Narrow streets, generally crowded with bumper-to-bumper traffic, were bare. Sidewalks accustomed to dense, endless throngs of skiers, travelers and holiday shoppers were equally quiet and unencumbered. The city’s power, non-existent for days, pushed those still hanging on to search for homes with gas or propane heat. ‘Adapt and improvise’ were keywords repeated over and over again around kitchen tables and fireplaces throughout the small community. It had been some time since the last snowfall and temperatures had stabilized near zero. Puddles that were liquid by day froze overnight, creating mirror-like hazards to be avoided first thing in the morning. The locals knew the routine but visitors, too often, learned the hard way with resultant broken bones and bruised rumps. A thermometer, designed to look like a candy cane being held by a grizzly bear, hung on an exterior wall outside a souvenir shop kitty-corner from where Nathan sat, rubbing the scruff of beard that covered his face. It itched and irritated the self-proclaimed leader but he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it, other than to scratch when the urge hit.
A lack of humidity and warmer temperatures had proven beneficial for the Huskers, hunting had been good and the pack was ‘learning’. Learning the way a wolf cub watches its parents track, surround, attack and consume prey. The assault on his group in the early hours of the night had caught Nathan off guard. They’d battled for supremacy before, losing some along the way, which neither mattered to him nor gave him pause, but there was something about the blatant attack that troubled him. He tried, without success, to comprehend the range of emotions that raged just below his consciousness. Fear, anger, excitement, lust and a consuming hunger to satisfy them all – right now, was boiling up inside him as he watched movement in the building across the way. Had he been restored to his full capacity after the infection he would have recognized the neurological and hormonal rush to be the result of a salacious desire for power and revenge. The carnal impulse placed him just above the animal order his followers so perfectly mimicked. Nathan, still more beast than human, thirsted for the next intoxicating release of endorphins to flood his system and make him ‘feel’. He’d felt it the night before, chasing and killing the hikers, then again when he’d taken the woman in the shower, and he would feel it again, soon.
Light suddenly jumped out at the Husker from across the street but did not envelope him. The distance protected Nathan from view and the moon’s gentle glow did little more than provide an amber haze to the surrounding darkness. A door had opened and a slender woman with dark hair, extending from under a stocking toque, had stepped out onto a landing. She was quickly followed by a larger, male figure carrying an assault rifle. He watched the two interact, their silhouettes easily outlined against the backdrop of the partially opened door and the indoor lights. Rich, oxygenated blood pulsed through his arteries, the plasma picking up speed as his breathing synchronized with his thumping heart. A landslide of heightened senses and arousal spurred him to action and he dropped to a knee. Seconds later the hatchet was freed from his side, the metallic end pressed to the ground, supporting his weight.
Lurking in the dark he looked like a monster, ready to pounce and destroy, every muscle taut and nerve raw. Hours passed as he watched and waited for just the right opportunity to sweep in and strike. The projected, rectangular beam of light abruptly narrowed and then disappeared, being sucked back into the building from whence it had come. Nathan lowered himself to the ground and began the long crawl over the slick, wet surface of the road until his belly felt crystalline blades of grass scratching and digging at the tender flesh. The stalker army-crawled another ten meters before he knelt on one knee to survey his surroundings. When he did, an intense white-hot spotlight cut through the night, saturating the area in front of the building as if it were noonday.
Startled, and with the element of surprise gone, he did what his crude instincts dictated and demanded . . . he charged. Jumping to his feet he raced across the few remaining meters and bolted up the front steps, launching his huge physique against the wooden door, which gave way in large splinters around the frame. Shots rang out, first stitching a pattern of small ice explosions in the grass, then slamming into the structure’s wooden-logs as Nathan burst into the room. The young man, who had been on the porch, wielded the rifle in a panicked arc of destruction, shooting the slender woman in the chest and shoulder. She went down, her head striking a table before she had time to feel pain or react. Another woman darted for a pistol left on a couch cushion but she never made it, the heavy ended axe violently penetrating her temple, ending her life in a single crushing blow.
The heinous act pushed Nathan Edwards into a frenzy, devolving and acting like a crazed, out of control animal. He rolled and dodged, swinging the blade in an adrenalin enhanced rage. Young people screamed and tried to flee, forgetting the need to protect themselves and use their weapons. The assault had come on so fast and so fiercely that they could not, and knew not how to respond. A few, willing to stand their ground, crumpled under the emotional weight of a powerful, unstoppable madman in their midst, cutting and killing. Such bloodshed and terror had never been seen in the quaint resort town and there would be none to tell the story, as the last survivor ran screaming for her life down the steps and across the frozen lawn. Nathan followed close behind, lust clouding his vision but not slowing his strides.
Near the street he lunged forward, leaving his footing and tackled the tiny brunette. His heart beat like a racehorse at the end of a triumphant race as he laid on top of her, pressing her face into the frozen sod. He smelled her hair and licked at the sweat forming on the back of her neck. The dark-skinned woman begged for her life, offering anything if he would just let her go. Few, if any of the words registered with the brute, who held her still while he ground himself against her. Cries, which began as loud, exuberant shouts, slowly melted into shallow sobs and pleadings. She was dead and she knew it.
Suddenly Nathan flipped her over and held the sharpened edge to her throat. Their eyes met but it was more than she could endure and she snapped them shut. “Kill me! What are you waiting for? Kill me, you son of a bitch.”
The words had no effect but he’d gotten what he had come for. “Mine,” he said, taking her by the throat in his big hand. He stood and dragged her with him. He again thrust his nose into her hair and sucked at her neck. “You . . . mine.”
“No . . . let me go. I can’t . . . please . . . ” The outpouring of concern for herself was lost on the self-centered, hormone-driven fiend. He pawed at her briefly before forcibly moving her down the main street, headed back to the hotel. Exhausted and demoralized, she stumbled along, periodically trying unsuccessfully to break free from his grip. As they approached the west end of town, the lapping waters of the Bow River sounded loudly in the victim’s ears. He held her with his left hand outstretched in front of him while the hatchet dangled from his right, randomly banging against his knee. At the bridge she unexpectedly slowed and reached back with her right hand to rub at his groin. The action brought a low, husky growl from Nathan’s throat and he stopped but did not release her. She continued, feeling his grip slacken as her ministrations had the effect she knew they would.
Without protest, he turned her to face him and thrust his pelvis forward. The beautiful young woman did well to hide the sense of dread and unspeakable horror from her face. However, she knew the act would be short lived: the fright too overpowering and intense. She lifted a hand to caress him and feigned difficulty lowering his zipper. In that instant, with the small axe occupying his right hand, the Husker released his grasp on her upper arm and went for his fly.
The nimble, little woman bolted away, bounded the few meters to the bridge’s concrete rail and leapt over it. Nathan’s prize leveraged her delicate weight over the wall with both hands and vanished from sight. Although there was a meager splash it fell on near-deaf ears as Nathan hung his head over the edge and watched his ‘toy’ disappear. The Olympian considered the pointless event without a smile or tear, but simply readjusted himself within his pants and jogged away. His vengeance taken and thirst quenched, Nathan’s urges were subdued, allowing him to return to the motley crew of Huskers he deemed his own.