Wolf Mountain, page 15
“Too late. Hold on!”
And then they were flipping. The world was turned upside-down, rightside-up, and then upside-down again. Junk flew everywhere in the truck. The three occupants banged together as only their seat-belts held them in place.
They had slid off the road and were now rolling down the mountain. In that brief span of time that seemed to stretch into eternity, Asher thought that they would continue to roll straight down into the mouth of hell.
Then the truck came to a violent stop. They were rightside-up but Asher’s head was slammed against the door. He felt something warm on his face. He heard the cacophony of the rain continuing to pound the truck.
And then blackness.
Chapter 13
In The Shelter
Asher was lost in fog. He knew the monster was somewhere hunting for him. He began to run. He was in a field. No place to hide.
“Asher.”
Who was calling his name?
“Come on, man. Wake up.”
Somebody slapped him. He opened his eyes. His world was upside-down. He saw Saint-Fort standing outside the opened truck door. Asher lay across the front seat, looking up. “What...” It was difficult to speak. “What happened?”
“We crashed.”
Now he remembered. His forehead throbbed. He reached up and felt where it had been bandaged.
Michel poked his head around Saint-Fort. “You have a little bump. Nothing serious.”
Asher smiled. “That’s easy for you to say.” He managed to sit upright.
“Here,” Saint-Fort said, “take these.” He offered him a couple of pills and a bottle of water.
“Thanks. I need it.” After taking a big gulp, Asher looked around.
The truck was leaning at a crazy angle against a tree. They were about thirty feet down from the main road. There were crushed bushes and skid-marks from where they’d fallen. At least the rain had stopped but the sky was still slate-gray.
“How long have I been out?”
“About an hour,” Saint-Fort said. “We let you sleep through the rain but now we have to go.”
Asher looked at the ruin of the truck. “I assume we can’t take this.”
“No. We’re walking.”
“To Wolf Mountain?”
“No,” Michel said. “No time for that. Morne ça Loup is too far and it will be dark soon. We must find shelter.”
“Shit.” Asher stepped out of the vehicle. The world spun slightly as he tried to stand and he grabbed the door for support. He chuckled ruefully. “Some werewolf-killer I am.”
Michel looked about, found a straight tree branch, and brought it to Asher. “Here. Use this as a cane.”
“Thank you.” Asher turned to Saint-Fort. “Are you fit to walk?”
“I can dance if you need me to.”
“Only if I get to lead.”
They gathered up as many belongings as they could carry in their backpacks. Asher used his walking stick to slog up through the mud. Their shoes were already caked in the stuff. Once they were on the main road, Asher asked: “Where to?”
Michel pointed. “Down. We have to try to get to Decayette. We can stay the night there.”
“Is that a town?”
Michel shrugged his shoulders in a way that was becoming his trademark. It was a very Caribbean gesture that implied: No problem. “It’s a village,” he said. “They know me there.”
They began the arduous hike down the mountain. Even after they left the main road there was not much vegetation to slow them down. Asher was reminded of the Santa Monica Mountains in California. The soil erosion had turned Haiti into a desert but deserts could still be beautiful. He thought it looked a bit like Mykonos.
After a couple of hours hiking, they arrived at a ravine between mountains. It was a dry riverbed. It was much easier walking. “Thank God for level ground,” Asher said. His forehead still throbbed but not as bad as before. He knew he needed sleep.
“Don’t slow down now,” Saint-Fort said. “The sky is getting awfully dark.”
After walking an hour through the ravine, they emerged into a clearing. It appeared to be farmland. In the distance a small, ramshackle farmhouse stood before a vast lake.
Asher leaned on his walking stick, feeling his forehead throb with every heartbeat. He was winded and his legs were sore. “Where are we?”
Michel scratched his head. He looked confused. He looked a lot less worn out from the long hike than Asher, however. “Lac Azuéi,” he said at last. He pointed to the mountains on the horizon. “There is the Dominican Republic.”
Asher looked at this new no man’s land they found themselves in. One farmhouse surrounded by mountains and a lake as big as the sea. “Is this the village you were talking about?”
“No,” Michel said. He didn’t offer anything more.
“Well, is it nearby?”
“No.”
Asher saw the worried look in Saint-Fort’s face. “Should we keep walking until we get to it?”
His question was answered by the howling. Asher’s heart froze. It was unmistakably the sound of thejé-rouge. No natural animal could produce it. It was—quite simply—evil.
It wasn’t even full dark yet. Thankfully, the howling came from far in the distance. Asher saw the look of concern on Michel’s face and outright terror on Saint-Fort’s.
“Okay!” Asher said, pointing to the farmhouse. “That house it is.”
The three of them began limping as fast as they could toward the farmhouse.
It was a rice farm. They followed the long dirt driveway that skirted the symmetrical rice paddies. They arrived at the quiet farmhouse. It was little more than a shack.
Thejé-rouge bellowed again.
Saint-Fort knocked on the door.
No answer.
Saint-Fort knocked harder. “llo!”
The silence was oppressive. The last red glow of daylight was bleeding away. Saint-Fort tried the doorknob but it was locked.
Asher removed a credit card from his wallet. “Let me try to pick it.” He slid the card in the gap in the door. As he did so, the door flew open.
There was a double-barreled shotgun aimed at Asher’s face. It was in the hands of an overweight, elderly man who smelled like a portable toilet. His grey beard was unkept and he wore a dirty red flannel shirt and overalls.
The old began screaming in Creole, his gun still thrust in Asher’s face. Asher instinctively raised his hands. “Hey man, it’s cool.”
Saint-Fort rattled off something in Creole. Asher didn’t have to speak the language to know he was begging for help. It didn’t seem to go well. The farmer yelled back at him and gestured them away with his shotgun.
“Wait, wait,” Asher said. He put his credit card back in his wallet and took out a wad of bills. He offered them to the farmer. “S’il vous plaît.”
The farmer seemed to consider the offer for a moment. Then he shook his head and ordered them away again with his shotgun.
“Arrettez!” Michel barked. He’d remained impassive through the entire confrontation but now he was stern and commanding. He pulled a small trinket from his pocket and held it up for the farmer to see. He spoke to the farmer in Creole. His tone was not supplicating. Slowly, the farmer lowered his gun.
Asher turned to Saint-Fort. “What happened?”
“He put the fear of Voodoo in him.”
Thejé-rougehowled. It was closer now.
The farmer waved them in urgently. Asher grabbed Michel by the arm. “Come on, kids.” They ambled into the shack.
The place stank of decay. There was no electricity. They locked the front door and braced a wooden chair against the knob.
They stood in the darkness and waited.
Nothing. Thejé-rougedid not call out again.
At last, they began to relax a little. An old mattress creaked as the farmer climbed onto it. Michel sat on the only other chair. Asher and Saint-Fort sat on the dirty floor—Saint-Fort clutching his pistol and Asher clutching his knife.
Asher leaned over to whisper in Saint-Fort’s ear. “Listen: When it comes in, just keep shooting it. Hit it in the head if you can. Just stun it. Get it down and I’ll kill it with the knife.”
“This is some plan.”
“I’m open for suggestions.”
They sat and waited. And waited. And waited. The shack was pitch black. Only the crickets and tree frogs made sound. Asher had no idea how much time was passing.
Asher realized he must have dozed off. He was still sitting on the floor with his head resting against the wall. But something was wrong. Something had woken him. What was it?
He could now see in the small shack. The clouds had cleared and the gibbous moon was ominously visible through the window. Other than that, he could spot nothing wrong.
Perhaps he’d heard a noise? He strained his ears to listen but couldn’t hear anything. And then he realized that was what had woken him.
There was nothing to be heard. The world had gone silent. No crickets, no tree frogs...nothing.
He gently nudged Saint-Fort. “Wake up.”
“What?” Saint-Fort rasped.
“We’re in trouble.” He saw Saint-Fort raise the pistol. “Keep your eyes on the door. Get ready to blast whatever comes through.”
They sat that way for an eternity. Both of them still, trying to breathe silently, their eyes fixed on the door. But thejé-rouge didn’t come through the door.
It came through the wall.
One moment, all was stillness. Then a thunderous splintering of wood exploded inward. Moonlight spilled into the shack, illuminating the monstrous outline with glowing red eyes.
Then came the deafening flash of gunfire. But it didn’t come from Saint-Fort. He and Asher were petrified in place. The old farmer had risen from the bed and fired a load of buckshot into the beast.
The thing snarled with hellish fury.
There was another blast and, illuminated in a split-second of muzzle flash, Asher saw a snapshot of the tableaux before him: Saint-Fort frozen next to him, Michel scrambling to his feet, the old farmer firing his shotgun, and—suspended in mid-air—the wolf-thing leaping toward him. A moment later, they were plunged into darkness. The shack trembled as the beast landed. The farmer’s screams comingled with the snarling of the beast and then stopped suddenly.
Asher felt Saint-Fort grab him by the arm and pull him roughly to his feet. They found Michel in the moonlight, grabbed him, and they all fled through the gaping hole in the wall.
They landed on the ground roughly as the sounds of hell continued in the shack. The sky was completely clear now and the light of the unnaturally-bright gibbous moon illuminated everything.
It was the old houngan who took command. “Get to the lake,” he shouted.
The shore was only a few yards in front of them. They ran as best they could while supporting Michel.
The old man was panting. “The boat!” There was a small rowboat directly in front of them.
The rowboat was completely on shore. “Give me the knife,” Michel commanded, “and pull that in the water.”
Asher obeyed. The rowboat was an ancient piece of rusted tin with a half-foot of water accumulated at the bottom. He and Saint-Fort pulled. The rowboat seemed to weigh a ton from all the water it had taken on. It barely seemed to move at all. Asher was sure they would die trying to drag this boat into the water.
Then thejé-rouge let out a long deep howl. It must have finished its meal.
Saint-Fort yelled: “Flip!” They turned the boat on its side and most of the water emptied out. Suddenly, the boat seemed much lighter. The two of them dragged it into the lake until they were both knee-deep in water. “Michel,” Asher called.
“Go!” The old houngan stood on shore, stock still, his back to them...facing it, the blade clasped in his right hand. Beyond him—an enormous outline with glowing red eyes.
Asher turned to Saint-Fort: “Shoot it.”
Saint-Fort felt his pockets. “I lost the gun.” His voice was hollow.
Asher’s heart sank as he turned back to the scene on shore. The thing howled with hellacious fury. He’d never heard it so close before. The old man raisedthe silver knife above his head. Thejé-rougeleapt. Michel plunged the blade into the monster as it landed on him. There was a horrific yelp, as from a wounded dog. Asher felt a moment of hope.
Then the creature began ripping Michel to pieces.
“NO!” Asher began running back but Saint-Fort grabbed him by the collar.
“Come on. We can’t help him.”
They climbed into the boat and Saint-Fort began rowing.
Michel never cried out.
Chapter 14
Wolf Mountain
Asher opened his eyes, not quite knowing where he was. The world was gently rocking and he was wet. He tried to raise his head and pain shot down his neck from sleeping at an odd angle. They had been sleeping in the bottom of a rowboat.
The events of the previous night came back to him. Asher thought he was going to be sick and leaned over the side. The wave of nausea passed. He looked around.
He and Saint-Fort were floating in the middle of Lake Azuei. They were miles from shore in every direction. He didn’t know if they were closer to the Dominican side or the Haitian side. Asher couldn’t use the sun to get his bearings because the sky was a uniform gray.
He placed his hand on Saint-Fort and said, “Wake up.”
Saint-Fort blinked into consciousness. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere in the middle of the lake. At least I was right—apparently, werewolves can’t swim.” To the best of their knowledge, thejé-rouge had made no attempt to follow them. After the nightmare on shore, they hadn’t heard the howling anymore.
Asher reached over the side and splashed water on his face. It tasted of salt.
“What are we going to do?” Saint-Fort asked.
“We have to go on.”
“How? We don’t have the knife. We don’t even have the gun.”
Asher, his face drained of emotion, looked at Saint-Fort. “What choice do we have?”
He got on the seat and began to row.
A great while later—and with the help of a small compass attached to Asher’s watch—the two of them arrived behind the farm again.
Asher couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Michel’s body. It was a ruin, like the others. There were two long slashes down the face, made by claws or fangs. The eyes were mercifully closed.
Asher had quickly grown fond of the old man. He admired him. Michel didn’t deserve to go out like this.
“Look.” Saint-Fort pointed. “The knife.” It was resting in the dead houngan’s bloody fingers.
Asher brushed Michel’s hands with his fingers, lifted the blade, and put it in his pocket. “We can’t leave him here like this.”
They used a pair of the farmer’s shovels to bury Michel. They briefly discussed burying the farmer but much time had been lost and the two of them were already sickened to the point of nausea.
After that, finding the gun was next on their list. It was nowhere to be found.
“He may have taken it,” Asher said.
“But why leave the knife?”
“It’s silver. He may not even be able to go near it.”
They checked the farmer’s shotgun but it had been snapped in half during the attack.
They washed up in the lake and began the long climb into the mountains.
They climbed all day through the desert mountains. The sky remained dark but it didn’t rain. They passed several small farms and villages but they didn’t see any people. Asher thought the people knew they were in danger. They were probably holed up in their shacks. For all they knew, they were walking through ghost towns in a post-apocalyptic world.
As they rounded a crest in the afternoon, Saint-Fort pointed to a peak across the valley. There it is: Wolf Mountain.”
Asher felt his heart begin to pump ice-water. “Are you sure?”
“It’s got to be.”
Asher knew that it was. The mountain cut a jagged outline against the clouds. “Okay. Let’s go.”
An hour later, they were well into their gradual, upward hike.
“We have to find him before sundown and kill him in his human form,” Asher said.
“How can we even find him?”
“Ask.”
They passed several shacks on their ascent. Saint-Fort knocked but no one answered. The entire mountain appeared to be deserted.
At last they came to a cottage cut into the hillside, standing by itself. There was a banana tree out front in the makeshift garden. Saint-Fort knocked on the door. “llo?”
There was no answer at first. But then, through the rickety, cracked wooden door came the word “help” in English. The word was halfway between a gasp and a sob. To Asher, the voice was unmistakable. With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he brushed Saint-Fort out of the way and kicked the door off its hinges.
Coco’s hands and feet were bound to the wooden chair on which she sat. She was seated at the center of the shack. The entire wall behind her was a mural. It depicted Baron Samedi—the Voodoo loa of the dead. He was represented in the usual fashion: as a living skeleton, dressed in a tuxedo and top hat. He stood in a cemetery. But he was surrounded by an army of wolf-like creatures—all with glowing red eyes and sharp fangs.
After the second it took to register the scene, Asher flew to Coco and began cutting through her ropes with the silver knife. “Oh my God,” he babbled. “I thought you were dead.”
Saint-Fort went to work untying her legs.
Once she saw the men, Coco couldn’t hold back her tears. She let out great wracking sobs.
When the bonds that held her hands were free, Asher wrapped his arms around Coco. “Shh,” he said, kissing her cheek. He held her and stroked her hair until she calmed down.
Gently taking her face in his hands, he said, “Where is he?”
Coco shook her head. “I don’t know. Last night he said he was going off to kill you. He hasn’t come back.”
