Read Beneath a Winter Moon Online
Authors: Shawson M Hebert
“Roger,” Snow answered.
“No," Thomas answered. "We do not copy. This is one of the bad guys, and we can’t allow him to regenerate.”
“Is this Mr.
Devereaux
?” the radio cackled.
“It is. I have Tucker, and there is no way that he stays in one piece. This ends here and now. No chance of this happening again.”
“You are out of your depth, mister.”
“No, you are. Your whole team was slaughtered trying to take out one of these bastards. It was me—I did the job on him. Your team leader was infected and had to put himself down. Now,” Thomas said through gritted teeth. “It seems to me that if anyone is out of their depth, it’s been you guys. You tried to transport one of these bastards across the country? How’d that work out for you? Guess what, hero? I’ve saved your asses AGAIN. So, don’t talk to me about being out of depth.”
For a long moment, there was nothing but static, but then the harsh voice returned. “You have our gratitude and our attention for your actions. But you do not understand. Unless we can learn from these…beings…this will continue to happen. We need to study them and come up with a way to defeat the infection. Perhaps even create a vaccine. Now, you were deputized by Deluth. That means you have sworn an oath. If you break it, and fail to follow orders, then you are subject to the maximum punishment under the law that we can think to hit you with. Now, do you copy?”
Thomas thought about that. “I didn’t accept any position in your club, asshole. I’m not your deputy, and I am not even a citizen of your country. Tell you what. When I touch down, I’m gone, and where I am going is straight to my embassy. Now, they might be in collusion with you, but something tells me they won’t have the same reaction that you are…and won’t be so enthusiastic to keep one of these fuckers alive. That’s what I am betting.”
“Leave Mister Tucker as he is, and you can walk away, Thomas.”
Thomas shook his head. “I’m walking no matter what.”
With that, he unplugged the radio and made a sharp gesture across his throat to signal Snow. Snow shrugged, but turned off the radio, anyway.
Thomas thought about doing the horrible deed with the K-bar that he had with him, but remembering the struggle and the gore from before, he decided to wait until the touched down on the airfield.
Twenty minutes later, Snow maneuvered the helicopter as close as he could to the hanger doors, which were now closed. He touched down on the tarmac just as Thomas swung the cabin door open. Thomas turned his face away from the cold blast, then gritted his teeth and hopped out. It was snowing again, and heavy gray clouds hung above them once more. He turned and started to grab Alan’s body by the shoulders when he heard boots behind him. Thomas muttered a curse under his breath, then slowly turned around.
At least a dozen men, in full combat gear and snow-camouflage, stood five feet away, the front rank had weapons drawn and aimed at Thomas. Thomas slowly raised his hands and frowned as the apparent leader of the team stepped up to him.
“Thomas Devereux, I presume?” the man asked, his voice heavy with a French accent.
Thomas nodded warily, imagining what he must look like—covered in the dry blood, not having shaved in a week. He expected the man to extend a hand or maybe say something witty, if he was the one who had been on the radio—but Thomas was caught off guard when instead, the man swung the butt of his rifle, lightning fast, catching Thomas in the jaw. He barely had time to see the blur of movement before crumpling to the tarmac, unconscious.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Thomas awoke to bright sunlight. He squinted for several seconds, his eyes adjusting to the bright light, then realized he was in a hospital bed. He looked down at his right arm where a nasty-looking IV dripped clear liquid from a saline bag. He shifted himself so that he could sit up, then groaned and put his left hand to his jaw.
“He hit you pretty hard. That eye will be black for a while, I bet…along with your jaw.”
Thomas had heard the voice before…the pilot. He squinted again and saw Snow sitting in a small reclining chair in the corner of the room, his feet propped on an old wooden desk chair.
“Where’s my dog?” Thomas asked as he rubbed his jaw and the left side of his face.
“Oh, he’s fine. He’s at my place, being lazy with my dog. His leg is going to be fine and he has nothing else seriously wrong. He was up and around a bit today.” Snow frowned. “I think he’s worried about you, though. He won’t eat much. Looks kind of depressed.”
Thomas groaned again. “Thanks for seeing to him. I’m grateful. Where am I and how long has it been…and where is the asshole that hit me.”
“You are in the local hospital and it’s been just shy of two days. That guy who hit you, he also shot you up with something to keep you out for a while. He’s gone”
“Bastard,” Thomas said.
Snow nodded. “Look, I am here because they wanted me here when you woke up. Been sitting here since last night. They…whatever you want to call them, have wrapped everything up completely. All in all they have been pretty good about everything.” He paused, looking at Thomas’s badly bruised face. “All things considered, I guess.”
“I hope you are ready to explain what you just said.”
“I will start with the guy that hit you--this new man…the one who replaced Deluth. His name is
LeDuc
and he’s a real nasty piece of work. He seems to have more authority than his predecessor, and that, my friend, is scary. Long story short, everything, every event, every
one
has been contained and explained. I am to have you sign some paperwork, give you a couple of things, and then see you on your way home.” He paused, thinking. “Oh…and you are not to visit your embassy…though you’d have to go a hell of a long way to do that. It would be easier to just go home.”
“See me on my way?” Thomas asked incredulously. “Paperwork?” Thomas sat up fully, and groaned again. “You make it sound like a business transaction. Snow, my friends are
dead
. Killed by…shit…you know by what it was. ” He shook his head. “And we’re wrapping things up with some paperwork?”
“A werewolf.” Snow said. “I think you and I have earned the right to say the word”
“Yes…we have.” Thomas stared out the window for a moment and then rubbed his eyes again, wincing as he touched the tender area where he had been struck. “And what about that young guy…what’s his name…what about him?”
“Alan Tucker.”
“Yes, Alan Tucker.”
“Well,” Snow sighed. “Officially, he’s dead. Killed outside of town in a wreck while being transported to another facility.” Seeing the incredulous look on Thomas’s face, Snow decided now would be a good time to show him the paperwork. He dropped his feet from the chair and stood up. “Here. Take a look at these. You will need to sign them all.”
Thomas grabbed the half-inch thick stack of papers. “What are these?”
Snow removed a pen from his shirt pocket. He held it out to Thomas. “They are your official statements on the events that led to your being here. I managed to talk
LeDuc
into letting me be the one to get these to you. I told him that things might go better if it wasn’t him or one of his men.”
Thomas nodded, understanding. “It’s a cover story. Everything is bullshit. Delmar was right. They’d have taken him and dissected him or something…worse.”
Snow gave Thomas a sad look. “He was one of your friends…I read the paperwork and saw his name.” Snow guessed the meaning of Thomas’s words, so he did not ask about Delmar. He understood that Thomas’s friend had been bitten sometime before he died. “I’m sorry, Thomas. Very sorry.” He sighed again. “I’m to make sure that you read and sign those, but I’m also supposed to tell you a few things. So, here goes. You and your friends were in a helicopter crash in which you were the only survivor…well…you and your dog. That’s it…the entire story. You don’t know anything about anything else. You were found by air rescue after having survived in a cave for three days. Your statement was printed in the Hope newspaper yesterday.”
Thomas guffawed.
Snow continued, “Alan Tucker murdered that man…Jeremiah…out at his cabin and burned it down. Turns out that he and Jeremiah were responsible for the murders of everyone at the cabin. So, Alan turned on Jeremiah at some point and killed him. Then Alan killed some other folks outside of town while he was escaping custody.”
“Sonofabitch. They are pinning murders on that innocent kid while Alastair…Jeremiah…doesn’t even get an honorable mention. Well, now…how completely screwed is that?”
Snow shook his head. “It sucks the big one, Thomas. I’m not justifying their bullshit story, but Alan did kill the men who were escorting him, and then he killed an elderly man and woman inside their own home.” He raised a hand to prevent Thomas’s coming comments. “I know…I know…this was while he wasn’t himself, of course…but you can see that he isn’t exactly innocent.”
“His poor family,” Thomas said, looking down at the papers, still not reading them yet. “They will believe…his friends and family will believe he is a murderer. Does he deserve that?”
“He was…is a friend of mine. We weren’t close, but I’ve known him for a long time. Look, Thomas, you and I don’t have a choice here. Not if we want our lives back. They checked your blood—and mine—and we aren’t infected. They have already sanitized the whole situation and it’s been in the papers. We can’t tell the truth, Thomas. Not if we want to live normal lives…not if we want to live.”
Thomas was silent for a long moment. “What did they do with the kid?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Snow said, but Thomas noted the look on the man’s face and it said it all.
Thomas started flipping through the paperwork. “They’ve done a great job. These are all sworn statements in perfect order…and a governmental privacy clause that leaves us facing life imprisonment for failure to comply. That’s probably horse shit, but the whole setup is damned good.”
Snow nodded. “The last page has a set of airline tickets paper-clipped…for you and Jack. They took the liberty of setting you up for tomorrow…to your sister’s town in
Florida
.”
Thomas flipped to the last page and reviewed the ticket. “So they did. Well, wasn’t that nice of the bastards.”
“Will you be alright, Thomas? I know we do not know each other…but I wanted you to know that as long as I am around, you can talk to me. Hell, I am the only person that you dare to talk with about any of this. Not if you want to keep your freedom—or, knowing what little I do about those men back there—your life.”
Thomas shook his head. “You know, I knew the world was screwed up…I saw it firsthand while in the military, but this? This whole thing opens up a whole new realm of screwed up possibilities. And
all of them
are unbelievable…and all
as real as death itself
.”
“They wanted me to tell you that your friends’ remains are flying out today. They’ve been cremated. The families got an order to hold the remains, but somehow there was a quote-unquote
mix-up
and the cremation happened anyway. Also, they’ve been prevented from coming up here. ”
Thomas threw the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. He removed the tape and yanked out the plastic tubing, holding his wrist to stop the bleeding. “Christ, how will I be able to lie to them?” He asked the question to no one. “Do I have any clothes, here?”
Snow nodded. “In the bathroom closet, hanging up.”
“Who gets the bullshit paperwork?”
“I’m to take it to the police station.” He hesitated. “After your plane is wheels-up.”
Thomas laughed at that. “Man, I struck a nerve, didn’t I?” He sucked in a breath as he stood upright
“You have five fractured ribs, but they are already healing. They weren’t bad, the doc said…but you are supposed to leave that brace on for a week.”
Thomas looked down at the white, cloth corset. He rubbed his right side, thinking that it hurt now more than it did when he was out in the forest. He looked back to Snow. “They really are fools, you know? They claim they are here to protect us, yet at the same time, they want to play scientist with the damned beasts—study them…probably to see if they can use them somehow.” He shook his head and scowled as he stepped past Snow. “How can they
not
see the danger…especially after the kid broke free once already?” He waived off Snow’s reply. “
Nevermind
.”
He was shocked at the bruises on his face. One day, he thought, I’ll return the favor to that bastard. He dressed slowly, as it was more difficult than he would have thought. Both his left and right sides ached from the cracked and bruised ribs, and he hurt everywhere else as well. He knees were sore from crawling through the tunnels, and his hands and elbows were bruised and scratched horribly. He almost laughed. He hadn’t felt this bad after the horrible parachute accident he had while in the Army. Civilian life could be
dangerous,too
.
He finished getting dressed and stared into the mirror once more. His eyes welled up with tears as he thought of Daniel and Delmar…of all the horrible events. Survivor’s guilt immediately set in, and he silently asked God why he had survived once more, where other good men had died…and died so horribly.
Checking out of the hospital was easy. The nurse at the checkout station merely shook her head when he asked if there were prescriptions to fill or charges that he needed to pay. He stared at her for a moment, and then understood…this had been fixed by
LeDuc
as well. In all likelihood, whatever records did exist would be switched for records that fit the incident more readily.
Thomas and Snow slowly walked down the steps outside the hospital. Thomas waited on a bench while Snow brought his truck around. Thomas chuckled, seeing that the vehicle was an antique and not in great shape. “You came in that thing?” Thomas asked as he climbed in. “You are a brave man, Lieutenant Snow Eagle.”
Snow raised an eyebrow and then ground the gear shift until the transmission clicked into first gear. “Let’s go and see your dog.”
Epilogue
Alan knew he had to do it…but he was so young and had barely begun to live. He shook his head as he stepped into the trailer…he could not live knowing he was a monster…a murderer who would eventually kill those that he loved. This had to be done…and he would do it…alone.
After tidying up the trailer, which had remained untouched after the authorities ransacked it, Alan laid out his most personal things…things that he felt his family would want, and then took out a sheet of paper from his printer and wrote a letter in the best hand he could muster. It took him half an hour to get through it and there were moments when he wanted to stop and reconsider what he was about to do—but he steeled himself. He would not allow himself to live as a monster.
He folded the note in half and yelped out loud, cutting his finger on the paper’s edge. Cursing, he sucked on the finger so as not to get blood on the paper…that would be a bit much. He set the note down on the couch on top of the file-box full of personal items, then went to the kitchen for a band-aide. He went through drawers and cabinets and finally found a box on top of the fridge. He opened it and took out a band-aide, keeping his finger curled so the blood would not get on the wrapper…and then he noticed that the cut was no longer there. He stared at the finger, knowing what had happened. Not the slightest trace of the wound remained…no little scar etched in its place—nothing. The cut was gone.
I’m healing even faster
, he thought.
I have to do this—now.
He moaned and headed for the door. It had to be now. On the way out, he turned and took one last glance at all he had ever owned…and his chin trembled at the realization of how little he possessed.
The clock on the dash flashed 11:50a.m as Alan pulled the jeep into the airfield parking lot and hopped out. It was a sunny day. The ground was still covered in snow, but the temperature was above freezing, and the sun was bright in the sky. He tossed the keys onto the seat and shut the door. He pulled his hood down low over his face and saw a couple of maintenance crewmen looking his way. Rather than try to ignore them, he kept his face covered and waived. They seemed hesitant, but finally waived back. Alan thought that it might be a bit much for them to see a dead man walking down the tarmac.
He reached his aircraft and smiled. He ran his hands along a wing and then patted the fuselage. “One more time,” he whispered.
He went through the preliminary checks. As he did so, he saw the maintenance men talking and glancing over at him. One broke away and walked toward the small airport tower.
Time to go
. Alan grabbed the ropes holding the chocks against the wheels and tossed them aside. No need to put them in the aircraft for safekeeping…he wouldn’t need them again. He hopped in to the pilot’s seat and began preflight
By the time he was taxing to the airport’s runway, one of only two, the radio was blasting with calls…from his father, no-less. The old man was blabbing about not being cleared for take-off, no flight-plan being submitted, and generally cursing at whomever was in his son’s plane to get the hell back, because the law was on the way.
Alan turned off the radio. As he settled the Cessna onto the runway, he could not resist unzipping the window on the pilot door and leaning an arm out. He flipped the bird at the tower. Well, not really so much as at the tower as at his father. He knew the no-good sonofabitch would be watching closely through the large set of binoculars he kept at the tower desk.
So long, Dad, you sorry old piece of shit
. Samuel looked through the binoculars in bewilderment...not the least bit of hope or happiness crossed his face. It was his son. His sorry murdering son was not dead after all.
Alan pondered the past day’s events as he piloted the Cessna—how he had woken up in the forest merely a few miles from Hope. He hadn’t known what happened, but recalled images—mere snapshots of what had occurred. Somehow, while transformed, he had broken free and killed many men in the process. He didn’t know why the beast had ran for home…or how far away he had been…just that he woke up a bloody mess outside of Hope.
LeDuc
and his men had been his captors, but they had handed him over to another, even more violent and sadistic group of men and women who seemed to enjoy Alan’s agony. He shuddered at the thought of what they had done to him. Testing his levels of pain of all kinds, observing and timing his ability to heal various types of wounds, most being hideous, such as fire, gunshots, and the exposure to silver.
Alan had been their best test subject, they said. He had the highest IQ and had more strength than any other while transformed…which was why he had been able to escape so easily while being transported that first time. They said he was an unusual and fascinating specimen…and they continuously reminded him that he was no longer human, and no longer subject to human, (or even animal), rights and compassions. Alan had fallen into an unimaginable despair. He had given up, completely. Apparently, however, his alter ego—the beast within—had only grown stronger in his resolve to escape.
As Alan flew the small aircraft out over the lake, he marveled at the beauty. He had been so lucky to grow up here. What a wonderful and beautiful place. He pulled the Cessna to a climb. Soon, when he feared reaching the point of a stall, he nosed the plane down. Back below the sketchy cloud cover, he kept his eyes on his target. Below him, just a dot right now, was a two hundred feet high sheer granite wall. He hoped no climbers were on it this day. When the plane reached the right level for his maneuver, he throttled the engine as hard as he could without taking it into a stall. The rock wall approached, closer and closer, larger and larger.
There was a point, perhaps a few seconds before impact when the beast inside him cried out with more strength than ever...but it was far too late. Alan had defeated his alter-ego’s fight for survival and perhaps...just perhaps...for a
moment, Alan
regretted his decision. But then, that was the reason he had chosen this method.
This way
, he had thought,
I probably won’t be able to back out…and there won’t be anything left of me to survive…semi-immortal werewolf or not
. The only thing that he knew for certain about his death was that his body would need to be utterly destroyed in order to keep from ‘coming back.’ Alan’s split-second of regret transformed into sheer terror as he let go of the controls and shut his eyes.
The fireball that ensued could be seen for miles away. People ice fishing on the lake swore that they could feel a delicate tremble on the icy surface, generated by the concussion off of the granite wall just before they saw and heard the crash.
* * * * *
Thomas sat behind the big table, facing a mountain of books on his left and right. Jack sat beside him, enjoying the smell of the rug on which he lay. The bookstore insisted that Jack be on a leash, (for safety reasons, of course), and Thomas reluctantly complied. For a moment, the horrible events of the mountain came back to him, as though he had never recovered...as though he had just come back home.
Three years earlier, after a short rest at his sister’s home, Thomas had visited Delmar’s father, telling the best lies that he could muster about the death of his son. The elderly man had changed the subject in the middle of Thomas’s words, and Thomas understood Delmar’s frustration with his father.
Visiting Daniel’s family had been a very strange and disturbing experience.
Daniel’s closest friend on the Indian reservation had been a cousin named Strong. Strong seemed to know a lot about Daniel’s death and the circumstances surrounding it. Indeed, Thomas could see that the man had somehow learned the truth. Perhaps not all of it, but enough...and he believed it all.
The story he had conveyed to Thomas about Daniel’s supposed broken oath and his subsequent ostracizing made his skin crawl. The story went a long way toward making Thomas believe in the idea that there are no coincidences.
The bookstore was located in a small town in
Maine
. Thomas was promoting his first book in its third week of release. It was number twenty-one of the bestseller’s list, and holding steadily to number fourteenth overall in retail sales.
His publishing contract netted him one third of the hardcover sales, and then half of whatever the rights to the paperback would sell for. The paperback publication deal was being negotiated right now, probably for a release next year. Thomas was nervous. Though he’d been to several interviews and one other book signing, today was to begin a two-week book signing that would take him all the way across the
US
.
Thomas had even traveled to the
UK
for his research once he’d decided to actually turn his writing into a book…and what he had found had stunned him.
So many of the murders in the
UK
could easily have been attributed to a
being
(a word used quite often in his book) like a werewolf that he had to drop that small portion of his research. He had not intended to use that type of detail in his book, but after seeing so many cases where the cause of death was similar and where DNA and other forensic evidence came back with no match or a match of ‘unknown,’ he had to make note of it.
His sister helped him send out the manuscript when it was finished, and astonishingly, he’d been offered three publishing deals in a matter of months. He hired a true agent then, and after some negotiating, had his first promise for publication.
Some editing was required, some pieces of the book were moved, chapters rearranged, but the book was met with enthusiasm. That enthusiasm paid off on the release date. A month before its release, the numbers of pre-orders online climbed to a number that was higher that Thomas ever imagined he’d see. ‘Monsters, Myths, and Reality’ was selling well, and Thomas actually felt good about it.
He carried a licensed handgun loaded with silver bullets…bullets that had been blessed by a flustered, but generous priest—and hidden on his side he carried Alastair’s dagger. If the public ever found out, he’d likely never sell anything again...which would probably make certain authorities across North America and the
United Kingdom
very happy.
The proverbial ‘they’ had paid a visit to Thomas just after he signed the deal to have his book published.
They
explained to him that if he crossed the line even in the slightest, bad things would happen. Thomas understood that
bad
likely as not meant that Thomas might disappear in the night, never to be seen again…and so he had assured his unwanted guests that the events in those mountains would stay forever buried, never to reveal themselves in the light of day in any way, much less in a book.
One of the men had lead Thomas to believe that his book might actually be good for business. Most often people’s sightings of werewolves would go unreported because the witness didn’t want to appear insane, he had said to Thomas, then shrugged when Thomas explained that those very facts were in his book. “Books like yours help us out. People read those kinds of books and it makes them more likely to go to the local sheriff and give him an accurate enough description so that it sends up a red flag to us…rather than not reporting anything or worse, just reporting it was some
guy
.”
The men had left Thomas unmolested and allowed him to publish his book.
Thomas tried to maintain a smile as the doors opened and people began coming over to his table. Soon there was a small line at the table and Thomas could not fully hide his pride and his embarrassment. Signing his book always gave him the goose bumps, as if he were doing something wrong, or perhaps desecrating the memories of his friends by making a profit off the very subject that led them to their demise. He did his best to quash the uneasiness, and to be pleasant with each and every person. During lunch hour, he read a short excerpt from the book and took questions. The local news even showed up to do a short segment on the new book.