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Jericho and Fiddler were each armed with a shotgun and flaming torch. Fiddler said the fire would also slow down the Wendigo, at least temporarily. The old man had plenty of materials to keep their torches bright and burning through the night. How exactly he was supposed to engage this thing in combat, Jericho had no idea.
Last night, when the creature mugged him in darkness, he went on pure instinct and those failed him. Now he had time to think, and still wasn't sure what to do. A year ago, he went into battle with a similar creature and was extremely over-confident. It nearly got him and the kid he was trying to save killed. Luckily, the kid was good at improvising. Things had to go different tonight. He needed to be sharper and more focused. The trouble was, he had very little faith in the pretty piece of silver strapped to his thigh. Maybe Fiddler had enough confidence for both of them. The old man did seem to know more about Jericho than he was comfortable with.
BBBBBBBRRRRRRRRAAAAAAEEEEEEWWWWWWWW
Jericho raised the torch into the air, trying to look deeper in the thick woods. "That what I think it is?"
"Yep. We need to create some distance between us."
"What? You mean like split up?” Fiddler nodded. "That's how people die. Don't you watch horror movies, man? It's always the black guy who dies first, by the way."
"No."
"What I'm saying is, this is a bad idea," Jericho said.
"I know. But it won't come for both of us. Not while you're carrying that." Fiddler pointed to the knife strapped to Jericho's leg.
"So, you wanna be the bait?"
"What other choice do we have?"
"I dunno, man. You're the shaman. You tell me," he said mockingly.
"You're right. I am telling you. When the Wendigo goes to feed, you strike.” Jericho leaned in to see the sarcasm on Fiddler's face. There was none. "I'd think a man who fancies himself as samurai would understand."
"What did you just say?"
"There's more than one whisper in the wind, Mr. Jericho."
Jericho's shoulders dropped and his heart skipped a bit. That was a name he made sure to never say out loud. His favorite of a thousand aliases. One only a handful of people on earth knew. Someone told it to Nashida. If he survived this, that was a situation that needed to be rectified.
"On the way to High Level, I'll explain. If we've got time, maybe I can even show you."
Jericho didn't understand what the old man meant. Instead, he nodded, still unsure what to do next.
Fiddler turned left, walking off-trail. Jericho didn't know if he was supposed to follow close, listen for a signal, or what. That screech didn't sound too far away. Maybe he would just keep a safe distance behind him. As long as he could see Fiddler's torch, he could sprint over to him before he was in any actual danger.
This whole idea sounded terrible. Jericho wondered if Fiddler didn't have some kind of death wish. It sure seemed like it. Allowing oneself to die in combat was one thing, even honorable. But being a kamikaze and running to your own death was something different. Plus, he still owed Jericho a ride and now a conversation when this was all over. The old man couldn't die.
Though Fiddler didn't come out and say it, he obviously felt responsible for whatever happened to his grandson. Jericho understood that feeling all too well. He'd seen the same look on the faces of many fathers impotent in the face of tragedy. Speaking of which: when he got back to the States, he also needed to pay a visit to Joseph Amato. They had some business to discuss.
SNAP
Jericho turned around, expecting to see the Wendigo creature ready to strike. But there was nothing there. He didn't see anything last night either, until it was right in front of him. The creature was the world's stealthiest and somehow most pungent ninja.
CHIK CHIK
Jericho readied the shotgun. Better to let that do the initial work. No need to go for the knife yet.
SNAP
Jericho turned again. There was still nothing there that he could clearly see, but he was sure there was something just out of his sight.
BBBBBBBRRRRRRRRAAAAAAEEEEEEWWWWWWWW
The Wendigo cried again. It sounded loud and close. Game time.
CRRRRAAAAKKKK
Jericho didn't see the blow coming. Even with the torch lit, the darkness was too much. The force knocked him to his knees.
CRRRRAAAAKKKK
Another blow to the side of his head dropped him to the forest floor. It felt more like a knee than a blast from some supernatural creature. The shotgun was gone. He must have lost it after the first attack.
"Freeze!"
Jericho looked up and found Agent Nashida standing over him, pointing the shotgun Tom Fiddler gave him less than a half hour ago. Nashida looked thin, like he had lost fifteen pounds in the last few days. His sunken cheekbones accented his bulging eyes and wild hair. Son of a bitch got the drop on him again. How did Jericho keep letting this happen?
"You're under arrest!"