Silent Prey

by TM Simmons

  Divorced women, who were mostly already raising children from their first marriage ….

  ~~~~

  Channing stared through the windshield at the unmoving entity. Now that she was actually confronting Nenegean, she wasn't sure this was such a brilliant idea. Nodinens' words of warning rang through her mind, and Channing's denials didn't seem to hold water.

  Nenegean had torn Alan apart viciously and been intent on destroying Keoman and Grant. Channing hadn't heard the specifics of how Annalise died, but she could imagine the gory details. The entity didn't make a distinction between whether she killed men or women.

  Blowing out a breath to attempt to relieve some of her fear, Channing considered what she should do. She didn't feel confident enough to drive back to Nodinens' house, but perhaps that was the lesser of two evils.

  Why wasn't Nenegean moving closer?

  Damn, damn, damn. Why had she been stupid enough to leave her phone behind?

  Something whispered in Channing's mind. She realized it might be the entity trying to talk to her, but her apprehension made it impossible to recall Kymbria's language lessons. Another irresponsible reason for not bringing her phone. Now the fact that the phone's GPS would allow Hjak to track her seemed like a good idea versus an unwise one.

  At least she was inside the truck, not outside, where Nenegean could attack without barrier.

  Annalise's car didn't protect her, she reminded herself.

  At another brush against her mind, Channing tried to push back her terror and concentrate.

  Aaniin ezhinikaazoyan?

  That hadn't been part of her language class; she didn't understand the comment. What would the entity do if Channing didn't respond? Attack?

  Channing searched through last night's lesson. Finally, she tried to speak to Nenegean, but she whispered rather than use telepathy.

  "Ningotaaj," she said, trying to make Nenegean understand that Channing was afraid of her. "Afraid," she also said in English.

  At last the entity glided forward.

  "Oh, god, please no," Channing said, then added, "Daga gaawiin! Please no!"

  Nenegean halted and cocked her head. "Ondaas!" she said loud enough to hear even inside the pickup.

  Although the word was unfamiliar, Channing understood the motion that accompanied it. The entity was demanding she get out.

  "Gaawiin," she automatically replied. "No."

  Nenegean lifted her arms toward the gray sky and threw back her head. She roared, the reverberations so loud they shook frozen icicles from the phone lines along the road.

  Channing clenched the steering wheel, yet her hands and arms shook with terror. Hopefully, Nenegean was only vocalizing her frustration at Channing's refusal. She tried to think of something else to say, her mind so clouded with desperation that not one word came to mind.

  Nenegean lowered her head and glared at Channing. She glided forward again, mouth open in an evil grin that exposed sharp upper and lower fangs. The cold hadn't frozen Nenegean's saliva. It dripped down her chin onto the bodice of her buckskin dress.

  "Nimaamaa!" Channing shouted. "I am a mother! A nimaamaa!" She jerked her hands free and cradled them across her chest, rocking them back and forth, hoping Nenegean could see what she was doing behind the steering wheel.

  The entity halted not more than ten feet from the pickup. Very slowly, she imitated the cradle form. "Nimaamaa."

  The voice cracked with disuse, but Channing understood the word and nodded affirmatively, hard and fast.

  Nenegean frowned and looked away from Channing. She released the cradle hold to point at the truck, then squint at it.

  Oh, no. She associated the pickup with someone who had tried to harm her. As soon as the thought flashed across Channing's mind, however, the entity proved it wrong. Nenegean once more motioned for Channing to open the door and get out.

  The next word Channing needed came to mind with no problem. "Ningiikaj, cold," she said, hoping Nenegean would comprehend that, even though sleet and freezing temperatures didn't bother the entity, Channing's body was still human.

  Nenegean jerked her arm again in the motion for Channing to get out. Channing cringed and shook her head, and Nenegean snarled.

  "Ningiikaj!" Channing said more loudly.

  In the blink of an eye, Nenegean was at the pickup. The door didn't stand a chance against her strength. She ripped it off and tossed it across the road. Channing threw her hands up protectively, but the entity didn't touch her. Instead, she stepped back and pointed downward.

  The odor surrounded Channing, but her terror overrode her need to cover her nose. She had no doubt that if she didn't comply, the entity would drag her out.

  "N-ningiikaj, cold," she whispered in a trembling voice. Holding her breath in fear that Nenegean wouldn't wait even a few seconds, she reached for her woolen cap with the face mask. Her shaking fingers pulled it on, leaving the mask part rolled up. Since Nenegean hadn't attacked, she also grabbed her gloves.

  Steadying herself with a hold on the door jamb, Channing slowly slid onto the ice-covered pavement. Her legs threatened to collapse as she stared at the entity so close she could have touched her. The sleet poured down, hitting her cheeks in biting punches.

  Nenegean moved her gaze up and down Channing's body, a questioning look in her expression. Perhaps not finding what she searched for, the entity patted at her neck. Channing grasped that she wondered where the doeskin pouch was.

  "Beshwaji," Channing said hastily, trying to make the entity realize she was a friend.

  Nenegean shook her head and repeated the word, "Beshwaji." She moved across the road as though to distance herself. When she turned, the sneer on her face said it would take more than saying it to believe Channing came as a friend.

  Channing tried, though. "Beshwaji," she repeated in a steadier voice.

  Nenegean pointed at her. "Beshwaji?"

  "Eya, yes," Channing said, then, "Eya, eya! Beshwaji." She touched her chest with her palm. The gesture reminded her of the cold, and Channing hurriedly put on her gloves. She debated whether or not to get back in the truck. Not won. She didn't dare antagonize the entity. Even if she did manage to drive off, Nenegean would catch her within seconds, and perhaps be so angry at the betrayal, she would kill Channing.

  Nenegean drifted back across the road. "Maji-manidoo," she said when she halted only a step or two away.

  That word had been important to learn. Kymbria had been positive Channing would need to know the Ojibway name for an evil spirit or devil. It was the closest word Kymbria could teach her to describe the human monster they were searching for.

  "Yes," Channing agreed. "Maji-manidoo." To try to teach Nenegean an English word or two, perhaps ease their communication problems, she went on, "Evil man. Devil."

  Channing mimicked holding the child again, then grabbing it up close, in a protective manner. She shook her head, and said, "Gaawiin! No, maji-manidoo! We can't let the evil hurt our children!"

  Nenegean smiled, then said a string of words. The only two Channing recognized were neejawnisug for children and maji-manidoo for evil devil. The entity spoke far too quickly for Channing's new knowledge to translate the rest.

  When Channing didn't respond at once, Nenegean said something comprehensible: "Gigikenimaa maji-manidoo?" asking Channing, "Do you know the evil devil?"

  Sadly, Channing shook her head and said, " Gaawiin," for no.

  Nenegean covered her face as though crying. And she was. Channing could hear the sobs. The entity's cheeks were dry when she looked up, though. No surprise, since there probably weren't any active tear ducts in that body.

  Suddenly, Nenegean stared down the road. Channing followed her gaze, but saw nothing. Then she heard what sounded like a vehicle's engine. It grew louder, and she caught only a brief glimpse of what looked like Keoman's pickup before Nenegean grabbed her.

  Chapter 44

  "No!" Keoman slammed on the brakes and jammed the gearshift into Park. The truck sk
idded sideways. Ignoring safety, Keoman jumped out, and the door slammed him to the pavement. The front tire caught his right fingers.

  Keoman ignored the pain. He crawled on his hands and knees across the ice-slick road to the gap exposed by the missing door on Nodinens' truck.

  "Midè Manido, no! Please no!" He lunged into the driver's seat and scanned the front and back floorboards, Channing was gone, the truck empty.

  He hadn't had any trouble tracing her once he picked up her trail north of Nodinens' driveway. The pouring sleet had re-covered the tire tracks, but his experienced gaze followed the slight indentations where they had cut through the ice and were nearly obscured again. At each intersection, her path confirmed his intuition as to where Channing was headed. She wanted to find the place where she encountered Nenegean with the search party.

  He bashed the dashboard with a fist. He was too late. His caution on the sleet-iced road had slowed him too much, and now Nenegean had her. Nothing else could have ripped that door off. The entity had taken Channing to whatever fate she planned. The violence Nenegean was capable of in order to reach Channing brought the horrible picture of Annalise's body to Keoman's mind.

  Damn, he'd left his phone in his own truck. He leaped out of the truck, and his waffle-soled boots flew out from under him. His head hit the edge of the door jamb with a thud. Blackness descended.

  Keoman had no idea how long he'd been unconscious. The moment he slit his eyes, the migraine descended without mercy. He curled into a ball and held his head in agony.

  Channing's face floated into the darkness. Her smile. The way she looked at him over dinner that night in Canada. Her eyes drinking him in when they made love in Duluth, filled with caring and excitement. Her expression soft with satisfaction afterwards.

  A vision of her trapped by the murderous entity tried to intrude. He fought to brush it aside. The harder he tried, the more vibrant it became.

  He stilled himself for a long moment. Breathed deep and slowly released it. Russ's relaxation meditation drifted into his mind. He concentrated on that and the teachings he had studied for years. He had entered training to become a member of the Midewiwin, the Grand Medicine Society, nearly as soon as he understood what it meant. Nearly as soon as he saw his grandfather watching the way his personality shaped up even as a toddler.

  It was the most important thing in his life, and he had followed the ways of the Midewiwin Society closely. Even when he strayed in his teens, he always came back to the manner of life that fulfilled him. Made him feel close to the land, the traditions he believed in.

  The migraine eased enough for him to release his head and open his eyes fully. For a second, the sun shining on the sleet blinded him. Then he realized the freezing rain had stopped.

  The migraine slowly lost its grip, as it did after he took two or three narcotics. Yet this time he had controlled it with his mind.

  With the debilitating pain gone, his fear for Channing crashed into his senses. He tried to scramble up and instead slid under the truck.

  "Fuck," he growled in a low voice, trying desperately to gain control. He'd never be able to go after Channing if he didn't restrain his mindless reactions. He drew in another steadying breath, gripped the side of the truck and pulled himself free.

  Carefully he stood and walked across the road to where his own truck sat sideways in the ditch. The driver's door had slammed shut on impact, but the engine still ran. Ice covered the passenger door handle, and when he tried to open it, it wouldn't budge.

  Holding onto the side of the truck, he slipped and slid around to the ditch. He searched for a rock or heavy limb to break the window, but couldn't find anything suitable. There might be something under the snow and ice. He didn't have time to look.

  He pulled himself over the tailgate, into the pickup bed. The slight overhang on the sliding rear window had protected that glass, and he needed to open it somehow. The lock on the toolbox was iced as badly as the door handle, and he never left anything lie loose in the bed.

  The clasp on the inside of the sliding window was fastened, beyond his reach out here. Or was it? He'd had trouble a few times getting the latch to close completely. Thankfully, it had jammed again.

  Keoman tried to work his fingers into the rubber where the windows came together. His clumsy efforts revealed how seriously frozen and bruised the fingers of his right hand were — too badly injured to work properly. The cut on that glove had opened wider, the pain acute. He could hardly bend one finger, but he hoped the slight movement meant it wasn't broken.

  He removed his left glove and dug his fingers into the rubber. When the window moved an inch, he threw it back all the way.

  He couldn't fit through the window in his heavy outerwear. He unzipped his jacket and pushed it into the cab. He had to remove his snow boots to get out of the padded trousers and shoved them in before he edged his head and shoulders through. Shaking with cold, he landed on the rear seat and didn't bother to close the window. Instead, he crawled into the front and the warmth of the heater vents.

  His cell phone and radio were both on the passenger seat. He tried the phone first, and Gagewin answered.

  ~~~~

  Channing forced herself to swallow her terror and not struggle. Any reckless movement might antagonize the entity. Ice and snow covered the landscape; leafless trees and huge pines flew past in a blur. Within what seemed like only seconds, Nenegean halted and released Channing.

  Shivering and keeping a wary eye on Nenegean, Channing waded through the snow until she stopped a few steps away. Warmth began to replace the icy cold inside her snowsuit, but she didn't dare put too much distance between them. Overhead, a slight split in the encroaching gray clouds formed, and a tiny beam of sunlight shone through. She doubted the weak light would prompt a thaw, although the vision brought thoughts of balmier days.

  She didn't recognize the area. To her inexperienced eyes, though, the Northwood was all unfamiliar. If Radin hadn't been with her the day she spent with the search party, she would have been hopelessly lost. Snow and sleet obscured any possibly familiar landmarks.

  They stood in a small clearing, surrounded by winter-bare hardwood trees, dark green pines the only color. It almost seemed as though someone had cleared an area deep in the congested trees and underbrush. No other sign of civilization marred the wilderness.

  Nenegean stared toward the edge of the clearing, then glided slowly that way, as though reluctant to approach whatever she had been looking at. Channing stayed where she was at first. No sense trying to escape. Nenegean could be on her in an instant, perhaps angry enough to mete out the punishment Channing expected any minute.

  When Nenegean knelt and brushed at a mound in the snow, Channing approached a few steps closer. The entity's actions exposed a pile of rocks, a small pile, covering a rectangular, child-sized space.

  Channing scrutinized where they were with new regard, recalling the tale passed down through tribal lore. The area was large enough for a cabin and small garden. It must be where Nenegean had once lived, where she buried her children. Nenegean would have wanted to make sure the grave wasn't disturbed. She'd used the rocks to prevent animals from digging up the little bodies.

  She had to have been dying herself by then. It would have taken a horrendous effort to dig the grave and pile all those rocks on it. Rocks she had to locate somewhere first and which were small enough to carry in her weakened state.

  Nenegean's shoulders shook, and Channing realized the entity was crying again. She debated whether or not to offer sympathy. Decision made, she waded forward, each step breaking through the crust of ice into the snow beneath. Nenegean looked up at her approach, and Channing held her breath as she placed a comforting hand on the entity's shoulder. Immediately, glacial cold crawled up her arm, but Channing didn't remove her touch.

  "Neejawnisug?" she asked, pointing at the grave, following it with the English word, "Children?"

  Nenegean nodded, her eyes filled with a sorrow Channing
recognized from her grief over Rose. The depth of the anguish nearly brought Channing to her knees, but she recovered when Nenegean broke eye contact to look back at the grave.

  Channing removed her hand, remaining where she was. She frowned as she recalled the discussion after the search party returned with the first two children. Keoman had said one of the men found a non-native rose bush in a clearing near the cavern, one perhaps planted by a settler. If this was indeed where Waweikum and Armand had lived, the cavern should be nearby, guards waiting in case Nenegean showed herself.

  Should she scream for help? She nixed the idea at once. For one thing, the guards had probably sheltered inside the cave during the sleet storm, beyond hearing in the inner cavern. For another, even if they heard her, Nenegean could grab Channing and flee before anyone realized where she was.

  For a third, she might provoke the entity. Perhaps Nenegean would recall Channing hitting her with the shield, thwarting her attack on Keoman. Or protecting Grant by stabbing her with the crossbow arrow. Channing had expected retaliation for those acts all along. However, Nenegean had either forgiven her or else some stronger reason than revenge fueled the entity's desire to communicate with another woman — a mother, as Nenegean had once been herself.

  Abruptly, Nenegean rose to her feet and stared across the clearing, although Channing couldn't see anything worthy of her attention. When the entity closed the short distance between them, she didn't reach for Channing. Instead, Channing thought she heard Nenegean draw in a breath.

  Nenegean didn't need to breathe. What was she doing? Then Channing realized Nenegean's head was tilted back as she sniffed the air.

  A second later, the far-off buzz of what might be a snowmobile engine sounded.

  Keoman! He'd figured out where Nenegean had taken her. In the brief glimpse of Keoman's truck, though, she hadn't seen a snow sled in the back or a trailer behind it. Still, he could have called someone to bring him one, along with men for a rescue party.