The Whittier Trilogy

by Michael W. Layne

  With the memories from the night before still jumbled in his mind, Trent walked the few feet back to the campsite and got dressed. Whatever had happened to him out there in the forest would have to go into his increasingly large bin of things he couldn’t explain.

  After they were both ready, he and Zana stopped at the restrooms, then drove down to the main office. The old man met them at their car and stepped around to the driver’s side window.

  “You two look like you made it through the night all right. Didn’t hear or see anyone sneaking around near your campsite, did you?”

  Trent had rinsed his hands as best as he could in the restroom, but he kept them inside the car and out of the old man’s sight all the same.

  “Didn’t see much of anything last night,” Trent said, with an almost imperceptible nod in Zana’s direction. “If you know what I mean.”

  The old man returned a thin smile.

  Trent leaned toward the open window.

  “Did something bad happen?”

  The old man grimaced.

  “We think maybe some kids got in here last night and beat one of the campers almost to death.”

  Zana leaned over and looked up at the old man.

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Normally, I’d agree with you. But the weird thing is that when the police got here, it turns out the guy was wanted for rape and murder. How’s that for karma biting someone in the ass?”

  Trent fought his urge to look at Zana. He knew what she was thinking already.

  “Thanks again for letting us check in so late last night,” Trent said.

  “Not a problem, young man. You two have a good trip, now. And be safe out there.”

  After pulling onto the main road, they drove in silence to the first place they could find that served breakfast. They each ordered a full meal of eggs, toast, and bacon.

  While they were waiting for their food, Zana looked at Trent and gently took his hands in hers—studying them.

  “Trent, you know what I’m thinking,” she said.

  It wasn’t a question.

  Trent nodded.

  “That it was me and the spirit of vengeance last night—that I almost killed a man last night.”

  “Dead on,” she said.

  “Great. So the spirit doesn’t help me when I need it, but it has no problem at all using me when it feels like dishing out what it feels as justice.”

  “He was a murderer and a rapist,” she said. “I’d call that justice, too.”

  The food came, and slowly, they started eating. Between bites of her omelet, Zana stared at Trent’s shoulder.

  “What now?” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “It looks—it feels different.”

  “Different, how?”

  “More at peace? A little lighter, maybe.”

  Trent nodded. He understood intellectually that the man last night deserved what he got, and more, but the human part of Trent was having a hard time coping with his actions. He had never considered himself a violent person at his core, and in the last couple of months, he had committed more heinous acts than he ever thought he would be capable of.

  Zana looked like she wanted to talk more, but Trent avoided her eyes and finished his meal in silence.

  After paying the bill, they drove to the nearest gas station, filled up the tank, and started up the Alaska Highway that would take them through Canada and into Alaska. But they still had just under two thousand miles to go, and Trent figured it would take them another four full days of traveling before they made it there.

  As the trip wore on, Trent and Zana started talking again and enjoying each other’s company again. After a little discussion, they decided to take turns driving more often and to extend the number of hours they were on the road each day from eight to twelve.

  They’d be exhausted by the time they hit Alaska at Beaver Creak and then the small town of Tok, but they’d make it there in three days at least. As incentive, they agreed to treat themselves to somewhere nice to stay in Tog—or at least as nice a place as a small Alaskan town like Tok had to offer.

  After that, they’d head South-West to Anchorage, and then finally, to Whittier. Every couple hundred miles or so, Trent regretted not opening up a new credit card and buying them both plane tickets, but driving, even with fuel costs was still half as expensive.

  Plus, it gave him time to think about how things were now. He thought about the enigmatic dark spirit that clung to him, and he tried to sort things out in his mind about Christina and Zana.

  Now that they were getting closer to Alaska, the reality that he would soon be seeing Christina again and that Zana would be with him was coming into sharper focus.

  Zana had insisted on traveling with him, and he was happy she had. That wasn’t the issue. He just wasn’t looking forward her and Christina meeting. No sleight of hand or clever trick was going to make that experience less awkward for anyone involved.

  He shook his head as if clearing his thoughts.

  Zana caught his errant motion and looked over at him as the weather outside continued to grow colder and the greens faded to mute browns.

  “What’re you thinking about, babe?”

  She was giving him the opening. He debated on whether he should take it or not, but in the end, he knew his stress would only grow as they got closer to town, so he decided it was as good a time as any to get things out in the open.

  “I was feeling a little stressed about you and Christina meeting.”

  Zana shrugged.

  “Don’t worry about it, babe. We’re all adults, right? You had a thing with her, she bit you and infected you with a vengeful animal spirit, and then didn’t leave town with you when you asked her to. Her loss. My gain. Did I get most of that right?”

  Trent nodded.

  “Pretty much,” he said, as Zana crossed her arms and turned her attention back to the scenery passing by outside the car.

  Trent exhaled slowly as he unconsciously eased up on the gas pedal. He’d heard Zana’s words, but her body language was telling him something completely different, and he feared that when they met, it was not going to be pretty.

  Chapter 12

  THE HUNTER hadn’t even left Vegas yet, and the voice of his dead father was already driving him crazy.

  Why the hell are we back at your fancy little apartment? You don’t need no special equipment or weapons.

  “He’s not that easy to kill.”

  You got me with you this time. Just grab your knife and let’s get going.

  The Hunter blocked out his father’s voice as he stood in the middle of his overcrowded trophy room. Normally, the room above all others would be neat and organized. Currently, it held extra trophies that had been set wherever there was room. They had been rescued from his hunting lodge far beneath the lights of Las Vegas—the one he had been forced to abandon because of the mess Walker had made of it and his clients.

  He scanned his trophies. Elephants and tigers. A pair of polar bears—that had been a magnificent day. And over on the right wall, a black rhino and a lion.

  His favorite Barnett hunting crossbow was mounted to the middle of the center wall. He walked over and lifted it from its mount. It was heavy, but it felt right in his hand.

  He grabbed his lower-powered Leupold scope for the crossbow on his way over to his gun safe. After unlocking it, he pulled out his favorite Browning .308 rifle and a few boxes of ammo. He wouldn’t use the Browning unless he had to. Gunfire was commonplace in Alaska, but considering the fact that he was going there to kill Trent Walker and Zana, he wanted to keep his actions as quiet as possible.

  Next, he lifted the top of a wooden display box and picked up his Puma knife. He could survive an entire winter with just that knife, as long as he was also properly dressed.

  In fact, the knife was all he really needed for taking care of Walker and Zana, just like his father had mentioned. But he wanted to be prepared for all situations.


  The Hunter started to leave the room with all his packed gear in tow, then turned around and looked at an old, black and white photo tacked to the wall. It was the Hunter as a young boy, standing next to his father—both of them holding up the head of a twelve point buck and smiling.

  The Hunter thought he could see a glimmer of pride in his dad’s eyes.

  He stared at the photo for a few seconds, before turning away. That was the only time he could remember where his father had approved of something he had done.

  Don’t get all weepy on me, boy. You wanna make me proud? Show me what kind of a hunter you really are.

  “I’ve hunted men before,” he said out loud.

  His father’s vile laughter filled his head.

  That ain’t gonna help you much against something like Walker.

  Chapter 13

  THE NEXT THREE days were a blur of unmemorable landmarks, bagel breakfasts, and more cheap roadside motels.

  When they finally arrived at the Alaska border, the best treat they could find for themselves was dinner at the only Chinese restaurant in town. Despite the fact that they were hungry again within the hour, their taste buds thanked them for the salty sweet aftertaste of the food.

  From the border town of Tok, it had been a leisurely seven-hour drive to Anchorage, where they agreed to spend their final night before entering Whittier the next day.

  After checking into yet another motel, they followed what was now their routine upon entering a new room. They put their bags in the same place, took turns using the bathroom, and each slept on the same side of the bed.

  As they tried to fall asleep the night before they would finally arrive at Whittier, their moods grew somber, and reality loomed as they turned off the lights.

  “I know you see this spirit as a good thing,” Trent had said into the darkness of the room, “but I want to find out what the hell it is, and then I want to get rid of it. If I can.”

  “I know,” she said.

  He heard her words, but he knew that, to her, it was an honor to be one with an animal spirit and to feel its raw power. She perceived it as an opportunity to be closer to the life force of nature. In Trent’s mind, however, the spirit represented a piece of him beyond his control, and he didn’t like that.

  Powerful spirit or not, the thing would have to go.

  After another ten minutes of small talk, they fell asleep.

  When they awoke the next morning, the sky was clear, and the air was crisp as they set out for Whittier.

  They were on the road for less than five minutes, before Zana started asking the questions she had probably been avoiding throughout the entire trip.

  “Aside from being chased by a town full of people who may or may not have been possessed by evil animal spirits, but who were definitely trying to kill you, what else is wrong with this town?”

  He laughed at her question, but the horrible memories of trying to survive his first night in Whittier came flooding back and sent a shiver through his body. He had done things that night that he wanted to forget. Things he wasn’t ready to share with her yet.

  “It’s hard to describe how it feels when you enter Whittier for the first time,” he said. “It’s not a bad place, I don’t think, but no one would argue that it’s also not weird as hell.”

  “Then why do normal people go there? Why did you go there?”

  “It’s the only town in Alaska with a port that never freezes over in the winter, so they run glacier tours there, year round.”

  “That doesn’t sound so scary,” she said in a dulled voice as she turned to look out the window.

  “The people are scary. The town’s just strange. When the military made a base out of it during World War II, they blasted a two-and-a-half mile tunnel straight through the mountain that’s barely wide enough for a single train car to get through. It’s been almost seventy years and they still use the same tunnel for everything. They let people in for fifteen minutes every hour on the half hour. And they let people out of Whittier for fifteen minutes every hour on the hour. And that’s it.”

  “Okay, that is a little weird,” she said.

  Trent held up his finger.

  “I’m not even close to the good parts yet. If you miss the last tunnel opening out of Whittier at 11 PM, as yours truly did last time I was there, then you have to spend the night in Whittier. And the town is pretty scarce on tourist accommodations.”

  “Nice.”

  “There’s also only two hundred people who live there, and 95% of them live in one building—a place called The Towers.”

  “That’s where Christina’s apartment is, right?”

  Trent nodded.

  “Hers and almost everybody else’s. Everything’s located in that one building, including the police, the schools, a little grocery store, and the mayor. It makes sense, considering that the snow drifts get so high that people sometimes can’t leave the building for months at a time.”

  Zana let out a low whistle.

  “That would drive me crazy, too,” she said.

  She reached over and rubbed Trent’s neck.

  Her hands on his skin were soothing, and he was beginning to relax a little, just as they arrived at the Whittier tunnel.

  It was early still—a little after seven in the morning—and only the second opening of the tunnel for the day, but there was already a line of cars waiting to pay the toll to get into the queue lines.

  When it was their turn, Trent paid the toll money and eased their car behind an old, red Honda Civic.

  He turned off his engine and settled in to wait.

  He gazed up at the sheer mountain face, then back down at the small hole that was the Whittier tunnel.

  He felt like a man returning to a fight he thought he’d already won, looking for someone he thought he’d never see again.

  He and Christina had left on good terms, but he was sure that seeing him waltz into town was going to be a shock to her as much as it was going to be for him.

  For all he knew, Christina didn’t even want to see him at all. He wished that he had been able to warn her that he was coming back, and he’d tried. But she hadn’t picked up or responded to his voicemails or his texts.

  He looked over at the beautiful Zana, and doubted the wisdom of agreeing to let her come with him.

  He sighed, and Zana looked over at him.

  Instead of bringing the topic of Christina up again, she reached over and held his hand.

  He smiled slightly, but when he looked up and saw the light turn to green, his mood darkened as he restarted the engine and prepared to enter the darkness of Whittier once again.

  Chapter 14

  THE TUNNEL into Whittier had not changed since the last time Trent had travelled through it. He suspected it had remained untouched except for routine maintenance since World War II, when it was built.

  As they drove through the narrow passage at an almost painfully slow pace, Trent didn’t bother counting the number of lights embedded in the tunnel’s ceiling or the number of pull-off areas built into the tunnel in case of an emergency. He also didn’t try to estimate how long the trip through the tunnel would last.

  He already knew the answers to those questions.

  There were 316 overhead white lights, 47 closed circuit video cameras (that were visible, at least), and 8 safe houses built into the interior of the mountain approximately every 1600 feet.

  He also knew that, at their current speed, it would take them seven minutes and forty-five seconds to reach the other side.

  Trent didn’t scare or rattle easily, but with each rotation of the car’s tires, his chest tightened a little more. The dull pain from the bite wound on his shoulder was also throbbing worse than usual, and the hair on the back of his neck and on his arms stood on end.

  He glanced over to Zana.

  She sat quietly, looking straight ahead at the taillights of the car in front of them.

  He knew she was attuned to all things super
natural, and he could only imagine what she was feeling as they drew closer and closer to the end of the tunnel.

  “The sensations I’m getting from this place—they’re stronger than I thought they’d be. I don’t feel any good or evil. It feels more like…a psychic wound. Like whatever’s at the end of this tunnel has been damaged and hasn’t had a chance to heal.”

  He stared straight ahead—his face grim.

  “I think wounded is a pretty good way to describe the place.”

  Trent gripped the steering wheel tighter as he felt his chest grow even tighter and his mouth go dry. He recognized the symptoms of a pending anxiety attack from his studies, but he’d never experienced one on his own.

  It felt as if he were fighting a desperate urge to run away from himself.

  He knew that one of the best defenses against an attack like the one he was fending off was to distract himself, so he started talking to Zana and hoped that the feelings of dread he was experiencing would fade once they exited the tunnel.

  “We still have about a mile to drive after the tunnel before we get into the town proper.”

  Zana looked over at Trent and touched his shoulder gently.

  “You’re not looking so hot, babe. Is it the spirit?”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t think so. I’m just feeling a little anxious. Maybe nervous.”

  “I wish I had some Xanax to give you.”

  Trent almost stopped the car when Zana unknowingly mentioned the anti-anxiety drug that the people of Whittier used to suppress the changes that occurred in them every time there was a full moon.

  Once, Trent had seen Christina take enough Xanax to knock out a bear. She’d popped three at a time, only to need more every couple of hours as the animal spirit inside her struggled to take total control of her.

  Trent took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. He remembered how everything had ended last time. There had been a lot of pain and death leading up to it, but eventually, Trent had deduced the truth about the old drunk, known as the Elder—how he was the last living person in Whittier who had helped the military slaughter thousands of animals when they were building their base.