Dr. Coombs snapped his fingers. Two guards took Boisvert by the arms. “Let go of me,” he protested. The guards dragged him to the holding area at the far corner of the chapel. Two of the children yelled, “Papa!” Boisvert cursed as he was forced to sit among the other three infected.
Dr. Coombs glared at Father Xavier. “Priest, this is a medical procedure, not an inquisition. Do not disrupt my patients again.”
“You are taking much too long,” Father Xavier argued. “If they are infected, then they will flee from the cross.”
“Oh, rubbish,” Dr. Coombs scoffed. “Just stay out of my—”
Andre pointed. “Dear God, look!”
At the prayer altar, candles began to light up as if struck by an invisible match. The flame glow flickered across the statue of the Virgin Mary. Blood tears streamed down her cheeks. Stigmata dripped from her open palms. The miracle caused panic among the congregation in the pews and the people still waiting in line. At the front stage, Master Pendleton and Inspector Hatcher yelled, trying to restore order. Where the infected were quarantined, the sick native woman wailed and began crying blood tears. She bolted, knocking down a guard.
Father Xavier intercepted her, holding up a cross to her blood-streaked face. The native woman hissed, drawing back blue lips. The edges of her mouth split from ear to ear, exposing dozens of sharp fangs covered in white foam. She shrunk away from the cross, releasing an unholy shriek that silenced the crowd.
Father Xavier stepped toward her. “In the name of God, I cast out this demon!”
She climbed over pews. Children squealing in terror dashed out of the way, as the woman grunted and leaped ape-like across the nave.
130
At the front stage, Tom raised his shotgun, but there were too many people in the line of fire. Some fled screaming toward the door, while others froze like confused rabbits. The crazed woman ran low to the floor, a beast on all fours, the hump of her back bouncing upward between the pews. She slashed at the crowd, leaped onto a man’s back, knocking him down like a mountain lion topples a deer.
A young boy ran toward the woman, crying, “Mama!”
“No!” Tom rushed down from the stage.
The Indian woman pulled the boy into her bosom and turned toward Tom. Her solid-red face was a macabre nightmare, eyes solid white. Her mouth opened wide, exposing jawbone and rows of shark’s teeth speckled with blood and torn flesh.
“Let the boy go!” Tom yelled.
The she-beast released a maniacal cackle and then bit into her son’s neck, wrenched out his throat. She dropped the child and charged toward the front of the nave, bounding on hands and feet toward Tom and Pendleton.
“Kill her!” yelled the chief factor as he dashed into a confessional closet.
Tom gripped the barrel of his shotgun and swung, cracking the woman’s jaw. She lurched again. He struck her head, hammering down repeatedly, bludgeoning her face. Her nose shattered. Her forehead caved inward, crushing the eye sockets. The white eyes popped. The infected woman clawed blindly at Tom. Her too-wide mouth kept laughing with a maddening, witch’s cackle. He moved behind the now-blind woman, pressed the barrel to the back of her head, and pulled the trigger. Her face blew outward. She fell to her knees as if kneeling for communion, her entire face an open, dripping maw. The laughter finally stopped. Tom kicked her back with a boot, and she fell forward against the stage.
131
Tom stumbled back, gravity pulling him down into a seated position on a pew. His bloody hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The she-beast lay at his feet, facedown in a crimson puddle that spread around her body. More blood covered the pulpit and back wall. The air was thick with the smell of copper and urine. The screams of the colonists seemed miles away as they fled from the chapel, fading off into the distance.
A hand gripped Tom’s shoulder. He flinched. Behind him stood Father Xavier. “Are you all right?”
Tom shook his head.
“It had to be done,” said the priest. “You saved the others.”
“Not all of them,” Tom said. A few rows back lay the dead man and young boy. “She killed her own son.”
The confessional closet opened and Pendleton stepped out. He looked down at the slain woman. He made a squeamish sound and put a handkerchief over his mouth.
“That’s what the infected become,” Tom said.
Father Xavier said, “It’s what we’ll all become if we don’t stop the outbreak.”
132
Avery Pendleton put on his top hat and stepped out of the chapel into the chaos of night. Snow fell heavily. Dogs barked. The village was a frenzy of crying children and running shadows. Near the cemetery, a group of French Canadian laborers were in a screaming match with Dr. Coombs and Lt. Hysmith. The soldiers had rifles pointed at the three infected men. The prisoners were bound and sitting on their knees in the snow.
“Release them at once!” yelled a bearded man named Bélanger.
“Back off!” shouted Hysmith, aiming his pistol at the French Canadians. The angry mob roared, waving fists.
Pendleton fired his revolver at the sky, silencing the men. “I will not have mutiny in my fort.”
Bélanger said, “They won’t release my brother.”
The prisoners shivered, teeth chattering. Bélanger’s younger brother, René, appeared to be foaming at the mouth.
“He’s infected,” Pendleton said. “Just like Jean Chaurette and Nadia. You saw what the sickness did to her. She murdered her own son.” He looked into the frightened eyes of each man. “Do you want this disease to spread to your wives and children?” As several men shook their heads, Pendleton said, “Take your families back to your cabins. Lock your doors. Anyone out tonight past curfew will be thrown in jail.”
The mob disbanded. The men scooped up their children and led their families and barking dogs back to their cabins. The only voyageur who stayed was the tall man named Bélanger. He approached his brother.
Hysmith aimed his pistol. “That’s close enough.”
Bélanger spoke to his brother, a tearful farewell. René just stared forward, a shivering catatonic, spittle frosting around his lips.
Pendleton looked to Hysmith and nodded. The soldiers lined up the three infected laborers along the stockade wall. Such a bloody shame, thought Pendleton. They were some of his best workers.
The lieutenant shouted, “Aim!” The four soldiers raised their rifles. “Fire!”
As the three riddled bodies dropped to the ground, Pendleton said to Dr. Coombs, “Is that the last of them?”
“I don’t know for certain. But I have plenty of blood samples now to search for the virus.”
“Stop this outbreak, Doc,” Pendleton said. “And goddamned quick.”
133
Tom stepped onto the front porch of Anika’s cabin. He hadn’t seen her all day. Not even at the chapel. Seeing that her windows were all dark worried him. After killing Jean Chaurette at Hospital House and witnessing the native woman—who turned out to be Jean’s wife, Nadia—go on a rampage at the chapel, Tom was now suspicious of every colonist. His mind had a disturbing image of Anika hunched inside the darkness with a dead rabbit in her mouth.
God, let her be all right.
Tom felt a knot in his chest. He didn’t know why he was so concerned for the native woman. Her Indian ways represented everything he had been raised to despise, and she was sleeping in sin with Avery Pendleton. But she had also helped Tom through the toughest time of his life. He knocked on her door and then took a step back, gripping his shotgun, afraid of what might come to the door. Dogs barked from inside. Another frightening image came to mind: the dogs had gotten the sickness and killed Anika. When she didn’t answer, he knocked again. “Anika, it’s Tom. Open up.”
Her door opened an inch. Through the narrow gap, he could see her den was gray and gloomy, with only faint moonlight coming in through some unseen window. Her face was a mask of shadow. Behind her, the dogs barked incessantly. She hushed
them and then peered back out at Tom. “What do you want?”
“I came to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine.” She remained hidden behind the door.
“You were supposed to come to the chapel for inspection.”
“No one told me.”
“Are you feeling ill in any way?”
“I’m not infected, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I need to talk with you. May I come in?”
After a long pause, she opened the door. Tom entered the dark den, wary of Anika’s every move and the shadowy approach of her two dogs. Makade and Ozaawi greeted him with wagging tails and warm tongues licking his hands. This put Tom at ease, and he leaned his shotgun against the wall. He hugged each of the dogs in both arms, scratching them behind the ears. He looked up at Anika’s silhouette. “Why is every room dark?”
The native woman turned away, her silence peculiar.
He joined her at a window. Outside, the crosses marked the graves of the cemetery. Beyond stood the Dead House, the storage shed where Chris rested until he could be properly buried in the spring. Even after a few weeks, Tom still couldn’t believe his son was gone. The knot that was always present in Tom’s chest tightened. He looked at Anika. A soft glow from the moonlight illuminated her side profile.
“Are you okay?” Tom asked.
She wouldn’t face him. Was she still angry? A week had passed since they’d last spoken. He had been on his way to have supper with Willow. Tom and Anika had gotten into an argument, and she stormed off.
“Anika, I’m sorry if I upset you the other night. I said some awful things—”
“You called me a whore.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“Maybe that’s all I am.”
“That’s not true.”
“People don’t even talk behind my back anymore. They just call me names to my face. The women pull their children away and spit at me.”
“Well, they’re all bloody fools. And so was I.” Tom put a hand on her shoulder. “Your teaching me to whittle helped release me from my suffering. I wanted you to know I’m grateful.”
Anika released a sobbing sound. Tom brushed back her hair. She turned, and he reeled at the sight of her face. The skin around her left eye was swollen.
“Dear God…” He examined bruises on her cheek and forehead. “What happened?”
“Nothing, just an accident.” Her green eyes were a mixture of sadness and shame.
“Don’t lie to me. Who beat you? Pendleton?”
Tears ran down her cheeks. “I got what was coming to me.”
“Rubbish.” Tom lifted her chin. “Anika, nobody has a right to hit you. Only a bloody savage would hit a woman.” He started for the door. “I’m going to have a word with Pendleton.”
She grabbed his arm. “No, don’t, he’ll kill my dogs and do worse to me. Master Pendleton is not a man to cross. Tom, promise you won’t say anything.”
He pulled Anika into his arms. As Tom held her, stroking her hair, he wondered what kind of monster he was working for.
134
At Noble House, Avery Pendleton clutched a tumbler of brandy and stared out his fourth-story window. At the far side of the fort, Hospital House had been reduced to a giant circle of glowing embers. It looked as if hell had burned a hole into the earth. Pendleton had a vision of the orange-black hole spreading across the village, scorching cabins, setting Noble House aflame. The four stockade walls caught fire, lighting up the five watchtowers like pagan torches. Black demons with orange cracks in their skin climbed up from the hellmouth and dragged screaming villagers down into the expanding chasm.
Pendleton gulped his brandy.
With his fort steadily being eaten away by some strange disease, he worried how this would affect the future of his company. His Montréal partners had invested a lot of money with Pendleton Fur Trading Company and were expecting a large delivery of pelts to their fur factory come spring. Pelts from beaver, muskrat, fox, otter, raccoon, rabbit, and wolf were like gold in Canada. For over a century, a great demand for these had come from the merchants of Montréal, London, and Paris as fur became the fashion. The beaver, one of the most valuable of the pelts, was used to make felt hats. Furs of every animal imaginable were made into coats, hats, boots, purses, and blankets. Despite the decline of the fur trade since the heyday when Pendleton worked for Hudson’s Bay Company, there was still a fortune to be made. But the chief factor was already behind on his quota. With Manitou Outpost shut down and the migration of the Ojibwa tribe, there were no trappers left. He would send all his workers out to set traps if it weren’t for the pack of cannibals roaming the woods and this goddamned virus infecting his colony.
The sounds of screaming villagers still echoed through Pendleton’s mind. He couldn’t shake the monstrous face of Nadia Chaurette as she attacked people in the chapel. Another outbreak and twelve more colonists dead.
“What are we going to do, Master Pendleton?” asked Lt. Hysmith. The security officer was seated at the conference table with Walter Thain and Percy Kennicot. All three officers stared at their chief factor with forlorn eyes.
“We are bloody fucked is what we are,” said Walter, always the pessimist.
Percy said, “Maybe we should shut down the fort. Return to Montréal.”
Pendleton bristled at the thought of returning with such a paltry amount of furs. His partners would never invest with him again. “We’re staying through the winter, and that’s the end of it.”
“But we could all be dead by then,” said Hysmith. “Are you forgetting what happened to the crew at Manitou Outpost? Master Lamothe was in the same predicament as we are, and now he’s gone.”
“He’s right,” Walter said. “We can’t just stay here waiting for the next outbreak.”
“Goddamn it, get a hold of yourselves!” Pendleton stood at the end of the table. “You’re supposed to be leaders. The entire colony is already on edge. If the workers see you behaving like this, we’re sure to have a mutiny on our hands.”
“If that happens, we’re doomed,” Hysmith said. “I lost five good soldiers today, including Sgt. Cox. I only have four privates left.”
Walter and Percy sagged in their seats, brooding over their glasses of brandy.
Pendleton put his hand on the stuffed wolverine that sat on his desk. “Gentlemen, I need you to stay strong for the sake of the village. I am certain there is a way we can stop another outbreak from occurring.”
“What do you suggest we do?” asked Hysmith.
“We take measures to make sure the sickness doesn’t spread.” Pendleton grabbed his black wolverine coat. “Let’s find out what Dr. Coombs has learned about the virus.”
135
Tom was reluctant to leave Anika alone.
“I’ll be all right,” she assured him. “Makade and Ozaawi will keep me company.” Her face had hardened again, displaying her toughness. Tom hated to see the bruises and welts around her eye and forehead. She had additional markings on her arms and back. The more he had offered to talk with Master Pendleton, the more Anika defended the letch. It wasn’t just the threat of losing her dogs that made her endure his abuse. Pendleton had her convinced she deserved the beatings. They were always the result of her disobedience and backtalk. As long as she surrendered to Pendleton’s desires, he didn’t beat her.
“I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” she said.
“I have to meet with Dr. Coombs,” Tom said, grabbing his shotgun. “Come with me. Doc can give you some medicine.”
“I can make my own medicine.” She opened the door. “Now stop fretting over me and go.”
136
Tom entered Dr. Coombs’ medical lab. The disease specialist was peering into his microscope. The cramped room stank of rotting meat. On the center table lay Private Fitch’s half-eaten arm. The bite wounds were filled with gray pus. For the first time, Tom noticed dozens of smaller wounds. Rat bites? He still coul
dn’t shake the vision of the cannibal wearing a coat of living rats and flapping ravens. On another table lay Nadia Chaurette, the crazed woman who had run amok in the chapel. Her face was a red gaping hole, the effect of Tom’s shotgun blasting buckshot through the back of her skull. At the tip of each of her long fingers were wolf-like claws.
“Quite a spectacle, isn’t she, Inspector?” Dr. Coombs said with a grin.
Tom kept his distance, as if the faceless she-beast might suddenly spring to life and lash out with those razor talons. “Why wasn’t her body burned with the others?”
“I wanted to do a full autopsy. Don’t worry, Inspector, I’ve taken measures not to touch her.” Dr. Coombs placed a glass slide of saliva with the sample of blood under the microscope. He peered into the lenses and made a groaning sound. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“What do you see?” Tom asked.
“Normal blood.” The physician slumped against a table. “I’ve studied samples from four people who were infected. There are no viral cells, no mutations, nothing to indicate a physical disease.”
“What do you mean there’s no virus?” spoke Master Pendleton from the doorway.
Tom felt a rash of anger as the chief factor entered with Lt. Hysmith. Pendleton was dressed in his black fur coat and top hat, which he removed and set on a table. “Something caused Jean and Nadia to turn into beasts.”
Dr. Coombs said, “Whatever the catalyst was, it’s not showing up in their cells.”
“Is it possible we took the samples too late?” Tom asked.
“No, immediately after death there still should have been signs of a strain. I half expected to discover an advanced form of rabies, but even the saliva offers nothing.” Dr. Coombs scratched his beard. “Gentlemen, I’m befuddled. There seems to be no scientific explanation for these physical aberrations. Unless…” The doctor went over to his bookshelf and ran his finger along the volumes. He pulled out a book titled Mysterious Ailments. “There have been cases throughout European history of people turning feral and cannibalistic.” He flipped through the pages. “The most recent documented case was of a woman in a village in the Shetland Islands of Scotland. She murdered three people at a farm and mutilated several sheep. A group of hunters found the woman naked and covered in blood. She was described as behaving like a wild animal, with nocturnal eyes that reflected light, territorial, and highly aggressive. It took several shots to finally kill her. The woman’s head was removed and her body burned. The local doctor tested her blood, but found no virus to indicate a physical disease.”
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