“Did you get a look at them?” Tom asked Wickliff.
“No, sir. I was walking the grounds. Only saw their shadows. One was tall as a bear, roared like one, too.”
Pendleton said, “Why wasn’t anyone manning the watchtowers?”
Lt. Hysmith said, “We just have one night guard on duty.”
Pendleton said, “Well, I want three men on tower duty for every shift. And tie up some kind of animal out there for bait. If anything comes out of the woods, shoot it.”
114
Tom entered the makeshift research lab with Pendleton. The cabin smelled of formaldehyde combined with the stink of things that decompose in morgues. They found Dr. Coombs stooped over a microscope.
“Did you learn anything from the autopsies?” Tom asked.
Dr. Coombs’ looked up. “Indeed I did, gentlemen. Found something quite peculiar.”
“Then let’s have a look,” Pendleton said.
Tom followed the physician into a back bedroom. The flame from his oil lamp illuminated a table with scalpels and bone saws and jars of floating organs. On the dissecting tables lay two carved-open bodies. The nearest was Private Wallace, the soldier who had been killed when a beast attacked Manitou Outpost. Wallace’s cadaver lay twisted like a broken puppet.
“I found no signs of virus in the male specimen,” Dr. Coombs said. “He died from a broken spine.”
“He was attacked by a crazed man who turned cannibal,” Tom said. “I believe it might have been one of the trappers from Manitou Outpost.”
“That’s certainly one theory,” Dr. Coombs said. “Although I have another theory, gentlemen, that might raise your eyebrows.” They gathered around the table that displayed the butchered upper torso of Sakari McCabe. She looked much worse than the day Tom pulled her out of the frozen stream. Her head now lay face-up, mouth wide open, frozen in a primal scream. One eye was as white as a poached fish.
“Does she have the virus?” Pendleton asked.
“Difficult to tell. Too much time has passed since her death.” Dr. Coombs walked over to a microscope. “I did find some microbes that might be considered viral, but, like their host, they are also dead.”
Tom peered into the microscope. All he saw was a still pattern of gray circles clumped together. “So what can we derive from this?”
Dr. Coombs shrugged. “Not much really, since I’m not even sure if this woman has the strain that infected Zoé Lamothe and Doc Riley. Unfortunately you burned their bodies.”
“It was a necessary precaution,” Tom said.
Dr. Coombs adjusted his spectacles. “Well, if I’m going to fight this virus, then I need to draw blood from an infected person who is still living.”
Pendleton said, “Let’s hope we’ve seen the last of the outbreak.”
“You said you found something peculiar,” Tom said.
Dr. Coombs’ eyes lit up. “Yes, yes.” He returned to the table where Sakari Kennicot lay. “What’s fascinating about this cadaver are her wounds.”
One of the Cree woman’s eyes was missing, scraped out of the socket by claws that had ripped the flesh off half her face. Her attacker had taken a vicious bite out of her throat, tearing out the larynx. The arm that was still attached had bloated and turned a purplish-blue. Dr. Coombs had made incisions in her chest in a Y-pattern, pulling back flaps of skin. Gray organs were exposed.
The doctor grabbed a scalpel and leaned over the carcass. “See these lacerations here?” He pointed to a five-line slash that had sliced across her breasts and torn through skin and muscle. “The claws snapped her breast bone and completely severed her spine.”
Sakari’s death had perplexed Tom the most, because she looked as if her attacker had been a wild animal. “Would you say a large bear did this?”
“As a doctor, my first inclination would be to say a grizzly attacked this woman and be done with it. But it being the middle of winter, that is highly unlikely. Aside from being a physician, I also have a passion for zoology, and in particular, the study of strange and often unexplained species. Someday I intend to write a book on all the amazing creatures that have been discovered throughout the world.”
Tom leaned over the body. “What can you tell us about the beast that killed her?”
“You may not believe me when I tell you.” The bearded man opened a cabinet and pulled out a tray of various animal talons and sharp teeth. They were each stored in a separate square marked by name and species—bobcat, cougar, wolverine, as well as numerous bear claws. Dr. Coombs picked up a claw the size of a small blade. “This was from a giant grizzly, the largest known bear ever shot in the world. It stood twelve feet tall, weighed over fourteen hundred pounds, and had paws larger than your head. As predators go, the grizzly is the king of the Canadian wilderness.”
Tom held the claw to the light. “So you think we have a giant grizzly roaming the area?”
“Not quite, Inspector. The damage that the creature did to this woman and the depth and power of its claws suggest a larger beast, perhaps fifteen feet tall.”
“What out here could be larger than a bear?” Pendleton asked.
“My theory is we have a new species on our hands. A monstrous thing that weighs over two thousand pounds.”
Tom said, “Now you sound as crazy as Anika.”
“She may not be as crazy as you think, Inspector. The folklore of the Canadian tribes all speak of legendary creatures that roam the wilderness. In northern Wisconsin, Dakota Indians speak of a bipedal creature named Chiye-tanka. And on the Pacific Northwest coast, the Athabaskan tribes have their Wechuge, and both Indians and Whites have reported seeing a hairy beast called Sasquatch or Bigfoot. These ape-like creatures are like the Abominable Snowmen of the Himalayas.”
Tom said, “It all sounds interesting, Doc, but we’re looking for real leads, not Indian superstitions.”
“Just hear me out. Now as a scientist I’m not one to pay heed to superstitions, but when there’s evidence to back it up, I am willing to stretch my mind. Many years back, I had the privilege of voyaging around South America on a surveying ship called the Beagle. I apprenticed with a pioneer scientist by the name of Charles Darwin. We collected hundreds of specimens. I’ve seen new forms of species we never dreamed existed. From plants to animals to microbes to dinosaur fossils. New discoveries are being made every day. The physical world is a fascinating place that is constantly changing, evolving. Darwin shared some interesting theories of how animals evolve through a series of natural selection he calls, ‘survival of the fittest.’”
Pendleton asked, “Dr. Coombs, are you proposing our beast is a bear that has evolved into some kind of monster?”
“I’ve been to the Himalayas in Tibet and witnessed with my own eyes part of a large skull that was believed to come from a Yeti, also known as the Abominable Snowman.”
Tom couldn’t help but chuckle.
Dr. Coombs remained serious. “Great beasts do exist. Whether we’re dealing with another species of bear or a bipedal anomaly, I don’t know, but I’d love to have a sample of the claw that could snap a woman in two.”
115
Andre, bundled in his gray winter coat and scarf, paced outside an open work shed, partly to keep warm and partly to shake the anxiety he’d been feeling all morning. He couldn’t get Willow out of his head. The warmth of her embrace, the softness of her lips were phantom feelings that still haunted his skin.
Andre prayed over and over in his mind, Forgive me, Jesus, for I have sinned… Forgive me, Jesus, for my fall from Grace… Release me from the temptations of the flesh… Andre’s inner thighs felt bruised from the beating he’d given himself last night. A brisk wind blew against his back, running cold fingers through his long hair, caressing his neck. When Andre pulled up his collar, the angry gale stirred up drifts of snow and clinked metal tools and a chain of horseshoes that hung from the shed’s ceiling.
Father Xavier stood inside the shed, giving instructions to the fort’s blacksmit
h. “We need four large crosses made of iron.” The priest gave measurements.
“I’ll have them for ye by tomorrow.” The soot-faced blacksmith picked up a metal rod and went to work, stoking the fire of his kiln.
Father Xavier, who wore his Russian mink hat over his bald head, stepped out of the shed. “Come with me, Andre. We have much work to do.”
As the Jesuits walked together, Andre asked, “What are the crosses for?”
“We’re going to use them to exorcise the entire fort. We have to be prepared that anyone in the village could be under the demon’s spell. We can only trust each other.”
The Jesuits strolled silently along the courtyard as they passed a group of laborers pulling a sled covered in barrels. Villagers were out working, chopping wood, mending canoes. Soldiers patrolled the platforms that linked the watchtowers. Fort Pendleton seemed as if it were returning to normal. But Andre felt a change coming on. As if the peacefulness of the morning were all a façade, and the colonists were wearing masks. Or maybe it was him who was hiding behind a mask.
Father Xavier snapped his fingers. “Give me your attention.”
“What?”
“I just asked you a question and you didn’t answer. You seem distracted by something. Did you dream about the twin demons again?”
“No, not since the hotel.”
Father Xavier sighed. “Then what has you so distant?”
“Nothing.” Andre had trouble making eye contact with his mentor. Ever since kissing Willow last night, his mind had been in a fog. They had only kissed briefly and then Andre walked her home. I was just consoling her, he tried to convince himself.
His mentor said, “You understand that as my apprentice it is highly important you share everything that you’re going through. Anything that’s distracting you could be the work of the Devil. I need to know you’re still working in the light.”
“I am, sir.” Andre looked up at the sky. It was a gray morning.
I should confess about last night.
But Andre remained silent. He’d come so far in his training. He’d proven his faith and earned his mentor’s trust. With such privileged training with an accomplished priest, Andre was well on his way to becoming ordained himself. Confessing to Father Xavier now would only break his trust, and all that Andre had worked toward would be lost.
The kiss was just a momentary fall from grace. It won’t happen again.
Even as he thought this, Andre felt the fluttering butterflies sensation in his chest. He stared up at the fourth floor of Noble House. He couldn’t help but wonder what Willow was doing.
116
Willow felt as if eels were writhing beneath her skin. Her lips quivered. Her red nostrils itched. She opened and closed her fists as she walked the clearing behind the cabins.
This bloody fort is going right to hell.
Carrying a mink handbag over her shoulder, she hurried past the barn and stables. She had to get away from Noble House. Away from Avery. Another moment up on the third floor, and she might just go raving mad. Last night she barely slept. Laudanum had been the only remedy to make the voices stop, and her blasted husband had emptied her last bottle.
After Avery left, sleeping over at his whore’s cabin, Willow had remained alone in her boudoir. The dolls kept speaking in soft whispers, their voices relentless drones, like a hive of bees buzzing around their queen. She had snorted the last of her magic dust. Everything after that was a blur.
This morning she had gone into Avery’s study and pulled out one of his pistols. She sat at his desk for a long while, staring down at the gun. She might have ended everything had it not been for Zoé’s voice entering her head. Don’t kill yourself, Willow, the child had said. I have so many secrets to share.
I came so close… Willow shivered at the thought of dying in this fort during winter. She had imagined her body wrapped in a blanket and stored away on a shelf in the Dead House with the other corpses. The burial of a commoner would be the final mockery to her tragic life. While sitting at Avery’s desk, Willow had laughed hysterically, because it wasn’t a desire to live that saved her from pulling the trigger, but her own snobbish pride.
Wind rustled the branches outside the stockade. Rubbing her nostrils and sniffling, she pretended as if she was going to the well house to fetch water. The ruse was unnecessary, though, for there was not a soul at this corner of the fort. The colonists were either working in the square outside Noble House or inside their homes and workshops. She knew the rotations of the watchtower guards. They were at the northeast corner smoking cigarettes. Still wary that someone might be watching, Willow made a mad dash across the clearing.
Hospital House stood off on its own. It was wider than the other cabins. Its timbers were painted white. Ply boards were still nailed across the doors and windows.
Willow hurried around the house to the back door. Boards blocked the entry. Two were loose, each hanging by a single nail. She slid the boards upward and downward, creating a narrow opening. The smell of decay smacked her senses. Dropping the boards, she turned her head and winced. “Oh, God.” She covered her mouth. “I can’t go in there.”
You must, Willow, you promised you would, whispered Zoé’s voice.
Willow pulled the Indian doll out of her handbag. “No, Zoé, please don’t make me.”
The doll’s single green eye gazed up at her. If you want to be a Secret Keeper like me, then you have to find more magic powder.
As the girl giggled in her head, Willow felt the eels swimming beneath her skin. She stared at the boarded door with the atrocious stink emanating from the cracks. She took a deep breath, then crouched and squeezed her small frame inside. The boards clapped as they fell closed behind her. She yelped, putting a hand on her chest. Her shoes crunched over ice that had blown in and frosted the wood floor of the kitchen. Just weeks ago she had been playing cards here with Doc and Myrna. Zoé had been sleeping in the next bedroom. It was gloomy in here now. The only light came from thin slits between the boarded windows. Breathing heavily, Willow gave herself a moment for her eyes to adjust. Pale gray shapes tapered off into the deep, impenetrable blackness of three passageways. The sound of wings fluttered in one of the other rooms, where a flock of birds must have gotten in to roost.
Inhaling, Willow pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the rapid thumping of her heart. The room she needed to get to was through the pitch dark hallway to her left. The corridor seemed to disappear into nothingness. There was no light at the end of the hall, which meant all the doors were closed.
“Blast it, why didn’t I bring a candle?”
Oops, we forgot, Zoé snickered.
Willow pulled the doll against her bosom. “This is bloody crazy, Zoé. Let’s not do this. Please, can’t we just go back?”
What’s there to go back to?
Willow remained facing the dark hallway.
I can take you to where children play forever.
Willow sniffled and scratched her itchy nose. Her eyes teared up, and she wiped them before they could crystallize on her cold cheeks. “Okay,” she whispered.
Touching the wall for guidance, she started down the hallway. The blackness swallowed Willow, embracing her with cadaver-cold arms. She passed the patient room where Zoé once slept. Willow imagined that the Métis girl was still in there, tied to the bedposts. Her little head turning on her pillow, solid white eyes staring from the darkness. At this moment Zoé giggled, a sinister sound that raised the hair on Willow’s arms.
“Don’t do that. You’re spooking me.”
Sorry, hee hee, I couldn’t resist.
Birds squawked, startling Willow. In that dim room, ravens flapped from the dresser to the bed. Feeling a shortness of breath, she quickened her step, reaching blindly out in front of her. Her hand found a closed door at the end of the hall. She turned the cold metal knob and the door creaked open. Shafts of gray light piercing through the boarded windows offered enough luminosity to see the many cu
rio cabinets that made up the apothecary.
We found it!
Willow laughed with tears in her eyes. She set the Indian doll on top of the curio and began rummaging through Doc Riley’s medicine drawers. The day she had watched over Zoé, Willow had snuck into this room and stolen some vials of laudanum and magic dust. The drawer marked COCAINE was empty. “No, no, no.” She pulled out drawer after drawer. Empty, empty, empty. “Where is it?”
“Looking for this?” rasped a man’s voice.
Willow whirled around. A figure stood in the doorway, a shadow against a curtain of blackness. His hand held up a vial of snow-white powder. “Don’t worry, Little Lamb. I have plenty of what you seek.”
117
“Heave ho, heave ho, heave ho…” Private Wickliff chanted as he and Private Fitch carried the bundled corpse through the cemetery.
Fitch frowned. “Quit saying that, you wanker. Have some respect for the dead.”
“Sorry, mate, it keeps me mind off what we’re carrying.” All morning, the two soldiers had moved bodies back and forth between the Dead House and Dr. Coombs’ autopsy room. Their old mate, Private Pembrook, had been dissected and was now being returned to storage. Wickliff hated having the dead soldier’s crumpled head resting against his shoulder. Fitch had been lucky to get the feet. At Wickliff’s end, the sheets were splotched with pus and smelled like spoiled haggis. The body was heavy and stiff as a pine log. With each step, Wickliff felt like his arms were going to pop out from their sockets.
Heave ho, heave ho, heave ho…
“Just a little farther, mate,” Fitch breathed heavily. They weaved between the wood crosses that marked a few dozen graves. They reached the T-shaped shed that had originally been built to store tools, barrels, broken canoes, and dogsleds. A clapboard with painted white lettering hung above the door: THE DEAD HOUSE.
Sgt. Cox was standing just outside the door with his arms crossed. A scarf covered the lower half of his broad, square face. “’Bout time you two nitwits got here,” he grumbled. “Follow me.” He lit a lantern and guided them into the sepulchral darkness. There were no windows in the shed, just solid log walls with gray mortar. Every time Wickliff came in here, he felt like he was stepping into a mineshaft. He held his breath and winced. And then it hit him. The nose-burning stench that made him gag. His eyes watered. He swallowed hot bile and managed to hold down his breakfast. The Dead House had entombed the foulest of odors as decomposing bodies had been stored in here for many winters. Seemed like every year the beast of winter claimed at least one poor soul. This year the village was already up to half a dozen deaths, and they still had three months until the first thaw.
Dead of Winter Page 24