen.

  But I
don’t do anything to stop it. I’m beyond the point of needing to be convinced. The Draugar are real. I don’t know how, but they are. And the plague can be spread through a bite. But also from blood, I think. And now Alvin was missing a chunk of his leg. Judging by the way he’s writhing in pain and clutching his body, he’ll soon die and become a Draugr as well.

  And that, it seems is something neither he, nor Jakob can stomach. Jakob stands over his friend, says a few words in Greenlandic, and pulls the trigger.

  I jump with the gunshot, unable to look at the scene. But I know the old man is dead. Really dead, and not coming-back dead. I didn’t know him well, but I think I knew his heart. He was a good man. A good friend.

  Snow crunches behind me as the smell of cordite filters past. Someone taps my shoulder. I turn and find Jakob, face grim, offering me the gun. I take it and tuck it back into my pants.

  “We need to get off this island,” Willem says. “Now.”

  I cling to the task of escape and let it distract me from the death that now surrounds us. Eagon, Jenny, Jackson, McAfee, Peach and Alvin. Six survivors dead, all of them painfully and brutally killed. I’m beginning to think that going down with the ship might have been the better option. But there’s still a chance we can get off this island. “I’ll get the raft. Willem, get the engine. Chase, Jakob, grab the—”

  “No time,” Chase interrupts.

  I wheel around on him, about to shout at him for not following orders, but the look on his face freezes me. He doesn’t say a word, or point, or give any indication that I should look in a certain direction. He just stares into the distance.

  I spin around, following his gaze and find myself looking at a distant hilltop. A lone figure stands atop the rise, large and imposing.

  “Who is that?” Willem asks. The figure is too distant to see clearly, but there’s something strange about it.

  I take out my small binoculars and put them to me eyes. The figure I see is beyond comprehension. It’s a man, or at least it used to be. His face is sunken and the skin is stretched like the facelift of a ninety-year-old woman. His lips are peeled back in a permanent sneer, revealing an incomplete set of teeth that look like an arrangement of black and white piano keys. His white eyes, which seem to be looking straight at me, send a shiver down my back. He’s dressed in ragged looking furs and a torn and weathered cape that hangs from his shoulders and snaps in the wind. A helmet rests on his head, sporting two enormous horns. In one hand he wields a large, double bladed axe stained dark brown on the edges. Dry blood, I think. In the other is a shield, upon which a crest is painted. I recognize the raven image and know who I’m looking at.