Read Beneath a Winter Moon Online
Authors: Shawson M Hebert
Beneath a Winter Moon (52 page)
Deluth shook his head. “They will be taking our van. It appears that theirs was not cut out for this type of weather.”
“How is that possible?” Huth asked incredulously. “How could they have a vehicle this far north and it not be ready for this weather?”
“Leave it to the suits,” Sorret said.
Snow raised an eyebrow at that comment. He had regarded these men as
suits
when he first saw them. He could not have been more wrong.
The vehicle stopped and four men dressed in black khakis hopped from inside. One of the men came out to meet Deluth. They shook hands. “Sorry to have to repossess your van, Captain,” the man said. He was tall, like Kaley, and well into his fifties, but looked as trim and fit as any thirty year old.
Deluth nodded. “You sure that you want to transport him by road in this weather? No way that you can belay those orders and hang out here until we get weather to fly?
The man shook his head. “No can do. The brass is afraid that this weather is going to be here for another twenty-four hours, and they want to see their new subject.”
Snow frowned at that remark. He had heard Deluth refer to Alan as a subject earlier that day, and the idea made him cringe. Alan was, as Deluth explained, considered less than human, and although these men had learned to accept that, Snow had not. He wanted to speak out in defense of Alan, but feared it would only cause trouble while doing nothing in his favor. Alan was barely an adult insofar as Snow was concerned, and from what he had learned of the young man, he was respected and appreciated as a good and honest person. He had not asked for this. In fact, he was in this situation because he had gone out of his way to look out for a friend.
Deluth looked back at Huth and Sorret. “Anything of ours left in the van?”
They shook their heads and Sorret tossed Deluth the keys. Deluth handed them over, then looked back over his shoulder. “Load Tucker back into the van so that these men can get moving.” He nodded to Kaley. “It’s time for Alan’s second shot.”
Snow caught the puzzled look on
Kaley’s
face and thought he was about to object, but the tall man just nodded and went into Alan’s cell.
Deluth turned back to the man in front of him, as yet to be given rank or called by name. “This second dose should keep him out for another six hours. Will that be long enough for you to get him to his destination?”
“Can’t say,” the man answered. Of course, he could say, but he
wouldn’t.
“But we are prepared to take every and any measure to ensure that he will not awaken. The brass wants him conscious by the time we get there, but I am not stupid enough to let him anywhere near awake while we are on the road.”
“Glad to hear it,” Deluth said.
As the two men continued their conversation, gear was loaded into the van. A few minutes later there was a final handshake between the two men, and then they loaded up and were gone.
“And that is that,” Deluth said.
Kaley came to stand by Deluth. “We’ve got three more pairs of chains and locks, and we’ve got three packs of tranquilizers. What we need now is to grab another vehicle.”
“You read my mind,” Deluth said. “I’m going to radio what’s left of the RCMP and have another van or maybe a jeep brought to us. That’s going to take a while.” He paused, and then cursed the weather. “We need to get up onto that mountain before the sun sets.”
“If Jenny and those men have any chance of surviving, we do.”
They all turned to look at Snow. Huth smiled. “Well, now. The lieutenant is waking up.”
“Jenny is a friend,” Snow said, frowning. “If she is in that cabin with this Jeremiah character and it gets dark…”
Deluth looked at his men and back at Snow. “Lieutenant? You are now in charge of the liftoff decision. We fly when you say we can fly.”
“But I…”
“But nothing, lieutenant. Your friend is up there, you are the pilot, so I’m making it your call.”
Snow nodded. “If you are really going to make it my call, then let me call a friend at the airport tower. The guy knows these weather fronts better than any satellite guru on the planet.”
Deluth rubbed his chin. “I have your word that you will bullshit your way through, and your friend won’t get suspicious?”
Snow nodded. “He won’t.” Snow almost laughed at the thought.
What, he’s going to be able to tell that I am out werewolf hunting?
The news wasn’t good. By the time Snow got off the phone, he was sorry he had called. Deluth saw the woeful expression. “Well? Your face is saying we aren’t flying.”
“We aren’t. The weather is so bad that no one is getting through. My friend says that nothing is going to be able to fly until early morning at best.”
“This is the most fucked up situation I have ever been in,” Deluth shouted. “I’ve never been so damned helpless. We need to get on that mountain and it’s the only damned one around here that can’t be reached by land. I just can’t believe it.”
“Believe it. I’ve seen four full days where no one could fly anywhere near that lake or the mountain on the other side. The storm is so big that we can’t even come in from the backside.”
“Can’t use a damned boat, either. It’s a fucking nightmare.”
Snow shook his head. “Even if you could, it would take over a day to get to that cabin once you are on the other side.”
“Every year we think we are more prepared,” Deluth said, angrily. “But who can do anything about the damned weather?”
“It will be dark in a few hours,” Kaley said.
“Don’t remind me,” Deluth shot back. He looked at Snow. “Just be sure that we are constantly prepared for liftoff.”
Snow and Kaley both nodded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Think our daypacks will fit through that tunnel?” Delmar asked.
Thomas thought about that. “If nothing else, we can drag them behind us as we crawl.” He paused. “You know, the floor of the tunnel is slick and wet. It looks like the tunnel might have been created by water, and judging by what I saw, we might just run into some more.”
They gathered everything and prepared to move into the tunnel. Delmar wanted to jettison some of the gear, including the bulky climbing ropes. Thomas vetoed the suggestion. He hoped they wouldn’t need them, but feared the worst. As a rule, the friends had always carried a thin, fifty-foot line and half a dozen
petons
and three snap or ‘D’ rings like the one that Thomas used to tether Jack’s leash to his belt. Thomas could ball up all fifty feet of the climbing rope into a batch just larger than two fists—and they had found that the rope came in handy for many situations, not just for climbing.
Though neither of them had ever gone spelunking, they had heard enough about the sport to know that tunnels most often opened up into caverns, and quite often, the only way down into those caverns was to climb down or to swim. Thomas prayed that they would not have to swim
under
water to connect to new tunnels. He would not do it. He would urge Delmar to move on, but he would not travel where Jack could not. Also, if they met any drops deeper than fifty feet, there would be trouble. They would need a small portion of the rope to create a harness—and the remaining ropes would be around fifty feet in length when tied together. Then there was Jack—Thomas would have to figure out a way to lower Jack.
Poor Jack
, Thomas thought. Thomas had wanted to bring the dog to give him more of an experience in the wild…away from the house, his dog-door, the back yard and the neighborhood park. Thomas now wished he had kenneled the Husky, or perhaps left him to stay with his sister. He tried to ignore the ball of guilt that had formed in his gut.
It’s too late for that.
Stay positive
, he thought.
Thomas held Delmar’s pack in an outstretched hand. He shook his head in disgust at a new shout from Alastair. The man’s taunts made less and less sense and his accent had changed from English with a touch of Scot, to full-on Scottish brogue.
“He’s a section-eight,” Delmar said as he grabbed the daypack and wiped sweat from his brow. “He’s completely lost it.”
“Maybe it’s the animal talking. It’s almost dark out there and you remember how he acted in his cabin that night.” He looked down at Delmar’s wounded leg. “How’s the leg? Better, worse, same?” Thomas had asked the question out of curiosity more than concern. Delmar’s bite wound and his cracked ribs had healed quickly—
nevermind
the man’s cancer symptoms disappearing altogether—and Thomas wondered if the wounded leg had healed as well. He could just make out the frown that crossed Delmar’s face. The darkness was almost complete now that the sun was hanging low on the horizon.
“I didn’t want to tell you, Hero. It feels as good as new.” He was breathing heavily from the work on the tunnel opening. “I’m sure that I don’t need the bandage anymore—it’s almost like it never happened. Want to see?”
“No.” Thomas shook his head. “I guess there might be an upside to…” he paused for a moment, not knowing what to call it. “…to being infected.”
“Maybe so—but it’s a hell of a tradeoff, wouldn’t you agree, Hero? Anyway, let’s hope I don’t get the urge to crawl on all fours or lick my balls.”
Thomas couldn’t help but laugh.
Delmar changed the subject. “Are you hungry? Because I am fucking starving. A steak would be awesome right now.”
“Power bars are in the top flap.”
“I’ve eaten four,” he replied with some shame.”
Thomas shook his head. “Leave a few for Jack, would you? I planned on giving him
your
share.”
“I always knew you’d pick him over me.”
“Every time, Hero.”
“Well, I guess we shouldn’t waste anymore time. After all, this might be one very short ride.”
Thomas nodded. “Your optimism is freaking me out, you know. Could you ease up.”
Delmar chuckled at the sarcasm. “Don’t make me lecture you again on how the world is great strictly because of us pessimists.” He paused. “You go first, Thomas. That way, if Alastair comes at us at least the one who has already been bitten is in his path. Better me than you and Jack.”
Thomas thought about that. He had wanted to go in after Delmar, if for no other reason than to have an easier time getting the 10-guage in the beast’s face, but the possibility that Delmar might lose control of himself again and end up blocking the path forward had reigned. He agreed, adding that Jack would go first and that they would follow.
* * * * *
“Well, that’s it,” Deluth said, grimly. “In a few minutes the sun will be all the way down, and our Mister Jeremiah Johnson…” He chuckled at the name. He couldn’t help it. “…will be able to transform at will.”
“And our job gets a hell of a lot nastier,” Kaley said.
Snow was in the rear of the helicopter’s cabin, laying on one of the benches, telling himself he was resting, though what he actually had been doing was creating one scenario after another, in which he would be killed and devoured by a werewolf—or worse—he would be bitten and become one of the damned things. Hearing the words, he thought of poor Jenny. It was horrible enough that Steven was dead.
At least Steven died in the crash
, he thought. Now, Jenny would be at the complete mercy of a werewolf. He closed his eyes again, trying not to think about it. While he feared for Jenny and the men with her, he could not help but wish that the storm would prevent them from flying during the night. He could not imagine landing out there and then sitting, waiting for a call to liftoff again. Sitting there in the dark of the helicopter’s cabin, with only a simple weapon. Then a thought struck him. There had been no mention of silver bullets or even silver at all.
Snow sat up. “Hey,” he said as he swung his legs around and hopped down from the helicopter. “What about silver. I didn’t ask, I know…but you guys didn’t mention silver.”
The entire team laughed. Deluth sat in the old cast-iron chair, while Kaley, Sorret, and Huth sat on the floor against a western wall, playing cards. Kaley started to speak, but Deluth raised a hand. “Silver doesn’t work quite the way it does in the movies,” he said. “It does debilitate them when used right—shoot one in the heart or the head with a silver bullet, and he will go down and stay down for a while. But their bodies have the ability to push things out.” He paused, trying to think of a better way of describing it. He nodded to himself. “Picture a knife stuck in your liver. No matter what you do, you are a dead man. Remove it, and the bacteria from the liver kills you quicker and causes pain that would render you useless. Leave the knife there and you have some time left to tell everyone what to do with your stuff.” He rocked the old iron chair, its rusty legs making a gritty sound against the stained concrete floor. “With a werewolf, if you stab him in the liver with a silver knife, and it remains in place, he will die just like you would if it were a normal knife. The difference is, his body will push that knife out, all on it’s own. He’ll go down, stop breathing, change back into a man just as you saw in the movies—but that knife will slowly be pushed out by his own body. Inch by inch, until it falls to the floor. When that happens, the man will begin breathing again and wake right up.” He stopped rocking and leaned forward. “Now, you plunge a silver knife into the heart, and the body can’t get rid of it for some reason. It stays put. That is, right up until some fool removes it, or, during decomposition, the flesh and muscle rot away, and the knife falls out on its own. Then the man will regenerate.”
Snow opened his mouth to ask a question, but as it often was with him, he felt it was unnecessary. He couldn’t find the words for what he was thinking and feeling, so he closed his mouth and waited for Deluth to continue.
“Shoot him with silver bullets—put a few, well-placed rounds in his chest and you have bought yourself enough time to finish the job. He will lay there, pretty as you please, so that you can walk up and remove his skull.” Deluth shook a finger in the air. “Just like Kaley told you earlier. That is the way to do it. And even better, burn the body as well, separately.”
“How did you learn all of this?” Snow finally asked.
“Some of it we learned from captured subjects.” A wicked smile crossed his face. “And some of it was learned by testing the bastards ourselves.” He saw Snow’s disapproving look. “Well, if it helps you to not think less of me, I’ve never tested the bastards for anything. I’ve only caught or killed them. I’m not that type of guy, lieutenant. I don’t get my rocks off on that sort of thing, nor do I want to be a part of it for any reason. I’m a soldier, mostly. My team and me—well, we do as we are ordered just like good soldiers always do. And the upper echelons, idiotic as they are,
do
know our limitations. If they were to order me to play with one of these…these cursed demons from hell, I’d probably shoot the men who gave the order.”
“So, do your weapons have silver bullets?”
Deluth nodded. “Even the
minigun
in that helicopter, lieutenant. Every weapon here is loaded with silver.” He motioned to the long knife sheathed on his hip. “That’s silver-bladed, too. The men…” He motioned to his team. “…they all have the same.” He smiled at Snow. “The weapons we hand to you will also be loaded with silver, don’t worry.”
Snow chuckled. “Don’t worry,” he said, mocking Deluth.
Deluth laughed.
As the night lowered its veil of darkness across the land, Joe
Archambault
fought to keep the heavy van on the ice-covered roadway. With about three hours left to travel, nervousness began to settle in. These roads were hellish when they were iced over, never mind in a heavy snowstorm and never mind in the dark. The headlamps tended to accentuate the thick snowfall rather than make the distant roadway any easier to see. He listened to the rumble of the tire chains and inwardly cursed that he had to put them on in the first place. The chains slowed them down.
Joe also silently cursed this assignment. Delivery boy for the strange upper echelon power brokers within the government hierarchy. He understood what the cargo was, and he had delivered them before—but that was long ago. In the years since the last time he was called to take part in this type of an operation, he had been promoted to a nice position that took him completely out of the field and settled him comfortably in a heated office building within the capital. None of that mattered to the brass. His name came up, so he was called up.
Assholes, he thought. Not a damned one of them has any fucking idea how risky this is. Joe knew that the only smart play was to keep Alan on site and locked down until he could be air-lifted out. Their zeal just might get us all killed, he thought. The agent sitting beside him could see the permanent scowl, and he shifted in his seat, but said nothing. Joe caught the look and asked, “What are you looking at, soldier? You need to keep your eyes to the front or you can get into the back with your buddies.”
The man nodded. “Roger that, sir.”
Joe scoffed. He was with a team of young assholes who’d never experienced what could happen when dealing with a subject like Alan. No fucking clue, he thought.
Joe drove, and the snow fell, and a few hours later the odds changed in favor of the subject, Alan Tucker. They had traveled up a long and slow incline with cliffs and embankments high on the passenger side, then finally completed the ascent and began to move down the other side. The van picked up speed, and Joe concentrated on keeping the van in a lower gear while being mindful of the brakes. Just as he reached down to manipulate the rear braking apparatus, which affected only the rear wheels and prevented the van from spinning, he saw the remains of a rockslide up ahead. The boulders completely covered the road and were piled high.
