Winter Prey

by T. M. Simmons

  Kymbria faced her mother. "He's hunting the windigo."

  "Why?" Niona asked in astonishment. "He's not even from around here, and definitely not Indian."

  "Native American," Kymbria corrected with a chuckle.

  "Whatever." Niona waved a negligent hand. "I've been Indian long enough to ignore the PC stuff and call myself whatever I want. Now why's that nice man monster chasing?"

  Kymbria said softly, "Caleb thinks a windigo was responsible for his wife and little boy's deaths."

  "Oh. Oh, dear."

  Scarlet raced toward them, Caleb right behind her. Just before the setter reached Kymbria, the dog turned and launched herself at Caleb. The two of them tumbled into the snow, Scarlet's yips of joy piercing the air.

  As Caleb sat up and ruffled Scarlet's fur, Niona said, "I'll pull my car into the driveway. Do you want to ride?"

  "I'll walk," Kymbria said. "It's a beautiful morning."

  "I want to know what happened last night," Niona warned.

  "I want to know what you're hiding."

  Chapter 18

  It listened to her pitiful whimpers as she struggled against the bindings. Her screams had echoed for a while, but the boulder across the lair entrance captured the noise. Her throat was probably raw, her terror as exhausting as her efforts to escape.

  She couldn't see in the intense darkness, but Its vision examined every nuance of her. The cold would penetrate her body soon. It had stripped her jacket, gloves, boots and socks. She'd painted her toenails a pretty rose color, similar to the dye the tribal women squeezed from summer berries to stain decorative quills. Blue already tinted her toes and fingers, as well as around her full lips.

  Even with the others watching, she had been easy to take. At the beginning of each season, surprise made capturing prey less complicated. No doubt word would soon spread. Not that puny humans ever threatened Its existence. Still, each season carried different dangers.

  Prey must be chosen carefully, and she fit. There were some with more hated blood than others. Hope always lurked in the back of Its mind the selections might hasten the final hunt. Even after word spread in past giticmanidogizis months about It being awake, It had easily filled the quota by hunting around gathering places, or in later years, local bars, remaining true to the bloodline demanding eradication. To revenge, not only for It but Her.

  It squatted beside the latest prey. She wore a tribal emblem symbolizing her ancestors. Did she have any idea what lay behind that? Did she care?

  Did it matter?

  No.

  The heart-shaped shading beneath her right eye also bespoke her clan.

  Did it matter she had no part in what her ancestors did to It?

  No. The spirits had placed her in Its path, blended her destiny with Its.

  She tossed her head frantically, her nostrils flaring as she caught Its closeness and smell. Her whimpers were little more than tiny chipmunk squeaks.

  Oh, she knew what had taken her. Red blood dripped down her pale cheek from claw slashes where It had kept her cries trapped until in the lair. Never cover the eyes, though. Revenge was only satisfied by the knowledge and horror reflected there…as it was now, in the brown depths intensified to black with fear of pending death.

  Did she have some small measure of hope? Think that, despite knowing not one prey had ever escaped, she might somehow thwart her fate? Eons ago, It had thought nibowin a far distant reckoning, failed to be able to grasp the concept that other lives would continue after death. That days, weeks and months, years and time itself would roll onward. Suns rise, moons set. Births renew, deaths transpire.

  Now It yearned for that emptiness, for Its once living presence to only be a memory.

  Did she believe her prayers might be answered by a benevolent spirit with stronger powers than Its? For that would be her only savior, and never had it come to pass before.

  Her legs fought the twisted vine rope, her shoulders wrenched as she jerked at the bindings on her hands behind her back.It almost laughed. Her eyes widened even further at the grunt that escaped.

  It could end her misery and terror easily enough. Pick her up and impale her on the tip of one of the stalagmites rearing from the cave floor.

  Or It could do that and even prolong her agony. Judge the impalement well, pierce her where the tip would miss her heart. She would linger in consciousness, her body fluids leaking out to combine with the odor of her terror.

  That decision would come as the hunger grew again. Past experience allowed It to identify the growing waves, the length of time between the various intensities. For now, the urge was controllable, not overwhelming, as happened when the feeding could not be denied. It had relieved the hunger when It fed on the body left by someone or something else, the body carried to the cabin, then back to the lair.

  It had pondered the puzzle of the fresh kill for a long while. Whatever brought it, however the body arrived, did not matter. It feared no other…entity or human.

  Chapter 19

  Back in the cabin, Caleb watched the byplay between Kymbria and her mother. He supposed he needed to politely take his leave, so the two could talk in private. No way would Kymbria's mother talk frankly in front of someone she had just met. Yet he couldn't stifle the vague thought Niona had more reason for making her unannounced visit here than just missing her daughter.

  "Excuse me a minute," Kymbria said. "I'm going to make sure I haven't forgotten anything important." She walked toward her bedroom, giving Caleb at least a slight window of opportunity to question her mother. Did she do it on purpose?

  "We need to get on the road, sweetheart," Niona reminded Kymbria.

  "I won't be long." She shut the bedroom door behind her.

  "Is there anything I can do to help?" Caleb asked.

  Niona shook her head and browsed the living room, fluffing two throw pillows on the sofa, straightening one of the eight-by-ten framed pictures on the fireplace mantle. She wandered to the front window and pulled up the slatted blind they'd closed after Hjak left. She was obviously distancing herself, blocking any chance he could probe. Caleb considered giving up and taking his leave, but he wanted to include Kymbria in his goodbye.

  "Is that where the windigo left Le — the man who did work for us? Inside that yellow circle?" Niona asked, surprising Caleb. He'd obviously misjudged her desire to talk about the windigo.

  Her hesitation at naming the man puzzled Caleb, until he recalled that one of their customs was not speaking a dead person's name. Kymbria's mother must be very close to the Old Ways practiced by her tribe, despite not living in close contact with her people.

  "Hjak left the crime scene tape there," Caleb said. "He didn't think his techs would be able to find any evidence, but…frankly," he continued on an exhale of breath, "I don't think he's going to call anyone out to even look at that area, now that the body's missing."

  The Native American woman faced him directly. "There's something I need to know. Kymbria asked me if I felt this entity was more dangerous to her and me than to others in the area. She had a reason for asking that."

  "It won't matter now," Caleb answered evasively, although she hadn't framed a question. Even though this was Kymbria's mother, he felt uncomfortable discussing her more or less behind her back. "You'll both be gone in a few minutes."

  "It might matter," Niona said sternly. "Tell me what's different this time."

  "I wasn't here forty years ago," Caleb pointed out. "I can't know what's different, beyond the fact this thing woke a month earlier than the history of it indicates."

  Niona re-closed the blind and sat in one of the chairs on the enclosed porch, motioning for Caleb to take the other. With a sigh, he complied. She wasn't going to let this lie. Were he in her shoes, worried about someone he loved, he would also do whatever necessary. He should have done so back in Colorado.

  "Kymbria told me about your wife and son. You have my deepest condolences. Yet what makes you think you might have a chance to defeat our wi
ndigo?"

  Caleb repeated a little of what he'd already told Kymbria: he'd been raised in a family that supported the belief in the paranormal and had been investigating that world for a long while.

  Niona asked, "Are you aware of this monster when it comes near you?"

  "Kymbria — " Caleb shut his mouth and considered his next words, disgusted he'd let that slip. Niona's sharp gaze indicated she'd picked up on it.

  He started to speak again, but Niona held up a forestalling hand. "This thing is communicating with my daughter?"

  Caleb winced at her sharp voice. "Kymbria hasn't admitted that."

  "Admitted? That's an interesting choice of word. So you believe it is, but Kymbria's denying it for some reason?"

  "Look, Mrs. James. I know about her PTSD. She might be afraid of what's causing this…this supposed communication from the beast. And it really could be something to do with her PTSD. Maybe she's being truthful and it's not the windigo she's hearing."

  "But she's hearing something?" Niona persisted.

  Caleb shook his head in denial. "I can't confirm that, only Kymbria can."

  In an abrupt change of subject, Niona asked, "Would you like to stay here at our cabin after we leave, Mr. McCoy? It would be much more comfortable than that one Paul rented you."

  "Caleb, please," he insisted, then again mulled over how he should respond. There were depths to this woman, many of the same things he admired in her daughter. She didn't speak lightly, and Caleb realized he needed to plumb those intricacies. She had knowledge of this entity, knowledge she was reluctant to share for some reason. Similar, he realized, to Kymbria's reluctance to admit what was happening to her. A reluctance that was sending her back home.

  Yet the knowledge could possibly hurt both her mother and Kymbria, maybe others, if they kept secrets. One thing he'd learned during his years of investigating paranormal entities: the more information you could glean, the more control a person had over the beings of the other dimension. The lack of understanding of this creature had allowed it to roam and kill for hundreds of years.

  "Let me ask you something first, Mrs. James."

  "You haven't been very forthcoming about my questions to you, Mr. McCoy." He didn't miss the fact she intended to keep their relationship on a more formal basis.

  "The things you've asked me aren't mine to answer. You and Kymbria are obviously extremely close, despite her being away for years."

  "True," Niona acknowledged.

  Caleb hesitated, then lowered his voice and said, "Have you ever thought maybe your people's isolation and non-communication might foster these killings?"

  Surprising him, Niona answered, "I have. But my words have been rebuffed every time. Our past has set our customs well."

  "Then I'll just come right out and ask this, Mrs. James. Is there some other reason than my comfort you're offering me your cabin? That you care I'm safe?"

  "You've been here for Kymbria," she said. He started to respond, but she held up a forestalling hand again. "And I deeply sympathize with you over what happened to your wife and son."

  The pain stabbed Caleb, as it always did, even in the midst of condolences. "Not enough to help us, though," he couldn't resist saying.

  Hurt and anger flashed on her face, and Niona stood. "You don't understand."

  "And I can't, if you don't explain."

  "You think I'm being selfish."

  "I'm sure you have your reasons. Yet people are dying, in horrible ways. Len's face…I wouldn't have wanted Kymbria to see that."

  Kymbria's bedroom door opened, and she emerged with her luggage. "I'm ready, Mom. Oh, Caleb, glad you're still here. I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. I was also thinking, if it would be all right with Mom, we could leave a key with you. You'd be free to use our refrigerator."

  "Actually," Niona said before Caleb could, "I've offered Mr. McCoy the use of our entire cabin. He'll be more comfortable here."

  "And safer," Caleb added, to which Kymbria raised an eyebrow in question.

  Niona pulled a key ring from her pocket and removed one of the keys, which she handed to Caleb. "There's also a key under the turtle shell on the windowsill by the back door, if you misplace this one."

  "Turtle shell," Caleb mused. "That's a sacred symbol to some Native Americans."

  "To one of our clans also," Niona said. "And you have our phone numbers?"

  "Kymbria's cell phone."

  "Anything else you need is on the list beside the cabin phone." Niona walked into the kitchen and retrieved her coat from the coat stand beside the door. "I'll go ahead and warm my car up, Kymbria. You'll take Scarlet with you?"

  "Of course."

  Niona paused for a moment as she looked from Kymbria to Caleb. Rather than the caution he expected to see in her glance, she only nodded, then turned and opened the door.

  "Damn," Kymbria murmured. "I'd hoped to stall her long enough to get more information. That's not going to happen, though. Did she tell you anything we didn't know?"

  "Nope," he admitted. "And yeah, I did try."

  "Well," Kymbria said with a sigh. "I'll work on her, and if I find out anything, I'll call you." She set her suitcase down and held out her hand. "I hope the next time we meet, it will be under far better circumstances."

  Caleb grasped her hand, reluctant to see her leave. It was for the best, though. He didn't want her in danger, and he needed some time to try to decipher Niona's evasions. "I haven't forgotten the dinner I promised. But even without that, yes, I'd like to see you again."

  "Me, too," Kymbria admitted with a small smile. "I think we could be friends, Caleb McCoy."

  Maybe even more than that. But he didn't want to push her. Kymbria James had plenty of things to work out in her own life, as he did.

  He held her hand for a few more seconds as he examined her face and stored it in his memory. That would be a nice memory to have when the darker ones tried to intrude. Even nicer would be….

  He bent his head. She didn't try to avoid him. Instead, curiosity lurked in her eyes before she closed them slowly and waited for him to take the kiss he wanted.

  The kitchen door burst open. "It won't start again," Niona complained. "I thought that damn mechanic fixed it!"

  Caleb drew back with a sigh of disappointment, which he thought — hoped — he heard Kymbria echo. "He replaced the battery cables," he told Niona. "From the little I know about cars, maybe that wasn't the problem. Could be your alternator."

  "We'll just call Gabe and let him bring his tow truck this time, Mom. You can ride with me."

  "We can't. My car's blocking yours in, as well as Mr. McCoy's truck!" She stared back out the open door, but Caleb clearly heard her murmur, "Something's working against us. Keeping us here. I'm calling Keoman, and this time, he better call me back."

  Niona shivered in the cold and pushed the door shut before she strode towards them. In the living room, she veered to the phone. Kymbria grabbed her suitcase again, but Caleb took it from her.

  "Just put my bag by the back door, Caleb," she said in acquiescence. "I'll make some hot chocolate while we wait for Keoman and Gabe."

  She didn't notice when Caleb stayed where he was. He wanted…needed to hear Niona's conversation with Keoman. However, she wasn't talking to him during this phone conversation.

  "How long?" she asked. "Do you have an alternator in stock, if that's what it is?" She paused, then huffed in frustration. "I guess that will have to do, won't it? Call me back here when you know more."

  Without a goodbye, she hung up the phone. At first, she glanced at Caleb, then abruptly turned away and walked into the kitchen to join Kymbria.

  "There's a wreck out on the main highway. The woman who answered had no idea how soon Gabe would be free."

  "Is there another tow service around?" Caleb asked.

  Kymbria answered, "Gabe's all there is."

  "Did you get the snowmobiles ready?" Niona asked.

  "Sorry, Mom. I'd decided to leave, so
I didn't bother."

  Caleb shrugged into his jacket, which he'd hung in the kitchen this time, as he said, "Let me go out and look around. Maybe I can maneuver my truck out of the way."

  "Thank you," Niona said as he closed the door.

  Caleb waited just outside the door, frankly eavesdropping. Thinking him not there to overhear, maybe they would spill some information. Niona's unease indicated the woman had plenty to say. She was hiding something, something important if her actions were any indication.

  But he only heard them moving around in the kitchen, a pot sliding onto the stove, the refrigerator door opening. He finally gave up and walked toward the vehicles.

  Kymbria's black SUV sat first in line. He'd pulled up close to her bumper and a little to the side when he brought her home the previous evening. Niona's sedan wasn't that close to his truck, but there wasn't enough room to edge past it. Trees lined both sides of the drive. They couldn't even circle Kymbria's SUV around, since there was a wall of landscape timbers to the left of it.

  Cold. It seeped around his neck. He'd forgotten to grab his cap. He glanced up through the treetops at a sky heavy with pregnant clouds. He should have listened to the weather forecast. It didn't matter. This creature's vision could penetrate a whiteout.

  The consecrated cross hung safe and secure on his chest, emitting at least a measure of security as he tramped through the snow towards Niona's vehicle.

  Chapter 20

  A tense atmosphere filled the kitchen, in contradiction to the warmth strewing from the heating vents. Out of respect for her mother, Kymbria dredged up the effort to override the frustration in her voice, although the resultant stress increased the strain. Strain resulting in damned PTSD tension.

  "I'm not calling you a liar, Mom," Kymbria said. "I'd never do that."

  "Well, it sounds like what you're getting ready to say."

  Kymbria sucked in a calming breath. Control. "You're twisting my words. I just want to know how you and I are involved in this windigo situation."