The Wendigo

9

Clay was behind on his commissions and had canceled the prior week's classes after the accident. Kenny had saved money up in anticipation of the move, enough that they two wouldn't have to work for at least a few months if they wanted, but Clay refused. It was important, imperative even, that he pay his half. And anyway, his money would go much farther now that Kenny had moved in. He was just barely making rent before. He had even stooped to asking his mother for loans to cover the leaner months.

He left the apartment at 7:30 on Monday morning to teach his class at the local gallery. Afterward, he planted himself at a nearby coffee shop with his tablet to finish some sketches for his online clients.

By 5 PM, he had finished three of his commissions and was halfway through a sketch of a client's role-play character when his phone rang. It was a number he didn't recognize, so he let it go to voicemail. Once the ringing stopped and a notification for a new voicemail popped up, Clay picked up the phone and listened:

"This is Captain Herkimer," the voice on the other end said, "I wanted to let you and your partner know that he's not the only lucky one. That woman in ICU woke up tonight. Get back to me."

Her name was Lisette and she was a portrait of brokenness. Her face was bruised to hell and puffed out between the head-to-chin bandages. Her pretty black hair poked out from the edges of the bandage, unwashed and greasy from days of neglect. A cast over one arm, countless bruises and gashes marred the skin over the other. Underneath the blanket, there were worse injuries. Herkimer explained she was missing a leg and a large piece of her hip and stomach, but that emergency surgery had saved her.

A nurse was fiddling with the monitors when Herkimer escorted Clay and Kenny into the room. She did not leave, electing instead to hover in the corner. This was her patient, and there was a look of distaste on her face told Clay she thought the woman had been through enough.

They were sat on an uncomfortable two-seater against the wall while Herkimer pulled a chair up to the injured woman, the head of her bed propping her up at a 40-degree angle. Her eyes were wet, weary, and swollen. Clay trembled. Whatever horrors this woman was about to tell, he knew he didn't want to know them.

"I was sitting near the front. About four rows behind the driver. We were going down Route 55 and it... It all happened so fast... It was dark in the bus, but... I swear something ran past me... Like... like... a dog or..."

"Was this before or after the accident?"

"Before. Right before we crashed."

Clay's heart skipped. Before?

"Did you see anything like that on the bus? Could someone have brought a dog on board?"

Herkimer was speaking to Kenny now.

"No," Kenny said, "No. There wasn't any dog."

"She suffered a severe concussion," the nurse offered, "Her memory may have been affected."

Lisette seemed to lurch from her half-conscious state. She was firm when she said, "Something ran past me."

"I can still hear the pitter-patter of the feet on the ground. Then I heard the scream of the driver and we started swerving. And then we went over. When the bus rolled, everything went flying... I was... thrown out of my seat... and I snapped my leg and my arm... We just kept rolling and rolling. Somewhere in there, I was knocked out."

Her alertness ebbed. Her eyes lost contact with Herkimer, staring past him. Resting. Empty but fixed on Clay.

Clay shuffled in his seat, but he knew it wouldn't matter. She was not looking at him. She was looking past him. He was just sitting between her and the horrors she was replaying in her mind.