Alaskan Fire (40 page)

Jack opened his eyes and groaned
at the mosquitoes in his ears.  He moved to swat them away, but something
caught his wrists.  When he looked at them and saw the glowing blue-white
faewire, encrusted with his blood, a growl started in his chest.

Then he saw the bulldozer, and he
knew the fey wouldn’t have bothered using it to drag him anywhere.

Blaze,
Jack thought,
irritated.  But where had she gotten the faewire?  And
why the fuck was he
tied up?

He gave the wire a tentative tug,
found it secure, and didn’t bother wasting his time.  He sat up, intending to
trot over to the bulldozer, fire it up, and drive it back home.

Except he couldn’t sit up.

Frowning, Jack glanced down at
his legs.

They were still attached, but he
couldn’t feel them.  And nothing from his stomach downward would cooperate with
him.  And, now that he was paying attention, he could see a crusted stain of
filth on his groin, and the air stank of crap.

Jack tried again to move his
legs.

Again, they failed to twitch.

And, as he watched, he saw the
dry, crusted stain on his groin grow in a pool of wetness, and smelled urine.

Panic began to take an icy grip
on his heart as he watched the stain spread.  “Blaze!” he cried, wanting to
crawl away, wanting to do
anything
but stare down at the limbs that he couldn’t
feel, the growing wetness on his pants.

He watched a mosquito land on his
knee.  Watched it suck his blood, its abdomen fill with silvery crimson,
watched it retract its proboscis and fly away.  Through it all, he felt nothing.

“
Blaze
!” Jack screamed,
horror driving wretched pangs through his being. 
Oh no,
he thought, his
fear ratcheting up a notch.  He must have survived the blade.  Despite all
odds, his moon magic had somehow reversed the dread horn’s necromancy.  Then his
eyes narrowed.

Unless…

Sprawled on the ground, unable to
sit up or twist, he looked again at the faewire.  He leaned close and sniffed
it.

Over the scent of his own blood,
he caught the little wretch’s stink.

He told her,
Jack thought,
fury rising like an ice-storm within him.  He felt the moon-magic surge, trying
to take control, but he instinctively fought it down.  No, he wouldn’t need the
beast to wring the little bastard’s neck.

“Blaze!” Jack screamed, scooting
in the churned earth as best he could on his elbows.  His arms felt weak, and
when he looked, they were a third the size they should have been.

Jack froze.  He remembered the
last time that had happened, and what had caused it.

Oh no,
he thought. 
He
got loose again.
 

“
Blaaaaze
!” he shrieked, losing
his self-control.  “
Blaaaaaaa
—”

He heard a 4-wheeler motor come
rumbling down the trail at high-speed, then heard a thump as someone got off in
a hurry.  “What the fuck is it now?!” Blaze demanded, with much less compassion
than Jack would have expected.  Somewhat cowed, Jack had to twist to see her as
she came off the trail, stepping into view well out of reach of the tether.  “I
already told you, you piece of shit—you keep screaming and we’re just gonna
have to move you further away from the lodge, you get it?”

Jack was taken aback by the rage
and frustration in Blaze’s face.  “Uh,” he said, “I’m swimming in my own shit
over here.”

“Oh
really
?” Blaze said,
her tone dripping with sarcasm.  “Hmm…  Well, maybe I should just come closer
and change you into something more comfortable.”

Jack stared at her.  “Have you
lost your fucking mind?”

Blaze narrowed her eyes at him,
then turned to leave him in the woods. 

“Wait!” Jack cried, desperate,
now.  “Why am I tied up?  Please, I can’t feel my legs!”

Blaze snorted and got back on the
4-wheeler.  Over the roar as she started the engine, she said, “Keep it quiet. 
You’ll get fed again before bed.  I hear you screaming again and I’m coming
back and firing up the dozer.”

Then he heard the sound of dirt
flying as the 4-wheeler did a quick circle and disappeared into the distance.

Jack stared after her, in utter
disbelief.  When he realized she wasn’t coming back, he turned his attention to
the overcast sky through the tops of the birch trees, feeling dazed.  As if to
add insult to injury, it began to drizzle on his unprotected body, leaving him
shivering in his own shit.

Hours later, he was calculating
just how to best broach the subject of what an utter bitch she was being when
he heard the sound of a 4-wheeler again.  Jack instinctively tried to sit up,
but his body refused.  He gritted his jaw, fighting back the burn of tears.

When Blaze stopped the 4-wheeler
on the trail, Jack tentatively cleared his throat.  “Why am I tied up?”

“Gee,” Blaze said.  She was wrestling
with something on the bed of the trailer.

“What are you doing?” Jack asked.

“Feeding your ungrateful face.”

When she dragged the goat out to
him and threw it on the ground beside his face, uncooked and bleeding, Jack
just stared at it.

Well out of tether-reach, Blaze
hesitated.  “You aren’t going to eat?”

“Uh,” Jack said softly, “Why
isn’t it cooked?”

Blaze gave him a look of utter
fury.  “You’re lucky I feed you at all.”  She turned her back to him and
started back to the trail.

“Wait!” Jack called, sickened by
the way he was unable to slide out of the path of the blood oozing from the
goat’s neck.  “What’s going on?!”

“That innocent
bullshit
isn’t going to work again,” Blaze growled.  “You almost got me the
first
two times.”  He heard the shocks creak, heard her switch on the ignition key.

“
Tell me what I did
!” Jack
screamed, desperate, now.  He remembered losing control to the moon magic.  He
didn’t, however, remember what had happened afterward.  A bad sign, and one he
hadn’t experienced in over a thousand years.

Blaze ignored him and hit the
ignition switch.  She drove away to the rattle of a cart and the hum of a
4-wheeler engine.

Jack spent the night staring into
the dead face of a Boer goat.

When she returned in the morning,
a cartload of dead rabbits behind her, Blaze hesitated upon seeing the goat. 
She frowned at him, towering just out of reach.  “Why didn’t you eat it?”

“Because I’m not a fucking
animal,” Jack said, feeling wretched and humiliated under her pitiless stare. 
He had wet himself again, and the slurry of shit in his pants had just gotten
thicker overnight. 

To his surprise, Blaze laughed. 
“Fine.  I’ll come back tonight.”

“Wait, goddamn it!” Jack snapped,
as she turned.  “Can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

Blaze’s shoulders hesitated and
she turned, slowly.  Her eyes, however, were exhausted and wary.  “I’m not
falling for it again,” she finally said.  She turned again.

It was at that point, between the
dead goat, the uncontrollable bowel movements, the lack of feeling in his legs,
the faewire around his wrists, that Jack simply lost it.  His fear and
humiliation came tumbling out in a sob.  “Please tell me what’s happening. 
Please.”

Blaze didn’t stop.  He heard her
climb back upon the machine, heard the engine start, heard it drive away.

Jack spent the rest of the day
watching flies land in the dead goat’s open mouth.  A black bear wandered just
out of reach of the tether, sniffed at the air anxiously, eying the goat, then
wandered off.  Jack began to count the types of birds chirping, trying
desperately to ignore the smell of his own shit.

* * *

It had frosted that morning, and
Jack had still shown no improvement.  He was still playing head-games, still
trying to lure her close enough to rip her limb-from-limb.  Blaze looked down
at the three nasty scars up her right arm, where his claws had raked through
her skin like Jell-O.  He’d almost killed her.  And that had been crippled from
the waist down, with both hands tied to a bulldozer.

She sweated now, just thinking
about it.

Now, facing the final days of
September, Blaze was warily counting the days until it snowed, wondering how
she was going to protect the wereverine from the elements, wondering when the
wolves would next attack.  Her whole life had become a waiting game.  Several
times, she’d thought she’d seen something in the forest, dark, furry shadows
sliding past, then slipping back into the woods before she could get a clean
shot.

It was a waiting game, and Blaze
was rapidly running out of time.  Whatever it was that had kept the wolves at
bay so far was going to wear off, eventually.  Between waking up and reaching
for a gun at every tiny sound in the darkness and listening to the wereverine
scream and rant at her at all hours of the day, Blaze hadn’t gotten much sleep.

Still irritated at the stubborn way
the demonkin had refused to eat the goat, Blaze was trying to figure out what
to do with a five-gallon bucket of mangoes when the two Alaska State Troopers
walked around the corner of the shop.  One was tall and angular, looking as if
he spent too much time running and not enough time eating, and the other was
short and barrel-chested, the kind who could rip his opponents’ arms off in a fistfight. 
They hailed her, then came to a halt a few feet away, scanning the yard, lodge,
and outbuildings with alert, even nervous, eyes.

“How you doing today, Ma’am?” the
shorter of the two troopers said, holding out his thick hand to shake.  “I’m
Pat Amsden and this is Matthew Wellsboro.”

“Blaze MacKenzie,” Blaze said, returning
the gesture as she fought down a growing sense of dread.  She thought of Jack,
stuck out in the woods within shouting distance, and prayed he didn’t open his
mouth.

“Ma’am,” the shorter of the two
said, “We’re with the Alaska State Troopers.  It seems that there’s been a rash
of disappearances in the area, and we’re curious if you’ve noticed anything
strange lately.”

As a matter of fact…
Blaze
thought ridiculously, thinking of the wereverine tied to the backhoe.  But she
frowned.  “What kind of disappearances?”

“Fishermen, mostly,” the man
said.  “An entire lodge down at Lake Creek has been abandoned, owners and all,
and nobody knows where they went.  They usually hold about fifty to sixty
people at a time, and this is prime trout fishing season.  Not as popular as
salmon season in July, but the place should still be at least half full.” 

His angular partner nodded.  “But
we got no calls, nothing.  The only way we even found out about it was that the
last group of fisherman dropped off by a charter service never made their
pre-arranged pickup on the island.  The pilot went looking, and sure enough,
everyone was just…gone.”

“Seems really odd nobody would
say where they’re going,” the taller trooper added.  “No calls to family, no
signs of struggle, and a good portion of them already missed their flights out
of Anchorage.  Everyone just vanished, Roanoke-style.”

“Weird,” Blaze whispered,
thinking of Amber.

The man nodded.  “It’s looking
like over eighty people so far, with the lodge and the nearby cabins.  It’s more
or less centered downriver around Lake Creek, but we’re advising everyone in
the area to stay in their homes until we figure out what’s going on.”

“Okay,” Blaze said.

“
Have
you seen anything
strange?” the smaller trooper asked, watching her anxiously.  “Right now,
anything would help.”

Blaze hesitated, trying to decide
just how much to tell the officers.  Finally, she said, “You should talk to
Amber.  She was acting…strange…the last time I saw her.”

“Amber Stern?” the smaller
trooper asked, a little sharply.  He gave his partner an ‘I Told You So’ look. 
“She’s one of the only ones
not
affected by the disappearances.”

Blaze shrugged.  “I dunno.  Last
time I was walking the river, she pulled up in a boat with Kimber Womac and
told me to get inside.  Jack, my handyman, came to my rescue, but I’m pretty
sure she had something unpleasant planned for me back at her place.”

The troopers’ gazes sharpened. 
“She use any weapons or any other forms of coercion?”

“Just herself,” Blaze said. 
Then, when the troopers hesitated, obviously calculating how petite little
Amber could have coerced a Yeti to do anything, Blaze shrugged and added, “She
was fast and strong.  I think she knew martial arts or something.”

The shorter of the two pulled out
a pad and started taking notes.  “You said she tried to force you on her boat?”

Blaze nodded.

“Did she have any motivation that
you could see?” the man asked.  “Any reason for wanting you to come with her?”

“I wasn’t sure at the time,”
Blaze said.  “I think she might’ve been on drugs.  You go anywhere near her
place and there’s syringes and alcohol bottles everywhere.”

“All right,” the man said, giving
his partner a pointed look, “How long ago was this?”

“Around June 22
^nd
,”
Blaze said, trying to remember.  “It was almost two months after Bruce dropped
me off on Lake Ebony in early May.”

They seemed disappointed with
that news.  “These disappearances were all within the last couple weeks.”

“Oh,” Blaze said. 

“Other neighbors have mentioned
seeing wolves at night,” the barrel-chested trooper suggested.  “We got a
couple folks complaining of wolves before they disappeared.  You seen anything
like that?”

“You think
wolves
are
getting people?” Blaze demanded.

“We aren’t ruling anything out
right now,” the skinny Trooper said.  “You seen any predators around here?”  He
glanced at her barn and its fences of livestock with obvious interest.

“I saw a wolverine,” Blaze said. 
“Crawled in my basement.  Ripped stuff up.”

The shorter man gave his partner
a meaningful look.  “Wolverines are pretty rare around these parts,” he said,
obviously to make her feel helpful.  “Nasty little critters.” 

“You got that part right,” Blaze
said, narrowing her eyes.

“But probably not overly
dangerous to humans,” the skinny Trooper added slowly.

“Oh, I don’t know about
that
,”
Blaze said, showing them the claw-marks on her arm.  “Ornery shit sliced me up
good before I put a shotgun blast between his eyes.”

“That looks rather nasty, ma’am,”
the barrel-chested man agreed, looking uncomfortable.  Too late, Blaze realized
that Troopers were probably technically supposed to turn her over to Fish and
Game for violating the season on wolverines.  She tried not to let her relief
show when the skinnier man cleared his throat and added, “But we’re really out
here checking out stories about wolves.”

“No wolves,” Blaze said.

There was an awkward silence, and
she definitely got the feeling that it was probably the troopers’ jobs to ask
her what happened to the wolverine, considering they were out of season.

The taller trooper cleared his
throat.  “I see you’re packing some nice handguns,” he said, looking at her
Desert Eagles.  “Bears?”

“Wolves,” Blaze said.  “Heard stories
they were bad around here.”

The tall trooper grimaced. 
“We’re really hoping that’s not what’s going on.  Last time a wolf pack did
anything like this…”  He shook his head.  “Was in the Middle Ages.” 

“Kinda makes you wonder about
those old stories of werewolves, huh?” Blaze ventured.

The two troopers chuckled and gave
each other nervous looks.  The taller one glanced at the dirt and scuffed the
ground, while the other one cleared his throat uncomfortably.  “Well, miss
MacKenzie, we’ve got to get moving,” the barrel-chested man said finally.  “Got
six more places to interview before tonight, but just keep your eye out, okay?”

“And lock your doors,” the taller
trooper said.  “Are you here alone?”

“Pretty much,” Blaze said.

“Definitely lock your doors,” the
angular trooper repeated firmly, giving the Sleeping Lady another nervous
look.  “These wolves…if that
is
what’s causing it, and I’m not saying it
is for sure…are nasty.  They’re getting into places they shouldn’t have access
to.”

“Okay,” Blaze said, shaking their
hands again.  “Stay safe.  And let me know if you find those guys.”

“Will do,” the taller, angular
man told her.  He fished into his pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to
her.  “And if you hear of anything, give us a—”

“
Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaze
!” 
The wereverine’s scream shattered the man’s sentence like a sledgehammer. 
Blaze froze.  The last thing she wanted to try and do was explain why she was
keeping a paralyzed man tied to a bulldozer in the middle of the forest.

The troopers turned toward the
sound, the anxiety in the air increasing exponentially.  “That someone you
know?” the stockier of the two asked.  Jack yelled again, louder, drawing out
her name in a long, indignant scream.

“The handyman,” Blaze growled,
her hand clenching on the bucket handle.  “Hired him to take care of the
place.  He’s taken to ordering me around like a serving-wench ever since. 
Something I
really
wish I’d known before I headed out to the Bush—the
men out here all seem to be chauvinist pricks.”

The stocky trooper snickered
behind his hand, but the taller one was frowning at the woods.  “He always
sound like that?  Almost sounds hurt.”

Jack called again, droning out
her name so that it rang in the treetops, the final note dwindling on the wind.

Shut the hell up,
Blaze
thought at Jack.  “All the damn time,” she muttered.  “He’s out working on the
sawmill, waiting for lunch.  Too lazy to come back to the lodge to get it, so
he whines.”  She turned toward the trees.  Raising her voice, she shouted, “All
right
already!  Give me half an hour!”  She turned to the troopers. 
“I’ve gotta make sandwiches.  You two interested in staying for lunch?” 

“No thank you, Ma’am,” the taller
one said quickly.  “Like we said, we’ve got six more cabins to visit today.”

“Okay,” Blaze said, even as Jack
yelled her name again.  She grimaced.  “Well, if you have any mechanic buddies
who would be willing to live out here in the Bush for about twenty grand a year,
let them know where to find me.”

“Will do, Ma’am.”  The two
troopers glanced again at the source of the screams, then, shaking their heads,
went back down the trail out to the lake.

Blaze waited until they were well
out of sight, dropped the bucket of mangoes, and went to get the 4-wheeler.