Raven Stole the Moon (7 page)

W
HEN
F
ERGUSON WOKE UP, IT WAS STILL DARK OUT AND THE
fire had died down to glowing embers. Livingstone was nowhere to be seen. Fergie thought it was odd that David had left without telling him. Maybe he had gone out for some air.

Outside, it was pouring. Fergie stood in the doorway listening to the rain clap against the leaves in the trees. He tried to see through the darkness to the water, to check if David’s boat was still there, but it was too dark. So he cursed, put on his windbreaker, grabbed the flashlight, and went down to see if Livingstone had quit.

The boat was still tied to the dock, so Livingstone hadn’t left for good. He was probably wandering around in the woods looking for spirits or something. Fergie started back up the hill feeling uneasy, as if somebody or something was watching him. It was dark in the rain, and the batteries in his flashlight were weak, so he didn’t have much light. Fergie had grown up in the wilderness where there was no room for fear of the dark. But still, now, he was a little afraid. David was gone. That left Ferguson all alone, miles from the nearest town. No food, no telephone. He thought about firing up one of the gasoline generators so he could have some light, but then he remembered how vehement David had been against electricity. Only fire. So Ferguson hurried back to the community house and slid the bolt on the door behind him. He piled more logs on the fire and decided not to sleep the rest of the night.

I
N THE MORNING,
the crews came ready to work, and the first place they went was the community house. Normally, the community house was where the workers assembled, took their breaks, and got out of the rain. But Ferguson was waiting for them. He told them they weren’t allowed in today because a specialist was making some very important modifications. The workers were not thrilled, but there was little they could do. Ferguson was the general contractor, after all, so they waited in the rain for the foremen to arrive and give out other assignments.

For the rest of the day Ferguson dutifully tended the fire and awaited David’s return. He would give David twenty-four hours, he thought. If he didn’t show up by the next morning, Ferguson would have to contact the authorities and start a search party. As he lit another cigarette, he congratulated himself on always keeping a carton of Kents in his plane. At least there would be plenty of tobacco for another night with cold feet. He had begged a tuna fish sandwich off one of the workers, which staved off his hunger temporarily, but he didn’t know how long he could last without a substantial meal.

Even though Ferguson had little contact with the workers, he was comforted by their presence. He didn’t really want to spend another night alone by the fire, and so he was very sorry to hear the air horn that signaled the end of the workday.

It was evening, and Ferguson silently sat before the fire and the rains continued outside. As night came, the sky seemed to get not darker but richer, and Ferguson thought he was beginning to hallucinate from lack of food. By midnight, he felt as though shadows outside the windows were moving. Shapes seemed to hover in the woods. And, at one point, he was sure he saw a pair of eyes looking in at him. He felt as if he were being stalked by someone, and he tried to chase away his fear by doing what he had seen David do, circle the fire pit mumbling half-words and non-sentences to himself, keeping the fire raging, feeling that somehow it would protect him from whoever was out there. There was nobody there, he told himself, nobody but the little people in his mind. But still. A scratch against the window, probably a branch blown by the wind, and then some hurried steps, probably an animal, maybe a coyote because it sounded too big to be a squirrel. Why did he notice all these sounds now? He knew they were the sounds of the woods and they existed whether or not he was there to hear them, and he could only figure that his state of exhaustion and hunger made him more aware, and that his lack of human contact and being bottled up in the stupid building watching a fire was finally getting to him. The buildup of nicotine in his system probably wasn’t helping, either. But still, no matter how much he rationalized, when he heard the thump like a big animal falling against the building, his heart jumped into his throat and he was afraid.

He knew he had to investigate. That would be the only thing that would calm him down. Go out into the cold darkness and find out what was there. You must face your fears. You must confront them head-on and find out what is real and what is imagined. That’s the only way you can proceed through life. So he grabbed the flashlight and opened the door to the night.

He couldn’t hear anything except for the beating of the rain and the wind, and he circled the building seeing nothing, no movement, no animals, no moving shadows, nothing. He was satisfied that it was the weakness in his mind caused by fatigue that made him hear things. But he wanted to circle the building again. Just to be sure. So he started around the back of the building, sinking into the mud to his ankles, and this time he saw movement. It was an animal lying on the ground by the building. From where he stood, he couldn’t really make out what it was, but it seemed pretty big, a furry back and long legs. The flashlight was weak and the yellow light it cast on the animal didn’t tell Ferguson anything. The animal moved and Ferguson could see its short, oily coat glisten in the rain. It growled, so it was definitely alive, but it seemed hurt. Ferguson picked up a stick that was at his feet. It wasn’t quite long enough for his taste, but he held it out and jabbed the animal with it. The animal barked and snapped at the stick and Ferguson stepped back in horror. Even in the darkness and the rain Ferguson could tell that this wasn’t an animal he had found. No, it wasn’t an animal at all. It was David Livingstone.

Ferguson took a step back and looked down at the animal in disbelief. It was like nothing he had seen before. Not human and not animal, it lay on its side breathing heavily. Ferguson crouched down to get a better look. Was it David? He thought he had seen David’s face, but now he didn’t know. It was hurt, whatever it was. It had no strength. Ferguson reached out his hand, hoping to roll it over so he could see it better. He touched the soft fur. Roll it over on its back. The animal suddenly snapped around, swiping at Ferguson’s arm and baring its sharp teeth. Ferguson fell backward with a yell. He heard a screeching sound from the animal as it turned on him, and he swung his flashlight, hitting the animal hard on the side of the head. The animal recoiled and Ferguson hit it again and then a third time, until it finally fell to the ground, unconscious.

The animal didn’t move when Ferguson nudged it with his foot. He rolled it over on its back and aimed his flashlight at its face. He could see clearly now that it was David’s face, strangely flattened but recognizable. It had peculiar, thin arms growing out of the front of its chest. There was a short coat of hair all over its body. Ferguson didn’t understand what was going on or what this thing was at his feet, but he decided to drag it into the community house in case it actually was David. Before the creature woke up, Ferguson bound the animal’s hands and feet with rope. He lashed the creature to a chair and set the chair in front of the fire. Then Ferguson sat and waited.

The creature woke up screaming. A horrifying scream of pain and anguish. Ferguson was panicked. The creature looked like David, so he wanted to help it, but at the same time he was afraid of it. Fergie stood nervously in front of the creature, not knowing if he should untie it or knock it out again. Then the creature got quiet and leveled its eyes on Ferguson, sending a chill up his spine.

“Untie me, John,” the creature said, calmly.

Ferguson froze, looking into the large, black eyes of the creature.

“Untie me, John,” the creature repeated, and Ferguson wanted to untie it. He felt a need to untie it. Against all his better judgment, he felt compelled to do what the creature asked. And as he took a step toward the creature, the creature smiled and said, “Good boy,” and John’s heart stopped beating. It wasn’t David’s voice anymore. It was the voice of Ferguson’s father.

Ferguson squinted through the darkness and there it was. The long face with the crooked nose and the whiskers. A slit for a mouth with no lips. His father’s sunken eyes, black as coal. And the voice, with an edge of contempt in it always. “Good boy,” he said, like his father used to say when he did something any moron could do. “Good boy.” Ferguson tried with all his might to resist untying the creature, but he couldn’t. He was drawn toward the thin, hairy body with his father’s face and voice.

Ferguson took out his pocketknife and began to cut the rope that held the creature. It was thick hemp and difficult to cut. Ferguson’s knife slipped and he sliced into his thumb. Blood sprang out of the wound. Ferguson put it to his mouth and sucked. The blood tasted hot. So hot. And suddenly things became clear to Ferguson. Suddenly he was free of the feeling that he wasn’t in control of his own actions. Like shrugging off a heavy coat, Ferguson could move as he wanted. He stood up and the creature looked at him with anger. “Untie me, you idiot. Are you too stupid to do what I say?” Ferguson stood over the creature, and all the rage he felt about his father, who had passed away years ago, whose funeral he did not attend under protest, all the rage and anger of how this ugly man had ruined his life and the life of his mother came rushing to the surface, and as he raised his flashlight over his head, he knew that whatever this thing was, tied to the chair, it was using him and using his father’s dead soul to manipulate him, and his anger pushed bile into his throat and he said, “I’m sorry, David,” before he brought the metal flashlight down on the creature’s head, knocking it so far into unconsciousness it would not wake up until morning, until after the sun had climbed into the sky. And when it did awake, it was not a creature. It was David Livingstone, a man, a shaman who had done battle with a force much more powerful than he, and had lost; but in exchange for a price he had not agreed upon, he had been spared from becoming one of the undead, from being forever transformed into a kushtaka.

F
ERGUSON DIDN’T ASK.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t want to know. As far as he was concerned, the events of the previous night simply hadn’t happened. It was all a dream. A hallucination. It had to be. People don’t change shapes; they don’t become animals. It doesn’t happen.

Neither man spoke as they walked down to the dock. David seemed satisfied to let the matter drop. He was in a daze and looked almost fragile to Ferguson. Broken. There were two large welts on his temple, and when he walked, he seemed to be in pain. David climbed into his boat and started the outboard.

“You’ll send me a report and an invoice?” Ferguson asked.

David looked up and nodded slightly as he guided the boat out into the bay.

Ferguson untied his plane and got in. He cranked the engine, and as the propeller started to spin, he took his experience from the previous two days and hid it in his mind. He imagined that in time he would, on occasion, wonder about it. Whatever happened to David Livingstone? He was a good guy. Whatever happened to him? But he would never know.

The water was like a lake, smooth and shapeless. Ferguson laid on the throttle and picked up speed, lifting into the air. He looked down from the plane and saw David’s boat turn north. When Fergie finally returned his gaze to that which was ahead of him, he had already pushed the entire event from his mind. He was only thinking about getting a shower and a beer and a bowl of chili. Three things he had experienced before and could easily understand.

I
T WAS THE END OF THE SECOND DAY AND
J
ENNA STOOD OUT
on the deck of the
Columbia
admiring the stars. The wind had picked up and it was getting a little cold, but rather than retreat, Jenna zipped up her jacket and hugged herself tightly. She had found a small place on the boat that was dark and quiet, really the only place she could be alone for a moment, and she didn’t want to give it up yet. Soon it would be time for sleep down in the dormitory-like yellow cave. Soon, her quiet time would be over.

The ferry was the perfect world for Jenna, really. On her own, but with the knowledge that there were hundreds of people nearby in case she needed them. She looked up at the stars and breathed the cold air and knew that she had made the right decision to get away from it all. Even so, a part of her wished she had someone to be with now. Someone who loved her and whom she loved. They could huddle together against the cold and keep each other warm. Drink hot chocolate, blow on their hands, and kiss a little bit. He would open up his jacket and she would slip inside and he would close it around her.

As Robert did once, two summers ago. He opened his jacket and Jenna slipped inside. They kissed and looked at stars. They drank wine instead of hot chocolate. If Steve Miller hadn’t interrupted them. If he had looked at them and said, I don’t want to disturb them, then Bobby would be alive. No, that’s not true. That’s not what you’re supposed to think. Bobby was called, and there is nothing you could have done differently that would have changed it.

It had all started at a party on a boat that sailed up and down the Seattle waterfront. Jenna and Robert stood out on the deck in their own world, kissing and gazing out at the lights of the buildings. It was early June and it was warm. Other people on the boat whispered about what a wonderful couple Jenna and Robert were.

Those were the days when Robert was a hotshot kid, a maverick. While the other brokers his age were inside, kissing the asses of the big boys, Robert chose to be out on the deck, kissing Jenna. And he was respected for it.

Robert used to tell Jenna he loved her. He used to kiss her at the dinner table in front of company. He used to come home at lunch for a little afternoon delight. And this wasn’t way back when, either. This was two short years ago. Bobby was five and they had been married eight years. They were, for the most part, an old married couple. While friends were breaking up, Robert and Jenna were on a different plane, immune from whatever those problems are that force young couples apart. And there had even been talk about another child. Hopefully a girl.

Steve Miller called out to Robert and Jenna. Jenna never really liked Steve. He was in his mid-thirties and divorced. He took pride in having had the foresight to have a prenuptial agreement so his ex-wife couldn’t get at his money. His favorite hobby was driving Porsches around in circles at high speeds, and he was rumored to have had both pectoral and calf implants. Robert liked him, but he was annoyed when Steve called him Chief. Robert said that it gave him the chills, as if they were construction workers bonding or something.

“Hey, there, Chieftain.”

“Hello, Steve.”

“Jenna, how are you, honey?”

Steve kissed her on the cheek.

“Hi, Steve.”

“You look ravishing tonight, Jenna. I wish I had a girl like you I could make out with on the boat.”

Steve threw his arm around Robert.

“Bob, I need to talk to you for a minute, if I can. It’s about business
and
pleasure.”

Steve swung around so he was between Jenna and Robert.

“I’m involved with a certain investor’s group that is quite successful. We’ve backed some very prominent projects that have paid off for us in spades. Everyone in Seattle would like to be a part of our little fraternity, but as the saying goes, many call but few are chosen. However, Bob, yours truly has brought you to the attention of the group, and I have been given the go-ahead to invite you to join us in our next venture.”

Steve stopped and looked closely at Robert’s mouth.

“Looks like you got some lipstick on your mouth, Chief.”

Jenna licked her thumb and wiped Robert’s lower lip clean.

“There’s an abandoned town in Alaska. It’s on an island in the southeast called Prince of Wales Island.”

“Jenna’s family is from Alaska. A town called Wrangell.”

“Really? That’s practically next door.”

“Yeah, she’s a quarter Tlingit Indian.”

Steve held his hand up in a mock Indian greeting.

“How. Anyway, it’s an old fishing town that was abandoned years ago, and we’re converting it into a high-class resort. Our group is teaming up with some Japanese investors and we’re putting together a limited partnership to finance it. We’re calling it Thunder Bay. The units are going for a hundred grand a pop.”

Robert raised his eyebrows.

“Now, Bobby, before you tell me you don’t have a hundred grand to pop, let me tell you two things. One, we’ll be happy to set you up with other investors who are interested in smaller shares. Fifty grand, twenty-five, whatever. Two, the point of this whole pitch I’m giving you is that by saying you’re interested, you get a free vacation. Let me explain. Knowing how much money we’re talking about, our group has decided to do a real promotion. We’re opening the resort for a week in July, and we’re inviting prospective investors to stay with us for free. This will give people a real taste of how terrific this place can be. An all-expenses-paid vacation for you and your family. Come on. Jenna and Bobby will love it.”

Robert looked at Jenna with a gleam in his eye. Jenna picked up on his excitement.

“Sounds like a lot of fun, Steve.”

“Oh, man, you said it. This resort is going to be the new direction in travel and recreation. Look, people want to be out in the wilderness, right? The Great Outdoors. But in the end, what they really want is good food. They want to have fun and rough it and all that, but when they get back to their rooms at night, they want a hot shower and a good bottle of wine. Am I right? At our place we have gourmet cooks. But
you
supply the food. It’s a fishing and hunting village. The guests hunt and fish, and then they get to eat what they caught that night. Prepared by master chefs. We have professional guides that take people out. They do all the skinning and cleaning. A robust Châteauneuf-du-pape with fresh venison. A white Hermitage with fresh trout. Tell me it doesn’t sound great.”

Robert was salivating at this pitch, but he held back.

“What if we decide not to invest? I don’t think we can gamble that kind of cash right now. Even twenty-five grand is a lot for us to put on the line.”

“Look, Chief, consider this a perk. This investor group is very active. They want to bring you into the fold. Just say you’re interested. If you don’t invest in this one, you’ll invest down the road. The truth is,
they’re
investing in
you.
Hey, you got on the invitation list. Consider it an honor.”

Jenna knew that Robert was hooked. And, actually, the place didn’t sound bad to her. Prince of Wales Island. Thunder Bay. She’d have to check it on a map. Robert was caught up in Steve Miller’s pitch and the idea of hunting for your own meals. That part of it kind of sounded like having to peel your own shrimp in a restaurant, but whatever. Robert’s mind was in Thunder Bay right now, and he wouldn’t come back until Jenna could get him home.

Jenna turned back to the skyline. The city was certainly beautiful. It was nice being out on the water. Romantic. But who cares about romance when you have guns and fishing rods, hunting and killing, gourmet meals and fine wines, and all of it free?