30

T19, R12

John Bear heard the sleds before he saw them, but once they rounded the curve in the trail he knew it was a posse consisting entirely of Dowds. Earl Dowd raised an arm and the following riders halted. Earl peered at John. “That my grandson behind you?”

“Yeah.”

“Whose sled is he riding?”

“Askook’s.”

“So it was that asshole who had the boy.”

John stepped off his sled and removed his helmet. “No. Something else had the boy, Askook stopped it.”

Earl nodded. “I didn’t think Askook was involved.” He looked around the area. “How come Dwain is riding alone? Where’s Askook? We owe him.”

John placed his helmet on the seat of his sled. “You boys wouldn’t happen to have a thermos of hot coffee would you?”

Earl lifted the seat of his sled and reached inside the storage compartment. He extracted a thermos and offered it to John. He stood silently as the warden twisted the cap off, removed the stopper, and poured coffee into the cap.

A small cloud of steam formed above the hot black beverage and John took a drink. The strong drink warmed him as it moved down his throat. He swallowed, handed the thermos to Earl, and said, “You’re too late.” He pointed to the eight-foot-long trapper sled attached to the rear of his sled. “That’s Askook’s sleigh—he’s inside. The kidnapper killed him.”

“Where’s the kidnapper now?”

John swallowed the rest of the coffee and handed the cap/cup back to Earl, who screwed it onto the thermos. “Don’t know. I came on them just as the fight was ending and it took off. I would imagine that by now it’s either in Quebec or Estcourt Station—either way it’s trying to get to Canada.”

“You keep saying it, like this thing ain’t human. What’s that all about?”

John wasn’t sure that the Dowds were ready to hear the truth so he tried to evade answering. “That’s a subject for later.”

Earl gave him a quizzical look, but obviously decided to let it lie.

Buster and Louis Dowd dismounted from their sleds and walked to their father’s side. “You didn’t go after him?” Buster asked.

“Nope. Askook was still alive when I arrived. Once he was dead I figured gettin’ Dwain back was more important.”

Earl nodded. “We appreciate that. We’ll take him home.”

“May want to have him checked out by a doctor,” John said. “He’s been out in the cold for most of two days.”

Buster looked at his son. “You okay?”

“Yes, just a little hungry,” Dwain answered.

“Okay, we’ll take him from here, Warden.” Earl turned to his sons “Guess our job here is done. Mount up and we’ll get him home and feed him.”

John said, “Take the sled with you. We’ll want to talk with Dwain in detail later.”

“You goin’ after it?” Earl asked.

“Not much sense in it today.” John replied. “I got to get Askook back to Lyndon and notify the RCMP and U.S. Customs to be on the watch—and to be careful, it’s dangerous, crazy, and running scared. That’s a potentially lethal combination no matter what you’re dealin’ with.”

Earl nodded and then turned away. In seconds the posse had turned around and was headed back toward Dowd Settlement. John stepped aside as Dwain passed him on Askook’s sled. The boy didn’t acknowledge him as he passed. John Bear stood in the knee-deep snow and listened to the dying sounds of their motors.

_____________

Little Black Checkpoint

Once John Bear was within range of a cellular tower, he called for assistance and Larry Murphy, Bob Pelky, and an ambulance were waiting for him when he reached the small cabin that served as gateway to the northwestern section of Maine’s north woods. Once Askook’s body was transferred from the trapper sleigh to the ambulance, the three law enforcement agents entered the small shack. The warm interior made John aware of how fatigued he was. He’d had at most five hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours and knew he had to get some sleep soon or he’d be useless.

Murphy poured three cups of coffee from the urn and handed one to John and another to Pelky. “The authorities on both sides of the border have been notified to be on the lookout for this thing.”

“You emphasize how dangerous he is?”

“Definitely,” Murphy said. “It was a bit uncomfortable when they asked for a description and when I gave it to them, the silence on the line was deafening.”

“The state police are also on the lookout,” Pelky said. “We’ve contacted the FBI because of the international implications. This is turning into one hell of a manhunt.”

John drank the coffee and with his free hand rubbed his eyes, which were beginning to feel like two hot coals. “If it reached the Slash and crossed the border into Quebec, it could be anywhere. The only thing stopping it from getting access to the entire continent is the Saint Lawrence River.”

“Something tells me,” Pelky added, “that we haven’t seen the last of this thing.”

“In a way part of me hopes we have,” John said. “Too many people have been its victims already—and who knows how many vics there are that we’ve never heard about.”

“If nothing else,” Murphy said, “his unusual culinary requirements should expose him sooner or later.”

“Like I said,” John intoned, “I hope we don’t hear about it—in the meantime, I’m headed to my brother’s place. I need sleep.”

_____________

Big Twenty Township

The Wendigo followed the snowmobile until he heard the motor shut down. Another motor was running nearby and he followed his prey’s tracks until he came to a lake. The prey was using a power auger to cut ice fishing holes in the ice. An hour later the Wendigo was feeding.

_____________

The Wendigo’s arm ached where the Indian had cut it, but the bleeding had stopped and the gash was already healing. He walked along the top of the ridge, surveying the terrain for any landmark that would help determine his position. All he knew was that the St. Francis River, Maine’s northern border with Quebec, was to his north. There were three towns in the vicinity: Rivière-Bleue, Estcourt Station, and Pohénégamook in Quebec. He was certain that he was west of Rivière-Bleue, but not certain if Kelly Rapids was close by, or if he was west of that too, which made Pohénégamook in Quebec and Estcourt Station in Maine the best options.

The more he pondered, the more confused he became. He started following the trail. He listened to the sounds around him as he walked. Hungry again, he hoped to hear the drone of another solitary snowmobile rider but heard nothing but the sound of trees swaying in the freezing wind and the raucous cawing of crows and ravens. He walked on.

_____________

St. Francis River, Border of Maine and Quebec, Canada

The Wendigo came upon the river and checked the area before crossing. He saw a car with a light bar race by on the highway in Canada. A sound above made him look up and he saw a small aircraft flying along the river on the American side. He had no doubt that they were looking for something—and that that something was him. Obviously, alerts and warnings had been sent to law enforcement agencies in both countries. Escape was not going to be as easy as he thought.

The Wendigo moved away from the river, back into the safety and concealment of the trees. He needed transportation. There were hundreds of miles of border south of Pohénégamook and most of it was uninhabited.

_____________

Fort Kent, Maine

John Bear felt lousy. He’d returned to his brother’s house and slept for three hours, but that was nowhere near enough. Tom had woken him up at one o’clock holding a cordless house phone. That was when John learned that a task force consisting of the RCMP, Maine State Police and Warden Service, and ICE had been formed. Law enforcement was pulling out all the stops in the manhunt for the Wendigo, which they were now calling the North Woods Killer. John entered the customs building and introduced himself to one of the customs agents. The agent directed him to follow a short corridor to a conference room where everyone was gathering.

When he entered the room he saw Larry Murphy and Bob Pelky already seated at a long rectangular conference table. He took a seat beside them. Pelky looked at him and said, “Jesus, John, you look like warmed-over shit.”

“You think things look bad where you’re sitting,” John wisecracked back. “You should be sitting here looking out.”

“You get any rest?” Murphy asked.

“A couple hours … what’s up?”

“I think,” Pelky said, “that this investigation is about to be taken out of our hands.”

John leaned forward, rested his left elbow on the table and massaged his burning eyes with his left thumb and index finger. “That’s all I need right now.”

Over the course of the next fifteen minutes the room began filling up with various law enforcement people—many of whom John knew and greeted. Finally, Lieutenant Aurel Michaud, senior warden in charge of the Ashland Regional Headquarters, walked in and all conversation in the room ceased. Michaud walked to the front of the room and stood behind the podium at the head of the conference table. “Good afternoon,” he said. Michaud turned his attention to John. “How you feeling, John? I hear you’ve had a tough few days.”

John smiled and said, “I’ll be fine Lieutenant—nothing a few days rest won’t fix—once we bring this killer in.”

“That,” Michaud said, “is why we’re here. To put our heads together and figure out how we’re gonna catch this fucker.”

John sat to Michaud’s left and wondered if the senior warden had any clue what they were dealing with.

“ICE will be monitoring the border along with our aircraft out of Eagle Lake. Customs agents in both Maine and the Canadian provinces of New Brunswick and Quebec have been notified to be on alert for him.” He turned toward Pelky and continued, “The Maine State Police will be watching all the roads between here and Patton, in the event he tries to escape to the south.”

“We’ve been able to track this perp back to when he was a kid, down in the Swedish Colony. His father was brutally murdered and the kid disappeared. From what we can piece together, the old man was an abusive drunk. Beat the hell out of the kid for the slightest thing. Kid grew up and must have gone into one hell of a rage. He ripped the old man, one Wally Condor, to pieces. The body wasn’t discovered for five days and no one has seen the kid since the day of the murder—until now.”

John sat back lost in thought. If Paul Condor had become the Wendigo, he had been one for so long that not a single vestige of Condor remained. Rather than open himself up to verbal ridicule he opted to keep the true identity of the killer to himself. “What I don’t understand,” John Bear said, “is how these disappearances have gone unreported all this time. At the rate this is going we should have been swamped with missing persons reports and constant search missions.”

“We’re looking into that.”

The meeting was interrupted by a knock at the door. A young woman in a customs uniform walked to the front of the room and handed Michaud a pink message slip. He thanked her and read the slip. He addressed the meeting, John and Murphy in particular.

“They found a body they think may be another of Condor’s vics about ten miles east of Estcourt Station. John, you and Murph should head up there after the meeting. I’ll have a CSI team meet you there.”

Michaud concluded the meeting by asking if anyone had any questions. He then singled out John Bear and Murphy. “You guys done yeoman’s work on this. If you hadn’t, this guy would still be unknown to everyone.”

This guy and what he’s become, John thought, is still unknown to most of you….