NorthWest (John Hazard - Book II)

Copyright 201
1
by Jeffery H. Glaze. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted or distributed in any format without written authorization of the author as permitted under U.S. Copyright laws in accordance with title 17 United States Code.

Cover Concept, Artwork and Design: JH Glaze

Text
Editing: Susan Grimm

Published by MostCool Media Inc.

Kindle Edition December 2011

Dedicated to my wife Susan,
who continues to run down this crazy path with me and helps me keep focused on my work. Your tireless support and editing assistance enables me to keep moving forward. You will forever be my favorite cheerleader.

To all of my readers and reviewers, thank you for the awesome comments and encouragement. Without you, my stories are just words on paper.

Finally, thank you to Zack Parris
-
my first pass editor,
April Holt - my copy proofer, and my
story review team:
James Swearengin
(ISSO Productions),
Catherine Barson,
and
all of the
others who
have to listen to me drone on about my latest story, day after day. Y’all are the best.

NorthWest

The Paranormal Adventures of John Hazard Book
II

“With lies you may get ahead in the world - but you can never go back.”
 

~Russian proverb             
                             

One

Spring was late in coming to the northwestern forests this year. The animals were undoubtedly eager for the arrival of warmer weather and the abundance of food that would ultimately come. For now, they must settle for the early shoots of plants that had just begun to poke their heads out of the ground before the first big thaw of the season.

The chilled morning air seemed to amplify the sound of a healthy eight-point buck working his way through the striking shadows that littered the path in front of him as he found sustenance in the young plants. He stepped over a moss-covered log and continued moving through the clearing making tracks in the newly fallen snow with his hooves and his snout as he pushed the snow about looking for the next tender morsel.

He lifted his head often, alert to his surroundings. This being his seventh year of the mating season, he was more than aware of the smells and sounds around him lest he be surprised by another younger, more motivated buck, or worse a pack of wolves scouring the forest for breakfast.

As he gracefully bent his head downward to sniff the forest floor, he took a step forward and found his progress halted as he encountered a very solid object with his antlers. He was startled by the sudden collision since mere seconds ago he had scanned the forest around him and had noticed nothing to be alarmed about.

How could it be that he would find himself standing so close to another eight-point buck looking back at him? For a moment he was unsure how to react since he had not even a whiff of warning of another of his kind in this part of the forest. Surely there were no sounds to alert him. How could he have missed another male in his territory?

He took a cautious step back, lowering his rack into a defensive position and the intruder did the same. He brought his hoof up and slammed it to the ground, again as a challenge, and again the animal in front of him mirrored his actions. Now he was angry. His nostrils flared and he snorted his frustrations at the brazen trespasser who dared to confront him in his feeding grounds.

At this time of the year, contests were common among the bucks in the forest, usually for mating rights with a healthy young doe. However, it seemed this challenger wanted to fight for no apparent reason, and never one to resist the challenge, this strong male steadied himself for the charge. The moment had to be just right and he eyed his opponent who appeared to be waiting to make his move.

He was growing increasingly impatient, locked in a standoff with a worthy adversary, so he decided it was time to make the first move. Summoning all of his strength he surged forward, shaking his head side to side in an attempt to inflict the most damage to this stranger when he struck. With full force he hit with a loud ‘Krrrack’ as he made contact – but with what?

His right antler broke off at the crook of the first two points and tumbled to the ground as the force of his body caught up with him, pushing his neck into his shoulders with great energy. Stunned, he stumbled and went down on his front knees, struggling not to fall completely to the ground. He blew shafts of steam from his nostrils as he looked and saw that his opponent had suffered the same fate.

The injured buck rose again to his feet, preparing to charge. All at once there was a whirring sound above him and a blur of motion as something struck his shoulder, slicing it wide open. The hit created a foot long gash.

He bawled in pain as he was knocked off balance by the momentum of the strike, and blood shot straight out from the wound. His opponent disappeared as the blood struck some invisible object between them and cascaded down to the ground. He managed to turn his head a bit when he noticed the shadow from a moving object above him.

Just then another swift blow struck his neck and his half severed head dropped toward his chest as his legs gave out and he slumped to the ground. The world went dark around him as he wondered where he was, and what had just happened.

The creature dropped from its position in the tree to stand over its victim and began hacking off large chunks with a jagged appendage, greedily devouring the raw flesh. This was not a meal to be savored. It was only food – fuel – nothing more.

Six Hours Earlier

The panels of the radar screen lit up as the airman working in the Joint Tactical Ground Station was taking the second bite of the best turkey sandwich he had ever tasted. Warning alerts were blaring. Something was happening. An emergency appeared to be unfolding. “Shit!” he blurted out, blowing morsels of food from his overstuffed mouth.

A red flashing blip appeared to be shooting across the sky at an unheard of velocity. He was so startled that he dropped his sandwich to the floor as he jumped to grab the mouse at his computer. With a click, he brought up the Eagle View tracking detail screen.

He punched in a two digit speed dial number as he picked up the phone. The phone rang twice before the person on the other end answered. “I have a bogie over California travelling at about twelve hundred miles an hour and…” He stopped talking as the unknown object disappeared from the screen. A voice replied, “Did you say twelve hundred?”

“Ah, well sir, it’s gone now. Should I do anything?”

The man on the other end sounded tired and frustrated, “Listen, it was probably some kind of meteor. I don’t want to wake anyone at command at three in the morning to report a meteor! Was the recorder running?”

“Yes sir. The system checks out. It’s been documented.”

“If you see it again, we’ll scramble some fighters to check it out, but for now just stand down. We can review the recording in the morning.”

“Yes sir.” He heard the officer grumbling as he disconnected from the comm. He looked down at the remains of half his sandwich lying face open on the floor. “Damn, sometimes I hate this shit,” he grumbled. He decided to clean up the mess just as soon as he finished the other half. 

He rolled his chair forward over a slice of tomato, grabbed the rest of the sandwich and took a big bite. “Man, this is good!” he mumbled through a mouth full of bread and lettuce.

Meanwhile:

Somewhere in the forests of the Pacific Northwest, a strange ship landed hard, smashing trees and embedding itself partway in the damp, snow covered, still frozen ground. It was steaming from the heat of entry into our atmosphere. It had crashed more than fifty miles from the nearest populated area. Light snow was swirling and falling around it and there was no one there to see it, let alone hear it happen.

Two

The woman on the streetcar droned on and on, talking with a heavy accent, to her friend. Now and then, a word or two would merge into Spanglish, and then the pitch would go from dull to shrill and end in raucous laughter. Occasionally a baby would cry, breaking the rhythm of her rant, and she would glare at the baby and sigh loudly before continuing.

Most of the animated conversation went completely unnoticed. John Hazard sat staring out the window, lost in thoughts of the day ahead of him, and particularly of the days behind. It’s strange where fate can lead. One day he was an up and coming detective in a small town police department with a promising career. The next he was living in the city taking classes at a community college and working on an entirely new career path for himself.

John was still amazed at the situation he had encountered on a case eight months earlier. It was an experience that changed the way he saw the world, the way he perceived things to be, not in the natural world, but in a supernatural sense.

He had moved with everything he owned to San Francisco to try to hide himself in the big city. He figured that this was a place where strange was the norm, a place where a freaked out detective might get his shit together after such a traumatic experience.

The incident had begun with a murder investigation, a double homicide to be exact. It quickly developed into a strange and complex case involving missing people and some maniac who was possessed by a box that stole people’s spirits.

The whole thing was really insane, and he tried to get over it in the weeks that followed the conclusion of the investigation. Nightmares, panic attacks, and night sweats drove him to request a leave of absence. Rather than stay in that small Idaho town, he packed everything into an old, rusted out pickup truck and drove non-stop to San Francisco, stopping only when the Pacific Ocean got in the way of going further. At the time, it just made sense to make a change.

It took a week of searching to find a furnished efficiency apartment. After he moved in with his few boxes of belongings, he spent his days, maybe weeks, sitting on a sleeper sofa in his underwear. He frequently drank himself into a slow easy coma.

By sometime in the sixth week or so, as he was finishing off a bottle of Jack, he had a revelation. What if he just quit the police force and got himself a new career, something that he could work at from his new found perspective. Not the standard detective work dealing with the day to day horrors of criminal investigation, but taking on the unknown terrors of the supernatural world. A world that, only some months before, he would not have even realized existed.

John had always considered himself to be a logical person, a realist. It was a one of the requirements of the job in law enforcement. There was good and bad, right and wrong, black and white and sometimes a few shades of gray. Whatever he felt about it, he’d always trusted in the physical evidence that was before him. However, now he had been thrown a curve. Confronted with the supernatural, it scared the shit out of him to discover that the realm of the bizarre and paranormal actually existed. It really sucked to be so wrong about something so terrible, and often so inherently evil.