by Bobby Akart
“What happened?”
“Kristi, it was eerie. I thought I’d been transported back to Germany in 1940. Housley pointed toward the revolving door exiting the lobby and forced the sister and her kids onto the sidewalk. When the woman who was the resident fought back, they threw her out, too.”
“My god!”
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure how the residents would react. At first, I thought they’d get angry and turn on Housley. You know what? It was just the opposite. They all stood in line ready to comply with this stupid plan, signing these pledges and filling out their resident roster.”
“Did you?” she asked.
“Hell no. I used the chaos to slip into the stairwell and come home.”
Kristi hugged Tommy. “This isn’t fair to you. Listen, I’ll be fine. I’ve got my guns, and Brooke is well-behaved. I’ll just go and try to make my way—”
Tommy pulled away. “Not a chance. You’re not going anywhere unless we go together and on our terms. They talked a lot of smack downstairs about uniform rules applying to everyone and being strictly adhered to. It’s a bunch of bullshit. This is my home. Our home.”
Kristi sighed. She walked over to the sliding glass doors and walked onto the balcony. The humid air filled her lungs, but at least it was fresh, free from vehicle exhaust and emissions that created a permanent haze over the city.
Tommy joined her and wrapped his arms around her waist. There were more fires, or at least they were more noticeable at night. The gunfire was certainly more prevalent.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Which is better, the devil you know or the devil you don’t?”
“I understand where you’re coming from. Here’s the way I see it. The food here will run out sooner than they think. It’s a matter of time before Housley and her bunch start to siphon off extra for themselves. This whole idea of share and share alike is unsustainable.”
“Should we go?” asked Kristi. “If we are, the sooner the better, because each day, heck, each hour, will get more dangerous out there.”
“I agree. We should pack what we can and head out in the morning.”
Kristi turned and passionately kissed him. “That gives us tonight.”
Chapter 8
Central Ontario Province
Canada
Levi Boone was in a hypnopompic state, that transitional stage between a comfortable sleep and gradually waking slowly and naturally. Only, his semiconscious mind had generated vivid hallucinations that were anything but natural. The nightmare had overtaken his body, causing him to convulse and moan. The visions of animals gnawing at his body were coupled with sensations of numbness, or a void, as if his extremities were missing.
Stop! Leave me alone!
Levi’s brain begged for mercy. His dream was so real that he fought to protect himself, flailing his arms about and kicking at the creatures surrounding him.
Scratching. Chewing. The sounds of bones crunching were real.
His mind begged. No, demanded.
Wake up!
And it did. Convinced that the hallucinatory dream was real, Levi scrambled out of the pit at the base of the tree where he’d fallen asleep, frantically searching for his rifle. His fire had since burned out, and the chill had overcome him, causing his hands and feet to go numb. He flexed his fingers and then touched his face to confirm they were still there. Then he pulled his knife out of its sheath and scrambled to push his back against the tree for protection.
Levi had experienced another distressing, nightmarish dream since the crash in the Canadian wilderness. Since then he’d seen wolves devour his best friend, yet compassion for animals had allowed him to nurse a mother wolf back to health.
He physically shook his head in an attempt to slow down his thinking. Despite the deep sleep, he was mentally exhausted. Too much thinking, he surmised.
Scratch. Chew. Crunch.
Levi’s eyes grew wide and immediately looked down to his legs. He was awake, yet he was experiencing the same auditory hallucinations from his dreams.
He heard an animal snarl. At first, it was a single low growl. Husky, gravelly, and vicious.
He held his breath to get his bearings. It was very dark with only ambient light from the moon making its way through the tree canopy. He heard the shuffling of pine needles and leaves to his left.
Holding his knife in a death grip, he felt around for his rifle until another animal let out a gnarly series of grunts followed by a long hiss. This came from Levi’s right.
There were two of them, and they were slowly approaching him. Levi nervously pushed himself up into a crouched position, his eyes scanning the dimly lit forest floor for movement.
Suddenly, a reddish-brown creature raced behind him. He caught a glimpse of it scurrying past just as another growling sound came from the trees in front of him. Levi whipped his head around and saw wet fangs glistening in the moonlight.
He tried to stay calm, relying upon his instincts and reflexes to defend himself. Animals attack prey, he reminded himself. Don’t act like their next meal.
They began to circle him. Too small to be wolves, and their voices were not doglike.
Levi’s heart was pounding and his muscles stiffened as his mind anticipated an attack. He never blinked as he continuously scanned his surroundings.
More growls and the unmistakable sounds of bones being crunched by powerful jaws. He knew them all too well. He’d never forget the sights and noises associated with the deaths of his friends.
He took a chance and stood, making himself look much larger. In the low light he took a few steps away from the tree and spun around, inadvertently stumbling over his backpack. He found his rifle.
The growls and snarls intensified, as did the chewing and crunching. The shuffling of small feet moved across the ground near him. Levi pulled the bolt on his rifle and pointed it in the direction of the snarling.
One of the animals clumsily lunged toward him and he squeezed the trigger. The blast produced by his hunting rifle exploded in the still of the wilderness. The bullet hit the attacking critter in the chest, tearing a hole through it but allowing the remains of the dead animal to fall at Levi’s feet.
He didn’t stop to inspect his kill, but rather, he chambered another round. The animals didn’t flee as he expected but prepared to fight him. This was the world he lived in now. One in which the tables, and the tides, had turned.
He fired again in the direction of the crunching. A yelp, of sorts, could be heard as he hit another of the animals. Something bumped into his leg and clawed at his calf. Levi instinctively swung the butt of his rifle down until it crashed into the animal’s side, breaking its ribs.
Another one lunged at him, sinking its fangs into the meaty part of his thigh.
Arggghhh!
Levi screamed in pain. He reached down and grabbed the fur of the creature, forcing it to release its bite. He flung the animal as hard as he could against the tree behind him, breaking its neck in the process.
Levi fired wildly again at the point where the crunching sounds were coming from. His mind raced as he tried to process how some of the animals were prepared to attack him while the others apparently feasted on something else.
He fired yet again, hitting something with a heavy thud. The sounds of his gunfire echoed through the forest, causing owls to hoot and holler, and wolves to howl and bellow.
Then an eerie quiet came over the forest. The crunching sounds ended. The hisses and growls disappeared. Only the faint sounds of his attackers scurrying off into the wilderness could be heard.
Levi exhaled. His first true breath since he was awakened from his sleep-induced nightmare to discover the real, very personal nightmare was all around him.
The term wolverine descended from the German term Vielfraß meaning glutton or, literally, devours much. The name was certainly fittin’ for the creatures that had attacked Levi. Wolverines were scavengers, eating nearly anything they come across, fr
om berries to mice to moose and, in this case, the remains of the feral hog Levi had fed to the mother wolf the night before.
There were few documented cases of wolverine attacks on humans, but times, as Bob Dylan once sang, they were a changin’. The long, sharp teeth of the wolverine had been stopped from doing more damage to Levi’s right thigh by the knife’s sheath. His skin was punctured and he was bleeding, but compared to the potential damage that could’ve been caused by the wolverine’s bone-crushing jaws, Levi was lucky.
He removed the sheath, his belt, and pants and rummaged through his pack to find a long-sleeve shirt. He ripped the sleeve off and immediately wrapped it around the wound, pulling the material tight to keep pressure on his leg to stop the bleeding.
For some reason, Levi didn’t feel the pain anymore. The initial bite had startled him, and his brain told him it should hurt. Now that his adrenaline levels had returned to normal and the threat had disappeared, his mind seemed to take the injury in stride.
The attack also served as a wake-up call in more ways than one. It was time to go home.
Chapter 9
Hearst, Ontario, Canada
Levi carved a walking stick out of a two-inch-thick limb he sawed off a shagbark hickory tree with the aid of his serrated knife. He took eight hundred milligrams of Motrin and refilled his canteen from the nearby stream. As the sun rose in the east, daylight woke up the forest, and Levi was ready to continue his way south, or the new east, as far as the dead pilot’s compass was concerned.
Favoring his right leg, he took a longer, less taxing route up the ridge to avoid climbing. An hour later, he’d found a clearing at the summit where he could get a good view of the valley and the relatively flat landscape that awaited him.
He couldn’t help but laugh when he saw the small town of Hearst just a few miles away. Invigorated by the cool fresh air and the prospect of being one giant leap closer to home, Levi trudged down the gently descending slope through the trees. He eventually found a four-wheeler trail, and as he drew closer, deer stands and abandoned hunting cabins could be seen.
After making his way across a small creek, Levi came upon an airstrip that was devoid of planes. The short runway was adjacent to a lake and a parking area that contained several cars. He hobbled up to the small terminal, which was nothing more than a block building and a metal roof. There was an open hangar adjacent to the parking lot, with a single-engine Cessna inside.
He tried the door of the terminal building, but it was locked. He pounded repeatedly, thinking that someone might be inside asleep. There was no response. After a minute of rest, he walked along the gravel driveway leading to the airport until he found an asphalt-paved road.
Levi checked his compass, adjusted his backpack and shouldered his rifle. This close to town, he didn’t anticipate encountering any more predators, and he didn’t want to appear intimidating to the drivers of any vehicles from whom he might ask for a ride.
He started out at a much quicker pace than he’d fought on the hunting trail.
Left foot forward, plant the stick, drag the injured right leg.
Repeat.
One cumbersome step at a time, Levi gritted his teeth and persevered, knowing that help was just ahead. His mind flashed back to what he’d been through. The blinding snow as the pilot tried to land. The crash and subsequent breaking apart of the aircraft. That first night of fear as the dangers of the unknown consumed him. And then the day of hell when known dangers devoured his friends.
Levi Boone believed in karma. It was something he inherited from his mother. Pay it forward, she used to say, but don’t forget payback is a bitch. Levi could’ve easily killed the mother wolf and allowed her young pups to starve. However, both his compassion and his mother’s words prevented him from doing so. As he got closer to buildings and civilization, he felt comforted in knowing that someone would show the same compassion to him.
He was right, in part.
When Levi crossed the railroad tracks and hobbled through a field separating a series of warehouse buildings and an automotive repair center, it became obvious that something was out of sorts.
There was no traffic. No sounds of any kind. Despite the early morning hour, he fully expected to see some activity. Locals scurrying about, picking up a few items at the convenience store or going to work.
Nothing.
He walked up to the entrance of Canadian Tire and Gas. He pulled the handle to the double glass doors and found them to be locked. The hours of operation indicated they should’ve opened at six that morning. He cupped his hands to the glass and scanned the interior. Nothing was on. The neon lights advertising beer were off. The drink coolers were dark and appeared empty. In fact, most of the shelves ordinarily filled with three-dollar candy bars and bags of chips that had shrunk from seven ounces to four over the years had been cleaned off.
“What the hell?” he asked aloud before he swung around to look across the street. A take-out pizza stand, Tim Horton’s restaurant, and the dollar store were all closed, their windows boarded up.
Hearst, Ontario, was a ghost town.
Levi walked into the middle of the five-lane Trans-Canada Highway to get a better look. If a car or truck came his way, he’d be fine with that. At least he’d make human contact. Less than a minute later, he sighed and headed east toward a busier stretch of small businesses. Cars were parked here and there, but he didn’t see any signs of life.
Levi stopped and slapped the side of his face. He began to question his sanity. Was he dreaming? Was the wolverine attack that morning a figment of his overactive imagination and nothing more than a bad dream?
He grimaced and set his jaw. He took his right fist and slapped his thigh.
“Dammit!” he shouted as the pain seared through his lower body. “That ain’t no dream, you idiot!” Levi chuckled at his ill-advised attempt at well-inflicted corporal punishment. The pain he’d filed away in the deep recesses of his mind was now front and center, together with blood oozing onto his pants.
Levi walked down a side street toward several one-story brick homes. Cars were parked in the driveway, and kids’ toys were scattered about. However, there were no kids, or adults, for that matter.
He became frustrated and frightened. His leg was starting to swell, and his anxiety got the better of him. He walked up to a black GMC Yukon parked in front of a white-clapboard home. That was when he caught a glimpse of his reflection.
Not good.
Levi’s clothes were soiled with a combination of blood and woodsy grime. His beard had grown considerably and was shaggy. His hair was wild, long and barely covered his sullen eyes. He shook his head and stared at the reflection of a man he hardly recognized.
He shook his head. “No wonder they’re hiding behind locked doors.”
The sound of a vehicle speeding down the street from behind the row of houses caught his attention. The shrill siren that suddenly filled the air gave him a jolt of energy and apprehension. Levi stepped away from the Yukon and walked several paces back toward the highway. He was halfway there when a marked Ford Explorer driven by the Ontario Provincial Police roared around the corner and skidded to a stop forty feet in front of him.
“Drop the weapon,” one of the officers demanded through the vehicle’s speakers. “Now!”
Levi put his weight on his left leg and slowly set his hickory stick on the ground. Keeping his free hand far away from his body, he slid his backpack to the ground, followed by his weapons. He retrieved his walking cane and hobbled forward, keeping his hands away from his body.
“Don’t move!” shouted the officer who emerged from the passenger side of the vehicle. His weapon was pointed at Levi’s chest as he cautiously approached. “On the ground, slowly.”
“No problem. My leg is injured, so I’m not runnin’ off. Trust me.”
The officer repeated his command. “On the ground, sir!”
Levi eased down to his knees, pushed away his stick, and placed his body
facedown, spread-eagled on the asphalt. He turned his head to the side, which was when he noticed some of the local residents emerging from their homes, dressed in housecoats and pajamas, hugging one another in fear.
Levi scowled as he took in the scene. What the hell is going on in this town?
The officers silently stood over him with their weapons pointed at his back. Moments later another police vehicle arrived, followed closely by an ambulance.
Levi tried to subdue his impatience. His leg was throbbing, and the bleeding had gotten worse. The sight of the ambulance helped him withstand the humiliation of being held at gunpoint for another minute.
The police officers rummaged through his backpack and emptied the rounds out of his guns. They placed the guns and ammo on the hood of their Explorer together with his knife. After donning a pair of gloves, one of the officers brusquely frisked Levi before declaring him to be unarmed. More people had gathered around now, and he was beginning to feel like a wounded animal on display.
“I’m just lookin’ for help. I was attacked by an animal and it bit me on the leg.”
“Bear or wolf?” asked one of the officers.
“No. Badger or maybe a wolverine? I don’t know.”
The lead officer, a lieutenant or higher, spoke up. “Not possible. Wolverines don’t attack people.”
“This one did,” said Levi dryly.
“We’re looking for the truth, young man. Do you want to try again?”
“That is the truth. Our plane crashed up north. We were trying to land near the hunting camp at Smoky Falls when the snowstorm hit. The pilot died—”
The lead officer cut him off. “That’s a hundred-thirty-kilometer walk through some rough terrain, young man.” He paused and then he turned to his officers. “Get him up and take him in for questioning. When the RCMP come through next, we’ll ask them if he’s wanted.” The RCMP was an acronym for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the national police service of Canada.
“What? I didn’t do anything wrong. I survived a plane crash. Two wolf attacks and a doggone pack of wolverines. And I’m bleeding out, if you haven’t noticed.”