After my classic tuck and roll, and the deafening sound of gunfire, I scrambled to my feet only to be grabbed from behind. Having spun myself in circles, I had completely lost my point of reference. I didn't know if I was in the kitchen, the living room or somewhere in between. All I knew was that something had me by the shoulders and I screamed like a banshee, flailing my arms, hoping this pathetic display might somehow earn my freedom.
"Lisa, Lisa!" Lindsay said and the surprising level of calm in her voice pulled me from my frenzy. "Let's get out of here. The back room; we have to get to the back room, hurry!"
But did we really want to go in there? I remembered well the look on Jackson's face when he stepped out of that bedroom. He may be handsome, charming; the classic wolf in sheep's clothing, but make no mistake, this man kills people, entire families, for money. For him to back away from anything looking as though he'd just seen a ghost meant that the rest of us non-homicidal, seemingly normal people would find whatever lay beyond that door too atrocious for words.
For now however, we were at a standstill. Lindsay gripped the door handle and we both turned around, fully expecting our gentlemen companions would be right behind us.
They weren't. They were rather busy at the moment….
"Emmit," Lindsay screamed with a kind of desperation in her voice that I found heartbreaking.
It was perfectly understandable after all she'd been through. I truly felt for this lovely young woman who looked to be about twenty-two years old; too young to have lost a fiancée, too young to have her older brother in harms way, which he most certainly was, approaching this thing, this Wendigo, from behind with nothing but a folding chair as a weapon. He looked more like a lion tamer than a man going into battle. And like a lion, this creature would make short work of chair should it decide to switch targets. Emmitt didn't seem to care about that, he was just trying to help a man in trouble.
Jackson…before I knew it, I called out to him, telling myself I was only keeping up the appearance of the ever loving girlfriend. I couldn't be feeling some level of concern…no, no way; that was impossible. Just perpetuating the lie for Emmitt and Lindsay's safety; it had nothing whatsoever to do with that man across the room with his shotgun and his camouflage jacket looking very heroic and too damn sexy for my good! How the hell does that little snake do it? He looked calm even as it approached him and that alone made me not want to see him torn limb from limb. Lord knows I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I should be thankful that I was in the presence of less highly strung people.
Actually, I think what concerned me the most was that this thing didn't seem to be bothered by shotgun blasts. It would fall back a few feet, shake it off and keep right on coming. And unlike the movies, Jackson did run out of bullets.
Then there was the way it approached; bobbing and weaving, doing its best to maneuver him into a corner – something Jackson rolled to the side and leapt over the kitchen table to avoid – with an awareness that was all too human. No matter where Jackson went or what he did, it pursued him relentlessly. Here I thought I was the one that had been marked.
"Get out of here," Emmitt yelled to both of us as he hurled the chair.
Lindsay and I both watched as it sailed through the air, hitting its target between the shoulder blades before falling to the ground. There was no harm done, Emmitt had only captured its attention, buying Jackson precious seconds and nothing more.
"What are you doing? We won't leave you here," Lindsay said.
"You're not leaving us," he answered, picking up another, the last, chair. "I'm just going to help my buddy, Jack out of a jam and then we're right behind you."
Where have you been all my life, I wondered as Emmitt's words managed to comfort everyone in the room.
Still, all reassurances aside, I wound up having to push Lindsay through the door.When we entered that room, I shut the door behind us, leaving it unlocked in the hopes that they wouldn't be far behind. We stood there, watching, listening; both of us too frightened to turn around and see what Jackson had warned us shouldn't be seen. I'm sure the same thoughts were running through our minds, more or less, although it was she who had more at stake.
Would this be the last time we saw the two of them alive again? If things took a horrible turn, would we be able to leave them behind? I didn't know if I could do that; turn my back and listen to the terrified screams of fellow human beings as I ran.
What a bizarre twist of fate that the man who had brought me up here, intent on killing me, if that really had been the plan, might very well die trying to protect me. I guess stranger things have happened, but this had to be at the top of the weird shit list.
I'm also willing to bet that she too was haunted by the images she saw before that door swung shut; Jackson standing against the wall bending forward and pulling the right cuff of his pants up, revealing a black strap of fabric that secured a rather large knife around his lower leg, clearly his last line of defense.
Then there was Emmitt with another chair in hand, already within striking distance of the creatures' disproportionably long arms and yet still, he moved closer; his face filled with determination.
It looked like a suicide mission. Then the door swung shut.
"I have an idea," we heard Emmitt yell. "I need…," but his voice was cut off by an inhuman shriek.
"Please let that be Jackson making good use of his knife," I chanted and found myself rocking back and forth for comfort.
"What, what do you need?" Jackson asked when the screaming died down.
So far, so good; the two of them were still alive.
"Time…give me time."
Then something slammed against the wall just to the right of the door. I heard the sound of wood splintering, all kinds of things falling to the floor with a clatter.
"Oh, God," Lindsay began to whimper and she covered her ears, her resolve starting to slip even as mine slowly returned. "We just came up here for fun. We were going to tell ghost stories, freak each other out. This can't be real."
"It's going to be okay," I promised. "Jackson and Emmitt are…tough guys. They'll be here before you know it."
Feeling it was the right thing to do; I turned to Lindsay, looked into those gentle but frightened brown eyes and wrapped my arms around her even though it felt terrible awkward for me. Years ago, my hugs were more forthcoming. I was a legendary hugging machine but now, with the exception of handshakes, I'm not known as the demonstrative type. These were desperate times however, and they called for desperate measures.
She leaned into my embrace, wrapping her arms around me and eagerly accepting the comfort I had begrudingly offered. Things were going well until I looked away from my hand, which was patting her gently on the back, and glanced about the room. After that, my grip on her tightened to the point that she must have thought I was half boa constrictor. The truth of the matter was I'd been caught off guard; not even thinking that by the simple act of turning around, I would see something so horrific that I would wind up needing her for support.
There they were; two men, one lying on the floor, the other on the bed and from the looks of things, they'd been dead for awhile now – many long, cold hours, if not days.
Unfortunately, I've seen a dead body before. Hell, I put him there. It's not something I'm particularly proud of even if it was done in defense of me and my father. It doesn't change the fact that I revved my engine and drove my car straight through him, leaving him lifeless on the floor surrounded by a pool of blood. The sight of that dead man had stayed with me thoughout many sleepless nights; to this very day. It was a horrible sight, but these two men…they were the new champions. Even if we made it out of this alive, I would never sleep peacefully again in my life, not ever.
The man on the floor, the one lying less than four feet away from us, was on his stomach. I couldn't see his face and judging by the puddle of coagulated blood that surrounded his head that was probably for the best. In a way I was thankful that I saw him first, it gave me a little warning, a bit of time to prepare myself. Still, I don't know what possessed me to look up. The second body, otherwise known as the God-awful mess strewn across the bed, made me gag several times which was a strong warning to Lindsay in and of itself.
Definitely male, his arms and legs were fully clothed, untouched actually, but everything in and around his midsection was completely shredded, leaving him exposed. It was nothing that gave me cause to blush; there wasn't much left to see. My eyes didn't know where to go so they just kept scanned him up and down, finally coming to rest on his face which was also unscathed though contorted into an agonized grimace. Had I been looking for a lesson in human anatomy, I would have been in heaven because he was split down the middle and pulled wide open from his chest to his groin. The left side of his rib cage hung open, revealing nothing underneath. The right side had been bent inward, cracked and splintered under some heavy weight.
That conjured up horrible visions of the monster perched atop its victim, clawing and tearing, trying to get in, and I could only hope that this unfortunate man had been so paralyzed by fear that he couldn't feel a thing. Eaten alive from the inside out, his death couldn't have been quick. Another downward glance and another urge to vomit; it wasn't that I wanted to see his intestines or any of his inner workings for that matter, but the fact that they weren't there troubled me even more.
His friend must have walked in during all of this. In the wrong place at the wrong time, he must have tried to intercede, to stop this attack before his friend was devoured.
It hadn't worked out so well.
"Why?" I whispered. My breathing became shallow as the very thought of being eaten alive started me shaking again.
The loud, crash and huge commotion that followed stopped my breathing completely. I couldn't draw a breath, not until I got some sign that Jackson and Emmitt were okay.
"Nice shot," Emmitt yelled and I finally exhaled. Still alive, thank God, and from the inhuman screams that followed, they seemed to doing some damage. I wish I could have seen it.
"Throw it over here," Jackson said urgently.
What the hell was going on out there? By now, I was dying of curiosity, unable to even guess what Jackson could be talking about. However, the one thing that really struck me was the way Jackson and Emmitt were suddenly working as a unit. It was if they'd known each other their whole lives; adversaries to teammates in a matter of seconds.
Then, without fail, there were more screams. Jackson, Emmitt and now Lindsay, who had dared to turn around and like me was wishing she hadn't.
"Oh…oh, God," she began, and then fell into a sitting position covering her mouth and gagging just like I had.
"Listen to me, Lindsay; they're dead. There's nothing we can do for them so just pretend they're not even there."
"Pretend they aren't there? But they're so…so…,"
"I know, believe me I know, and I know it's hard but don't worry about them, don't even think about them. They can't hurt us," and after I said that, I pointed to the only window in this room, hoping that a task might help both of us muscle past the horrible sights and smells. "We need to find an escape route. We may have to get out of here in a hurry and we have to be ready. I don't want to wait until that thing is the room before I find out that that window over there is frozen shut, okay?"
"Okay," she said, rising to her feet.
I must say, this girl impressed the heck out of me. For such a young woman, she's got it together; far more level headed than I was at her age. She went to the window and gave the faintest smile when it popped open with little effort.
Well, she may have been happy but I certainly wasn't. Outside, the sky was painted in various shades of red, blue and purple, looking effectively bruised and ominous. And to add insult to injury, it was snowing heavily.
There were only two words to capture what I was feeling at this particular moment. Only two words that could truly communicate the gravity of the situation; what else can one say when plagued with an endless string of curses and bad luck?
"Oh shit."
There you go…perfection.
In a flash, the door flew open with such force that the door knob sank into the wall leaving an unsightly dent. Lindsay and I both cried out in alarm and then the commotion that had been outside was here with us. Jackson and Emmitt stormed in slamming the door behind them and without a word each grabbed an end of the bed – body included – and braced it against the door. All the while the air became thick with the smell of smoke and wet dog…a lovely combination. I had a million questions but I didn't say a thing. For now, I was just thankful we were all together again.
"Get over here, both of you. Help us hold this," Jackson ordered and we arrived not a moment too soon.
It slammed against the door, opening it a few inches before Lindsay and I charged ahead, using the weight and force of our bodies to drive it back. Digging our heels into the ground against its repeated efforts, we found that as a group, we couldn't be overpowered.
A few more attempts to gain entry and then its cries as well as its assault came to an abrupt end. Everything was silent but I knew we weren't safe. Nothing in life could be so easy.
Sure enough, it took a different approach. The claws that could easily tear a human being to pieces were certainly not deterred by a wooden door. The very frame began to shake, the wood splintered and it seemed likely that we would all be diving through that window in a matter of seconds.
"Shit, we have to get out of here," Jackson said.
"The window," I responded, looking over my shoulder. He followed my gaze, taking heart in the fact that we did have a mode of egress. Then his eyes fell to the floor, onto a pack of cigarettes that I hadn't noticed before. They must have fallen from one of the hunters pockets during the melee. Why they were so important to Jackson was beyond me but he stepped away from the bed, scooping them up before he turned around and surveyed the rest of the room.
"What?" I asked, because I knew that look on his face all too well. He had an idea.
"You need to hold this steady; I'm going to…,"
He stopped in mid sentence. He stopped because it stopped and when I summoned the courage to peak through the jagged holes it had left in the shoddy door I saw only empty space and a couple of smoldering table legs.
"It, it must have gone around the other way," I mumbled as I watched Emmitt readying another pair of table legs; makeshift torches should the need arise.
"Watch the windows," Emmitt warned while Jackson began tossing the room.
I took it upon myself to pull the sheets from the bed, covering both of the bodies; partly because seeing them was a constant reminder of how close to death we all were and because I felt they had gone through enough, both meeting brutal ends. They shouldn't be left on display like this.
Emmitt watched as went about my task, a somber expression on his face. "Poor guys, probably looking for bears and they found this," he said quietly and that was all he said before his focused returned to the window.
Now we know why there's no one else around…
With that job done, I stepped behind Jackson who was so engrossed in his search that he jumped when I touched his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"What does it look like? There's no radio here so I'm getting everything together. They had a first aid kit, a compass…some candles; if we have to take off, this stuff will come in handy."
"You mean it will come in handy for you when you leave us behind?"
"Do you really think I'd do that?" he asked with a scowl on his face.
"Yes, I do," I admitted. "Because you've never given me reason to think otherwise. Not unless you managed to find some honor while you were rummaging through their belongings."
"What happened to you, Leese? You used to be so…,"
"So what?" I asked, keeping my right leg on full alert, ready to show him the Lisa Reisert version of The Nut Cracker if he dared insult me again.
"Sweet."
"Life doesn't favor the sweet, Jack. If it did than Cynthia would be President of the United States. Instead she's putting up with people's bullshit and working the night shift just like I used to do. She'll stay in that job forever, driving around in a mini van with a 'Support Your Right to Arm Bears,' bumper sticker on the back, living like a vampire, thinking she's happy because she's do damn sweet."
"You could help her along, give her pointers, make sure she advances," he reasoned as he eyed a couple of kerosene lamps on the nightstand. "I'm sure you're not above favoritism."
"I'm not her teacher and you're not my life coach," I fired back earning yet another sideways glance. Talking to him was useless, every time I started to win an argument, we'd either be interrupted or he'd respond in grunts and refuse to make eye contact.
Making a conscious effort to not waste any more time, I decided to switch to more important topics.
"I have two questions for you, Jack. Does kerosene freeze?" and for the next question I allowed my voice to drop to a whisper, "And did you really bring me up here just to kill me? You seem so intent on making me a better person. I don't think you were going to kill me at all."
He thought about it for a minute, looking at me with what I thought was disappointment, overall surprise at my current attitude before he answered. "I don't know and…I don't know. Now that I see you for what you are, I have to wonder if a bullet to the head would even register. You seem pretty dead inside already."
"What the hell does that mean?" I bellowed.
"Be quiet, you two, save the lovers quarrel till after we get off this mountain," Emmitt chastised without even bothering to look at us.
Jackson listened, quieted down and turned away as if the conversation was over. What Emmitt said was logical, I'd give him that, but I was sick and tired of people referring to Jackson as my boyfriend or worse yet, lover – man, I hated that word –and there was no way in hell I was going to let that 'dead inside' comment pass.
"What did you mean by that?" I whispered over his shoulder, my voice sounding more like the hiss of a venomous snake than anything else.
"You're a smart girl, you figure it out," he responded in an equally curt tone of voice. "And no, I wasn't going to kill you. I was going to make you dig a hole with your bare hands, lay in it and put a gun to your head. I was hoping to scare the shit out of you, literally."
"Then what, drive me home?" I asked, utterly appalled at the notion.
"Not exactly; I was going to drop you off about a mile from the ranger's station, let you walk from there."
"That was your ultimate revenge; your master plan?"
"Yup, to ride off into the sunset knowing that you were cooling your heels in the ranger's office with a load in your pants, waiting for the police and dear old dad to come to your rescue. That would have been pretty damned satisfying."
"You have a twisted, no, sick sense of humor," I said, once again filled with the desire to slap him into oblivion.
"Well, when the police and your former employers are out to get you, it helps if you're able to smile."
Without fail, he started to snicker, tickled pink in light of this shocking revelation. I hated to break it to him, but there was a little problem with that arrangement. "But they're not after you, Jack. They think you died in a prison riot. If things had gone according to plan I would have told the police that you were my abductor and they'd know you were very much alive."
"No, they would have thought you cracked. Let's face it, Leese, I've been keeping tabs on you since the day I stepped foot in jail. If you freaked out during yet another business trip, or annual performance evaluation, people wouldn't have been shocked. You're wound so fucking tight; they would have wondered what took so long."
"Blow it out your ass, Jack. I should have killed you when I had the chance. Remember that, when you were bleeding on my floor, bullet ridden, ass thoroughly kicked?" I asked, putting emphasis on that last word, rubbing it in.
The look on his face almost made this trip worthwhile. He was stunned – completely awestruck – and it's not because this is the first time he's been spoken to in such a manner. I'm willing to bet he's heard far worse than that in his day. But cutting, hurtful words like that, he never expected to hear them coming from me; nobody does.
I guess I started being more direct, yes, that's a good word for it, the instant I stepped off that plane and the trend did not subside over time. Oddly enough, the more I started telling people where they could get off, the faster I moved up the corporate ladder. People either wanted a woman like me on their team or they couldn't wait to get rid of me. Either way, I got a promotion and some extra cash in my pocket each time they moved me along. Being a bitch has proven quite profitable.
My dad couldn't be happier with his newly assertive, highly successful daughter but I have to admit, I tone it way down when he's around. Why do I do that? Let me put it this way; when Jackson followed me home, marking the beginning of our infamous showdown, I could have gotten away. I snuck out of the house. It had been easy and I could have run to the neighbors, called the cops from a safe place. Instead, I went right back inside to face off against a knife wielding maniac and I did so without a moments hesitation because I refused to leave my dad behind.
Obviously, the man means a lot to me and I'd hate for him to regard me with anything less than glowing admiration.
Deep down, I know I'm not being assertive. I really am on a slippery slope; slowly becoming cynical, bitter, sometimes nasty, and I don't know what to do about that. Dr. Phil hasn't written a self help book for rape survivors/terrorist plot foilers yet.
"Shut up, Leese. You're not tough, you're boring, just another spoiled brat," and when I started to interject, he raised his hand, telling me to stop. "You've had ample opportunity to speak your mind. Let someone else have a turn."
But I wasn't in the mood to listen; I turned my back to him and tried to walk away. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when he grabbed my hand and pulled me back. After all, you don't walk away from a man like that. He didn't last this long by shying away from conflict but when he caught my attention again, when he knew I'd have to listen, he didn't say a thing, just shoved a piece of plastic into my hand and closed my fingers around it.
My fingers ran over the item, tracing over the flat surface and smooth curves. I know a Bic lighter when I feel one. The biggest shock was that he'd given it to me.
He kept his eyes on me the whole time, finding pleasure in my slack jawed, speechless reaction; proof positive that actions speak louder than words.
"Where did you find this, Jackson?"
"Tucked into the pack of cigarettes, I thought you might want to hold onto it," he said, taking a challenging step toward me but keeping his voice calm and even. "And for the record, I'm not a coward."
"And I'm not dead inside," I countered, placing the lighter in my pocket for safe keeping.
"Prove it," he teased, as he began to turn away. "Give me reason to think otherwise."
The timing of that remark could not have been better. I don't know why it chose to return at that particular moment; drawn by our angry voices or the hope that we considered ourselves safe and as a result, had let our guard down, but whatever the reason, it was back. It slammed against the door even as we all rushed forward to hold it back but it had long since abandoned brut force. It was clawing away, shredding through that door with such intensity that it wasn't a matter of if it would get through, but when.
"Everyone out!" Emmitt yelled. "Lindsay and Lisa, you're first."
Lindsay was the first one out, straddling the edge, hesitating for a second. "It was always there. It never left," she said before she disappeared into night.
That made no sense to me. We weren't talking about a dainty creature. If it had been out there, listening to our conversation, which again, didn't seem to make any sense, surely we would have seen it.
"Your turn, Lisa," Emmitt continued, waving me toward the window and interrupting my train of thought.
I didn't budge. It wasn't the snow that stopped me or the cold weather I knew was waiting. I was sick of the testosterone in this room. Stand back little lady, let the big, strong men take care of you.
"I don't think so," I responded, pulling the lighter from my pocket and grabbing an oil lamp from the nightstand.
Now I don't know a damn thing about oil lamps. I was only hoping for two things; that the oil inside was something more than a noncombustible, frozen block and that this tiny lighter I held in my hand actually worked.
"What are you doing? You have to get out of here now," Jackson said giving me a substantial push toward the open window.
I stood my ground. Regaining the two steps his shove had taken. I stared him down, eyes burning, nostrils flaring, trying my hardest to appear menacing.
"I'm proving a point," I answered. Then I flicked the lighter, smiling at the yellow and orange flame. If that didn't emphasize my position, I don't know what would.
Lighter in one hand, projectile in the other, Jackson understood my message. I was an adult, more than capable of defending myself and I didn't need to be led around by the arm.
Like I said, I don't know a damn thing about oil lamps.
But in two seconds, I'm going to find out.
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Author's Note: I know it's been ages since I updated this story. The holidays, visiting family members, sick babies; all have kept me from my computer. But now I'm back and I hope you enjoy this chapter, even if it does end on yet another cliffhanger.
Thanks again to emptyvoices for her constant encouragement and to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review, that goes to anonymous reviewers as well!
I hope you all enjoyed the holidays and be sure to have a safe and happy new year!