Bedbugs, p.28
Bedbugs, page 28
“Roger that, Spotter Four. I read you loud and clear. What’ve you got? Over.”
“I just saw something that might have been a flare off my left wing. It was pretty far away, and awfully low to the ground, but I’d swear it was an emergency flare. Over.”
“I didn’t see anything over this way. Make sure you mark your heading and report back to headquarters. Over.”
“Roger. I’m going to take a quick fly-by, first. Over.”
“If I was you, Spotter Four, I’d hustle my hinder back to the airport. This storm that’s coming in is supposed to be a real whopper. Worse than the last one. Over.”
“Roger that, Sky Chief One. Over and out. Spotter Four to base. This is Spotter Four calling base. Do you read me? Over.”
CLICK
Eight-oh-five. A.M. I’m pretty sure it’s Sunday, so that makes it the twenty-first.
It’s starting again. Another storm is on its way. I thought I could feel something coming. All night, there was this . . . this feeling in the air.
I thought maybe it was just me—you know, that I was imagining things again . . . especially after what happened last night. And then finding Jodie.
She died last night.
Probably a blessing, really.
She wasn’t going to make it, anyway.
Then again, neither am I.
Not if this is a real blizzard coming. It’ll bury me and Jodie and the plane and everything. Maybe this summer or a couple of years from now, some hikers are gonna find the wreck, but by then, my bones will have been picked clean by those crows.
Or the wolves!
Sometime around six o’clock this morning, the wind started picking up, and it started to snow. I thought about going out and trying to get enough firewood to last me through the day, but I sure as hell am not going out into those woods in the dark—not with those hungry wolves around. Maybe I scared them off for a while, but if they’re hungry enough, which I’ll bet they are, then they didn’t go very far.
They’ll be back.
I didn’t go out and check the snow for footprints or blood like I’d planned. What I saw last night seemed absolutely unreal, but I know I wasn’t imagining it. Besides, any tracks would be covered up already by the new snow. I’ll probably never know what really happened out there last night.
Maybe it’s just as well.
I can hear the wind and snow banging against the side of the plane. It sounds like it’s almost ice, rattling like we’re being sprayed by thousands of rock pellets or something.
Wait a second. Why’d I say we?
There’s no we anymore.
There’s just me and my dead girlfriend, and four other dead friends I’ve got stacked up outside the plane like fucking firewood. I want to stay focused, stay positive, but I don’t see how I’m going to make it more than another day or two. I’m so hungry my stomach’s a constant knot of pain. I haven’t even dared take Jodie outside yet. I’m not sure I can bring myself to touch her.
The others—sure it was hard, but I hadn’t slept with them—or made love to them. Huh! Except for my manager, Denny. I guess you could say he fucked me over plenty of times over the last few years.
That’s not funny!
But with Jodie, though . . . I can’t stop wondering if I’d be able to stop myself if I was going to—
To. . . .
Jesus, no! I can’t think about it. I’m not going to—I couldn’t cut her up and eat her, even if it means that I have to die out here!
Oh, yeah—sure, right now I’m so hungry it hurts, but I’m not insane.
Not yet, anyway.
But what if I’m snowed in here for a day or two before I can even dig my way out?
What if I’m too weak to dig myself out this time? What then?
I won’t be able to keep the fire going. And how hungry will I have to get before I finally lose it?
Hungry enough maybe to want to do something about it? Maybe that’s why I haven’t taken her outside yet. Maybe I want her in here with me in case I need her.
How hard could it be to eat human flesh, anyway?
I’d just have to take one of the steak knives from the kitchenette and cut into her, right?
What part, I wonder.
Probably the leg.
Yeah, the upper leg. That’d be the meatiest part. So what would be the problem?
I’d treat it like any other piece of meat, wouldn’t I? Just like a steak. I’m no fucking vegetarian, so what’s the big fucking deal?
I can almost kid myself that it’s what Jodie would say she wanted me to do, if she could talk. She’d say—”Come on, Alex. Do it! Let me give you the ultimate gift . . . the gift of life.” I can’t help but laugh, imagining her saying, “Eat me, baby. Eat me!”
Christ, I’ve done that plenty of times before . . . in a manner of speaking.
So how big a step could it really be?
A couple of slices, stick a slab of juicy, red meat into the flames, and let it cook.
God knows, even if I’m not hungry enough to do it right now, I’m gonna be soon enough, so maybe I damned well better start getting ready for it.
If I’m gonna survive this, I’m gonna have to do something desperate . . .
And soon!
CLICK
“So tell us what’s up with the weather, Dave.”
“Well, it sure looks like we’re in for another big one, Kimberly. That low pressure area that’s been sweeping up the coast is getting into position for another classic Nor’easter just like the one we had last week. We could see as much as a foot of snow along the coast and, of course, much higher accumulations farther inland. Maybe even two to three feet. I’ll have all the details for you when Six Alive continues its morning report.”
CLICK
The Tribe was sleeping in the Den. Three of them, besides the she-wolf, had made a kill during the night and, thus, had resumed their human form. But even as the storm raged outside the mouth of the Den, Lyssa, for that was her name, couldn’t stop thinking about the man at the plane wreck.
She had spoken to him, had invited him to join them, had offered him life—a real life of running with the Pack, not living in the sterile, choking confines of civilization.
And what had he done?
He had shot a bolt of red flame at her.
For several seconds after the flare had whisked past her head, Lyssa had stood there, dazed and frozen in her tracks. From the time when she was young and had lived closer to humans, she had known about fire and had learned to fear it. Her ancestors, when she spoke to them in her ancestral memory, told her that control of fire by humans was what had first begun the corruption of Gaia. But she had lost her instinctive reaction of fleeing from fire and had stood there in the snow, transfixed . . . amazed.
Then, as though through a mist, she had become aware of what the rest of the Pack was doing. Realizing that the human may be reloading his gun, she quickly turned and ran off into the forest. Naked and shivering, it was only by traveling between the furry bodies of her friends that she arrived back at the Den alive.
But now, she couldn’t stop thinking about the man and how much she wanted to save him. She had reached out to him, had touched his mind, and had felt that he was close to her in spirit.
She and the other members of her small Tribe were different from the rest of their werewolf kind. They were considered outcasts by most werewolves, and had been for centuries. But long ago, back when the Europeans had first arrived in their land, these few members of their Tribe had chosen to live in the Wild, which they cherished and hoped to defend. A few of them—most importantly one of Lyssa’s ancestors—had been sickened by the memory of the slaughter of both the natives and the newly arrived Europeans. More than two hundred years ago, they had adopted the Decree, which forbade them from ever taking human life.
Or of eating human flesh.
Over the course of time, this decision—and their dedication to it—had caused inexplicable changes in their essential nature. They found that, once again, as in Ancient Times, they were subject to the Curse of the Full Moon and were unable to control their Change as others of their kind could. Whenever the moon was full, against their will, they would change into their wolf form, and they discovered that, in order to resume their human form, they had to kill, they had to drink hot, living blood and taste raw flesh in order to transform back to their preferred human form. This curse alone would have been easy enough for the Tribe to accept. It was a small price to pay for the freedom they sought and found, living away from society both human and werewolf but there was one other development for which they couldn’t account. While in their wolf form, they discovered that they aged faster than they did in their human form. They soon learned that, while in wolf form, they aged as does a wolf or dog—seven years for every one human year.
So with the Change that came with the Full Moon, their need and motivation to kill became stronger than ever, but they clung to the Decree and refused to kill humans, as was the custom with most of the rest of their kind.
Lyssa arose and hurriedly dressed, putting on her warmest fur cloak, and left the Den. The sentinel at the mouth of the Den asked her where she was going, but she told him nothing as she strode out into the storm.
CLICK
“. . . and you don’t mind that I’m recording what you said?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
“I mean—tomorrow morning . . . or sometime later, I’m going to have to listen to this all over again.”
“It will help you understand it all on a deeper level.”
“Shit, I’ll need to hear it just to help me convince myself that I’m not—you know, that I haven’t completely lost my mind.”
“You haven’t lost your mind . . . far from it, but you are in danger of losing your life. That’s why I’ve come here. To save you.”
“What do you mean, save me? Are you—You’re, like, a—an angel or something, is that it?”
“No . . . I’m probably the furthest thing from an angel.”
“Who are you, then?”
“I told you. My name is Lyssa.”
“Lyssa who?”
“I have no need of a last name.”
“So what are you? The Queen of Snow? The Winter Queen? Is that it?”
“No, I’m not those things, either. Look, we don’t have much time.”
“What the—? Oh, my God! What the hell are you doing?”
“This will save your life.”
“But you just—oh, Jesus! You just cut your arm wide open. Look. It’s bleeding!”
“Here. Take this.”
“Are you crazy? Now I know I’m insane! This can’t be happening! There’s no way I’m going to eat that!”
“But you have to. It will give you strength.”
“No . . . I . . . that’s a—that’s a piece of the flesh from your arm, for Christ’s sake! . . . I can’t just . . . just. . . .
“I’m doing this willingly, Alex, to save your life.”
“But I can’t eat . . . that . . . that’s human flesh.”
“It will make you become as I am.”
“But what if I don’t want to become what you are? What if I’d just as soon die here rather than . . . than eat someone’s flesh?”
“It’s the first and only time you’ll ever have to do it, Alex. After today, the Decree will forbid you to eat human flesh. But right now, you must.”
“. . . no . . . I can’t. . . .”
“Please. Take it. Take it and eat. Eat it and live.”
CLICK
He ran, and the deep snow tugged at his legs, tripping him as he went.
He ran until he thought his chest would burst, until his lungs felt like they were on fire.
He ran, and the sour, coppery taste of blood, the rank taste of human flesh filled his mouth, gagging him. When he clamped his teeth together, they met a rubbery, fatty resistance, and the thought of what was still in his mouth made him want to spit it out.
But he didn’t spit it out.
He swallowed it, straining to force the lump of cold flesh down his gullet. Hot vomit churned deep inside his gut.
And still, he ran.
He ran until he fell.
The impact wasn’t hard in the soft snow. Cold and cushiony, it reached up to embrace him, and he enjoyed its comfort, if for only a few seconds.
Then something started to happen.
He felt his bones begin to shift and crackle, crumpling like tissue paper inside his body. Nerves and blood vessels roared with pain and new life as the Change came over him for the first time.
He was terrified.
His face was compressed. Then it began to extend outward. His spine curled up and around like it was forming the shape of a question mark. Some of his bones lengthened while others shortened. All of them crackled like a fire raging beneath his skin. Muscles and tendons twanged like taut elastics connecting new and unusual angles of bone. Something tugged back at his face, and he felt his ears slide up to the top of his head and flatten. His eyes shifted to the sides of his head, and when they did, his vision gradually sharpened. He began to see the world in a unique way.
Sights became sounds.
Sounds became tastes.
And all around him, the world exploded with new, deep, and vibrant scents and sensations he had never even imagined were possible.
He wanted to cry out in his misery and joy, but the pain of the transformation began to blend into something else . . . it gradually shifted into a fierce strength and a dizzying, almost terrifying feeling of power.
He tilted his head back, filled his lungs with cold air, and let loose a rising, keening howl that echoed throughout the snow-laden forest.
And then he ran, but now he ran on four feet and with a new sense of strength and purpose.
He ran with the Pack!
CLICK
“You’re looking at the scene earlier this morning when a National Forest Services ground rescue team finally arrived at the crash site of the private jet which had been carrying Alex VanLowe and some of his entourage to a concert in Portland, Maine, when it disappeared last week.
“For four days, now, the search for the missing rock star had expanded until last Saturday night, when a Civil Air Patrol pilot reported seeing an emergency flare here in the National Forest northwest of Mount Washington. Because of the blizzard conditions that swept through the area, rescuers weren’t able to get to the downed plane until early this morning, just after dawn, but the plane has been positively identified as that of the missing rock star. How it came to be so far off course is still a matter of speculation, but authorities report that the pilot of the jet, Michael DeSalvo, had reported navigational problems. Obviously, they were considerably off course.
“And when the rescue team parachuted down this morning, what a grim sight they found!
“The bodies of four dead passengers, identified as the pilot, Michael DeSalvo, Mr. VanLowe’s manager, Dennis Cody, and two members of the road crew, Jeff Connors and Johnny Martinez, were found buried beneath a mound of snow. A fifth body, that of Jodie McDaniels, Alex VanLowe’s girlfriend, was found inside the plane. As of right now, the rescue team has not found any trace of Mr. VanLowe.
“Fans around the world are hoping and praying that the rock star will be found alive, but rescuers are holding out little hope. Tracks which the rescue team thinks may have been made by Mr. VanLowe were found leading off into the woods. After following them for nearly a mile, the team lost them in the dense woods and decided to return to the crash site until a larger search party can be formed.
“We’ll keep you updated as these events unfold, but for now, things look rather doubtful that Alex VanLowe will be found alive.
“In other news today, the trial in Augusta of the man arrested for shooting his neighbor’s cat continued. . . .”
—for Markku Jalava
Late Summer Shadows
Questions is how the whole thing began.
Questions.
Most problems in life start that way . . . with questions. Now that it’s long since over, ‘n I’m an old man, I ‘spoze there’s only a few—maybe just one big question that’ll end it once and for all. But I sure hope to hell I don’t meet George so’s I can ask him.
“D’you know why they put gravestones on graves?” George had asked me that August day, so long ago. We was both ‘bout ten years old that summer, ‘n we were thicker ‘n thieves in them days. That afternoon, we was sitting in the shade, on cool, moss-covered stones in the backyard.
My mother and me was visiting George and his family at their summer camp on Little Sebago. They had a place down on Campbell Shore Road, and we generally spent a week or two there with ‘em every summer, usually in August. My father had died six years before, in France, fightin’ the Kaiser’s army. I was only four at the time he died. so my memory of him ain’t so good. I ‘spect I have no real memory of him at’all—it’s just that I’ve heard so much about him ‘n seen old photographs of him that I think I remember him.
Anyways, I was saying—when George asked me that question, I just sat there, starin’ at him for a moment or two, suspectin’ it was some kinda joke or somethin’ ‘n he had some silly-arsed answer. George usually did things like that. ‘Least ways, that’s how I remember him.
The sun was gettin’ low in the sky, glintin’ white off the water. Late afternoon shadows stretched across the lawn, lookin’ thick—almost furry. It was still too warm to do anythin’ as active as play croquet or badminton, so we was just settin’ ‘n talkin’.
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “It’s just to mark where the grave is—or who’s buried down there.” I remember thinkin’ at the time that my voice sounded like I was on a vibratin’ machine or somethin’, but I didn’t want George to know that his question had spooked me any. It didn’t pay to let George know you was scared of anythin’.
You know, though, now that I think about it, George always had a kinda unique talent. He could scowl ‘n laugh at the same time. Try it. It ain’t so easy as you think. Years later, I used to think George would’ve made a great school teacher ‘cause he could tell you your idea was wrong as rain without really hurtin’ your feelings.
