Night of the Wendigo

by William Meikle

  “You won’t make me smoke a cheroot again will you?”

  Mina put out an arm and Jackie climbed up it.

  “Only if you’re very good,” Mina said. “Now will you come on? I think I’ve got an alternative career as an arsonist going on.”

  Even as she spoke the glass panel on the morgue door shattered and flames licked out into the corridor.

  “Are we on fire?” Jackie said.

  “Just warming the place up a bit,” Mina said.

  Barter pushed the trolley along the corridor and Mina took most of the archaeologist’s weight.

  “To the lab?” Barter called back.

  “No. If the fire takes hold we’ll be trapped there. Head for the main lobby.”

  The corridor took on an orange glow as the fire took hold behind them.

  * * *

  Mike locked the truck doors and checked the cab for a weapon. It wasn’t a cop vehicle, but Mike knew that some of the workers liked to have something with them, especially working the night-time streets. He was out of luck.

  The wolves hadn’t moved. They sat on their haunches, staring blindly at him.

  “Look out boys,” Mike said. “I’m coming through.” He floored the accelerator and headed straight for them.

  The lead wolf, a male with a shaggy, lion-like mane, leapt in the air, rear legs clearing the blade of the plough.

  Mike’s view filled with snarling teeth as it hit the windscreen head on.

  “Reinforced glass, dickhead,” Mike shouted as the creature bounced off, leaving behind only a smear of grey slush.

  He hit the brakes.

  The wolf slid off the bonnet, down beneath the blade of the plough. Mike slammed his foot on the accelerator and the truck jumped forward. There was a crunch and a bump as the front left wheel ran over something unyielding.

  In the wing mirror he saw the large grey, now little more than a squashed and deformed block of ice on the concrete. The other wolves scattered, fading like ghosts into the shadows.

  Mike let out a whoop of joy. He pumped the truck’s horn as he drove up the ramp and out of the garage.

  * * *

  Mina felt like she’d been carrying a sack of potatoes on a five mile run. Jackie lay against her, a dead weight. She had no idea if the archaeologist was still conscious, and she didn’t have time to stop and check. Judging by the noise behind her, the fire had wasted no time in taking a firm hold.

  They reached the far end of the corridor just as the fire found the storeroom.

  Explosions rocked the whole building, the noise deafening.

  A warm blast hit Mina in the back, propelling her forward, almost colliding with Cole Barter. She dived through the safety door just behind the man, half dragging Jackie with her. She dropped the archaeologist to the floor, none too gently, and closed the door behind them. The corridor they’d just left was already a raging inferno.

  “The door will hold,” Mina said to Barter as she bent to check on Jackie. “But not for long.”

  Barter nodded, his face grim.

  “I hope your detective friend is on his way.”

  “I’ll check on him when we reach the lobby.”

  “And if you can’t reach him? Then what?”

  Mina didn’t answer. In truth, she had no idea beyond the next minute.

  Jackie’s eyes fluttered. She was no more than half-conscious, but Mina managed to manhandle her to her feet and the three of them set off along the corridors.

  Above them the light flickered constantly. The generator held on. But only just.

  “Which way?” Barter shouted.

  “Back towards the lab, but take a left instead of right in the main corridor,” Mina said.

  Two minutes later they arrived in the main lobby. The large glass frontage was totally covered by a steel safety door. Thin glass panels, no more than six inches high, let some light in from outside, but there was no obvious way out.

  “Okay. What now?” Barter said.

  The lights gave one final flicker and went out. Enough light came in from above the safety door to let Mina see Barter’s wide, frightened eyes.

  In the distance a door slammed. There was the sound of breaking glass. It sounded to Mina like it had come from the direction of the delivery bay.

  “Now we hope that the cavalry are on their way,” Mina said.

  She leaned Jackie against a pillar. The archaeologist’s eyes opened.

  “Are we there yet?” she said.

  Mina managed a small grin.

  “Stay with me, kid. We’ll be getting out of here soon. I’m just about to call a cab.”

  She took out her cell phone and dialed Mike. He answered on the first ring.

  “Great minds think alike,” he said. “I was just about to call. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  Another door slammed somewhere in the building.

  Thick black smoke rolled into the lobby from the right-hand corridor, along with a sudden breath of warm air that quickly turned cold…ice cold.

  “Best make it four,” Mina said. “We’ll be waiting in the lobby…and we’ll be in a hurry.”

  “I’ll use the secret code,” Mike said. She hung up.

  Mina put the phone away and lifted the shotgun from the trolley.

  “Best get that lighter ready again,” she said to Barter. “I think we’ll be having company.”

  Barter looked nearly as white as Jackie did. He looked around him.

  “Is there another exit?”

  “Nope,” Mina said. “This is it. Last stand time.”

  She saw Barter looking at the three dark corridors that led off the hallway.

  “Maybe we should go somewhere with only one door?”

  “And get ourselves trapped inside? Nice thinking. No. We say here. Mike’s on his way.”

  “Yeah, right,” Barter replied. “And when he gets here he’s going to be on the other side of a steel door. Now who’s not thinking straight?”

  Mina smiled grimly.

  “We can argue about it later. It’s show time.”

  The first zombie walked out from the left corridor.

  It was burnt all down the right side, but hadn’t been slowed down. Once it had been an old man. The tattered remnants of a dressing gown hung in frozen tresses from its shoulders, and a pajama jacket gaped open under that showing a chest that looked like a frozen rack of ribs. White, toothless gums smacked together as the head turned and stared blindly towards the pillar where Jackie Donnelly stood, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

  Mina raised the shotgun and took aim.

  The blast took the creature between the eyes, sending it tumbling backwards into the corridor. A second, and a third, stepped forward to take its place.

  “If you’ve got that lighter ready…” Mina said.

  Barter had obviously learned from earlier…He already had a lit bottle in his hand.

  “Fire in the hole,” he shouted. He lobbed the bomb at the feet of the two approaching figures.

  Mina turned her head away, but the blast still almost knocked her sideways.

  Barter shouted. “Yes. Burn, you bastards!” He pumped his fists in the air.

  “No time for celebration,” Mina said. “We’ve got more incoming. To your right.”

  The corridor on the right was farther from them, but it was wider; wide enough to let three through abreast.

  And there were many more than three. The lights flickered one last time and went out; but not before Mina got a glimpse down the corridor.

  White eyes glimmered in the gloom, as far back as Mina could see.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Jackie leave the pillar and move to the trolley behind Barter. She took charge of the lighter while the man lobbed Molotovs down the corridor.

  The cramped lobby filled with explosions, fire, smoke, and the terrible smell of burning, while Mina pumped shot after shot into the approaching bodies.

  We’re not going to make it.

  Her
phone rang, twice. Everything suddenly went quiet.

  * * *

  “Get away from the doors,” Mina shouted.

  Jackie saw Mina dive to one side. Barter also moved quickly, scuttling away behind the trolley.

  But Jackie wasn’t so fast. She tried to push off on her bad leg and it crumpled beneath her, sending her down to one knee.

  A roaring noise filled the air, just beyond the steel safety door.

  “Shit,” Jackie heard Mina shout, then the squat figure of the oriental woman barreled into Jackie in a low dive, knocking her sideways.

  Mina’s momentum kept her going. She went head first into the trolley, glass splintering and crashing as she rolled amongst the Molotovs.

  The steel doors buckled and caved in as the plough crashed into the lobby, horns blazing.

  * * *

  Mike took in the scene with one glance. Ahead of him frozen creatures walked through flame, still coming forward out of the corridor.

  Cole Barter was already at the passenger door, dragging his body inside.

  “Help the women,” Mike shouted.

  He leaned out of the driver’s side window, service pistol in his left hand, and fired shot after shot down the corridor. There was too much smoke and flame to see if he hit anything.

  When he looked back, Barter still stood in the doorway.

  “Help the women,” Mike said, pointing the gun in Barter’s face. “Or I’ll drop you right here.”

  Behind Barter both Mina and the archaeologist got slowly to their feet.

  “Hurry!” Mike shouted.

  Barter finally took the hint. He turned and moved towards the archaeologist.

  More figures lurched from the corridor, small fires burning around their feet and ankles.

  Barter took the archaeologist’s hand and led her to the open door of the plough.

  Too slow.

  “Mina! Hurry!” he shouted.

  Mina looked up at him, then over at the approaching figures. She touched her clothing.

  Mike could see that her fingers came away damp.

  In one awful glance he took in a picture that etched itself in his mind.

  He saw the spreading pool and the shattered glass under the trolley; he saw the damp patches that seeped through Mina’s clothing, and he saw just how close the encroaching figures were to reaching the injured archaeologist.

  He knew exactly what Mina planned to do.

  She looked straight at Mike.

  “I love you,” she mouthed.

  She turned away, tears in her eyes.

  “Mina. No!”

  She walked slowly towards the approaching creatures, shotgun in hand. She pumped two shots into the closest one, then stepped forward and slammed the butt of the gun into the head of the next.

  Flames lapped around her ankles. The sealskin suit burned fiercely as she grabbed the nearest creature in a bear hug. They staggered together, like marathon dancers near the end of their endurance. The flames grew higher.

  Mike’s screams were echoed by Mina.

  With one last heave she wrestled the creature to the ground. They both disappeared in a wall of flame that filled the mouth of the corridor.

  “No!” Mike shouted.

  He wrenched at the door handle, but it was jammed closed. He crawled over to the passenger side. Barter was helping the archaeologist into the seat. Mike crawled over her.

  “No,” Barter shouted, pushing him back. “It’s too late. She’s gone. She’s bought us some time. Get out of here.”

  Mike screamed. He pushed harder.

  Barter punched him, straight on the nose. It wasn’t a hard shot, but it was enough to get Mike’s attention.

  “If you don’t get us out of here, we’ll all die. She’ll have gone for nothing. Is that what you want?”

  Mike wanted to hit something, to rage and kill.

  “Look,” Barter shouted. “It’s too late for her.”

  The flame was already dying down. The ranks of zombies pressed close to the entrance to the lobby, pushing forward once more.

  “We’ve got to go,” Barter screamed, pulling himself into the cab to squeeze beside the archaeologist.

  Tears almost blinded Mike as he put the plough in reverse and pulled it slowly out of the ruin of the doorway. He looked over at the corridor mouth.

  Fused, blackened bodies lay strewn on the ground, but it was impossible to make out one body from another.

  CHAPTER 7

  From CBC News

  The crisis in New York is still deepening. The inexplicable snowstorm has started to creep down the Jersey shoreline, and our government is powerless in the face of this seemingly unstoppable force. News has reached us that the armed forces have suffered heavy casualties by just trying to pierce the boundary of the storm, but we are unable to bring you anything beyond that. No news has come out of Manhattan for several hours now, and all we can do is pray for the safety of our loved ones who may be trapped there. We’ll bring you more as soon as we have it, but in the meantime, over to Bill, who has been catching up with a Border Collie in Wisconsin that can sing like Julie Andrews…

  From alt.uk.channelling

  I did the lucid dreaming thing last night. I spent several hours before sleep, visualizing a high castle above a rocky shore. At first it nearly worked. I floated high above a field of rural workers, and I believe I nearly made contact in Monroe’s locale 2. Then I blew it. Just thinking about how close I was sent me farther away than ever. I was being sucked back to bed down the black tunnel when I got interrupted. Things went cold, and I heard a voice. All of this is mine once more, it said. Did I really almost get past the dweller on the threshold?

  * * *

  The creatures followed the plough out of the ruined frontage of the Forensic Department.

  They moved too slowly to cause any problems. Which was just as well, as no one in the plough cab was in any state to deal with them.

  Mike Kaminski stared straight ahead, tears pouring down his cheeks. It was lucky that he had ploughed a furrow on his way in; it meant he could stay in a straight line without having to think too hard.

  Thinking was something he tried not to do; especially thinking about charred, smoking bodies on lobby floors.

  Although he didn’t realize it, white showed at his knuckles where he gripped the wheel. He muttered under his breath.

  I’ll get you. I’ll get you, you bastard.

  He barely saw the road pass. He had a cold place in his heart, as cold as the air outside the cab.

  It was a long time before anybody spoke.

  “Excuse me for asking,” Barter said. “But where are we going?”

  As soon as the question was asked, Mike realized he knew the answer.

  “Back to where it started,” he said softly. “Back to Hunter’s Dock. We’re going to finish it.”

  “But…” Barter began. He stopped as soon as Mike turned to face him. He reared back, as if suddenly afraid.

  Mike turned back to the road.

  “Hunter’s Dock,” he whispered. “I’m coming for you. And you’d better be there.”

  * * *

  Afterwards, Cole Barter would remember little about the journey in the snowplough. The whole trip felt unreal, almost surreal.

  The three of them barely spoke. The detective stared straight ahead at the road; which was fine by Cole. One look in the man’s eyes was enough; someone would die under that gaze in the near future.

  And it’s not going to be me.

  Beside Cole, Jackie Donnelly lay, slumped against his left shoulder. Her breathing was light, erratic. She didn’t wake when Cole had to shift position to stop the satchel he still carried over his shoulder from digging into his side.

  He almost wished that he too could drift off into sleep. But he feared what dreams might come…his subconscious had been given more than enough fuel to run a month of nightmares.

  He stared out of the passenger window. There was little to see but snow, silve
ry white in the moonlight. All recognizable landmarks in the city were softened and rendered almost invisible.

  And there was something else in the night, a wavering of reality itself, as if a curtain were about to be drawn back to reveal a new vista.

  Once, when the detective had stalled the engine trying to get round an obstacle, Cole heard drums beating in the distance. On another long stretch, the city disappeared completely and they drove through a tall forest of pines encrusted with snow. A small herd of grey deer with milk-white eyes stood and stared straight at Cole as the plough drove past.

  Cole watched them for long seconds before his brain registered what it saw.

  “Hey!” he said, sitting upright in his seat. Jackie Donnelly’s head hit his shoulder. She mumbled but didn’t wake.

  “Detective? Did you see that?”

  Kaminski didn’t reply, didn’t even seem to have heard.

  When Cole looked back, they were driving past a run-down row of shops. The mannequin in the lingerie store window showed off her wares. She looked more alive than most of the things Cole had seen that night.

  He clutched the satchel tight against his chest. He tried to think about better days, of a time when he wasn’t cold. But warmth was just too far away.

  * * *

  Some time later Mike drove them onto the dock. He had no idea how long the journey had taken, but his shoulders felt stiff with tension. A headache, almost blinding, pounded behind his left eye.

  Some whisky might help, he thought. He smiled grimly as he parked alongside the edge of the city of containers and switched off the engine.

  “Everybody out,” he said. “This service terminates here.”

  “Here?” Barter said. “There’s nothing here. We should stay in the cab, where we’re safe.”