Dead of Winter (43 page)

Avery coughed, covering his mouth with a handkerchief. He felt the disease coursing through him like glacier water inside his veins. The boreal wind whispered in his ear, tempting him to do leap off the balcony.
Death will end your misery
, the gale promised.
With us you will be free
. He looked over the railing, feeling vertigo. The drop would land him on the front steps, sure to snap his spine.

“Not like this.” He spoke back to the wind. If it came down to suicide, he would leave this world the same way his father had.

Avery stepped back inside his study and set the red violin gently on the shelf with a dozen others his grandfather had crafted.

His Cree butler brought another glass of Scotch and holy water on a silver tray. Avery smiled. “Charles, you have been more loyal to me than anyone. I don’t believe I pay you as handsomely as I should.”

The butler bowed and walked away.

As Avery sipped the fiery drink, calming the beast within, he heard a screech in the distance. Turning, he noticed a dark cloud approaching over the forest, then, as it exploded into a thousand black pieces, he realized the cloud was a swarm of ravens.

176

A massive leviathan swam across the sky, blotting out the light. Hundreds of ravens stormed the fort in a black cyclone of dark-winged chaos. The ungodly cawing deafened Tom. “Run!” he yelled at the other five men. And then they were running through the cemetery.

Tom felt a sudden wind at his back. The birds swooped down between him and the Jesuits, attacking with beaks and talons.

Whirring wings. Running legs. Burning lungs.

Tom fought his way through the maelstrom, getting pecked and scratched. He reached the front steps of Noble House, climbing up to the second story. Lt. Hysmith ran a few steps ahead. He opened the door. Behind Tom raced Father Xavier.

Back at the cemetery, men were screaming. Beaks ripped the flesh off the blacksmith’s face. Andre and a soldier both collapsed beneath hordes of flapping birds.

“No!” Father Xavier tried to run back down the steps, but Tom pulled the priest into Noble House and slammed the door shut.

177

In the foyer, Tom caught his breath. His clothes were torn and his hands red with scratches. His forehead and cheeks burning, he knew his face must look just as bad. He stared out the window. Thousands of ravens swooped and swirled, surrounding Noble House like a black tornado. Black wings flapped against the windows. The thick panes held. Near the cemetery a feeding frenzy completely covered three bodies.

Father Xavier, who had cuts on his face and bald head, looked stunned. “Did Andre make it?”

Tom shook his head.

Lt. Hysmith swatted at a few birds that had gotten inside. They flew off into the ballroom.

“Is everyone all right?” Pendleton came downstairs with Walter Thain and their butler.

Tom informed them about the recent deaths.

“Who else was out there?” Pendleton asked.

Lt. Hysmith said, “Wickliff and Bowen were manning the watchtowers.”

The six men looked out the windows at the black storm. Whether the sentries were alive or dead, Tom couldn’t tell. With Willow upstairs, that left seven survivors taking refuge inside Noble House, five of whom were infected.

178

In the watchtower, Private Wickliff closed all the portals, blocking out the birds. They clawed at the roof and walls, cawing together in one maddening voice. Wickliff cowered in a corner, holding his hands over his ears.

179

Anika drove her dogsled through the pines with the river just off to her right. In the distance behind her, beasts howled. She whipped the huskies harder. They reached a bend in the river where several canoes lay along the bank. She loaded a canoe with gear. Her dogs barked, getting tangled with one another.

A white mist with whirling snow devoured the trees. The howls drew closer.

Anika cut loose her eight dogs and ushered them into the canoe. Her black wolf-dog ran back into the woods, barking.

“Makade!” Anika chased after him.

The dog vanished in the mist and yelped, followed by the sound of bones cracking.

Anika halted. In the snowstorm walked tall, skeletal creatures, with elongated limbs and faces that were all teeth and hungry eyes.
Windigos
.

Anika sprinted back, pushed the canoe into the river, and paddled away.

180

At Noble House, Father Xavier nailed a crucifix to the front door. His heart ached for the loss of Brother Andre. The young man had wanted so badly to become a priest. Maybe his fears had been portents of their imminent doom. Maybe God
was
failing them, just like he had Father Jacques.

That’s what the demon wants me to believe. Keep your faith, Xavier. You have to be strong for the others.

Pendleton, Hysmith, and Tom nailed boards over the second-story windows. They each coughed. Father Xavier handed them more bottles of holy water. “Keep drinking.” The priest then gazed out a window. Outside, ravens now stood along the stockade fence and covered the rooftops of every cabin.

Tom stood beside him at the window. “Is this also the demon’s doing?”

Father Xavier nodded. “The legion has the power to possess the animal kingdom.”

181

Anika swiftly paddled her canoe down the icy river. Snow fell heavily, the wind pushing against her back. Her seven huskies huddled together in the long canoe. Ozaawi moaned for the loss of Makade. As Anika’s aching arms fought against the rapids, her thoughts had been reduced to the survival instincts of prey fleeing from predators.

Shrieks echoed from upriver.

Anika paddled faster through a narrow channel. The canoe slid over a sheet of ice and got lodged. She chopped at the frozen shore, but the ice was too thick. She struggled to guide the boat back toward moving water. The dogs yelped. The fog drifted around them.

A voice called out from Anika’s left, “
Anikaaaaa.”

In the woods, the pack of human and animal forms was moving through the smoke. Her heart seized as a windigo that resembled Kunetay Timberwolf broke clear of the haze. It ran ahead of the pack, its stick-like limbs jutting at odd angles as it bound through the trees on all fours.

Anika pushed her oar against the ice. Her dog, Mushcoween, snarled at the windigos. The canoe shot downriver, just as the Kunetay beast leaped onto the ice and crashed into the river, shrieking as it sank.

Mushcoween moaned, thrashing his head violently. Anika gasped at seeing the claw marks on the dog’s nape. Foaming at the mouth, Mushcoween bit into the throat of another husky, killing it. The other dogs ran to the far edge of the canoe. One leaped overboard.

“No!” Anika cried.

Mushcoween faced her. The dog’s eyes were rolled back to solid whites. It leaped toward her, growling. She held back its fangs with her paddle. The canoe spun sideways over the rapids. The windigo dog snapped at her throat, drool falling against her cheeks. Anika grabbed the antler handle at her hip and drove her knife into Mushcoween’s neck. Anika wailed as she pushed her dog overboard. She then jabbed the oar into the rapids and stopped the canoe from spinning. She paddled back on course, watching her four remaining dogs as they huddled together at the far end of the canoe.

Part Eighteen

The Hunger

182

At Noble House, all the second-story windows were boarded up. Tom peered between the slats that covered the window beside the front door. The flocks of black birds remained perched on all the rooftops and surrounding fence. They weren’t all just ravens. Also among them were crows, jackdaws, and rooks.
Corvids
, Dr. Coombs had called them. Somehow the birds endured the wind and falling snow. In the dead gray sky, clouds formed over the forest, and Tom felt in his gut this was only a calm before another storm.

Cold fire burned inside his chest, the sickness once again spreading through him. He took another sip from his canteen. The holy water seemed to be working its miracles, restoring his strength each time he drank. He wondered how long the drink could hold back the sickness before it finally took over his mind and body.

He went into the large ballroom at the rear of the house. Christmas wreaths still hung on the walls between the windows. The tall tree with the star on top stood in the far corner with fake presents stacked around it. Tom had no recollection of this year’s Christmas, as he had spent the holiday season floating in whiskey.

Gazing out the back window, he surveyed the shack at the rear of the cemetery. The Dead House. His son’s winter crypt. Oddly, the door stood open. A white shape took form in the doorway’s dark maw, and Chris appeared at the threshold, somehow alive, somehow beckoning Tom with a bone-white hand.

His head suddenly went dizzy. He rubbed his eyes. Looked back out the window. The door to the Dead House was closed.

183

Anika pulled her canoe onto the shore at Otter Island. The village was much larger than the one that neighbored Fort Pendleton. Here, several bands of Ojibwa gathered to endure the hard winters together. This island between two rivers was also a sacred place where evil manitous never trespassed. The windigos had stopped chasing her a few miles upriver. Her last image of them was a pack of stick-like creatures crouched at the shore.

Now, Anika’s four huskies kept close to her legs as she entered the village. Ozaawi must have sensed the fear of her three siblings, for she took over as leader and led the way. Anika followed the sounds of beating drums. Snow continued to fall heavily, powdering huts and wigwams that were aglow with fires. She smelled venison cooking, and her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. A few horses stirred, and some dogs barked, but no one greeted Anika and her dogs. It appeared that every tribe member was inside.

At the center of the village, she entered a large wigwam that thundered with drumming and chanting. Warriors were dancing backwards. A ceremony to ward off the windigos. Several elders were gathered in a circle. The shaman from several bands made up the Grand Medicine Society. The Mediwiwin. The elders passed around a ceremonial pipe. Grandmother Spotted Owl looked up. The drumbeats stopped as all heads turned toward Anika. Everyone looked at her as if a
wiitigo
had just entered the wigwam.

184

Tom joined four other men at the dining table. On his plate was elk steak cooked rare and bloody. The officers around the table were becoming a macabre lot with grayish-white skin and withdrawn cheeks. Tom dined with them, doing what he could to sate his voracious appetite and keep his strength up. He met eyes with Father Xavier. The priest looked nervous to be having dinner among the infected. He bit into a raw clove of garlic. He smiled as he chewed and offered some cloves to Tom. “Seems to help.”

“Whatever works, I guess.” Tom bit into the raw garlic, wincing at the burning flavor. The cold retreated. Evidently, the thing inside him didn’t seem to like garlic either.

Lt. Hysmith reached for another piece of meat. Walter Thain stabbed a fork into it. “Mine!” The obese man’s white-striped eyes glared as fiercely as those of a hungry jaguar.

“You’ve had more than your share,” Hysmith snarled back.

“There’s plenty more.” Pendleton rang a bell. The Cree butler came in from the kitchen with another plate stacked with bloody meat. Hysmith and Thain grabbed the meat shanks like barbarians.

The butler refilled their Scotch. Pendleton, who still had enough civility to eat with utensils, set down his fork and knife and raised a goblet. “Enjoy the feast, gentleman, for this may very well be our last.”

Tom, feeling sick to his stomach, left the table.

185

Inside the wigwam, the chiefs and shamans gathered around Anika. She told them about the cannibal plague at Fort Pendleton and how the man she loved was turning windigo. She begged the Mediwiwin to save him.

Grandmother Spotted Owl shook her head. “Forget him. The white people conjured the tricksters. The disease is theirs to bear.”

Anika said, “There must be something we can do.”

An old shaman said, “There is no stopping the
wiitigo
.”

“We can fight them with our spears and our magic!” shouted Swiftbear’s voice. Anika’s silver-haired uncle parted the crowd and stepped into the circle. He wore a bear-claw necklace. His broad chest and shoulders were engraved with scars that displayed his years as a warrior. Swiftbear also walked the path of a medicine man. “Together we can call in the spirits of the four winds and send the
wiitigo
back to Manitou Forest.”

The Mediwiwin argued with one another. Those who were warriors wanted to fight, while those who were protectors feared the outcome of interfering with the spirit world.

Anika told the elders, “Every winter the
wiitigo
attack our trappers. We leave our land and they eat all our game.”

Swiftbear said to Chief Mokomaan, “This winter they killed your daughter’s husband and your grandson. It’s time we fight back.”

Grandmother Spotted Owl stepped between her son and granddaughter. “No, I won’t allow this.” The other elders joined in protest.

Chief Mokomaan raised his palm, silencing the crowd. “We have fled too many winters. Many of us have lost members of our family. It is time we call upon our good spirit Nanabozho to guide us. And the brothers of the four winds to fight the
wiitigo
.” He offered Anika to take a few warriors with her to the fort.

Swiftbear gripped a spear that was etched with animal totems. He put a hand on Anika’s shoulder. “I will go with you, also, Little Pup.”

186

In the parlor of the Pendleton home, Tom helped Father Xavier assemble spiritual weapons on a table: crucifixes, bottles of holy water, silver crosses with dagger blades, and an exorcist’s book of rites. Tom held up one of the cross-daggers. It was marked with a fiery sun: the Jesuit insignia. “I saw that Father Jacques had one of these. What is it for?”