Earlier that morning, the smell of bacon and eggs rouses Sasha and Barney from their sleep. Sasha should have been up long before then, watching the entire breakfast-making process unfold while hoping for a snack here and there. However, she was still quite weak from her brief encounter with Bill and slept in. Both animals now sit back on their hind legs, waiting for David to make a mistake and drop a slice of bacon or absentmindedly flip an egg out of the frying pan; it never happens. David dances around the wood-burning stove quite apt in his morning routine.
After brewing a pot of coffee in an old tin percolator, David pours himself a cup. A cigarette hangs from the corner of his mouth as he then carries an oval plate piled high with eggs, bacon, and country fried potatoes out to the enclosed porch. A biting cold immediately invades David’s skin and not from the usual early morning chill—a cold front had moved in from Canada, exponentially dropping temperatures to almost freezing levels. However, David was a rugged native of Minnesota, weathering many cold winters; he shrugs off the biting chill.
Upon returning to the interior of the cabin, David closes the front door to ensure that Sasha and Barney remain innocent of any crimes involved in the theft of breakfast products. He kindly winks at them and then disappears into the back bedroom.
“Get up.” David kicks the side of the full-size bed with his duct-taped cowboy boot.
Bill’s eyes flutter open, squinting and adjusting to the bright uncomfortable light. He must have seemed hazy at first because it takes him a few moments of rubbing his eyes before he makes out the shape looming over the bed.
“Where am I?” Bill asks from a parched throat, thinking he was dreaming.
“You’re in my damn bed, that’s where. You’ve been there for two days.” Again, David kicks the mattress. “At some point, I wouldn’t mind having it back. The recliner is comfortable, but after sleeping on it for two days, I’m starting to develop a stiff back.”
“The recliner, yeah, sure—July 3, 1996, Lexington, North Carolina,” Bill mutters, burying his face back into the pillow. A second afterward, he shoots up wide-eyed with bewilderment, patting over his body to make sure he was not on fire. After realizing he was not, Bill extends his arms outward, staring into the palms of his hands—his human hands.
“I’m human?” he whispers in the form of a question and then much louder, much later, exclaims, “Oh man, oh man, I’m… I’m human!”
“Yeah, you’re a real boy,” David says with wholehearted chuckles.
Bill’s laughter is heartwarming if not hysterical. First, he carefully feels over his face; his fingers try remembering how it was to touch human features. He throws back the covers, exposing his nakedness, and grins over his manhood and long legs. Bill looks up at David laughing, grabbing him by the arms, hopping up and down on his knees, and laughing like a giddy fourteen-year-old girl.
“Whoa…” David joins Bill boisterously laughing while turning his head to the bedroom door. “You can cover that back up if you don’t mind. I laid out some clothes. They should fit all right. We look about the same size.” David then steps through the bedroom door and stops. Without looking back at Bill, still naked and very much examining his human body, he adds, “Get yourself dressed. Then if you’re hungry, I have breakfast out on the porch.”
David shuts the door and cannot help but smile as Bill, overwhelmed with joy, tears his bed apart. Before returning to the porch, David whispers a native blessing in Glooskap’s name.
It took two full days for Bill to resume human form. During the first day, David left him inside the sweat lodge as he was entirely too smelly, too disgusting, and too large to move. He couldn’t get close to the sweat lodge without instantly becoming sick from his smell. Instead, David walked down the path three times that day to check on Bill, although he covered his face with an old T-shirt stuffed with sage leaves while doing so. By the morning of the second day, Bill had lost most of his height and was beginning to obtain his natural human complexion as well as human features. It was an abhorrent transition, and yet when he was finished, David wrapped Bill in blankets rubbed with sage and carried him back to the cabin, placing him in his bed. There, he slept for another two days.
Bill steps on to the porch wearing the sleeveless blue and green plaid flannel shirt and denim jeans. Barefoot and shirt unbuttoned, he sits himself at the table across from David. The biting chill doesn’t seem to bother Bill in the slightest as he grins from ear to ear and turns his chair away from the direction of the sun
“You must be hungry.” David scratches out a cigarette on the bottom of his boot and then lifts his coffee mug to take a drink.
Bill thinks to himself, cupping his hand over his brow to block out the discomforting sunlight. Reminiscently, he looks over the plate of bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes. Breathing in their aroma deep through his nose, taking in each scent, he then exhales completely satisfied.
“I think I am hungry,” he announces as his cautious eyes widen and he pierces a strip of crisp bacon with his fork. Unfortunately, for Sasha and Barney, that meant very little or no breakfast for them.
David sits quietly, enjoying his coffee while staring out into the foggy morning, as the sunlight breaks over the tops of the trees. He watches Bill devour seven strips of bacon, six eggs, and nearly the entire plate of fried potatoes. He washes it down with two tall glasses of milk and a smaller glass of orange juice. When finished, Bill looks over the remaining scraps as though he fully intends to eat the remainder, that is, until he hears Sasha emit a remindful whine, letting him know she was still entitled to her share.
“I don’t think Sasha cares for your appetite.”
“Yeah,” Bill agrees, wiping his face with a napkin while still chewing up the last of what is on his plate. He grins at both the animals. “This was really the first nutritious meal I’d had in months. I guess I kind of made a pig of myself.”
“No worries. Finish it if you like. I have never been a breakfast person myself, and I can always scrounge up something for Sasha and Barney. Go ahead. Eat.”
“That’s okay. Thanks, but I think I’m done. They can have the rest.”
In Bill’s mind, he still fully expected to become sick from eating anything other than human meat. After a few minutes and without the slightest indication of indigestion, he finally eases himself into feeling human again and not the beast Cold Bill.
Once breakfast is over and Bill settles back in his seat, David then shifts the topic. “Do you remember the details from your spirit walk?”
Bill, grinning, looks down at his bare feet. He thinks hard and, a moment later, looks back up and shakes his head no. “I remember sitting in the sweat lodge. I remember the beat of the drum and that you were chanting and that the air was hot and uncomfortable, although I do not recall anything about a spirit walk. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m just an old man hoping for a few afterlife secrets. It would be nice to have a little insight into the matter, you know.”
“I wish I could remember. When you woke me, it did feel like I was on fire.”
“Okay.” David eases back in his chair and then follows up with an uneasy chuckle. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about burning. I was kind of hoping for the other end of that scenario—you know, a white light or a herd of mustangs guiding my spirit into the afterlife.”
“Yeah, honestly, I don’t know.”
“No worries.”
“It’s hard to believe we actually pulled it off. It feels like I’m in a dream or something.”
“And yet there you sit, a young man in his early twenties—twenties, right?”
Bill nods. “Twenty.”
“There you sit—a young twenty-year-old with a messy tuft of brown hair and dark blue eyes. I prefer this version of you.”
Bill, laughing, shakes his head at David’s description of him. David’s wide smile turns sober as he takes another drink of coffee. He places the mug down on the table in front of him.
“I know we haven’t spoken about John, but now that it is over for you, I would like to know more about my grandson. Do you think we could flip him like we did with you?”
Bill sincerely thinks over David’s question, and even more, he becomes concerned with the defined hurt in David’s eyes. After taking a breath and before he speaks, Bill exhales, turning to the crowded tree line along the far edge of the drive. “Your grandson was a good friend, and I couldn’t have asked for a better marine to serve with.” Sobered in expression, Bill remains focused on the thick trees that block out everything beyond them. He recalls Nuke from memory the way he was before Malsum and the change.
“John was the last to turn. Of the four of us, John resisted Malsum the longest. I think he understood what the demon truly represented. When Malsum broke him, he took John, twisted him, and from that point on, your grandson clung to every word of the curse to the letter. It was your grandson who guided us through the worst parts of the wendigo fever and then through the countless nightmares that followed. In the end, the moment before they lost their humanity, John told me of days he had spent with you as a boy fishing on the lake. I want to believe he shared those memories with me because he could sense I was different. I truly believe he wanted me to carry such fond memories with me, for he was unable to himself.” Looking at David, Bill pauses shamefully. He then stares down into his lap, shaking his head from side to side. “After the moment passed, John, James, and Patrick were gone, replaced by a maddening hunger that now consumed them. Nothing is left of my friends. There is nothing left of your grandson.”
David lowers his head. “It has always been a great honor reserved by my people to fall bravely upon the battlefield. I would have been okay with John dying in the line of duty, but he did not die honorably. My grandson now walks the earth as one of the living dead—his mind and soul forever stolen away from him by our people’s curse.”
“I’m sorry, David.”
“You know they’re coming this way?” David lifts his mug to his lips and sips.
“I know,” Bill reluctantly acknowledges him, adding, “To complete his transformation, John intends to kill you.”
“How long do I have?”
“What day is it?”
“Wednesday, the twenty-seventh.”
Bill looks up from his lap, meeting David squarely. “I left them in Kansas two weeks ago in bad shape. They will have stuck to the plan. You might have a day, probably less.”
“John’s mother and father live on the reservation as well. I should collect them.”
Bill shakes his head no. “There is no need. They’ll be coming here.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because I am here—Malsum’s pups will seek revenge for what they would call treachery. The moment my brother sets foot on the reservation, they will have picked up my scent.” Bill straightens his posture and continues to explain his theory. “Our plan was to head into Kansas, Tennessee, New York State, and lastly… here. You should collect your daughter and her husband and get off the reservation while you can. You should also leave separately and head in different directions.”
“No. I’ve decided I’m going to face my grandson.”
“Leave while you can. Make a new life somewhere else. They won’t be able to detect you if you leave now.”
“No. I need to try and free him.”
Again, Bill disagrees and shakes his head. He then slowly shifts it up and down in agreement. “Then I will make my stand with you.”
“No. You won’t.”
“I won’t leave you to fend for yourself when it is my fault they’re coming here in the first place. Besides, you won’t stand a chance against three of them.”
“That’s beside the point. You did not regain your humanity only to throw it away protecting some silly old man who’s probably lived longer than he should have. Go home, Bill.”
Bill frowns at David’s ridiculous proposal. He owed David his life. From where Bill was sitting, he did not intend to abandon David to his brothers or leave David to clean up his mess.
“Those are my men—my friends. I will stay with you and see this through. I can’t leave you to face them alone.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but whatever it is you think you owe me, you don’t.”
“All the same, I’m staying.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Damn it! You’re going to get yourself killed!” In a sudden furious outburst, Bill backhands an empty juice cup off the table. David’s eyes watch the clear plastic tumbler hit the hardwood deck and then bounce upward next to Sasha’s paw. He flips his eyes from the cup to Bill.
“You’re not dying here with me.” David pauses. “Now pick it up.”
Reluctantly, Bill does. “You may think you know what you are dealing with, but let me be the first to tell you… hell is coming to your doorstep.”
David fires up a cigarette to calm his nerves, and after the initial drag and a second longer one, he stands up, picks up the plate of breakfast scraps, and shovels them to the floor for Sasha and Barney to devour. He takes another drag, speaking as he exhales. “Come with me. I want to show you something.” David then steps off the porch and leads Bill around the side of the cabin to his workshop.
He opens the two wide doors, allowing the daylight to flourish inside and walks to the back of the shop to a wooden storage cabinet adjacent to his crafting table. David opens the tall thin cabinet doors, and Bill fully understood David’s intent after he handed him the polished recurve bow that hung from three-inch satin nickel hooks on the cabinet’s back wall.
He takes the bow in hand and closely examines the finely grained black walnut and cherry handle. Each maple limb curves elegantly away from the handle toward his body. David also retrieves a bead-embroidered quiver, fringed along its base, midsection, and along the lip, from the cabinet. The beads decorating the midsection are white and yellow and patterned around turquoise with a silver-clasped center. He pulls one of the seven arrows free from the quiver pointing out its silver arrowhead.
“I usually craft a few silver and obsidian arrowhead necklaces, leather pouches, and beaded bracelets and rings for the change of season’s festival. I broke down the silver and reworked them into functional arrowheads. They’re a bit rough, but they should do the trick.” David looks over his artisanship touching the tip of his index finger against the arrows sharpest point. “I did this while you slept. The bow belonged to John. He used it as a boy while hunting with me. I want you to have them.”
“Me?” Bill was puzzled.
“I fully understand the meaning behind you showing up when you did. I am not as senile as you might think me to be. If I fail in stopping my grandson and the others, their revenge will surely send them your way next.”
“David, you should keep these for yourself. You’re going to need them.” Bill pulls back the fifty-five-pound tension of the bow’s string, taking aim at nothing. He then eases it back to its forward resting position.
“I’ve taken care of myself.” David pats Bill’s shoulder. “I only crafted the seven arrows. If it comes down to it and they do come your way, be sure to make each one count.”
“I don’t know what to say. I feel like I should be staying to finish this with you.”
“That’s the other thing—there was a reason why you kept fighting, or have you already forgotten her, that little girl waiting for you back home? I couldn’t ask you to stay with me, knowing she awaits your return.”
Bill takes the quiver from David, fitting it over his chest. All the while, his thoughts drift to Abigail. In his heart, Bill knew David was right. His struggles had all been for Abby, and now she was only a few states away from him. Once again, she was within his reach. Bill smiled.
“Her name is Abigail.” His smile widens mentioning her name. His heart begins racing.
“Abigail must be an amazing young lady for you to draw upon such courage.”
“Yes… she is.” Bill snickers, recalling fond memories of Abigail.
“Then go to her. Your struggles here are over. Go home to Abigail.”
There was no sense in persuading David into letting him stay and fight. Bill knew the answer would still be no. More so, he knew he would never be able to repay David for his courage as well as the mercy he has shown him. Bill decided the best way to do that was to respect his wishes.
For most of the morning and afternoon, David and Bill spoke as friends. Bill told him everything he could about Abigail, his mom and dad, and Derrylin. David spoke of his daughter and grandson and about the occasional troubling affairs of the Ojibwa nation. Bill made it a point to offer David insights that may give him a chance against his brothers, particularly their hunting methods and movement patterns. He explained that when the wendigo are in the midst of blood frenzy, they would always attack symmetrically, always from point A to point B, completely incapable of altering their trajectory. He further explained that if David was patient and cautious, he could easily dispatch the wendigo before their initial assault.
Just before three o’clock, David stuffs a change of clothes into his knapsack, along with $70, and walks Bill to the driveway. Sasha stands next to David, and Barney takes position next to Bill; they were both ready to make the long trip back to Kansas. Sasha yelps, looks up at David and then over to Barney. It would seem the blue heeler finally grew on her.
“It’s okay, Sasha. I’m sure you won’t mind getting back to not sharing your meals.” David runs his hand over her head. Sasha yelps again and looks around nervously.
“Thank you, David.” Idly, Bill stands in front of him with the knapsack over his shoulder and the bow and quiver wrapped in a blanket under his arm. “You should know I see a lot of John in you.”
David faintly smiles, registering the kind words. His eyes begin to show signs of tearing. “And you should know I’m glad I did not have to kill you, Wendigo Bill.”
Briefly, they share a laugh, and David lights a cigarette. A second later, after he takes his first drag, David slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out a key ring; two keys dangle in metallic jingles.
“I want you to take the Chevy, and I don’t want to hear any arguments either. It is a good truck, and the tank is full. It will get you home a lot quicker than walking. Besides, you dented the hood. It’s of no use to me now.”
“David, no.” Bill couldn’t help but think David was giving away his possessions as John had given him the last of his memories before his final change into wendigo.
“Just take the damn keys.”
Bill watches the dangling keys hanging from David’s fingers and thinks hard about the long walk home. He then smiles like a child finding a shiny brand new red bicycle under the Christmas tree come Christmas morning and snatches the keys out of David’s hand.
“It’s a loner, okay?” Bill walks up to the driver’s door and opens it. “I’ll get it back to you.”
“Fine, a loner it is then. But when you bring it back, I expect the hood fixed and the tank full.”
“Deal.” Bill chuckles.
David knew he would not be here if Bill were ever to return. He clearly understood this even if Bill was reluctant to acknowledge the fact that David would be done with this world once Nuke and the others arrived.
Bill tosses the knapsack into the passenger seat and unfolds the blanket to remove the bow and quiver to hang them from a rifle rack mounted over the rear window. Then climbing into the truck with one foot still on the ground, Bill turns the key in the ignition and waits for the truck to fire up. The V-8 engine thunderously hums to life.
Still smiling, Bill climbs back out of the cab, offering a gracious hand to David. David firmly grips his hand, returning the sentiment, and then pulls Bill close to him, squeezing him tight while continually patting his back. After their parting embrace, David offers one last blessing. “Neegoosis… Baamaapii… Bezh…”
The meaning of the Ojibwa words translated to “Until later, my only son.”
Bill never asked for the translation, and David never gave it. Strangely enough, Bill understood their meaning and David’s sentiment. He climbs back into the cab, and Barney darts across his lap, squatting down in the passenger seat as Bill slams the door shut.
“Are you ready to go home, boy?” Bill looks at the dog; his head is forward, and he barks. “Me too.”
David watches as Bill backs the truck out of the driveway and on to the dirt road. He waves goodbye to his friend, who defied the odds and had to die twice to regain his humanity, and disappears down the long dirt road. David looks on until the truck is out of sight. Sasha looks up at her master and whines, lowering herself to her belly. He looks down at her and flicks his cigarette away; he only smoked half of it.
“It’s time to prepare for war, Sasha. I believe we will have visitors soon.”
Sasha yelps.
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