Winter Prey

by T. M. Simmons

  The other one — a white man — draped across the seat, half his body out the door that sprang open when they hit the birch tree. They both still breathed. Its sharp hearing picked that up, and Its eyes noticed the slight rise and fall of their chests, less so on the Midé’s. The white man appeared less injured, his breathing steadier. In fact, as It watched, that one stirred a bit.

  It focused on the other, the Midé. Even in his near-death state, his powers kept the barrier in place, keeping It away. He would be a prime target, since he carried knowledge from the spirit world. It narrowed a sharp gaze to the invisible shield of light emanating from the Midé's chest. The spirit bundle was there somewhere, hidden in his clothing.

  It would enjoy a hunt where It collected two prey on one foray from the lair. Were the white man not regaining his senses, It would ponder the situation a while. Had it time, there might be a way to remove the protection and capture this descendant from the age-old adversary. A Midé would be a notable kill in the line of descent. A kill that would mean much more than the humble descendant It held now. Yet they all mattered, male, female, high in the tribal hierarchy, low-born.

  Probably the Midé would die, anyway, before another measure of revenge could be meted out. It waited as long as possible, hoping to hear the death rattle in the man's throat. When the white man grunted and started moving, It knew the time to escape had come.

  Yet…It tried to move forward once again. The spirit bundle, filled with ancient protections against an entity such as It, lost no power as it protected the Midé. Maybe even…It glanced at the other one. Some sort of light surrounded him where his head lay on the ground. He, too, wore something.

  It sniffed…and remembered. The white man had been with Her. It had smelled him — Caleb — when standing on the lake looking up at the cabin. Watched him ride away. This one had interfered with Its attempt to make Her understand. With the renewed power coursing through Its veins and heightening the thought process, It had finally discerned the reason for the early waking. Her. It needed Her if the ending would come during this period. If this would truly be the last this agonizing existence. If not, the knowledge and strength gained would power future hunts.

  The white man pushed himself back up into the seat, and the light moved with him. The wind died for a second, and It allowed Itself one small pleasure — that of meeting the white man's eyes through the shattered glass of the vehicle they had thought capable of catching It.

  It latched gazes, never breaking the contact as the howl of both victory and promise broke free. Seconds later, It was back in the lair, the fresh meal waiting to be tortured and consumed. Now that the power was at peak, sustenance would keep it high until She could fulfill destiny.

  Chapter 28

  Caleb groaned in pain, then froze. The creature stood there, only a few feet in front of the vehicle. A shiver of icy dread crawled through Caleb as its eyes bored into him, dark pits of horror. Veins glowing a ferocious red riddled gray-tinged corneas, and bared lips exposed those horrible, meat-rendering teeth. Hair matted in clumps straggled down the head, its front and back. The man it had taken at the bar dangled limply in furry arms as large around as the tree trunk against which the jeep rested. Caleb could even smell the monster through the broken windshield, a mixture of dark, tainted dirt, impurity, death and evil.

  A corner of his mind told him he needed to examine the monster, solidify the vision to take apart later as he determined how to kill it. Something like this had taken his wife and son. The pain of the memory wracked him. How horrible their deaths must have been at the hands of such a ghastly entity. The hours of consciousness in the thing's presence deep in the hidden lair, far away from any hope of rescue. Mona's agony over both the danger to herself and her inability to save their son. Whatever else she had been, Mona loved Skippy dearly. She would have fought death itself, died herself, to save her son.

  Skippy's terror, even if his young mind couldn't grasp what was about to happen. Knowing his father wasn't there to protect him. Skippy. At six, he hadn't yet outgrown the fear of monsters under his bed. One of his and Caleb's routines was checking out all the hiding places after the bedtime story, before he tucked his son in and kissed him goodnight. Skippy had still slept with a nightlight and Caleb always left the door gaped an inch or two. His son would have been petrified when he realized the monster he'd imagined actually existed.

  Would it have…taken care of Mona first? Made Skippy watch as it did so? Or vice versa, with Mona losing her sanity as she lay helpless?

  Skippy. I failed to save you, son.

  He shoved the memories away. Right now, he needed to center his mind on whether or not his injured body could fight this horror. Fleeing wasn't even an option. It could be on him with the speed of thought.

  But he didn't give a damn. He steeled himself and mustered every bit of strength he could pull from deep within, determined to attack it. To at least try to rescue the poor soul in its arms.

  The windigo's ghastly howl stirred even deeper fear and panic than the sight before him. Continuing the effort to move, Caleb inched a hand up and clasped his consecrated cross as the echo of the inhuman howl lingered for a few seconds even after the thing disappeared and the wind picked up.

  He couldn't help himself. His fear and repugnance were so strong, he breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't have to confront the thing. Then shame filtered through. He shouldn't care about his own life after what the Colorado windigo had done. Yet he didn't want to die before he found a way to avenge his wife and son's deaths.

  And yes, his own survival instinct was growing stronger. Kymbria's face flashed briefly in his mind. Meeting her had reignited the hope for the future inside him, and even begun to abate the guilt he felt over his resurfacing sexual desires.

  He had to get out of this situation first. Caleb peered into the near whiteout, waiting for attack from a different direction. His other hand crept into his pocket, where he carried the packet of consecrated herbs and other elements. A long moment later, it finally dawned on him that he was safe…at least, from the windigo. It had obviously left. His and Keoman's injuries were another matter.

  He shifted in his seat to look at the Midé, whom he had been aware of in the corner of his vision. The wind died and the snow abated at least enough to see through. Keoman hadn't moved, and Caleb's first clear sight of him aroused a different apprehension, although not the debilitating sort the windigo had fostered. Keoman lay against the seat, possibly with a broken neck. Caleb steeled himself against his own pain and reached out to feel for a pulse. There it was, faint and thready, but proof Keoman's heart still struggled. He drew his fingers back covered with blood and wiped them on his shirt.

  Cold. Damn it was cold. Why hadn't he grabbed his jacket when he fled the bar? And he still couldn't quit glancing around in case the windigo took it upon itself to drop its latest prey and return for another meal. If it did, he would be able to see the thing more clearly, Caleb realized. The snow had slowed to a trickle of lazy flakes.

  He would be able to see his death approaching without obstruction, should the beast penetrate the protections he carried….

  Phone. He needed his phone.

  "Hang in there," he whispered to Keoman.

  First, he mentally examined himself. It wouldn't do either of them any good if he was bleeding out somewhere. His chest hurt, as well as his head. He wiped a hand across his face and encountered more blood, which joined Keoman's on his shirt. Probably they had both hit the windshield. Luckily, even this old model jeep had safety glass.

  He moved his legs. They worked. Again, he shifted, testing his body for any paralysis. None. Maybe a broken rib, there at that stabbing pain. Maybe only a bruise.

  He glanced at the birch tree, split from the collision, and their surroundings. The heaviest impact had been on Keoman's side.

  His phone. Where was his phone? Damn, had he been carrying it in his jacket? Had he even brought it with him into the bar after he t
alked to Kymbria?

  He felt his shirt, his blue jean pockets. No reassuring bulge.

  Then he scrutinized the floorboard. There. The phone had fallen from his pocket. Would the delicate instrument work after being tossed around, maybe even crushed in his shirt pocket when he hit the windshield and dash?

  He forced back the pain of movement and retrieved it. Opened the pouch and stared. Thank god, a reassuring signal.

  He called Hjak directly, rather than 911. The sheriff answered before the second ring.

  "Where the hell are you?" he yelled.

  "Keoman and I wrecked," Caleb answered succinctly. "You need to get an ambulance here ASAP."

  "Where?" Hjak repeated.

  "I don't know. We turned right when we came out of the bar parking lot. Away from town. I think we maybe traveled three miles. Could be four. My phone's equipped with GPS, if your local equipment can track that."

  "Hang on."

  A few seconds later, Hjak came back on the line. "I've dispatched the paramedics. I'm about a minute from you. You're talking at least. What shape's Keoman in?"

  "Bad."

  "I'm gonna call for a chopper, too, in case we need to transport him that way."

  "I think you'll need it," Caleb confirmed.

  "Stay on the line."

  "Hell, yes. Listen, Hjak. Be careful. The windigo was just here."

  "What? You saw it?"

  Caleb heard the siren as he answered. "We were chasing it, trying to rescue the man it took back at the bar. It was like it knew. Waited for us just where the sudden sight of it would cause us to wreck."

  The siren grew louder and Hjak said, "I see where you went off the road. Yeah, now I see the jeep. You think that thing's still hanging around?"

  Yes, it could be. But Caleb needed Hjak down here, not hiding in that patrol car.

  But what if the entity came back? It could nab Hjak who, as far as I'm aware, doesn't carry any protection.

  He had to have help, though, especially for Keoman.

  "I think it's gone," he told Hjak. "It did what it intended, then left with its next meal."

  The patrol truck halted up on the road, but Hjak didn't get out. "It'll be at least ten more minutes until the medics get here."

  "If we don't die of our injuries by then," Caleb snarled, "we'll be dead from the cold. Neither of us grabbed our jackets. You got any blankets in that damn truck?"

  Hjak didn't answer, but a few moments later, the driver's door on the truck slowly opened. The sheriff stood there, a shadow in the snow, then cautiously started walking toward the jeep. Thankfully, he carried blankets in his arms.

  Caleb reached for Keoman again, then pulled back. He didn't dare move the other man. Blood still dribbled from his mouth and nose, joining the red flood already on his shirt, so hopefully his heart still beat. As Hjak approached, Caleb again studied the area around them. The jeep had plowed a path off the road through leafless underbrush, and decapitated several smaller pines and birch before it hit this oversized tree. Hjak could follow the path of destruction easily.

  He noticed the ignition switch still on, turned the key off, then thought to sniff for leaking gas. The hiss was from radiator steam, barely spewing now from the ruined front end. He didn't smell any gas fumes.

  Hjak stared through the broken windshield. "Is he still alive?" he asked, handing one of the blankets to Caleb.

  "I think so." Caleb placed the heavy wool blanket over Keoman first, then tried to open the door on his side and join Hjak. No way would that work. The front fender was crumbled back against the door, effectively blocking it.

  "Take this blanket," Hjak insisted.

  "Wait. Let me see if I can get out."

  Groaning under his breath at the pain, Caleb crawled through the windshield. A second later, he gratefully wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and waited for the blissful warmth. He couldn't shake the vision of the windigo, the inner cold the recollection fostered. Given its speed, the entity could easily approach them again.

  Would it warn them with a howl first? Or attack without notice?

  Thank god I'm not one of the Marten Clan. Immediately, guilt filled him, and he glanced at the critically injured Midé.

  "Any update from the emergency personnel?" he asked.

  Hjak was looking at Keoman. "Uh…no. Jesus, we need to do something for him."

  "We can't," Caleb cautioned. "His neck looks awkward. I'm afraid to touch him, let alone try to move him."

  Hjak tore his gaze away from Keoman in favor of the same sort of examination of the area Caleb kept performing.

  "Where was it?" he asked.

  Caleb didn't need to ask what he meant. "About six feet from the front of the car."

  Hjak eased around near the back of the jeep. "And it still had Will?"

  "If that's the name of the man it took at the bar."

  "Yeah. Will Birch."

  "It was carrying a man."

  Hjak met Caleb's gaze, then suddenly said, "Jesus, man. You're bleeding and hurt. Let me get you back up to the truck so you can sit down."

  Caleb shook his head. "I don't want to leave Keoman here alone."

  "There's nothing we can do until the ambulance gets here."

  "He's Marten Clan."

  "Oh. Well, I'm going to head up to the truck and confirm the air transport."

  Caleb waited silently, and this time, the sheriff returned without delay instead of lingering. At long last, they caught the faint sound of a far off siren. Caleb leaned against the birch as the pain in his chest heightened, but Hjak was too busy scanning, watching, to notice. The ambulance pulled to a stop behind the patrol truck, and for the next few minutes, nothing was more important than Keoman.

  "Bring a neck collar," Hjak called. "And back brace."

  "Got 'em," the female paramedic replied. She and her partner tramped through the path the jeep left, the woman carrying a suitcase of medical supplies so heavy she leaned to one side, the male an aluminum stretcher and a blue, ribbed back brace under his other arm.

  Hjak walked over to join them as the woman knelt and opened her supplies, examining the jeep as she unlatched the case. "We're not going to be able to get him out this way," she said. "The fender's crushed against the door, and we don't carry jaws of life. Besides, from the sound of his breathing, we better get a move on."

  Carrying the neck collar, she scrambled onto the hood. There, she used her arm, padded by her thick coat sleeve, to knock away the last pieces of glass clinging to the windshield. She ducked inside, settled on the passenger seat, and conferred with her male partner as she examined Keoman.

  "He's non-responsive," she said after a few seconds. "Glascow, One, and his vitals are near shock level. Probable brain contusion, at the least, possible cranial fracture. The shock indications might mean internal bleeding. No way to tell if his neck is broken. We're gonna need that KED. And I hope like hell we've got room to use it. This steering wheel's pushed back nearly to his chest from the impact."

  "Here's the KED," the man said as he climbed on the hood, also, squatted, and handed the blue backboard to her. Then he glanced at Hjak. "Any way you can help us? It takes more than the two of us to do this properly, without causing even more damage. If you'll get there by the driver's window, we'll direct you."

  Caleb started forward, too, but the man glanced at him and said, "There's no room for you. Besides, you're hurt. We don't want you passing out in the middle of trying to get this one out."

  Caleb halted and nodded. Hands clenched at his side to help restrain his urge to assist, he watched the rescue. The two medics were obviously well-trained, and even Hjak would know what he was doing. The man climbed into the rear seat of the jeep, then the three of them hid Keoman from view. Caleb could still hear their voices, though. They talked in clear tones, with an air of urgency, yet a control indicating, despite the need for haste, proper procedure was safest for the patient.

  Hjak appeared to be stabilizing Keoman's head, the
collar already encircling the neck, and the woman said, "I've got him. Let's get that KED in place."

  A moment later, Hjak leaned in the driver's window. Movements of the three indicated they were laying Keoman prone. Seconds later, the woman climbed back onto the hood and reached inside the jeep. She and her partner lifted Keoman out through the windshield head first, Hjak there to assist and help steady the patient. A split-second later, Keoman lay on the stretcher, and the woman was readying an IV needle.

  Had he passed him on the street, Caleb wouldn't have recognized Keoman. Blood covered his face, yet it didn't hide the gashes and bruises. The medics had crisscrossed heavy white gauze around his forehead and chin, and bright red already soaked through.

  "If he's got any chance at all," the man said, "he needs to get to a trauma center stat."

  "I've called for the chopper," Hjak informed them. "They said the snow was lessening and they'd start out. It's let up here now, too, so they should be able to find us."

  Almost immediately, they heard the faint sound of a chopper, and Hjak hurried toward his truck, calling back, "They'll be trying to radio me for landing info."

  Caleb walked over to a pine so he wouldn't be in their way and huddled in his blanket. At one point, he thought about calling Kymbria, but for no reason other than to hear her voice. There wasn't anything she could do, and there was no reason to add more worries to the ones she already carried. He would call her soon, though. Given the grapevine in the area, word would be racing mouth-to-mouth already.

  He was focusing on Kymbria rather than the dark thoughts the actual sight of the windigo had loosened.

  Skippy. God, son, how scared you must have been.

  He and Mona had been having problems and even considered a separation, but Caleb insisted they give their marriage a last chance to test its mettle: a week at the cabin. They had been in love once, deeply, he'd thought. After a prolonged argument, she gave in.

  He'd thought they were making some progress. They were talking, hiking the trails, viewing the wildlife, seeing the world through Skippy's eyes. She had still seemed distant, but finally one night they made love. Not with the same intensity as the early years, but Mona snuggled against him after instead of turning her back and seeking her own side of the bed.