by David Haynes
“What?” Draper replied. He thought he might have misheard her.
She turned to face him. “Remember the season you took us up to Barrow?”
Draper shrugged. They had followed him to so many towns over the years. A twinge of guilt stung him.
“Mom made me go to school while we were there. You’d taken us up there early for something.”
There was no accusatory tone in her voice but nevertheless Draper cringed at what he’d done to Meg and her mom.
“The only thing I remembered about the lessons was when this Inuit guy came in and scared the shit out of us, talking about myths and legends. Some of the kids laughed about it afterwards but the guy was so... so genuine it was hard not to believe him.” She paused. “At least I believed that he believed the stories.”
“And this Keelut was one of them?”
Meg nodded. “I can still see the picture he had of it. He said it his dad had sketched it after an encounter. It was hideous. I’m surprised you don’t remember the nightmares it gave me. I wouldn’t go outside when it was dark for years. It’s generated by greed, murder, violence. All the good stuff humans get up to. It thrives on it. It takes souls to hell, it serves the devil.”
A light flicked on in Draper’s mind. Holding her just a few moments ago had reminded him of her screaming in the dark of her bedroom. Now he connected the two. She had slept with the light on until she was eleven.
“Well, what is it?” he asked. At least this conversation, as ridiculous as it was, was keeping her mind away from Puckett. Away from Mercer.
“A big, fucking dog. A big fucking dog that comes from hell.”
He almost smiled but he could see there was no trace of humor in her voice or eyes. “Is it lost?” he asked feeling like a heel immediately.
“I know, it sounds stupid, right? It sounds childish and pathetic but I’m telling you what I saw and what it made me think about.” She paused. He felt like she was staring right into him, inside him.
“And that thing I saw looked just like the sketch that old guy had. Right down to the hairless, bony back and eyes filled with... Are you sleeping alright, Dad?”
He was taken aback by the question. “I... well. What’s that got to do with it?”
“Nightmares? You’ve seen the men from Delta Junction, haven’t you? You’ve lived through it again and again and again, haven’t you? Only this time you’re hurting them because you’re enjoying it. This time it’s a nice feeling...”
“Stop it, stop it,” he whispered.
“It’s happening to me too. And Luke. Probably Mercer, Flynn and Vinson too. Not Delta Junction but our own version of hell. Each of us. Haven’t you heard the screams in the night? Luke screams and wails and cries and then pretends it’s nothing. But it is.”
He felt sick. “Just bad dreams, that’s all,” he said.
“No, it isn’t. Something is giving us those pictures, pushing them at us. It wants us to enjoy it, to enjoy the pain and the suffering. It’s showing us where it’s taking us. You’ve seen the eyes, you’ve seen the rubies.”
His mouth felt dry. How did she know all this? What had she seen in her dreams?
“You,” she answered his unasked question. “I’ve seen you in my dreams. I’ve punished you for what you did. I... I did things to you and...” She stopped and took a deep breath. “Only it’s not real and it’s not what I want anymore. I love you Dad, and all I want is to be in your life again. That’s all I... It means to destroy us, to take us with it. The Keelut is hunting for souls, it wants...”
Her words were cut off by the sounds of shouting from across the creek. A second later, Flynn’s ghostly shape emerged from the mist. He was pulling Puckett with one hand and holding something in the other.
“Stay there,” Draper said to Meg and dropped down into the creek. The water took his breath away as it splashed around his knees. He heard Meg drop down behind him. She’s too much like me, he thought. Way too much for her own good.
Flynn pushed Puckett down the bank. He slid all the way on his back until his boots were submerged. He looked almost catatonic but he jumped up when the cold water hit his skin and ran past Draper and Meg, hauling himself up the bank at the other side without saying a word to any of them.
“Where the hell have you been?” Draper asked him. They were all standing on the side of the creek.
Puckett wiped his mouth with the back of his exposed hand. Blood coated the flesh. He didn’t answer Draper’s question, he just stared at the blood.
Draper grabbed his elbow. “Why’d you leave Meg like that? Come on, Puckett, answer me.”
“Dad,” Meg said quietly. “Don’t.”
Draper looked at her. He was frustrated and angry but now wasn’t the time to push it. Instead he turned to Flynn.
“Where was he?”
Flynn rubbed his mustache. “Hiding.”
“Hiding?”
“Under some fallen trees. Kid hasn’t said a word since I found him.” Flynn lifted his arm. “And he was clutching this.”
Draper lurched backward away from Flynn. He was aware his mouth was hanging open but could do nothing about it.
“It’s Burgess,” he muttered although they all knew who it was. Flynn held the severed head like some sort of trophy.
“Christ,” Meg whispered.
Burgess’s hair was a tangled mass. There were small twigs and pine needles in it and his beard had patches missing. It was him though, there was no denying it. Ragged flaps of browning skin hung down from his throat. It looked like his head had been gnawed off.
It was a foul, stomach-churning vision but Burgess’s eyes were what drew Draper’s attention. In the voids were now orbs of polished ruby. Deep, shadowy, fluid, fiery and captivating. They were almost beautiful. And swimming in those bloody pools, his own reflection came back at him. His reflection at Delta Junction, the smell of gunfire and blood, of human greed, envy and pain; the excruciating agony of a lifetime of regret that could never be undone.
“Dad?” Meg’s voice broke through.
“Huh?” He turned away. How long had he been staring like that? There were no jewels in Burgess’s eyes, just empty holes. Dead, vacant voids.
“I said, I’m taking Luke to the saloon to warm up. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” Draper nodded. “I guess we could all do with a break. We’ll follow you up.” His legs felt shaky.
Meg led Puckett away. Draper watched them as Puckett followed her like a lost lamb.
“What d’you want me to do with this?” Flynn was still holding Burgess’s head.
“We’ll need to show it to the cops. Better bring it with you. We can put it in the container for now.”
They walked off together, out from the protection of the forest and into a sea of whiteness.
“This is bad,” Flynn said, stating the obvious.
“I’ve seen worse,” Draper replied, feeling the icy melt of snow in his mouth.
“Not the snow. Everything else.”
Draper nodded. Time was running out fast and what Meg had said made a warped sense in his mind. The dreams, the ruby eyes and the stench of death. He looked at Flynn and wondered what his hell was?
He looked away and stared into the flickering static of mist and snow. He wanted to leave now but he wasn’t going anywhere without Mercer. He hoped they all felt the same or it would be a lonely and cold winter up at Black Pine Creek.
28
“Someone ought to go and fetch him.” Meg had her hands wrapped around a cup of steaming coffee. “We can’t just leave him out there.”
Draper took a sip of his own coffee. Vinson, he assumed, was still up at the far end of the claim working around the perimeter in a rock truck. The cab would provide him some protection but if the wind went up a notch, it wouldn’t matter much where he was. If he was outside, he was badly exposed.
However he felt about the guy, it wasn’t fair or right to leave him out there.
“I’ll g
o,” he said. “Has he said anything yet?” He nodded toward Puckett who hadn’t yet touched his drink.
“Not a dickey bird,” Flynn replied. “I don’t know... it’s like he’s asleep.” He waved a hand in front of Puckett’s face. He didn’t flinch.
Draper slid his hands back inside his gloves.
“Want me to come with?” Flynn asked.
Draper nodded. “I could do with the company.” Now definitely wasn’t the time for taking risks, not if whatever had taken Burgess apart was roaming around out there. Not if Meg’s Keelut wanted them.
They stepped outside. The strength of the wind was growing and in another couple of hours it would be completely dark. Finding Mercer in a blizzard at night would be impossible. A wave of panic washed over Draper and rooted his boots to the step. Mercer was now exposed to the worst of Alaskan weather, not to mention a bloodthirsty animal.
Legends about hell-hounds and black dogs sent by Satan were as old as Alaska itself. It didn’t make them real. If anything wanted to take a soul to hell there were better, more suited ones to take than Mercer’s or even Burgess’s. Draper had long thought his own murderous soul was heading along that route at the end of days anyway.
“Thanks for this,” he said.
“I’m not doing it for him,” Flynn replied. “Vinson can freeze his ass off out there for me.”
“I know. Thanks, anyway.”
“You ready?” Flynn tugged at his hat.
Draper picked up his feet, feeling the weight of each one through his boots, and stepped down into the snow.
He arrived at the far side of the cut before Flynn. He was in one of the rock trucks, Flynn in an excavator. The road was covered in snow, hiding whatever tracks Vinson had made earlier that day. The wind was stronger here due to the site’s exposure and it helped disperse the fog. Not entirely but enough to help them see deeper into the storm.
“Any sign?” Flynn’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie.
Draper depressed the button. “Nothing yet. I’m going to drive around the back end, close to the trees.”
“I’ll drive over to the other side and meet you over there.”
“Will do.”
He engaged the gear and depressed the pedal slowly. For all its weight, if the truck hit something it didn’t like, the ice and snow would send him over the side into the bottom of the cut. Down into the forty-foot deep glory-hole Mercer and Flynn had been digging.
*
Vinson heard the first gunshots even from his semi-conscious state. He waited a few seconds and listened. Another one came. Despite the biting cold, he climbed out of the cab. He hadn’t exactly been doing anything anyway. As soon as he was sure he was out of sight behind the fog, he’d simply parked the truck, gathered his clothes around him as best he could and taken a nap. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know where Mercer was. If anyone drove up here he would hear them a mile off, giving him time to start the engine running again.
The visions had been especially vivid out here in the open air; out here with the smell of the beast thick and putrid in his nostrils. The driving wind had become the screams of the crew, the cracking of tree limbs became Flynn’s bones as he was rendered down in the fires of the beast’s eyes. The rock of the can in the wind evolved and became the shudder of the beast’s shoulders as it devoured another body, another soul, and vomited it into the shadows. It was thrilling, shocking, repulsive and as sexually arousing as ever.
He started walking away from the truck, back to the creek where the shots had come from. He couldn’t be bothered to drive all the way around, just to point the truck in the right direction, it would take too long. Besides, he didn’t want them to know he was down there. He couldn’t see what was happening but various scenes played out in his mind. All of them involving at least one of the crew dying badly and in pain.
He’d really wanted Flynn to come at him. Flynn or Draper, then he’d have an excuse for cutting them open. Although did he need an excuse now? Killing Burgess had been surprisingly easy, and Mercer had been no less traumatic. The power was immense. The feeling of control was better than sex. Better than any drunken fumble he’d had, anyway. This was the point, this was what the beast was showing him – how beautiful it could be to take a life in the most excruciating way imaginable.
He could kill them all. The idea exploded in his mind like a nuclear bomb. So simple. He could have all of the gold then. Every single ounce of it. The beast would take care of the bodies. Devouring them, crunching them up into dust and spitting their ashes across the dirt. Taking their souls back to the dark place it inhabited.
He already knew the beast wouldn’t touch him. It had looked into his soul as he had looked into its. They were alike, they were kindred and since the moment he had looked into those deep bloody wells that were eyes, he’d felt it buzzing around inside his head. Fizzing around like a wasp trying to find someone to sting. He was feeding the beast by killing. Giving it fresh meat to chew on. Fresh souls to devour.
The skeletal shape of the wash-plant crawled out of the mist in front. He hated leaving it, had hated Draper for sending him away from it this morning. Not just because there was a large quantity of gold trapped inside but also because he considered it his only friend. He spoke to it frequently, mostly when nobody was around, but occasionally when they were around. He didn’t care. They hated him anyway so he didn’t really give a shit if they heard him. It suited him for them to consider him a lunatic. It might make them fear him and then when he pushed the knife into their eye sockets, their expressions would be even more satisfying.
His thighs and calves ached from forcing his way through the snow, and his cheeks felt as if they were on fire. His hood kept rolling back from his head, forced away by the wind, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. It was longer than it had ever been, the straggly strands making his entire head itch all of the time. Maybe it was fleas, or maybe one of the other goddamn giant bugs they had up here was nesting on his scalp somewhere. He shivered, holding his hood in place.
Why, even when presented with such incriminating evidence, had they not believed Mercer was responsible for the act of theft? Why? The nugget was in his pocket, for Christ’s sake. Draper had found it in Mercer’s pocket! He didn’t understand it. If Draper had found it in his pocket then everyone would have believed him to be the thief. That’s what they all wanted, especially Draper. He wanted to make amends somehow, to do something positive for the crew. Find the culprit, hang him and have everyone clap him on the back. Make him feel like he used to feel before he killed those two men. Now that was a thought. He had more in common with Draper than he first thought. They had both killed two men in cold blood. Different methods, same result. Murder. He smiled. What would Draper think about the comparison? Not much, he doubted. He laughed, the sound immediately eaten up by the wind. The snow bit at his gums and lips. The pain was delicious.
Thin and distant voices called out from the creek. They were coming from the place where he had pushed Mercer into the water. The place where the beast had been. A moment of panic gripped him. Had they found the animal? Were they trying to kill it?
He broke into a jog, one hand on his hood and the other on the hilt of his knife. He wouldn’t allow that. Keeping low, he pushed into the forest downstream from where he thought the voices originated. The growth was much thicker but that was good. He didn’t want to be seen.
He edged forward, catching the rattle of the creek as it scraped pebbles along its bed. How far away would Mercer be by now? His body would be a frozen block of ice. Unless, of course, the beast had got to him first. He dropped down and watched. He didn’t want to get too close to the edge, risk falling in and getting cold. Or giving away his position.
Meg’s orange coat was easy to see. She was standing beside Draper and he could hear low murmurs coming from their direction. A second later he heard a splash then a shout, “Flynn! Wait!” He watched a dark shape clamber out of the water and disappear into the f
orest. There was no sign of Puckett anywhere.
He registered the stench but it didn’t turn his stomach as it had done previously. On the other side of the bank he could hear rustling, the splintering of limbs, or was it bone? And a long, low-pitched growl that made the earth beneath his feet feel as inconsequential as slush. A shadow was moving through the trees, destroying their pine-fresh scent and replacing it with the reek of death. Because that’s what the beast was. Death. But not just any death. He’d seen the faces, the open mouths in shock, horror and excruciating agony inside the beast’s hairless body. Their screams were silent but their eyes conveyed more than any human voice could. He had taken them to his lair. He had taken them to hell.
The pain of his teeth grinding against each other dragged him back to Meg’s orange coat. Exposed nerves gained from payment reminders rubbing against plaque on forgotten teeth gave a shot of pain that scorched across the top of his skull. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and he spat.
He watched the two of them huddled together like that. She’d hated him when they all arrived here. Or she at least made a good show of it. Now look at her. And look at him. Holding her like some sort of Super-Dad. It was bullshit.
He sidled out of the forest, trying to keep his eyes on the orange coat, not the shadow on the other side of the bank. He wasn’t sure how much time he had but it wouldn’t be long. The funny thing was, as he’d been staring across the bank into the darkness, an idea had crept into his brain from nowhere. It was a good one too. As he ran, he let out a giggle that surprised him for its childish quality.
*
Vinson’s rock truck stood between them. Draper had already climbed into the cab to check but Vinson wasn’t there.
He turned to Flynn. “He’s not answering the walkie-talkie but he’s got it with him.”
Flynn turned in a full circle, shielding his eyes from the snow with his hands. “What now?” The wind gusted about them, making the sound of his voice indistinct.