Winter Prey

Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Caleb groaned in pain, then froze. The creature stood there, only a few feet in front of the vehicle. A shiver of icy dread crawled through Caleb as its eyes bored into him, dark pits of horror. Veins glowing a ferocious red riddled gray-tinged corneas, and bared lips exposed those horrible, meat-rendering teeth. Hair matted in clumps straggled down the head, its front and back. The man it had taken at the bar dangled limply in furry arms as large around as the tree trunk against which the jeep rested. Caleb could even smell the monster through the broken windshield, a mixture of dark, tainted dirt, impurity, death and evil.

A corner of his mind told him that he needed to examine the monster, solidify the vision to take apart later as he determined how to kill it. Something like this had taken his wife and son. The pain of the memory wracked him. How horrible their deaths must have been at the hands of such a ghastly entity. The hours of consciousness in the thing's presence deep in the hidden lair, far away from any hope of rescue. Mona's agony over both the danger to herself and her inability to save their son. Whatever else she had been, Mona loved Skippy dearly. She would have fought death itself, died herself, to save her son.

Skippy's terror, even if his young mind couldn't grasp what was about to happen. His knowledge that his father wasn't there to protect him. Skippy. At six, he hadn't yet outgrown the fear of monsters under his bed. One of his and Caleb's routines was checking out all the monster hiding places after the bedtime story was finished, before he tucked his son in and kissed him goodnight. Skippy had still slept with a nightlight and Caleb always left the door gaped an inch or two. His son would have been petrified when he realized that monster he'd only imagined actually existed.

Would it have...taken care of Mona first? Made Skippy watch as it did so? Or vice versa, with Mona losing her sanity as she lay helpless?

Skippy. I failed to save you, son.

He shoved the memories away. Right now, he needed to center his mind on whether or not his injured body could fight this horror. Fleeing wasn't even an option. It could be on him with the speed of thought.

But he didn't give a damn. He steeled himself and mustered every bit of strength he could pull from deep within, determined to attack it. To at least try to rescue the poor soul in its arms.

The windigo's ghastly howl stirred even deeper fear and panic than the sight before him. Continuing the effort to move, Caleb inched a hand up and clasped his consecrated cross as the echo of the inhuman howl lingered for a few seconds even after the thing disappeared and the wind picked up.

He couldn't help himself. His fear and repugnance were so strong, he breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't have to confront the thing. Then shame filtered through him. He shouldn't care about his own life after what the Colorado windigo had done. Yet he didn't want to die before he found a way to revenge his wife and son's deaths.

And yes, his own survival instinct was growing stronger. Kymbria's face flashed briefly in his mind. Meeting her had reignited the hope for the future inside him, and even began to abate the guilt he felt about his resurfacing sexual desires.

He had to get out of this situation first, though. Caleb peered into the near whiteout, waiting for attack from a different direction. His other hand crept into his pocket, where he carried a protection packet made of consecrated herbs and other elements. A long moment later, it finally dawned on him that he was safe...at least, from the windigo. It had obviously left. His and Keoman's injuries were another matter.

He shifted in his seat to look at the Midé, whom he had been aware of in the corner of his vision. The wind died and the snow abated at least enough to see through. Keoman hadn't moved, and Caleb's first clear sight of him aroused a different apprehension, although not the debilitating sort the windigo had fostered. Keoman lay against the seat, possibly with a broken neck. Caleb steeled himself against his own pain and reached out to feel for a pulse. There it was, faint and thready, but proof that Keoman's heart still struggled. He drew his fingers back covered with blood and wiped them on his shirt.