Claw

by Katie Berry

  Oscar stretched again and brought both of his size thirteen feet back down to the grey concrete floor. He stood, feeling his bowels begin to gurgle once more. “Guess I might need to revisit the throne,” he said with a slight chuckle.

  The microwave beeped several monotonous times behind him, and he finally noticed the familiar, but tasty scent of polyvinyl chloride tainted Mac & Cheese in the air. Oscar's mouth began to water. He flared his nostrils as he sniffed. “Smells delicious,” he said, stroking his belly. It growled back at him in agreement.

  Typically, at this point in the evening, he would have headed to the cells to check on the status of anyone back in the drunk tank, or anyone else that they were keeping on ice for whatever reason, legal or otherwise. Fortunately, the ‘Reprobate Resort’, as it was called around the station, was empty tonight. Oscar had been on duty for the past couple of hours with no calls or much of anything else happening. When he’d checked the messages before his recent dump, things had seemed pretty chill at that time, just the way he liked it. Not bothering to bring the cordless phone with him as he’d done his deed in the washroom stall, he decided his next stop should be to check for any messages before chowing down. He removed the still bubbling tray of plasticised pasta from the microwave and looked longingly at it for a moment before leaving it to cool on top of the stained Formica table where he'd been sitting.

  Sauntering from the lunchroom through the situation room, he arrived at the reception desk that Fred Paulson manned (and dogged) in the daytime. As he approached the answering machine, his eyes widened when he saw he had over a dozen new messages. “Holy crap!” he said, pressing the play button.

  “Hey! This is Max Renaud out at Frostbite Fred's! I think we may have some major problems out here. Something broke into our compound in the back to get at the smoker and then trashed the place! We’re here until midnight...” Oscar pressed ‘skip message’ on the machine.

  “This is Gene Cowan calling! Something’s just attacked Frostbite Fred’s, it…”

  Skip.

  “Omigod! There’s a gigantic fucking bear out here at Fred’s eating people! Get someone the hell out here right now!”

  Skip.

  “You need to get out to Frostbite Fred’s right away. There’s a monster…”

  He skipped through the messages. One after another, they played the same, panicked messages about an attack out at Frostbite Fred’s. With the other two members who’d normally be on patrol tonight down for the count with the flu, Oscar knew he needed to get someone out there immediately, but also knew he should inform the VanDusen as well, despite the warning about not being disturbed. Oscar reluctantly picked up the phone and dialled the Chief’s private number. It rang several times, and with each unanswered ring, Oscar cringed a little bit more, until VanDusen finally exploded onto the line.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Oscar, how many times have I told you NOT to disturb me? What the hell did I just say to you two goddamned hours ago when you called me about that plugged toilet? We’ll get it fixed in the goddamned morning!”

  “It’s not about that, Chief, it’s…” He held the receiver away from his head for a moment to mitigate some of the shouting in his ear.

  “I said, do not disturb!” When VanDusen spoke the last three words of his sentence, they were low, hard and mean.

  “I know, sir…”

  “And don’t you know what that means!?”

  “Yes, sir, but…”

  “All right, what the hell is it? And it better be goddamned good!”

  “There’s been another bear attack,” Olsen said, uncomfortably.

  “What? Where?”

  “Frostbite Fred’s. I’m not sure if anybody is dead or not, but according to the messages I just listened to, it sounded like the thing from the campsite was there and starting to eat people! Whether they survived or got digested is anybody’s guess.”

  “Dammit! All right, I’ll get dressed and see you out there in about fifteen.”

  “Roger Wilco, over and out!”

  “And cut that shit out! Just a simple yessir is sufficient.”

  “Yessir, over and out!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The fog seemed to have a physical presence. Austin’s limbs felt heavy as if he were trying to walk underwater. Knowing it wasn’t the swirling water vapour holding him back but rather his reluctance to proceed into the unknown, he still felt he had to force his way forward toward the compound behind the pub. Next to him, Trip had his rifle at the ready, making sure his itchy finger didn’t have any sudden spasms, its stock nestled into his shoulder. Multi-coloured light from the blinking neon signs inside the bar shone through the hole at their backs, bathing them with an ethereal glow, adding to the surreal experience.

  Austin paused and turned, gawking at the damage to the pub behind them. When they’d been here at lunchtime, Frostbite Fred’s had sported a big, beautiful, plate glass window that looked out over the lovely valley below, providing a picturesque view when the day was bright, and the fog was gone. Tonight, it appeared a bomb had gone off next to them — shards of glass and timber fragments lay everywhere.

  The pub had been built to look like a large Swiss chalet-style building with signature angled roof and all of the decorative trimmings that went with it. Thick logs encased the building, each over twenty-five centimetres in diameter. Some of the logs had huge chunks gouged from them by the beast’s claws while others had been gnawed away. The building’s timber construction now sat exposed, protruding like broken ribs, as if some gigantic alien creature had burst forth from the pub’s chest cavity.

  Trip shook his head in wonder. If the walls had been constructed out of the usual 2x6s, plywood and drywall like most new construction in the area these days, the monster would have surely shredded it in short order and rampaged through into the pub. If that had happened, the number of casualties would have been catastrophic.

  Pushing through the mist around the side of the building, they arrived at the compound. Speechless, both men stood in stunned silence, looking at the sturdy fence behind the Midnight Toker, or at least what was left of it. Splintered logs lay everywhere, and the monolithic Toker was nowhere in sight, only twisted bits of steel remained where it had been bolted to its concrete base.

  In a low voice, Trip said, “Unbelievable!”. He suddenly smelled the familiar tang of Max’s BBQ sauce and looked down at his feet. He stood in a small puddle of the distinctive reddish-brown sauce sprayed across the frozen ground, looking more blood-like than sauce-like at the moment. His stomach did a flip in agreement with his assessment. The steel bowl that had contained the sauce looked like a pneumatic press had flattened it.

  “We need to find this thing before anyone else dies,” Austin said, shaking his head. Trip nodded his head but said nothing. He moved to the kitchen delivery door and tried the handle, but it was locked. He used the butt of the rifle to knock on the door a couple of times, giving it the old ‘shave and a haircut’ routine.

  Harry, leaning against the wall inside, jumped almost a metre in the air. He cautiously opened the door, saying, “Holy crap, you just about gave me a heart attack!” Though pushing almost sixty, Harry didn’t look a day past seventy, thanks to his long, grey ponytailed hair and sallow skin.

  Trip smiled inwardly, thinking the line cook didn’t look like the kind of man that needed any sudden jolts of adrenaline coursing through his rail-thin physique. “Sorry, Harry, just checking things out back there. Didn’t mean to startle you, but the door was locked.”

  “Maybe you could try the buzzer next time,” Harry said, eyes wide, hand held over his heart.

  His mouth a grim line, Trip replied, “I’ll see what I can do. Did you see anything back here?”

  “Just the inside of the walk-in cooler. I headed in there as soon as I heard the screaming.” There was obvious pride in his voice as he spoke as if hiding away in a cooler at the first sign of trouble, instead of seeing if he could help, was anythin
g of which to be proud.

  Austin nodded upon hearing this, saying, “Okay, thanks. Stay cool, Harry." Continuing their journey of discovery, they pushed through the galley doors into the bar proper. The room now had the welcome addition of strobing red emergency lights from the local ambulance service, giving the fog outside the hole in the wall a crimson cast. The entire fleet of Lawless’s EMS appeared to have been called out tonight, with both ambulances in attendance.

  Two paramedics were over at the stage looking at the mess that had at one time been the bass player and lead singer of HipBone. One of them stood shaking his head in disbelief, while the other looked somewhat nauseated, holding his hand over his mouth.

  Near the door, the other pair of paramedics were looking after the elderly couple that had been trampled in the panic. When Trip had checked for survivors earlier, he’d found the elderly couple unconscious, battered and bruised, but still alive. He’d made sure they were as comfortable as could be with balled up bar towels beneath each of their heads. Jenny Smith had tucked blankets around them as well to keep them warm until help arrived. Both now appeared to be conscious and alert.

  Across the large room, Alex sat where Austin had left him, a half glass of Coke remaining, his face buried in his cell phone once more. Nearby, Jenny Smith tended to bartender Greg, who was now conscious once more. The Aussie sat on the floor, his back against the bar, holding his right forearm. He was talking animatedly to Jenny about how he’d shot the bear. She smiled, telling him she’d seen it all, adding it was like something out of a Hollywood action film. Greg seemed to like that image and smiled back, settling back against the gleaming, oiled mahogany as the paramedics from the stage approached to take over his care.

  Alex glanced up from his phone and smiled, a relieved look on his face when he saw his father approaching with Trip at his side, rifle still in hand. Austin waved to the boy, smiling himself. He was pleased to see that his son had listened and stayed put. As he and Trip approached, Alex said, “Jenny was telling me that this bear is freakin’ huge! She said it cut up one guy pretty bad with its claws, and another guy got squished!”

  “Sorry,” Jenny said, approaching from the bar. “I sort of let it slip what happened.”

  “That’s understandable, all things considered,” Austin said kindly.

  Jenny looked over to Trip, her eyes brightening and said, “There he is! The man of the hour!”

  Trip set nothing and blushed at this proclamation of his heroism.

  “Really? What happened, Trip?” Austin asked.

  Looking down at his boots in modesty as he recalled the events, Trip said, “Well, after Greg got knocked back by the bar there, his shotgun came skidding across the floor and pretty much ended up right in front of me, so I grabbed it and used it!”

  “You're far too modest, Trip!” Jenny said. Turning to Austin and Alex, she said, “And you didn’t just grab it. In fact, I didn’t think you could move that fast! You were like Rambo! I mean, you just dove for the gun, rolled, came up on one knee, and then blam! And then blam again!” she concluded enthusiastically.

  “Blam?” Austin said, looking over to Trip.

  “Something like that. Wasn’t a very good shot, though. I only ended up taking the top of one of the thing’s ears off with the last shot, but as I said earlier, I guess it was enough. I think the buckshot in the Mossberg was only pissing it off more than harming it because of the thing’s thick hide beneath. Part of its muzzle was seared-off from trying to eat the Toker out back. That must have hurt like a son of a bitch. I think by the time the thing found the window, it was probably crazy with pain when it burst through.”

  “Well, thank goodness you and Greg were here tonight! You’re both heroes in my book!” She looked from Trip over to Greg, her voice rising with excitement as she concluded, clapping her hands together, obviously enamoured with the men’s acts of bravery.

  A wale of sirens and flashing red and blue lights brought the conversation to an abrupt halt -- the LPD had finally arrived on the scene.

  Stepping into the pub from out of the strobing red mist, Oscar Olsen held one of the heavy doors open, glancing toward the stage. He appeared queasy and held back, breathing the fresh air from the open doorway for as long as he could.

  “Son of a bitch!” VanDusen said, stalking into the room in disgust. “What in God’s name happened here? Is this that same goddamned bear again, Olsen?”

  “I think so, sir,” Oscar called from behind, making it a point not to look toward the stage.

  VanDusen looked over to where Austin and Trip were standing and added, “Oh friggin’ great! Here we go again! Look who’s already here, the goddamned Lone Ranger and Tonto!”

  Austin sidled up to the police chief and said, “Late to the square dance, again, huh, Reggie?”

  “I don’t think there were many people here who enjoyed this little shindig, Murphy,” the Chief growled.

  “You’ve got that right. Looks like we have at least two dead with several injuries as well,” Trip said.

  “When I’ve assessed the situation, I’ll determine how many we have of what, thanks, Williams!” VanDusen said haughtily. “And you better not have touched anything here either Williams, or I’ll have you charged with evidence tampering and obstruction! And that includes you and your brat there, Murphy!” He glared at Alex, who was sitting wide-eyed watching the whole conversation between his father, Trip and the Chief.

  With his authority established, VanDusen turned, almost walking over the top of Oscar, who’d sidled up silently behind him as he spoke.

  “Jesus Christ, Olsen! What have I told you about sneaking up on me like that?”

  “I wasn’t sneaking, sir! I was just making notes!” Oscar said, defensively, clutching his notepad to his chest, looking rather green around the gills.

  “Then make more goddamned noise scribbling with your pencil! Or maybe tie a friggin’ cowbell around your neck, I don’t know! C’mon, let’s go check this shit out!” VanDusen barked, stomping toward the abattoir that was now the main stage.

  “Yessir,” Olsen said. Notebook still in hand, he trailed reluctantly behind VanDusen like a small puppy that thought it was about to have its nose rubbed in one of its own natural bodily functions.

  Austin watched this with some amusement. Sometimes, he swore it was like an old Abbott and Costello routine.

  Through the foggy hole in the wall, Austin saw the flash of headlights into the parking lot accompanied by the strobe of yellow emergency lights as Christine’s Moon’s conservation truck pulled into the lot.

  ***

  Christine Moon parked her Dodge next to the LPD car sitting in the disabled parking zone. From what she could discern through the fog, Frostbite Fred's exterior looked normal enough with no visible signs of a disturbance. Pulling open one of the slab-like pine doors, she stepped through and saw it was a different story inside. The carnage was insane and seemed to cover everything in sight. She craned neck head around, checking things out. It looked as if several people had been eviscerated judging by the blood and entrails scattered about the room.

  Christine strode confidently toward Austin and Trip’s location, her boot heels snapping against the red-smeared sawdust floor. She ignored the scowling Chief of Police and nauseated-looking constable as she passed. With a slight smile, she said, “I presume you’ve already been chatting with the Apple Dumpling Gang over there, have you?”

  “They do keep me entertained, that’s for sure,” Austin said, glancing in VanDusen’s direction as he spoke. He flashed the Chief a quick grin but received a glower return.

  “So, what in God’s name happened here?” Christine asked as she lithely stepped next to Austin and Trip, avoiding a piece of gore on the floor. Her movement toward them carried the scent of her freshly shampooed hair on the air currents inside the bar. Austin noted the floral bouquet provided a pleasant diversion for a moment until it was once more overwhelmed by the coppery smell of blood and entrails spra
yed around the large public room.

  “It’s a mess, as you can see. Come with us for a second, and I’ll we'll you in on some details.” Austin pointed out several things of note he’d observed since arriving. Then Trip began a vivid description of his evening adventure but trailed off as they arrived at the stage where the local constabulary was finishing up their photoshoot.

  Christine stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the scene, then looked over to VanDusen and said, "Do you need any more proof of this thing's existence, Chief, or do you want to wait until you get some more samples back from your lab?"

  VanDusen gave her a withering stare. "What I do or don't do is of no concern to you, Moon. I'm not at beholden to discuss any pending investigations, especially with you!"

  "But you certainly can't deny its existence now!" She shook her head slightly in disbelief at the man's arrogant nature.