Disclaimers: See Chapter One
WENDIGO
By Susan Zell
Chapter Five
"Flesh and Bone"
Her head throbbed to beat the band, but that was the least of her worries. Every rock and branch that connected with it told her she was being dragged along the rough ground. Her booted foot was in the grip of the beast that lumbered ahead of her. Her eyes widened at the size of it. It was bipedal, almost like an apeman, but there the similarity ended. It was hunched over, but still tall and loose-limbed. Its hind legs resembled that of a dog though it stood upright. Thick gray fur covered it, short, stiff bristles that barely moved as it walked. Its massive hand had fingers that were long and thin and ended with daggers for claws that didn't retract.
Marguerite couldn't see its head. She didn't want to either. It didn't take much imagination to know that it would be terrifying and horrible. But her leg, held by the vicious creature, was in agony. Even the leather of her boot had not stopped the beast's claws; she could see trails of blood leaking out over her knee.
A dark, dank cave reared up in front of them and Marguerite immediately knew they had arrived at the thing's lair. Panic filled her. She immediately began to struggle, knowing that it would give away the fact that she was conscious. Inside the cave meant death and she knew it. She'd be trapped with no other way to escape.
To her horror, the thing turned. It's broad head swiveled toward her. She couldn't help it, she screamed. Its snout was long and filled with row upon row of sharp savage teeth. The fur around its mouth was rusted with drying blood—Roxton's blood. Huge black eyes stared at her unblinking. They were so large she saw her own terrified reflection with in them.
The beast shook her and roared so loud she thought her eardrums burst. Marguerite raised her arms in a pale imitation of defense. Its breath was raw and fetid and spittle rained down upon her. She knew the end was here.
But then it turned away and entered the cave, dragging her along with it. Her hands scrabbled at the rock walls, trying for a firm handhold, but there was nothing. The outside light, pathetic as it was, receded all too quickly from her view, plunging her into darkness.
She was flung unceremoniously in a corner, her body rolling until it connected with the far wall. Dazed and aching, she lay there, watching the dim shape of the thing stalk about the cave. She could barely see its pale form in the shadows.
Oh God, please don't let it come near me, she begged.
Its guttural grunting and snarling filled the confined space of the cave and as it reverberated off the walls it sounded as it was all around her. She shrank back as far as she could. Fumbling fingers felt her holster on the off chance a miracle had happened and she had put her pistol back somehow. But it was a hollow hope.
Her hand brushed against something and she looked down. Her vision was just starting to adjust to the limited light. What she saw did nothing to help settle her nerves. It was a bone. Flesh still clung to it. She screamed and scrambled away.
It attracted the attention of her captor. Its shape loomed out of the shadows and towered over her, a vision of teeth and savagery. Marguerite screamed again! She kicked out at the thing.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
If only she had her gun….
The beast stared at her, spittle dripped from its jaws and puddled on the ground between her knees. It would only take a single snap from that mouth to cut her in two. Its long tongue flopped out and dragged its way across her wounded foot, tasting the salty blood there.
It smacked its lips hungrily. Marguerite, eyes wide with horror, did the only thing she could do. She struck it across the face. Its head rocked with the blow. Then it roared and she was blasted flat against the wall by its force.
Oh crap! What did I do?
Her hand found the bone beside her and she brandished it as best she could. Her mind realizing too late that it was a meal not a weapon. The creature snatched it out of her hands and squatted down on its haunches in front of her.
Its jaws crunched the bone easily, like it was a carrot. She knew that the minute the thing finished the appetizer, it would come for the main course.
Her.
While she waited for her demise, she noted that there were bloodstains on the beast's gray fur, still wet and glistening in the dim light. Either Roxton or herself had managed to hit the thing with their weapons. Though it didn't seem to have affected it in any way to help the situation. The constitution of the creature must be incredible; either that or its brain was too small to recognize such things.
The last of the bone disappeared into its maw. Marguerite's heart drilled against her chest. She was next. Her only consolation was that soon she'd be with Roxton.
To her amazement, the beast just squatted there, staring at her. Maybe it was trying to decide what part of her would taste best first. It only made her angry. All this waiting. All this fear.
She snapped at it. "For pete's sake, if you're going to eat me, just do it!"
The beast snarled and reached out to grab her leg, but then shoved itself away and stalked to the other side, lifting its voice into a ferocious howl. Marguerite had no choice but to cover her ears, or else be struck deaf.
Was it calling others, its family, to the dinner table?
Horrible thoughts filled Marguerite. She wanted Roxton to come and save her like he always did. The thought of dying alone had always terrified her. For two years a part of her never even considered it, not while Roxton was beside her. He always had been there, warding off disaster after disaster, never far from her side. She had come to expect it, and the long imbedded fear of her younger days had faded.
Until now.
Now that fear surged again. She was alone. She doubted the others would be coming through the portal. They were left behind to face the wrath of the figures in white. Only she had been foolish enough to follow after Roxton into hell.
Finally the beast quieted and sat hunched over on the opposite side of the cave. It stayed that way for over an hour, she estimated. Every time it shifted she expected to die, that it had become hungry again and she was next on the course. But it only swayed back and forth in a manic fashion and then stilled again. Its eyes rarely left her. She shivered under its menacing gaze.
Tears unashamedly filled her eyes, knowing that the only reason she still lived was because the beast had already eaten prior to her capture.
He was gone. Roxton was dead. She couldn't believe it. After all this time she had finally accepted the fact that she loved him, against all reason, against all odds. She had forgotten her past, accepted the fact that she had no control over her heart, and let herself love the one man she knew she shouldn't. And now Fate had played the cruelest joke of all upon her.
She had been happy for only a miniscule moment in time and now she was plunged back into the misery that had become her trademark. There was no hope for her, no future. She would escape her past by hiding in the belly of a horrible beast. She shuddered, wishing that Roxton's arms would hold her tight and ease her fears. But now that would never happen.
She tried to stifle her sobs, not wanting to attract the beast's attention; she knew they were loud and pathetic, carried by the echo in the cave. She almost didn't care; she almost wanted it over with. She had never been good at demonstrating patience.
When the beast lumbered to its feet, she let out a startled cry. She glanced around desperately for some weapon, anything that she could use to defend herself. There was no way she was going down without a fight. Marguerite Krux was going to make this creature rue the day it had chosen her as a meal!
The beast's jaws snapped open and closed a few times and it moaned as it glared at her. Then it turned away and exited the cave. Marguerite almost shouted with relief. She sat there frozen for a second not believing her reprieve. Then she scrambled to her feet and made her way to the cave's entrance, following the glimmer of light like a beacon. This was her chance to escape. Maybe if she made her way back to the clearing where she appeared, she could make it back home to the plateau.
A rumble filled her ears and the shaft of daylight was dimming, as if an eye was closing. She realized what was happening. Letting out a shout, she ran forward into the new deeper darkness. She slammed into a rock. A huge boulder had been rolled in front of the cave's entrance. The beast was determined to keep her inside.
"NO!" she screamed, hands futilely scratching the hard surface. Sobs fell from her lips. "…no…"
***
Challenger knelt beside the body of the young man, carefully examining his torn throat. The professor spoke quietly to himself, going over the evidence before him. Ned hovered around behind him, not sure he really wanted to see what Challenger was muttering about. Veronica did not take her eyes off the strangers. They seemed quiet enough but so did half the things in the jungle before they pounced with blood lust in their eyes.
Finally Ned could stand it no longer. "Anything?"
Challenger stroked his beard, something he did often to help calm his chaotic thoughts while he was ciphering through the multitude of possibilities. The wound on the dead man certainly appeared genuine, and unfortunately, the slashing claws and teeth of a dinosaur did not make the bite marks. But whether they were indeed human bite marks was harder to determine. There was a great deal of blood on the ground.
Almost too much.
Especially if Roxton was, well, hungry.
That alone gave Challenger some hope. He related his thoughts to Ned.
"What does that mean?" the reporter asked in frustration.
"Uncertain." The professor rose to his feet.
"That's just great."
"Deduction isn't something that evolves in minutes, Malone. More clues need to be gathered."
"Meanwhile, Roxton and Marguerite are God knows where and in what kind of horrible danger."
"I'm well aware of that, Malone. What have you found out?" Challenger asked him.
Malone sighed and flipped open his notebook. "The old man calls himself Leair. And their tribe, for lack of a better term, are called the Noir. They've been on the plateau forever." He narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer to the professor, lowering his voice. "Call me crazy, but I think there's more to them. They keep regarding me as if I was just a kid or something. Like I'm too stupid to understand what they're telling me. I don't like it."
Challenger merely grunted and then walked over to Leair.
The old man of the Noir smiled at his approach. "Have you learned anything that would help you understand what we have done?"
"I found no proof to dispute what you've claimed, but nor have I found anything to absolutely corroborate it either."
"That is unfortunate."
Challenger glared hotly at him.
"I mean," Leair explained, "that we cannot undo what has been done without specific evidence. Not that we could regardless."
"Excuse me?" This was startling news and not one that Challenger wanted to hear.
Leair shrugged. "We might be able to save the woman if we could locate her. After all, she wasn't supposed to be sent. There is still a chance she is alive." The old man's face fell slightly. "A very slim chance."
"Just where the hell did you send them?" Ned demanded angrily.
"To the Realm of Shadows. It is not a good place. Only the most dangerous and unpleasant of monsters and criminals are sent there. A woman of your ilk would not last long."
"And Roxton? What about Roxton?" Challenger asked, stepping up boldly to Leair.
"His punishment was severe. Even if by some miracle you are able to sway us in our original determination, which I sincerely doubt, he is most likely already lost. And your female friend is alone in a prison most vile."
***
Alone in the darkness, Marguerite tried to plan. There was little strewn about the cave, mostly old bones and dead leaves. Nothing she could use as a weapon. Using a branch about her height, she tried to force the rock away, but the branch eventually shattered under the strain.
Her fear of being abandoned welled up again after all these years, a feeling she had long tried to repress for it weakened her. It was something she carried with her always and had struggled long to overcome. It had molded her into who she was today, a bitter and guarded individual that trusted no one, not even a good soul like John Roxton. She sat there among the pieces of her broken branch and cried and cursed. More the latter than the former and it helped get her back on her feet and thinking once more.
She was running out of time. The cave was deep but there was no other exit from it. Freedom lay only beyond the boulder in the front. She wished that she had some other means to move it. Dynamite, Roxton's muscle, anything.
At the thought of the hunter, her resolve plummeted. She couldn't go a few minutes without the man popping into her thoughts; he had become that much a part of her life. She still couldn't accept the fact that he was gone. The plateau had tried to kill him many times, so many she couldn't count them all. But each time he managed to survive, sometimes beyond her comprehension. It was his pig-headedness, his tenacity, his sheer luck. But this time, all those had failed him. She had failed him.
It was she who had taken the initiative and followed after him in hopes of rescuing him. She had committed a selfless act. Surely that should have counted for something. But it hadn't. Could life really be that cruel as to deny her a chance of redemption by saving someone she loved?
She knew the answer to that. After all this time on the plateau, she had almost forgotten how cruel the real world was. It had slapped her down more times than she could count, brutally, horribly, without mercy. And now it had fooled her, made her drop her guard and then without an ounce of mercy, it had struck its cruelest blow.
It had taken John Roxton from her.
Tears came in a rush and no amount of anger was going to stop them this time. She curled in a corner of the cave, letting her grief wash over her finally. A part of her died then, a part that had just been coming alive once more. It was piece of her that she had long abandoned as beyond hope. The agony of its second death was more than she could bear.
***
Challenger paced angrily. Roxton and Marguerite were counting on him and he was no closer to a solution to this mess than he was a few hours ago. Time was no doubt running out. According to Leair, it had already run out for Roxton.
It was that thought that made Challenger's ire flare. He was the oldest and the wisest, and when brawn was not an issue then it fell to him to see the group through the situation safely. Only he was failing. Miserably.
"Leair!" he shouted.
The old man in white appeared, sighing ever so slightly as if steeling himself for another round of debate with a small child over why the sky was blue. The rest of the Noir had disappeared with no rhyme or reason. Only the old man remained to answer their questions.
"Leair, you said that Roxton's crime was of conscious cannibalism, but that's not the case here. I will confess that Roxton was infected over a year ago with an illness by a vampiric being…"
"Named Calista. Yes, we know."
That took Challenger by surprise. "You know?"
"She was well known to us and very elusive. She kept her location well hidden."
"She lived in a bloody castle in the middle of a jungle. Do you mean to tell me you couldn't find it?"
"Have you ever found it again?" Leair inquired.
Challenger frowned. He had to admit that after the whole affair they had indeed tried to find the castle again only to come up empty. There had been some discussion of using the castle as a base; it was far better fortified and could have been a magnificent slice of civilization in the midst of the jungle. But they had never been able to find it again. Challenger chalked it up to poor charts and navigation. Those had been trying times and their minds had been concentrating elsewhere.
Leair smiled. "Calista kept the castle in another realm and after you departed its location, it returned there. It's still there most likely, empty and cold, and deservedly so."
"How do you know all this?" Malone challenged. "You make it sound as if you were there."
"In a way."
Challenger stepped forward. "If that is the case, then you know that she passed on that illness to Roxton. This disease affects the brain. This is the illness of which we believe Roxton suffers. He is not himself and therefore not responsible for his actions in the death of your compatriot."
"On the contrary," Leair said. "He is still at fault, though not for the reasons you claim. That disease, though cruel and inhuman, does not discount the fact that Roxton willingly chose to take a life to feed his own hunger. And I shudder to bring up the Kanu."
Again, Challenger's confidence was shaken. How on earth did these people know so much about what happened on the plateau? "What about the Kanu?"
"Roxton again fed on two members of the Kanu tribe. Willingly."
"No!" Challenger shouted. He had had enough of these wild accusations. "Not willingly. We were all undergoing transformations. That cursed stone had marked each of us. No one was responsible for what happened during the latter part of the process. Roxton's no more responsible for his actions than I am for stripping a tree of its bark."
Leair actually pondered this for a moment. "And yet you are human, possessing the capability of reason and thought."
"Not near the end," piped up Malone. "Marguerite and I ate live mice during our transformations." Veronica looked horrified at the journalist. She hadn't heard about that part. Malone continued on hurriedly. "I couldn't stop myself, neither could she. It was as if it was a … natural thing to do."
"And besides," Veronica piped up, "you can't count the Kanu. They were toads not human beings. In that case it's not cannibalism."
Leair stood thoughtfully processing all this. "An most interesting theory. You consider such things natural?"
Challenger immediately realized what Leair was implying. "It is natural. Even as human beings we are still part of the natural order of things. As animals we cannot be held accountable for what we do."
"A circle of life so to speak."
"Exactly."
"But you don't believe that as a higher order you should be held accountable to a higher sense of responsibility?"
"Of course," declared Challenger hotly. "But when forces greater than our own manipulate us we are at their mercy as much as nature herself. These were not conscionable acts perpetrated by us."
Veronica could tell that Challenger had made his point brilliantly and for a moment she felt sure they would win. Leair appeared contemplative. But then the old man shook his head.
"Can you prove that Roxton was indeed under the influence of this disease?"
"Isn't our word good enough?" Ned demanded.
"Frankly no, not for a crime such as this. A man is dead."
Challenger shook his head. "I'm still not convinced Roxton did this."
Leair raised an eyebrow.
"If Roxton's blood lust had manifested as you claim, then why was there so much blood around the body? Roxton hadn't fed. And the wounds were not consistent with the wounds he made while under the influence of Calista's disease. Those were puncture marks; this man's throat was ripped open."
"Immaterial. We may have just interrupted him before he could feed. And perhaps he was not under the influence of this disease. Perhaps he was perfectly willing to kill on his own accord this time."
"You have no proof of any of your claims!" Ned shouted.
"And why may I ask were you watching our treehouse these past few days?" Veronica interjected.
Surprised, Leair responded, "We came only once to judge Roxton's state."
"So you knew of his ailment?" Challenger asked.
"And you didn't think to warn him, warn us so that we could help avert this?" Ned was furious at their blatant complacency while one of them suffered.
"After the Kanu vanished, we suspected that such an incident might again invoke Roxton's blood lust. We were right."
"One thing had nothing to do with the other," Challenger argued.
"And you weren't there just once," Veronica pointed out. "There was someone watching Roxton's room for quite a while. The footprints were just outside our perimeter."
Leair denied the statement. "We came only once, saw what we needed and departed to make our decision. We had no intention of confronting anyone at that point. A council was to be called."
"Then how do you explain what we found?"
"I cannot," Leair admitted.
Challenger stroked his beard. "Don't you find it odd that in a jungle this size, Roxton managed to flee into the darkness and find you?"
"No. The ailment from which he suffers only heightens those senses and instincts. He could have easily sensed our presence and hunted us."
"Rubbish! Roxton's flight from the treehouse had nothing to do with you."
"It had to do with Marguerite," Ned whispered.
"We tracked him for miles," Veronica persisted, not wanting to think about what the heiress was going through while they wasted valuable time. They had to continue to press their point. "His path never once crossed yours until this very clearing."
"Roxton didn't hunt you; he stumbled across you." Challenger stepped close to Leair, desperation etched on his face.
"You are just guessing. And besides, whether his attack was intentional or not, it does not change the fact that he killed a member of the Noir. We were not wrong in what we did. Roxton's punishment was just."
"Roxton's punishment was not just! Do you have proof? Did you witness the attack? Did anyone?"
"We saw enough."
"But not the actual act!" Challenger insisted fervently.
"No."
"Then you also have no proof, you're acting only on an assumption," Challenger exclaimed.
Ned nodded. "Same as us."
Leair considered them for the first time with a hint of hesitancy. Challenger pressed his advantage.
"You might well be condemning an innocent man to hell, based solely on superficial evidence. Can you live with that on your conscience?"
"What do you propose we do?"
"Let us go into this realm and find out if Roxton is infected with Calista's disease. If he really does have an uncontrollable blood lust as you claim then he would have killed again."
Veronica felt a chill. "You mean Marguerite."
Challenger looked at her from over his shoulder, his face grim. "Quite possibly."
***
To be continued Chapter 6