Night of the Wendigo

by William Meikle

  In the end it was the practical things that helped most…we rotated the men round so that all would have a spell in front of the fire, but even that proved of little worth as the supply of logs dwindled and the fire burned down.

  “Break up the trestles and tables, lads,” the Mate shouted. “Everything that’s not breathing goes on the fire.”

  We burnt whatever we could find around us, from chairs and tables to the very leg of pork we had been eating earlier. The smell of cooking meat filled the tavern, but none of us were hungry.

  We huddled together until you couldn’t have squeezed a sheet of paper between us. In that way we kept ourselves alive.

  But still the ice crept forward.

  “Keep moving, men,” the First Mate shouted. “Give everyone a sight of the fire.”

  The wind howled up a notch. The long night went on.

  We shuffled in our tight huddle, looking forward only to our next spell in front of the fire, dreading our next pass in front of the door.

  I came to believe there were voices in the wind, soft voices whispering hopes of peace and warmer climes if I would only close my eyes and allow myself to dream.

  At other times I found myself talking to you, Lizzie, saying all the things I plan to say on my return, if I am spared long enough to see that day.

  At some point in that long night we forgot to shuffle, each of us lost in our own icy hell. After a while no one stoked the fire. The ice crept ever closer.

  “Goodbye, Jennie,” I heard the First Mate whisper, which was passing strange, as his wife was named Charlotte. That was the last I heard. I fell into an icy black hole that had no bottom.

  An eternity later I woke, from a dream of sun and hot sand into a nightmare of icy death.

  At first I thought myself back in Aberdeen in my own bed, wrapped and swaddled in a thick quilt against a winter’s morning.

  Then I moved.

  A cold blue hand fell onto my face.

  It was no bed sheet I lay under…it was the dead, frozen bodies of my crew. They had done their last duty to me, keeping me alive through the night.

  I crawled, on hands and knees like a whipped dog, pushing myself through the blue dead forest of my crewmates limbs, promising the Lord that I’d be his faithful servant if he’d only but grant me one final glimpse of warm sun on green pastures.

  The Lord finally heard me. I dragged my body clear and stood in front of the dying embers of the fire, tears blinding me as I surveyed the frozen bodies of my crew.

  There came a moan from within the pile.

  “Cap’n,” the First Mate cried. “Are we in hell?”

  I reached into the pile and found his warm hand. He dragged himself out as I used what paltry strength I had left to help his escape.

  “Not in hell,” I said as I lifted him to his feet. “But as close as mortal man should get.”

  More groans rose from the pile of frozen flesh.

  Of thirty men who entered the tavern the night before, only six of us pulled ourselves from the tangled pile and out into the near-forgotten warmth of a morning sun.

  “Fuck me,” Stumpy Jack said, squinting in the sudden light. “I ain’t been in a pickle near as bad as that since the son of John the Baker insulted the Prince of Prussia’s consort. I thought I was a goner for sure.”

  “We are all only here because of the Lord’s mercy,” the First Mate said. “Have heart, boys. We may yet see hearth and home.”

  “And Jennie?” I said.

  The First Mate smiled.

  “Don’t be telling the missus, Cap’n,” he said. “Jennie is a widow in Liverpool…sort of a home from home, if you get my meaning?”

  “Don’t worry,” Jim Crawford said. “We will ne’er get home again, so no one will ever know.”

  “Home again?” I said. “We may yet. But we must be strong if we are to survive another night such as the last one.”

  “As long as the sun shines, surely our strength will return,” the First Mate said.

  Indeed, the simple pleasure of the warmth of sunshine on my face was already pushing the memory of the cold away. I no longer felt that I might expire at any minute.

  We stood, blinking, watching the ice and snow melt away with unnatural rapidity until all that was left was a dampness on the ground and the silent dead bodies of our brave shipmates back in the tavern.

  And that was when we six made our vow.

  “There will be no more hiding in locked taverns,” I said to them. “We have lost too many friends and we will lose no more. We will make our stand on the Havenhome. And this time we will be ready.”

  * * *

  And this time I’ll be ready, Cole Barter thought as the cab came to a halt just outside the gates to the docks.

  “This is as far as we go,” the driver said. “The cops have got it locked up tight. Friggin cops…if they’re not sitting in the squad-room doing nothing they’re out leaning on the innocent. Ten to one this is all just another publicity stunt for the mayor’s office. I remember…”

  “How much do I owe you?” Cole said, trying to head off another anecdote.

  “Six fifty…plus that ten you promised for getting you here faster.”

  Cole paid up. The driver was still talking to himself as he pulled away.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Feds were involved. Friggin Feds. I remember when I worked Vegas…”

  Cole turned away. For the first time saw the scrum of people.

  The docks were already sealed off, with the cops maintaining a cordon. A crowd ten deep swarmed among a small fleet of media vans, squad cars and ambulances.

  Cole’s heart sank.

  I’m never going to get in there.

  * * *

  Mina Wong arrived in the University lab unannounced half an hour later.

  Jackie Donnelly didn’t know what to expect. Her ideas of police forensics were clouded by “CSI” and Kate Scarpetta. Jackie sometimes found the crimes being investigated a mite too gruesome, but she took great delight in nitpicking over the science. When the detective said someone from forensics was coming over she half-expected a buffed, glamorous type, with a smile full of perfect teeth, a wardrobe of Armani suits and the slightly supercilious manner of someone who had all the answers.

  What she hadn’t expected was a short, stocky oriental thirty-something female smoking a cheroot and wearing a Metallica T-shirt.

  Mina saw Jackie looking.

  “Hey. We were all college students once,” she said. “It just takes some of us longer to grow out of it than others.”

  “Amen to that, sister.”

  Jackie nodded towards the bag that Mina carried over her shoulder.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got a beer in there? I’m due one.”

  Mina smiled. Jackie realized that she’d just made a new friend.

  “I can tell you’re a sister after my own heart. Tell you what,” Mina said. “Let’s get the work out of the way, I’ll buy the beers, and you can tell me if the Moose copped a look down your shirt?”

  Jackie laughed loudly. It was as if a weight she’d been carrying all day suddenly lifted away.

  “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  “So what do you need me to look at?” Mina said.

  “They’re over here. We brought them up out of the dig yesterday, but somebody has made a real mess of the finds.”

  Mina put the cheroot out, clasped her hair back behind the nape of her neck and put on a pair of Lennon-style glasses. Suddenly she looked more like someone who might be a forensic expert.

  Jackie took her to the trestle.

  “Ah. Old bones…it makes a nice change from fresh ones. Mike said there was something that had been bitten?”

  “Over here,” Jackie said. She pointed at the heart. “It was torn from the body, some time last night and…”

  “And someone had a midnight Scooby-snack,” Mina finished. She took a sheaf of pictures from her bag and compared them to the marks on
the heart.

  “The Moose was right for once,” Mina said when she finally stood back. “Whoever took the chunks out of the victims at the dig also took a bite out of your heart here. I’d stake a beer on it.”

  Jackie suddenly felt faint.

  “Chunks? Out of the victims? They were mutilated? Dave was…“

  Her world spun around her. Suddenly the trestle looked to be a long way away. Jackie swayed, almost fell. She had to sit down. She slumped on a lab stool and breathed deeply until her eyes were able to focus.

  Mina handed her a cheroot.

  “Here. Suck on this.”

  Jackie took it, Mina lit it. Jackie sucked up a lungful. It felt like hot tar in her mouth. When she inhaled she choked and her eyes watered. She immediately coughed.

  She handed it back to Mina.

  “That is truly terrible.”

  “Yep. But it got your brain back into gear. That’s its main use. I usually smoke them after an autopsy to get rid of the smell.”

  The thought of an autopsy made Jackie squeamish all over again.

  “Look,” Mina said. “Just sit quietly for a bit. You’ve had a tough day.”

  “I can’t stay quiet,” Jackie said in a small voice. “It’s when I’m quiet that it hits me hardest.”

  “I know the feeling,” Mina said. “Some nights I leave the radio on all night, but I still hear them in my head; the people I have to look at every day. Let me just call the Moose, then we’ll see what we can do about getting you distracted.”

  Mina took a cellular phone from her denim’s pocket and dialed. Jackie heard the call ring away in the distance.

  “Must be too busy,” Mina said, shutting the phone and putting it away again. “Are you still up for that beer?”

  “At this moment, I can’t think of anything better.”

  Ten minutes later they were ensconced in a booth at “The Woodsman” and laughing at the pretensions of anyone who’d build a plasticized hunting lodge in the centre of the city.

  “How did you find this place,” Jackie said.

  “Mike brought me here a couple of weeks back,” Mina said. “The Knicks were playing, and the place was full of policemen shouting at the television. Mike thought it was just the right place for a date.”

  She laughed, and Jackie laughed along. The knot in the pit of her stomach was loosening. She looked around her.

  “The Woodsman” wanted to be out in the wild, where air is fresh, men are men, and anything that moves is fair game to be shot at. The owner had made a collection of hunting memorabilia; bear traps, Inuit sealskin costumes, stuffed grizzlies, whaling harpoons and much more filled all available nooks and crannies.

  The stuffed head of a very surprised deer looked down at them as they clicked bottles together. Mina chugged the first straight down and immediately ordered two more with a circular motion of her hand to the barman.

  “Drink up, Jackie. Tonight, the Moose is paying.”

  “Does he know this yet?”

  “No. It’s his penance for looking at your tits. He did…didn’t he?”

  Jackie nodded, smiling.

  Mina laughed loudly. That got her some attention from a group at the bar. Two men left their bar stools and walked towards the women.

  “Don’t bother, guys. We’re taken.” Jackie said, loudly enough for the group still at the bar to hear.

  “Yeah. With each other,” Mina said. She blew a kiss at Jackie. The pair of them laughed again as the two men slunk back to their friends accompanied by a wave of laughter.

  The barman came over with two fresh beers and left them on the table without a comment.

  “Thanks, Bob,” Mina called after him. “Always a pleasure.”

  “You enjoy ribbing people, don’t you,” Jackie said.

  Mina smiled broadly.

  “What else is there to do with them?”

  Jackie and Mina sat and sipped at their beer.

  “So…you and Detective Kaminski? Have you been together long?” Jackie asked.

  “Early days yet,” Mina said. She knocked back most of her second beer. “But he’s easy to train. I might keep him.”

  “Is he as tough as he looks?”

  “Nah. He’s a pussycat…a big cuddly pussycat. All I have to do is feed him red meat and beer, tickle his belly every so often, and he’s a happy tabby.”

  Jackie laughed, but stopped abruptly.

  I shouldn’t be enjoying myself. My friends are dead.

  Mina must have seen something in her eyes. She leaned over and took Jackie’s right hand between both of hers.

  “Tell me.”

  Jackie took a long slug of beer before replying.

  “Those people you had down in the morgue this morning?”

  “You knew them well?” Mina asked.

  That one question was all it took. The floodgates opened. Hot tears rolled down Jackie’s cheeks.

  “I worked with them all for the past three years. And Dave…Dave Jeffers, we were just starting to get close. He was a really sweet, quiet man. He never hurt anyone…I just don’t understand.”

  “There’s not much to understand,” Mina said softly. “I see it, every day, the atrocities committed by people against people. I used to look for reasons. But now I think the Vikings had it right…Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.”

  She handed Jackie her second beer. Mina was already near the bottom of hers. Jackie brushed away her tears and managed a wan smile.

  “Aren’t you a bit short for a Valkyrie?”

  Mina smiled back.

  “Yep. And not blonde enough either. But they’ll let me in to Valhalla, or there’ll be trouble. Now get that beer down you. I feel a session coming on, and I hate tying one on alone.”

  * * *

  Somebody had learned a lesson. This time the police cordon was thrown up along the line of the dock gates themselves.

  It didn’t matter much. It was still a full-scale media scrum. Mike had to park three streets away and walk down to the scene.

  “Let me through,” Mike shouted as he was faced with a wall of backs in front of him. “I’m a cop.”

  “Yeah, you and everybody else here, buddy,” a little old lady said. “Take your chances with the rest of us.”

  She dug elbows sharpened by decades of shopping trips into his side, and pushed through ahead of him. Mike laughed and followed. He caught up with her near the front. He had to show his badge a few times to get through, but the old lady had managed to get to the front on will power and stamina alone.

  “Best view in the house for the lady,” Mike said to the beat cop at the cordon as he slipped under it showing his badge.

  But the old woman didn’t need his help. She was already in the front row, straining over the barrier.

  “So what’s up?” he heard her ask. “Is there any blood?”

  Mike was always amazed at the capacity of the general public for the misfortune of others. Every crime scene got them; the bigger the crime the bigger the crowd, some eating popcorn as if they were at home watching a movie, others with camcorders and cameras capturing the moment to watch over and over again at home or to show their friends. They chatted among themselves, like teenagers in a cinema queue. They bitched and cursed when there was nothing to see, as if looking at someone else’s misery was their God-given right. Last night’s news had obviously spread. The prospect of more carnage on the docks had brought them out in force. The beat cops were having a hard time controlling the situation.

  The young cop who had found the bodies the night before manned the gate in Old Tom’s place. He looked flustered and harassed.

  “Okay, son,” Mike said, flashing his badge in case he wasn’t recognized. “Looks like you got handed the wrong beat this week. What have we got tonight?”

  “Nobody seems to know,” the young cop said. If anything he looked paler than the night before, more likely to burst into tears. “Three of your guys went down there twenty minutes ago, but no o
ne has come back yet.”

  Mike looked around. Just in front of the cordon, two ambulances stood on the dock, their crews huddled over steaming cups of coffee.

  “Any casualties?”

  The young cop shrugged.

  “Nothing that’s been reported here. And after last night, I’m not that worried about having a closer look out on the dock, know what I mean, Detective?”

  Mike nodded grimly.

  “Me too. I’d rather be at home with a warm woman and a cold beer. Just keep the cordon up,” he said. “And save me a coffee.”

  Mike headed out towards Hunter’s Dock.

  He didn’t have to go that far. By the time he turned past the old timber yard and warehouse it was immediately apparent there was a problem. He stopped, mouth open, stunned into immobility by the sheer impossibility of the view in front of him.

  Hunter’s Dock was lost from sight, caught inside a blizzard so dense, so compact, that it looked like someone had thrown a glass dome over the dock, filled it with snow, then given it a good shake.

  As Mike walked closer, soft snow whirled around him. Cold seeped in from his feet upwards. Everything was deathly quiet except for a soft, whistling wind, belying the fact that, on Hunter’s Dock, the snow was already a foot deep. If any other detectives had come out this way, there was no sign of them now.

  It’s getting bigger, Mike thought.

  The silent wall of snow crept closer, the cold getting sharper, gnawing deep, forcing Mike to step backwards.

  Deep in the snow lumbering shapes were just visible, darker shadows against the white swirling wall. There were two of them, tall, man-shaped. They stood still, as if waiting.

  “NYPD,” Mike shouted. “Identify yourselves.”

  There was no reply. The whirlwind of snow shifted. The shapes disappeared into the deep white void.

  A scream rent the air, from deep in the storm. The hairs at the nape of Mike’s neck rose up. It sounded like someone was being tortured in there.