Chapter Five
Lakeside Cabins
Pete's fourth shot drove straight through the bear's ruined jaw. Old Ben screamed his protest, rearing his head in an almost equine gesture, sending a splatter of tissue and blood onto the now ruined snow. Pete took the opportunity to shoot again, squeezing the trigger and praying that this time the damned thing would go down.
It could have been his fear, or just simply poor aiming, but the shot went wide and missed Old Ben completely, sending a puff of snow into the air instead of slamming into the enraged creature's face.
"Shit," Pete swore, adjusting his aim. He was all together aware of how his arms had begun to tremble, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Old Ben dropped to all four paws and charged towards him, maw open wide with all intentions of shredding Pete limb from limb.
The gun almost seemed to go off in his hands of its own accord, more gore splattering onto the snow in Old Ben's wake. A small detached part of Pete's fear-filled mind noted that the bear was leaving behind gory, bloody paw prints as he charged. The closer the bear got to him, the more of its rotten-likely decomposing-features Pete could see. Old Ben no longer had any ears, only pus-filled tears in the flesh; only one gleaming white eye remained slitted above a muzzle that no longer had a nose or a lower jaw, merely a hint of cartilage and tooth among the exposed flesh.
Desperately still retreating towards the SUV, Pete's last shot tore off what remained of Old Ben's muzzle. The animal made a sound caught curiously between insane howl and whine, stopping to scratch pitifully at his ruined face.
Pete dashed the remaining few feet back to the SUV, fumbling at the driver door desperately. For a brief, mind-numbing moment he thought he'd locked it, but the handle gave under his gloved hand and the door pulled open. Pete climbed in and slammed the door shut. A glance-and a thick, gurgled roar-told him that Old Ben was attacking again, this time charging towards the SUV.
He ducked, his hand closing around the shotgun just as the bear leapt onto the hood, shattering glass around him and bowing the hood with a metallic groan. Pete was forced to duck into the seat as Old Ben swiped at him, tearing off the rear-view mirror and driving his claws deep into the padding of the passenger side seat.
Pete aimed a hard kick at the muscular arm, satisfied to hear a slimy crack beneath his boot. Old Ben snarled and snapped at him, a guttural sound that sent a wave of putrid-smelling breath in his direction.
Using the last round in his handgun, Pete fired directly into Old Ben's chest, the recoil sending the monstrous creature off balance and skidding off the hood, leaving a trail of darkened blood along the white paint as he went. Pete took the opportunity to turn the key he'd left in the ignition. The SUV's engine come to life thankfully on the first try. He was about to put it into reverse when there was a sudden shudder throughout the vehicle, the mechanical grinding of the engine unable to compete with Old Ben's roars and groans.
The SUV began to rock, the suspension shrieking its protest. Pete caught a glimpse of Old Ben slamming into the passenger side of the car, sending it close to tilting with a gut-wrenching lurch. Scrambling to kept his balance-and the unloaded shotgun in his grip-Pete shrank back when the blood-stained and torn paw came scrabbling through the smashed passenger side window.
Using the shotgun's wooden stock to batter at the paw like a club in a futile effort to keep it back, Pete was tempted to open the door and make another run for it. The fact that only national forest and empty cabins could be found for miles was what kept him inside. If he was going to have any chance escaping Old Ben then he was going to need the RCMP vehicle.
The shotgun sent a smatter of gore onto the car's roof. Old Ben yowled, a noise that Pete thought sounded like a lion being strangled, and pulled back his paw. Pete took the chance to open the glove compartment, where he kept the ammo for his shotgun. He was only able to get a handful of shells before the SUV rocked again, this time groaning as it dangerously tilted and slammed back onto its tires.
One or two shells dropped to the car floor at his feet, but Pete ignored them to stuff the rest into his jacket pocket. He reached for another handful when the bear rammed into the SUV again-this time sending it over onto its side.
He scrambled for a handhold, but found none. His head hit the steering wheel, which forced a chocked cry of pain out of his lips before he was thrown to the left, his ribs and shoulder joint crushing against the driver's door. The violence left him winded and gasping for air in the strange silence that followed.
Pete coughed, but the pain that laced his left side forced him to suppress it. He waited for a moment. There was nothing. Only his own shallow breathing filled his ears.
For a wild, brief moment, Pete thought Old Ben had left. He pushed up, relieving the pressure on his side. His shotgun was somewhere beneath him-he could feel the stock digging in below his ribs-and the ammunition had scattered from the glove compartment, lost amid the snow, glass and equipment that had been thrown about by the assault.
There was no sound outside except the SUV's still humming engine. He couldn't see the animal's ruined hind legs and decided he should risk getting out before the bear returned. Pete carefully climbed to his knees and pulled out the shotgun from beneath him.
I'll load this first, just in case the old guy hasn't gotten the hint. He brushed the glass and snow off his gloves before loading the shotgun, his gaze jerking between the horizon of snow beyond the shattered windscreen and the weapon in his hands. At any moment he expected to see Old Ben's destroyed form loom above him and hear that roar…
But the bear didn't emerge. When the shotgun was loaded, Pete sat silently for a moment, waiting for his head to stop spinning and the rush of adrenaline to subside before attempting his escape.
A clear plan began to form in his mind. The cabins might be deserted this time of year, but the ranger station in the national park could provide a sanctuary. The more he thought on it, the more appealing the idea got. The ranger station was closer than the town limits-probably an hour or so if he kept up a good pace and didn't get himself lost in the hiking paths that dissected the park-and the rangers would have a better idea of what was wrong with Old Ben than he would.
Pete leaned forward, ready to pull himself up through the narrow space between the snow and the windscreen's frame. He braced both legs on the driver door frame beneath him, careful not to fall, and as he pushed his shotgun out ahead of him-
-the SUV began to shudder and rock again, an infuriated howl deafening Pete and sending him falling forward, directly into a waiting paw-
-unbalanced and desperate not to fall into Old Ben's clutches, Pete brought up his left leg and braced it against the snow, pushing back as he pulled the trigger of the shotgun-
BOOM!
The sound of the shotgun was louder than Old Ben's growls and in such a confined space it felt like it blew Pete's eardrums, making his ears ring and his head spin dizzyingly. The shot went wild, slamming into the snow directly in front of Pete and sending a spray of loose flakes into his face, distracting him. Old Ben groaned again and the paw was back, gouging into the dashboard.
Pete prepared himself for another shot, aware he couldn't afford to miss again, when Old Ben's claw caught on a switch and-
The SUV's siren began to blare and whoop through the morning air, loud even in Pete's dulled hearing. He could dimly hear the bear howling and the paw was withdrawn, and through the narrow space between the frame and the snow, Pete watched in sheer disbelief as Old Ben shambled away, scraping his claws against his ruined skull.
After Old Ben had left his line of sight, Pete's heart continued to hammer in his chest, racing so fast that he feared he was having a heart attack. He kept his finger on the trigger of the shotgun for a long time, still expecting Old Ben to return and finish him off. Beside him, not muffled in the slightest by the roof, the siren continued to blare.
When it became clear that the black bear wasn't returning, Pete's grip began to relax and he slumped down again, the shotgun pointed up at the narrow opening. His heartbeat began to slow, but the terrible ache in his head refused to away so long as the siren continued to blare and whine.
Glancing down at the radio, Pete reached for it.
It could still work, if the sirens and engines are working… He frowned when he got nothing but static. Leaning forward, Pete switched to the emergency channel used by the Grace Lake detachment.
The radio gave off a fuzzy static whine instead of connecting with the dispatch. Pete scowled and slammed the plastic thing against the dash repeatedly.
No use. That thing wrecked my radio as well as my car. He deliberately didn't think of poor Wake, lying not ten feet away in the snow. Instead he stubbornly switched through channels, trying to get a response-even the airstrip over on the other side of town would have been something.
But there was nothing to be found. Not even old Lyle Adler over at the airstrip could be heard gabbing over the radio waves.
Sighing and finally giving up on the radio, Pete glanced up at the horizon of snow and blue sky.
It was time to get going. He pushed the shotgun out first, the climbed out after it, struggling against the powdery snow that kept crumbling beneath his chest. Glad to be out of the car and careful to avoid the smears of gore Old Ben had left behind, Pete picked up his weapon and decided to head for the national park. The park rangers would have a reliable radio and could probably explain what the hell was going on with the local wildlife.
He stopped short when he saw Wake's splayed body. The man had fallen with his fingers still clasped about his revolver, his uniform shredded and his face torn. What Old Ben had left no longer resembled the gruff corporal Pete had known.
He trudged over to the body, stopping and kneeling, his numbed eyes focused on the man's still open eyes. Old Ben hadn't damaged them during his frenzy, and that made it all the worse. Those eyes were cold and flat, lacking any of Wake's nuance or animation. And it could have been Pete's imagination, but he hadn't realised his superior had such pale eyes…he'd always thought Wake's were a darker blue than that.
"I'm sorry," Pete whispered, keenly aware that wasn't adequate enough for what Wake had suffered. Guilt that he'd survived and was shamefully glad tainted his grief.
He wanted to cover Wake in some way-who knew what other infected scavengers lurked in these woods-but had nothing to do it with. The tarp had been in the SUV, and was no doubt lost amid the wreckage. He contemplated burying Wake in the snow, but decided against it at last. In his current state of mind, he'd likely forget where he'd buried to poor guy, and a few pitiful feet of snow wouldn't deter a determined scavenger.
In the end, Pete settled for having to simply close Wake's eyes. It was beginning to get overcast and the thought that snow might settle on his superior's open eyes disturbed him more than he could really explain. With thickly gloved fingers, Pete pulled Wake's eyelids shut and stood.
"I'll come back for you," he said quietly. "We'll make sure that thing doesn't hurt anybody else. I prom-"
Wake's eyes flew open.
His voice faltered and Pete had to blink-once, twice-in incomprehension, his jaw falling open slightly in stupefaction.
They didn't just open! His mind called to him, fighting his senses with logic. He'll be going into rigour mortis, its just natural, he-
Wake sat up.
That's not rigour mortis! Pete argued against logic. He's still alive!
Against the insistent nagging of logic-that bear killed him, I saw it, he's not still alive, he can't be!-Pete knelt, set down the shotgun and cautiously put a hand to Wake's shoulder, one of the few parts of his torso that hadn't been attacked. The older man's expression was blank, his pale eyes unfocused. The lack of reaction unsettled Pete, but he wrote it off to post-traumatic stress.
"It's okay Wake, you're in shock from your injuries. Stay here, I'll get…" He let his voice lapse again when Wake turned to face him.
The older man's ruined lips fell open in a hungry moan, those milky eyes focused him.
Pete was reminded sharply of Old Ben, and the way the infected bear had behaved.
The corporal lurched forward, bloody hands reaching for Pete blindly. Amid his sudden panic, Pete noticed that the revolver still hung from Wake's fingers and was suddenly snapped back into reality. He pushed Wake backwards and scrambled to his feet to retreat.
Wake groaned and pitched towards Pete, as if dragged by an invisible line, each step staggering and jerky. Pete belatedly realised he'd forgotten the shotgun and was now unarmed to face Wake.
"Wake, come on, what's wrong with you?" Pete asked, his voice unconsciously rising to a higher pitch as Wake approached step by step. He tried to keep distance between them, taking a step every time Wake did, but the old guy seemed to anticipate each move. "It's me, Milner, don't you recognise me? The bear's gone, I'll get you to medical assistance-"
Ignorant to Pete's attempts to reason with him, Wake groaned again and grabbed Pete by the heavy blue jacket he wore, pulling him close in a sickening parody of an embrace.
The thickly sweet scent of blood hung over Wake, intermingled with traces of Old Ben's advanced decay. When Wake opened his mouth, Pete could see how three of the older man's front teeth had been broken during his fight with the bear, others sharpened into the jagged talons of a trap, his swollen and bitten tongue staining the teeth pale pink.
Before Wake's jaw could close on Pete's face, the young officer drove a hard elbow upwards. Wake's head snapped up with an abrupt jerk, giving Pete enough time to duck and push Wake away.
Wake reeled forward again, undeterred, his moans growing louder after being thwarted. Pete tried to take another step back, but was brought up short by a tree branch. Not risking letting Wake out of his sight, Pete took a sideways step.
He was a step too late. Wake threw himself forward, his hands clutching at Pete's jacket and dragging him forward. Pete grabbed Wake by the throat, pushing the gaping face away from him.
The tree branch snapped, sending both Pete and Wake sprawling into the snow. Pete was quicker to act, climbing back to his feet before Wake could properly stand. With a choked shout of aggression and fear, Pete wrenched Wake firmly by the shoulders and rammed him into the tree.
What the hell's wrong with you boss? Pete asked mutely, staring in wide-eyed disbelief at what he'd just done and taking a few shaky steps back.
Wake's blood-maddened expression held no answers.
It's the bear, Pete realised slowly, his traumatised mind attempting to piece together the fragments of what had happened. Whatever the bear's been infected with, Wake's got it too.
Shit, I could have it.
Pete glanced down at his gore-soaked gloves and pulled them off, dropping them into the snow at his feet. With his bare hands, he began to feel for any injuries.
Thankfully, there were no cuts, scrapes or open wounds. Only a raging headache, ringing eardrums and what he suspected could be broken ribs on his left side. It still hurt to breathe-
But at least I'm breathing. His gaze unwillingly fell back to Wake.
Impaled on the broken tree branch, Wake continued to drag himself along, hands reaching for Pete impotently. As Pete turned, he could still hear Wake's frustrated groans and snapping of his broken teeth.
Panting and wiping away the tears that welled painfully in his eyes, Pete walked away and picked up his shotgun. With the weapon held firmly with both hands, he turned and aimed for Wake's head.
"Again, I'm sorry," he apologised. Then Pete pulled the trigger.
Wake stopped moving and fell slack against the branch.
When it was over, Pete numbly headed for the path that would lead him through the cabins and into the national park. And, hopefully, to the ranger station where safety could be found.
Somewhere far off behind him, he heard a girl's thin scream of terror.
"Someone help me!"
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Lakeside Cabins
What the hell is that? The teenage girl paused on the snowy steps for a moment, startled by the sudden sound. It was like an animal enraged and insane. There's nothing around here-and the wolves never come this far south. Has some jerk gone and woken a hibernating bear or something?
Sarah King sincerely hoped not. The last thing she needed was for some park ranger to come snooping down here and find her breaking into one of the empty cabins that lined Grace Lake's far shore. Sarah had been careful to choose the cabins rather than the empty houses in town; the local RCMP was unlikely to get any reports of stolen property until it was too late. The rich owners of the cabins stayed well away during winter, preferring to flock north only during the summer when the climate was more accommodating.
She took the brown pouch from the deep pocket of her jacket, and then pulled off her gloves with her teeth before kneeling at the cabins' front door, keeping eye-level with the lock. After a quick assessment of the lock type and brand, she slid two picks and a torsion bar from the pouch and carefully inserted them into the keyhole. The lock was new, so it took a bit of jiggling and effort to force the tumblers, but she was grinning when the door swung open.
Bingo. Sarah slipped the tools back into the pouch and hurriedly returned the pouch to her pocket, standing on slightly shaking legs. It had been almost two years since she'd last pulled a job off on her own.
I have to, she thought, swinging her backpack over her shoulders and advancing through the door. How else am I going to afford the bus fare south?
Sarah was standing in a slightly dusty, but nicely furnished living room. She slipped her thick gloves back on and closed the door behind her, her green-blue eyes scanning the room for anything of immediate value. She absently brushed snow off her shoulders as she walked.
The room was simple, with a few couches facing an enormous fireplace, a bookcase lining the opposite wall and large picture windows giving Sarah a spectacular view of the wide expanse of Grace Lake, frozen and shining brilliantly in the sunshine. For a brief moment, she regretted having to leave. For all its faults, this town was beautiful, especially in summer when the forests were alive and full of animals, when the small beach on the lake's east shore was full of summer tourists and locals.
That's not enough, you know. Pretty flowers and trees aren't going to pay your way through the world, are they?
Of course not. Sarah recollected her resolve and started for the stairs, her sneakers softly smacking against the dusty floorboards. She climbed two at a time, reaching the landing quickly and heading for the first open door.
Damn, and this is a summer cabin? Some people have it good. It was a bedroom, and a nice one at that, the kind with carved wooden furniture and fancy bedcovers that despite being older than Sarah had retained their colour. Sarah had to resist the urge to throw herself on the dusty coverlet and jump on the bed. No mucking around. Just get something and get out. That's all. The bus is due at midday.
The dresser beside the window was a good place to start, she reasoned, so she started rummaging through the drawers and jewellery boxes.
Nada. She shook her head, annoyed with herself and the rich idiots who owned this cabin. She'd been hoping that something would be left behind, like jewellery or the useless knick-knacks that rich people always seemed to dozens of. This place was skint.
Leaving the bedroom behind her, Sarah ventured into what appeared to be a study. Probably some old man's, with all the leather-bound volumes that lined the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the stuffed hunting trophies above the empty fireplace. The glass eyes of the stuffed bear and deer seemed to follow her in a creepy way. Sarah was about to declare the room a bust when a glint of metal caught her attention as she turned.
She stopped in front of the glass case, her eyes widening as she saw all the coins lined neatly in rows. Sarah took a step back, noting the simple lock on the display case's doors. She slid a paperclip out of her jeans pocket-with some locks it was better to keep it primitive-and quickly picked the lock. She grinned eagerly, picking up one of the handwritten labels. It read-
Peace Dollar-United States, 1921
Not making sense of it-but instinctively knowing that the tarnished silver coin it sat in front of would easily cover her bus fare south-Sarah put the label down and started picking up the coins one by one. The jumble of coins fit easily into the front pocket of her backpack, jingling with the promise of profit as they fell through her fingers. She started on the shinier, more modern coins, but abruptly stopped when she reached for another large silver coin.
The tiny handwriting simply read- Grace Lake Medallion.
The young thief frowned, puzzled by the label.
What the hell does that mean? Sarah would have considered it a trashy tourist memento, but the thing was tarnished and clearly real silver-and it sat between two other similar coins. She leaned forward to get a better look.
The one on the right seemed to be made of gold, the one on the left bronze. Like the "Grace Lake" medallion, both were tarnished and worn, the engravings hard to make out. Sarah picked them up, squinting as she set them out in a row on her open palm.
She picked up the silver one first, inspecting it carefully. It wasn't much bigger than a quarter, but even through the tarnish, the detailed bear engraved into its face was clearly visible. Sarah supposed it was Old Ben, and turned the medallion over to see if it had been to commemorate some town anniversary.
She was surprised. The opposite face was blank-except for the tiny sapphire set into its centre.
"What kind of medallion had a sapphire in it?" Sarah asked herself. Realising she'd spoken aloud, she blushed and slipped the strange medallion into her jacket pocket. She focused on the other two medallions.
The bronze one had to be the Raccoon City Medallion, Sarah guessed, because of the raccoon engraved into it, a chip of ruby set into its back. The last, gold, had to be the Haven Medallion by elimination. Sarah stared at this the longest, impressed by the alligator coiled upon its face. Incredibly detailed, even down to the tiny teeth lining the narrow jaw, Sarah wondered if Haven was a place too.
Probably some backwater pit the idiot who owns this place calls home, she thought snidely, pocketing the other medallions. Probably makes this dump look real good in comparison.
With nimble hands, Sarah took the remaining coins and was zipping up the front pocket of her backpack when another roar filtered in through a nearby window, close enough to make Sarah jump guiltily and scan the room for intruders.
You're the intruder here, remember? She reminded herself and smiled.
Curious and concerned for whatever animal could cause such a ruckus, Sarah puled on her backpack and approached the nearest window. Another choked snarl made her jump with fright-it sounded close-and backtrack a few steps away from the heavy window dressings. Forced to grab a hold of a nearby armchair to keep her balance, the coin-laden bag ringing, her sneakers tripping on the rug's edge, Sarah straightened and pulled the heavy drapes open.
At first there was no sign of a disturbance. All she could see was the forest as it sprawled out into the distance. From her vantage point, the upper-storey windows of two nearby cabins winked in the sunlight. Her gaze drifted to the right, where a strange blackened structure emerged from the canopy like charred bones. There was a clearing, but the trees cut off Sarah's line of sight, preventing her from actually looking down at it. She turned left.
Another chortled, menacing roar-it sounded to Sarah like a dragon being roused from a long sleep-rang out clearly to her right.
Sarah frowned and was about to go into another room-maybe find a clearer view-when gunshots began to echo through the morning, mingled with the animal's screams of agony. Horrified, Sarah pushed away from the window sill. As she left the study and skidded into the hallway, Sarah could have sworn she heard human shouts and screams joining the sickening chorus.
The last room at the end of the hall was another bedroom, again filled with heavy, expensive furniture. This room, unlike the first bedroom, had a definite air of femininity. There was a mauve duster on the bed and a mint-green crotched blanket folded neatly at its foot, the vanity had a tarnished mirror and comb set neatly beside a closed sketch book that was opened to page of sketches.
Sarah paused by the sketch book. The pictures were rather good, she decided, if not a little disturbing. The sketches were of human bodies, male and female, detailed and posed in a variety of natural positions-sitting, standing, running, dancing, clapping…. The only thing missing was the faces-each was blank, without even the basic facial structure like noses or eyes or mouths.
Sunlight filtered in through the lacy curtains, dust motes dancing in Sarah's wake as she brushed past the bed and approached the window. Sarah pulled the curtains aside, and found herself staring down at a horrific scene.
The new angle provided a clear view of the clearing-and the carnage. An RCMP vehicle was parked at the edge of the clearing, in what Sarah guessed to be one of the access driveways that snaked about this part of town. Not far from it was a dark lump surrounded by snow stained scarlet. A smaller figure retreated towards the parked SUV, both arms held out in front of him.
It took Sarah a moment before she realised that the figure was an RCMP officer shooting towards the dark lump. For a terrifying moment, Sarah thought the cop was killing someone-and then the roaring started up again, enough to make the windowpanes shudder.
The dark shape moved again, but it was only when it swiped in the officer's direction that it finally dawned on Sarah that the attacker was a black bear. Horrifically disfigured and unseasonably conscious the animal had obviously gone crazed and attacked another bear.
The bear literally screamed as the cop shot it again, retreating all the while towards the SUV. Sarah turned her attention to the crimson stain, squinting and frowning when-
It's a human body! The bear moved, affording Sarah a clear view at the splayed human figure in the snow. Old Ben's attacking people!
Sarah couldn't help it. She turned and stumbled away, unsuccessfully fighting back the nausea that rose in the back of her throat. It only let her get as far as the bed before her stomach clenched violently and she threw up.
Outside, the bear continued to roar and the cop's gun continued to crack thunderously. When the firing stopped, Sarah could finally open her eyes.
The teenager finally got a hold of her composure and stood on shaking legs. She reluctantly approached the window, peering out cautiously.
The bear gave another roar and attacked the car with tremendous force, the shriek of metal and breaking glass making Sarah flinch and finally stagger away, a hand clapped over her mouth to stifle any inadvertent noises. The idea that she might attract the attention of the hulking monster horrified her.
If it killed a cop like that, what chance do I have? She asked herself, avoiding the mess she'd made on the floor and leaving the room behind her. The door closed behind her, muting the screeching and roaring outside. Standing perfectly still in the muted, darkened corridor, Sarah wondered what she could to help.
A phone, there's got to be a phone, she thought desperately, I'll contact the detachment and tell them there's an emergency- Outside, a lone shot rang out, followed by a low whining and another series of metallic creaks and groans.
Where'd the phone be? She couldn't remember one from the master bedroom, but headed for the study, just in case she'd missed a telephone in her distraction. A quick scan yielded no phone-but something she'd missed the first time caught her eye.
The ornate shotgun was mounted on the wall in a framed glass case placed conveniently above the heavy wooden desk.
I could reach it, if I got on tip-toe, Sarah hazarded, approaching the desk. She absently picked up a heavy bookend as she passed a set of shelves-heavy granite that sat easily in her hand, carved into the head of some old guy she didn't recognise. Staring up at the case, Sarah climbed onto the desk, balanced and careful not to knock over an antique-looking lamp.
Sarah covered her face with one crooked arm and brought back the other with al her strength.
Large glass shards shattered into smaller jagged fragments at her feet, littering the desk with glittering splinters. Sarah ignored the glass, bringing down her crooked arm and reaching into the case with eager hands. The antique weapon in her hands, Sarah jumped down with a crystalline crunch.
She inspected the weapon eagerly. It was an old double-barrelled shotgun, the kind her older brother Seth kept in the shed at home for hunting. Sarah debated for a moment whether or not it was loaded.
Don't be ridiculous. No one keeps a loaded shotgun mounted behind glass. She frowned, brushing strands of her fringe from her face. Unable to remember how Seth reloaded the shotgun at home, she began biting her lower lip anxiously.
Somewhere outside, the heavy boom of another shotgun being fired started up.
The mountie's still alive! Another thought sprung to mind. So is that bear. And if it's rabid or sick that cop's got no hope. She glanced down at the shotgun in her hands. I'll try to find a phone, get help. But I'm not going out there. No with Old Ben gone mad like that.
But the strangled roars continued.
Sarah didn't like the idea f going to check on the cop. If the bear really was still out there, really was rabid, she'd get attacked and likely killed. And if the cop was still alive and survived the encounter-
I'll have to explain what I'm doing here. If I get caught again, it's juvee for me.
She winced. Her older cousins had always had nasty tales tot ell about the juvenile justice systems in both the US and Canada. Despite her penchant for illegal and prosecutable activities, Sarah had no intention of being caught. She only had one strike left with her record.
Trust this to happen when I decide to leave.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, Sarah was affected by something that rarely struck her-indecision. When Sarah King set out to achieve a goal, it got done, no matter what.
But what she'd just witnessed had gotten to her. There was something wrong with that bear. The way it had attacked the cop in the snow, and then the cop in the car-
For once in her life, Sarah was touched by an emotion not related to self-preservation or greed.
She grimly made her choice and went downstairs, taking each step slowly. She stopped short at the foot of the staircase, mouth falling open in shock.
The pristine expanse of Grace Lake wasn't what caught her attention-it was the man standing with his back to her, framed by the enormous picture window.
Too startled at first to speak, Sarah stood perfectly still and held her breath, gauging whether or not she could retreat upstairs without alerting the previously undetected occupant. She decided she'd have better luck reaching the kitchen beyond the lounge when the man turned abruptly.
"Do you have a phone, the officer outside needs help," she said, hoping her rushed delivery would distract the man from questioning how exactly she'd gotten into his cabin.
Not to mention his shotgun in my hands, his medallions in my pockets, his coins in my backpack… Trying not to panic, Sarah put down the shotgun and held out her hands in appeal. As if to reinforce her point, a police siren began to wail and blare urgently.
"Please, where's the phone?" Sarah took a step away from the stairs and began to check tabletops, bookcases…
She found the phone siting innocuously within a small bookcase, beside stacked medical journals and a pad of spare paper.
"What's wrong with it?" she demanded of the resident, who was beginning to shuffle over to her in a strange gait.
Old guy must have had hip-break or something.
"We have to get help, there's a cop in trouble out there!" she insisted, slamming the receiver down.
The man didn't respond. It wasn't until he took one faltering step towards her that Sarah finally saw the decrepit, parched skin drawn tightly over the man's skull, the blind, unseeing eyes, the teeth bared in a black, skeletal grin that would always remain in her nightmares. His nose was missing, as was one of his hands. The other had turned and twisted so the fingers were clawed.
"Mister…" Sarah trailed off, unable to comprehend what see was seeing.
The lopsided limp was explained when he passed the sofa and his lower torso came into view. One of his thigh bones was broken and jutted out cruelly through his pants leg, twisted like a television contortionist. A part of Sarah's disbelieving mind wondered with detached curiosity how the man could possibly move, let alone stagger towards her with an injury that debilitating.
"Jesus Mister," Sarah muttered. "What's happened to you?"
He didn't answer with words so much as guttural, hungry snarls.
The man (now beginning to turn into some horror movie thing in her mind) grabbed her and leaned forward to bring those skeletal teeth to bear in on her exposed throat. Sarah screamed shrilly and pushed him away.
He weighed less than she'd thought, and went stumbling into the sofa comically. But as Sarah moved to grab the shotgun, the man suddenly snapped back in her direction, arm and stump reaching out eagerly, a thin moan passing through his lips.
He's dead, she realised, and was glad she'd already thrown up and had nothing left of her breakfast. He's dead and he's trying to kill me.
Sarah watched with morbid curiosity as the man shunted and hobbled to her, waiting until the last moment to dodge around him, leaping up onto the stone fireplace and running along the raised hearth. Her feet sent collectibles and knick-knacks tumbling to break on the floor. The man clumsily grabbed at her legs, but she kicked him in the face before jumping down and desperately kicking a side table into the man's path as he climbed back up. She turned took a step and-
The man reached for her again, this time grabbing a firm hold of her backpack. Sarah strained against it, imagining that awful papery thing biting her shoulder.
Shoulder…Idiot!
She slipped the backpack off her shoulders and ran for the shotgun, doing her best to quash her base instinct to flee The thing shuffled behind her, apparently in no particular hurry to close in on its meal.
She rounded on the shuffling, dead man and shot blindly.
The recoil sent her on her ass-hard, the wooden stairs digging cruelly into her back and the shotgun falling from her hands as she fell. Her attacker dropped to the floor, headless.
Stunned by the sudden violence and still staring mutely at the headless corpse crumpled in front of her, Sarah didn't notice the shadow that fell on her.
But she heard the shallow snort and the groan of wood straining.
Sarah slowly looked up, her eyes filling with dread when she realised what had lumbered onto the cabin's porch.
The bear emerged in the picture window. Seeing her immediately, it smashed through the glass heedlessly, sending Sarah screaming for the kitchen.
The cabin's back door slammed behind her and belatedly realising the jump over the porch railing was too high without getting injured, Sarah followed the porch, praying the bear would follow through the kitchen-
CRASH!
Behind her, the door was torn from its hinges. Logs were sent tumbling from their neat stack and rolled across the boards. Sarah deftly avoided tripping over one and ran. Heavy thudding picked up behind her, making the wooden boards shudder. Fighting to keep her balance and convinced she was going to die, Sarah opened her mouth and screamed with all the gusto she could muster.
"Help, somebody help me!"
Her scream echoed pitifully through the clearing, hardly capable of competing with the now slurred wailing of the RCMP vehicle.
Old Ben knocked over the wooden table and sent chairs and potted plants flying. One pot smashed through the small window beside the kitchen door. Forced to retreat a step to avoid being hit by one larger piece, she turned and started running for the porch steps, her steady footsteps countering the heavy crashes behind her. She was too frightened to look back, fearing that if she did she might see the bear's ruined face, its one glassy eye and the torn paws swiping to take her head clean off her shoulders.
She slipped as she turned the corner, terror-fuelled panic the only thing that maintained her balance. Sarah knew that if she fell, or faltered, Old Ben would be upon her in a heartbeat, tearing her apart like that poor cop.
So she used her terror to spur her on, pushing the swinging chair out of her way without pausing. Behind her, the pursuing bear crashed into it and tore it from the porch roof. Wood splinters rained down on Sarah and for a second, she thought one would fall into her eye, blind her and leave her helpless…
"Hurry! Over here!"
The unexpected male voice belonged to the young cop, holding something dark in his hands as he stood on the cabin path. Sarah hit the top of the stairs and jumped, absorbing the shock and keeping her footing as she staggered towards him.
She reached the cop as Old Ben reached the foot of the stairs roaring hollowly. The officer brought up the shotgun and began to fire continuously, one after another as he retreated, Sarah clutched at his back and fearfully looking over his shoulder.
The shotgun rounds thudded into the bear's decayed head, the first exploding that gory eye, the next cracking the side of the animal's skull. Impossibly, Old Ben continued on, climbing to his hind legs and slashing his pitted and decayed paw at them.
The animal gave a final groan before collapsing. A moment later, Sarah followed, her legs finally giving out beneath her.
"You okay?" the cop asked.
Sarah forced herself to nod. Unable to find her voice while staring at the dead bear, she dragged her gaze away to meet the officer's concerned expression.
"Yeah…I…"
"You're Marlene's daughter aren't you? Seth's sister? Shouldn't you be at school? What are you doing all the way out here for that matter?" Sarah's eyes dropped to the small white letters embroidered on his dark blue jacket. MILNER.
She looked back up at his face. Officer Milner was young, mid-twenties if he was lucky, with dark curly hair framing a boyish face. Sarah thought on it for a second and said the first thing she could think of.
"You're Seth's friend," she managed.
The officer smiled and offered her a hand. "Sure, back at school. My name's Constable Milner, but I suppose in the circumstances you can call me Pete. What's your name?"
"Sarah," she answered. She glanced unwillingly back at Old Ben's crumpled form. "What's wrong here? There was a man inside that cabin-I had to shoot him. I didn't have a choice. He tried to attack me. It was self-defence." The enormity of what had happened began to sink in.
"Ohmigod. What did I do, what's happened to that bear, why did it try to hurt me, why did it kill that other cop, why-"
Her chest felt like heavy metal bands had been coiled about it. When she let out the first painful sob, the image of the dried, decayed figure loomed over her again.
Pete was visibly awkward for a moment before he reached over to give her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Feeling foolishly alone, Sarah began to cry, venting her fear and hysteria.
"So you saw what happened to Wake then." Pete glanced up and noticed the windows lining the cabin's second storey. "I'm sorry you had to see that. The bear's been infected by something, something worse than rabies. And I think it can infect people as well. If the man who attacked you in there was anything like my partner then I don't doubt it was self-defence."
Sarah sniffled and continued to bawl.
"Hey, it'll be alright. We'll get out of here," the cop reassured her. "You can come with me. I'm heading for the ranger station in the national park. It'll be safer there, we can call for help."
Sarah got a hold of herself, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks with her gloved hands.
"How'd you get here Sarah?" Pete glanced about.
She gestured towards the side of the cabin where she'd left her brother's trail bike. "Used Seth's trail bike," she managed to answer.
The cop's face lit up. "A bike would make better time through those paths," he said. "We'll get to the station in half an hour, tops."
"I don't think I can ride right now," Sarah pushed herself up. "It takes all my concentration at the best of times not to kill myself."
"I'll drive, you sit," Pete replied. "Think you can manage that?"
Sarah nodded and pulled the ignition key from her pocket as she led the way. The medallions clinked together, but Pete didn't notice. With her backpack still back in the cabin, the medallions and her lock picks were the only thing left from her burglary. But she had absolutely no intention of ever going back for her things.
Pete found the bike and walked it to the path carefully, Sarah tagging behind.
"So what were you doing out here anyway?" Pete asked curiously, climbing onto the bike.
"I-" Caught for an explanation, Sarah did the only thing she could think of.
"I was hanging out, cutting school," she lied.
Pete impossibly managed to find the humour to chuckle and smile over at her.
"Bet you regret choosing to skip school now," he said, starting the bike. It chugged and spat thick smoke into the clean air about them. Sarah couldn't complain about the smell of exhaust fumes, not after having been in the presence of something that had offended her basic human senses.
She thought of Old Ben smashing through the picture window, of the mummified husk of a man clawing for her hungrily.
"Don't tell me about it," Sarah replied, a scowl on her face as she climbed onto the bike behind him.
A/N: Read through after post and realised I'd left a gaping hole in the story through editing. Had to delete and repost. Sorry.