It helped her. No need for the bindings any longer, not even on her mouth. She wouldn't live long enough for her screams to bother It. In fact, the screams from the prey gave more satisfaction than irritation. One more enemy spawn defeated, one more piece of revenge accomplished.
One swipe and her hands were free, the same with her feet. A claw jabbed beneath the twisted vine gag.
Her limbs were frozen to near immobility, but that deep-set survival instinct lent her strength. She screamed and scrambled awkwardly to her hands and knees. Didn't get far. Her head hit the cave wall and the impact stunned her. She shook her head, black hair swirling and blood streaming down her forehead. The coppery smell unseated the hunger, which rose on the beginning crest.
Negligently, It wrapped a paw beneath her stomach, pulled her away from the wall, then flung her back against the sharp stone. The force of the blow, not even one of Its most powerful ones, broke bones. They snapped clearly in the silent air, bringing more screams. She crumbled into a heap, but still she struggled to rise.
"Please," she begged. "Please! I'll do anything you want! My children…."
It whapped a paw against the side of her head. More blood spewed. It sniffed deeply and caught the odor of meat beneath the skin.
Hunger swelled higher.
Somehow she moved again, dragging along the ground like an injured snake, sharp rocks and gravel digging into her tender skin and opening more wounds. One arm flopped, a bone sticking out, white and streaked with blood. Its sharp vision took in the sight, nose drinking in the odors.
"Please," she whimpered. "Jimmy. Sasha. T-Tom. Help me, Tom."
It heaved a sigh of disgust. Caught her leg and threw her back against the wall. One swipe opened her throat, the other a path from throat to the juncture between her legs.
Even before It started feeding, the power spoke.
Chapter 26
"Well, that was an extremely productive meeting," Caleb murmured sarcastically to Keoman as they exited the tribal headquarters.
"Unfortunately," Keoman replied, a like sneer in his tone, "that's the way it works around here sometimes. We don't just talk something to death among ourselves before we make a decision. We have to consult the major spirits all the way up to Midé Manido, as well as dozens of generations of ancestors. Ask each and every one for their input."
They stopped by Keoman's rusty jeep as Caleb said, "All these years of talking back and forth across the divide between the earth world and the spiritual one haven't brought your people any closer to killing this son of a bitch."
"We agree on that. Same old shit this time, only with a new twist. Gagewin doesn't want the Feds called in, because it might hurt our casino business. Which we didn't have forty years ago."
"And while they wait and contact their spiritual advisors, more of your people are going to turn into windigo prey."
Keoman's fist thudded against the driver's door of his jeep. Caleb didn't even jump. He wanted to add another dent. The Midé drew back his arm, but instead of pounding the door again, he stared at the damaged knuckles.
"That bar I told you about is near," he said.
"I'll follow."
Keoman opened his driver's door, then stared back at the building for a moment. None of the other council members had exited yet. They were probably still deciding when and where to have their ceremony to contact their spirits. As soon as that discussion started, Keoman had nudged Caleb and left the meeting without excusing himself.
Hjak did emerge just then. Keoman glared at the sheriff and slid into his vehicle. "Coming?" he asked Caleb.
"In a minute. Give me directions, and I'll meet you there after I talk to Hjak."
"You'll get the same fucking bull shit from him," Keoman snarled. "But it's your waste of time." He added directions to the bar, then slammed his door. Tires squealed as he shot out of the parking space, but Caleb ignored him and headed for Hjak.
"Got a minute?" Caleb called.
Hjak turned, his truck door already open. "Don't know that I can tell you anything you didn't hear in there. The tribe's got search parties out. That's about all we can do right now."
"I'm finding it hard to stomach them not letting you call in more help."
Hjak sighed. "I don't need their agreement. If I thought it would do any good, I'd call without their approval. But tell them what? That we've got a paranormal entity hunting around here? Killing tribal members? Eating them? That we need to know how to fight it, so please send us some X-File agents?"
"No, damn it. That you've got Native Americans being killed. What about Len? The windigo obviously didn't kill him."
"We don't have a body," Hjak reminded him. "We never have any bodies, just disappearing Native Americans."
"From the Marten Clan."
"What do you mean?"
"I talked to Nodinens. She's noticed it, too. Every one of the windigo's kills has been from the Marten Clan. All of them in her lifetime, anyway. A birthmark appears on the faces of some of the Marten Clan members, but not all of them. Not all of the kills have carried that mark, either. There's always the clan affiliation, though."
Hjak frowned and thought for a moment.
"I've got an idea," Caleb said. "I don't know if it will help or not, but it would mean we're at least doing something. You evidently have someone pretty computer savvy in your office."
"That would be me. I fell in love with those gadgets a long time ago. Our dispatcher helps input data, but I'm the one who sets up the programs, accesses the information when I need it. So what are you getting at?"
"Do you have a list of all the members of the Marten Clan who disappeared during the last season? Forty years ago?"
"I don't know," Hjak admitted. "I'd have to check. I can tell you it wouldn't be in the computer. It would be in a musty file somewhere. We don't have the personnel to input old data."
"Yeah, I see."
"The windigo always takes sixteen people. But I can't be sure the tribe reported every disappearance, especially back then." He paused for a moment. "I've got everything during my tenure coded for cross-referencing. Names, dates, race. I didn't think to break it down by clan, though. I'll start doing that, in case…."
"In case we don't get that son of a bitch this time," Caleb finished. "We can get Nodinens to help with that end of it on the older cases, once you get a list."
"You may be onto something, McCoy. But what good will it do to know who's already died? And who might be next? Unless…well, we can warn the other Marten Clan members, but you can bet that Gagewin and his people have already done so."
"Nodinens confirmed that," Caleb informed him.
"Well, like you said, at least we'll be doing something. But let's keep this between us. I don't need a bunch of people thinking they're safe because they're not Marten Clan."
"Good point. Once we get a firmer handle on the situation this time, maybe we can figure out where this thing is hiding. And possibly how to kill it."
"Yeah. How to kill something that's already dead. That'll be a new experience for all of us."
"Maybe for people around here," Caleb said quietly. "But I know people who have had that experience."
~~~
When he arrived at the bar, Caleb found a couple dozen vehicles there. Snow had started falling again, and from the looks of the dark sky, he figured they might be in for another hard-hitting storm. He pulled in between two SUV's, then took out his sat-phone. Kymbria answered after two rings.
"Where are you?" Caleb asked.
"Still at Amber's. Mom arrived a while ago."
"When are you heading back to Duluth?"
"Probably tomorrow. The mechanic thinks her car will be ready then."
"You'll be staying at the cabin tonight?"
"We'll be careful," she assured him.
"I know you will. How are the kids?"
"About the same. Their father's still critical, but now the doctor says he has a fair chance."
"I'm g
lad of that, for the kids' sake. Look, nothing was decided in the council meeting."
"No surprise. They haven't figured out anything in hundreds of years. Where are you?"
"Keoman asked me to meet with him in private. We're at some bar outside Neris Lake. I'll see you later, because I'm going to stay at the cabin with you two tonight."
"Thank you. I'm not sure how Mom will feel about it, but I'd like to have you there."
As Caleb disconnected, two Native American men wandered out of the bar, one helping the other walk. He studied them as they approached the SUV on his right. It struck him that they were awfully grim-faced for having spent time drinking, given the one man's obvious intoxication. Usually bar patrons emerged after a few drinks in a more jovial mood. The more sober man helped his companion into the passenger side of the vehicle, then stalked around it. He didn't notice Caleb sitting there as he got in and started the engine.
Caleb detected something, though — the mark of the Marten Clan on the drunk man's face.
In the bar, Caleb found Keoman in an isolated back booth, a bottle of beer on one side of the table, Keoman with a 7-Up can in his hand. He slid into the booth and picked up the beer.
"Busy place this early in the day," he pointed out before he chugged a third of the beer.
"Hope the beer didn't get too warm," Keoman said in a non-answer.
"I called Kymbria out in the parking lot to check on things."
"Any news on Tom?"
"Looks like he'll pull through."
"Good." Keoman downed the remainder of his 7-Up, then held the can up towards the bar. Needing a bit more anesthesia himself, Caleb did the same with his bottle and gazed around. The customers were a mixture of Native American and white, somewhat segregated at various tables. Most had red plastic baskets with sandwiches and fries in front of them. Checking his watch, he noticed it was lunch time, so that explained their presence. Another table of five Native American men seemed to be dressed in construction garb. They were a somber spot in the room, while the tables of white patrons chatted and laughed. From where he sat, it looked to Caleb as though all the red plastic baskets in front of the Native Americans held congealing burgers and flaccid fries. None of them had finished their meal.
After the waitress set their fresh drinks down and left, Caleb decided he'd killed enough time waiting for Keoman to say whatever was on his mind. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"What do you use for protection?"
Surprised, Caleb frowned. This wasn't what he'd expected, but his ingredients weren't a secret. He pulled out the cross. "This is consecrated and blessed. I also have some packets tied up in purple cloth and ribbon. A friend made them for me."
"And they contain…?"
"Herbs. Ones shown over the years to be effective against evil paranormal entities. Jasmine, frankincense, myrrh. I picked up some jimsonweed seeds when I was out in California with a paranormal group one time, and my friend also uses them. Some of the western tribes use jimsonweed like others do peyote. He orders quince seeds from India, where they have true quince, not the hybrids available over here. He told me he also has sea salt, rock salt, and some asafetida in them. Sage, of course. It's all blessed and consecrated, too."
Keoman tilted his head to indicate the cross around Caleb's neck, which he'd replaced after he left Amber's. "I thought a lot of you investigators wore those pentagrams, like are used by Wiccans."
"My friend who makes up the packets is Wiccan," Caleb replied without further explanation. Some wore pentagrams, some crosses like himself. It didn't matter, as long as whatever a person chose worked. Part of that, of course, was the belief system, but he didn't think he needed to repeat that to Keoman.
"Interesting how much crossover there is between the various beliefs of people who deal with the spirit world."
"Is there a point to this?"
"Hell, I don't know." Keoman finished his second soda and stood. "I need to make a pit stop. Then maybe we can figure out if we can combine our protections and get them out to enough people to lessen the amount of prey available to the windigo."
"What clan do you belong to?" Caleb asked before Keoman could leave.
He thinned his lips. "Marten."
As Keoman abruptly left the table, Caleb contemplated Keoman's admission as he picked up his beer. As a Midé, Keoman shouldn't have to worry about the windigo, should he? He would be one of the most protected people in the tribe, both from his abilities and spirit bundles.
The group of construction workers shoved back their chairs, wooden legs scraping against the uncarpeted floor. They shrugged into heavy coats and jammed fur-lined hats on their heads, then started for the door. None of them seemed to be very eager to get on with their work. Then, again, it might not be job unhappiness bothering them. He focused on their faces. The Marten Clan mark stained the cheeks of two.
The men let in plenty of cold air as they made their way out the door. The last man pushed on through and pulled the door closed behind him at the same moment Keoman returned. "Let me see if the waitress can bring us a pencil and paper," he said as he slid into his side of the booth. "We can make a list — "
The ululating shriek from outside lobbed a shiver of dread over Caleb. The windigo! The same howl he'd heard on the lake!
The next scream was human and matched the windigo's howl decibel for decibel. But it reflected horror rather than rage.
Caleb and Keoman shot out of the booth and raced for the door. None of the other patrons moved an inch, all frozen in terror.
"Call the sheriff!" Caleb shouted over his shoulder. He didn't bother to see if anyone complied. He swung the door open, Keoman right behind him.
Outside, the wind had picked up and the snow now fell so heavily it was hard to see. Suddenly, Caleb skidded to a halt and grabbed Keoman's arm.
"Maybe you better wait inside. You're Marten Clan."
Keoman jerked free. "And maybe I can help protect someone else, with my spirit bundle!"
He dashed off through the snow. Another terrible scream of pain split the air. The man again, Caleb realized. The windigo hadn't howled after it announced its presence.
Caleb rushed after Keoman, dodging between vehicles, heading for the back portion of the parking area. The wind picked up even more, as though in answer to the paranormal presence. Caleb had seen things like this before, even with friendly entities. Who knew how tumultuous it could get with a windigo around.
Four of the construction men scrambled to get in a dual-cab pickup. Keoman grabbed the man in the passenger seat before he could shut the door and dragged him kicking and screaming back out.
"What happened?" Keoman demanded.
The man swung at Keoman, but he was too terrified to focus his strength. The Midé ducked the blow, and Caleb joined in to help restrain the man. The driver started the pickup and screamed, "Let him go! We're getting out of here!"
Keoman shoved the passenger at Caleb, jerked the driver's door open and scrambled into the pickup. He grabbed the keys from the ignition and the engine died.
"Give me those keys, you son of a bitch!" the driver yelled.
"Not until you tell me what happened. Where's the other man who was with you?"
"Over there!" The driver pointed past Keoman's left shoulder. "He went off to take a piss before he got in the truck. He should have gone inside! Give me the damn keys!"
"What got him?" Keoman demanded.
"What the hell do you think? The windigo!"
"Did you see it?" Keoman insisted.
"I didn't need to see it. I heard it. Give me the fucking keys!"
Keoman relented and tossed him the keys. Caleb shoved the passenger at the truck and followed when Keoman headed off in the direction the driver had indicated. The bitter cold bit through him, and he realized he'd left his jacket back in the booth. So had Keoman.
He nearly bumped into Keoman, who'd squatted beneath a tree limb.
"This is where the man was," Keoman sa
id. "I can see his piss in the snow."
Caleb scanned the woods around them, heart thudding and adrenaline pumping through his veins, waiting for a huge monster to appear.
Keoman scrunched forward. "And here's blood. It got him, all right."
Caleb wiped his eyes, stinging from wind-driven snow.
Keoman rose. "Let's go. We need to try to save him this time."
"We're not walking into those woods."
"No," Keoman agreed. "We'll drive. Maybe we can catch it crossing the road."
He turned and strode through the parking lot. By the time Caleb caught up, he was already in his jeep, the engine running and an impatient glare on his face. Caleb slid into the passenger seat before Keoman floored it out of the parking lot, fishtailing on the snow once and barely missing another vehicle.
"You want me to drive?" Caleb asked.
"You've been drinking," Keoman reminded him as he turned right.
"How the hell can you see?" Caleb asked. Even though Keoman had turned on the wipers, his speed increased the lack of visibility through the falling snow.
"I know the road," Keoman assured him.
Caleb reached for his seatbelt, but there was none. "We won't be able to see that monster cross the road in this," he said, and grabbed the dashboard when Keoman wrestled the jeep around a sharp curve. "Damn it, I thought you knew the road!"
Keoman floored the gas again, then downshifted to negotiate another sharp curve. Suddenly, he jammed on the brakes and the jeep spiraled into a wild skid.
Caleb only caught a glimpse of the windigo in the middle of the road, sawtooth teeth bared in a snarl. The man hung limply in its arms, dwarfed by its powerful body.
The jeep skidded off the road and hit a large white birch.
Chapter 27
It approached the crumbled vehicle slowly and halted a few feet away, nearly close enough to touch — if It dropped the burden. But something would not let It any closer.
Sharp vision, however, peered through snow that would have blinded a lesser being. Both humans were unconscious. The one who drove — the Midé — lay against the back of the seat, his neck angled awkwardly. Blood — It sniffed in the aroma — covered the man's face and poured from his mouth and nose.
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