Blood Blade s-1 Read online

  Outside, it was cold enough to freeze the snot in his nose, but the crunch of actual earth beneath his feet brightened his spirits. After that, a waving attendant wrapped in a parka, along with a few well-placed signs, directed him to a bench where he sat with his duffel bag.

  Cole steadied his breathing while staring at a rectangle of bright yellow paint marking the pavement in front of him. Beyond that, there wasn’t much. The airport had one landing strip and a pair of large shacks to one side. He thought he could see a road leading away from the smaller of the two shacks, but his eyeballs seemed to be freezing within his sockets and preventing him from studying anything too closely. All the other passengers were huddled nearby, some of whom looked out into the white nothingness at distant spots of more white. Cole tried to see what they were seeing but only got an ache behind his temples for his trouble.

  The frat boys were loaded up with equipment that still smelled like the inside of a sporting goods store. Brad and Gerald carried bags that appeared to have been trampled by every form of transportation known to man. The quiet guy was last. He had the most stuff to haul, and wouldn’t allow anyone else touch it.

  Still feeling the joy of being alive, Cole tapped Gerald’s shoulder and asked, “What’s that guy’s story?”

  Gerald looked over to the quiet man and then back to Cole before shrugging. “How should I know?”

  “You said you knew why he was here.”

  “Hunting trip.”

  “Oh. Did you talk to him?”

  Gerald shook his head and fixed his eyes upon some of the quiet man’s gear.

  Following the older man’s line of sight, Cole spotted the rifle stocks protruding from a black vinyl bag held shut by zippers and metal clamps. “Probably after moose or a polar bear or something like that, huh?”

  “Sure after more than what you could drop with that popgun you’re packing,” Gerald replied.

  Cole looked down at the rifle he’d packed and couldn’t help but feel more than a little inadequate.

  Brad sipped from a flask he’d been carrying inside his jacket. Stepping up to Cole, he offered him the flask and said, “We’re a little too far south for polar bear. Are you sure you’re ready to be out here?”

  “I’m not ready for it at all,” Cole said as he gratefully took the flask. Despite being completely unprepared for the harsh mix of whiskey and gasoline that Brad was drinking, he did his best to hold onto his last dignity and kept the liquor down. “That’s why there’s a perfectly qualified guide that’s supposed to be meeting me,” he croaked.

  “Good. At least that way you should have a better than average chance of making it out of here alive.”

  “Slightly better than average,” Gerald chuckled, before taking the flask from Brad’s hand.

  “What brings you out here, Brad?” Cole asked. “I’m guessing you’re too smart to sign up for the same trip as me and the party boys over there.”

  “He brought me out here,” Brad replied while nodding toward Gerald. “We’re meeting a friend who owns a cabin a ways out from here.”

  Cole spotted a truck rolling toward the spot that had been cleared in front of the bench. Recognizing the name on the side of the canvas canopy as the one from his tickets, he stood up. “Maybe we’ll cross paths again,” he said to Brad and Gerald. “This is my ride.”

  “Take a look around,” Gerald said. “It’s all of our rides.”

  When he glanced from side to side, Cole saw everybody from the plane standing up and looking at the approaching truck. Sure enough, there were more than half a dozen emblems painted onto it, ranging from hotel logos to the gleaming “extreme” maple leaf on top of Cole’s ticket. The quiet man flipped up his jacket collar and heaved the largest of his bags over one shoulder. The frat boys nodded like toys stuck to a dashboard and slapped each other’s hands, which caused the ends of their jester style stocking caps to dance against their necks.

  Before the truck came to a stop, the passenger door swung open and a burly man with a thick beard looked out and said, “Looks like all of ya are here. My name’s Sam and this is my chariot. Hop on in the back.”

  Cole waited for the others to load their gear into the truck before climbing up after them. By now he barely even felt the weight of his duffel bag as he lugged it behind him. On the other hand, he couldn’t feel his toes either.

  “Are you sure I’m in the right place?” he asked as he dug his ticket from inside his jacket and held it out for Sam to see.

  Sam nodded without giving more than a passing glance. “Yep. This is the place.”

  “I thought this was a bigger group.”

  “The four of you will be meeting up with the rest of the group about sixty or seventy miles from here. From there, you’ll all head out together.”

  “The four of us?” Cole asked as two possibilities drifted through his mind.

  “Yeah. Them other two with the funny hats and that guy with all the firepower are headed for the same place. All of us need to make it to Yorktown Lodge, and it gets real hard to find our way in the dark, so let’s not burn any more daylight.”

  Cole looked into the cab of the truck and took a quick inventory of all the radios, transponders, and GPS trackers bolted on or beneath the dashboard. “Isn’t that what all that’s for?”

  Having burned through all of his friendliness, Sam snapped, “Just get in, all right? This ain’t exactly LAX, and there ain’t a row of cabs lined up to take you to the spa. This is a little airport that’s about to close. You’re all headed to the same camp, and we’re not going to let you get lost. If you want to go home, run back into that building over there before the owner of this airport heads out for his dinner.”

  For a moment Cole considered following Sam’s advice. When he looked back at the airport, he was quickly reminded that it wasn’t much more than a four-room shack. The plane that had brought him this far was rolling to the opposite end of the runway and gunning its engines amid a geyser of smoke and a roar that was nearly lost in the cold wind that whipped over the flat stretch of land.

  Thankfully, his stomach was no longer churning and the fresh air was doing him more good than the strongest brew from the coffee shop across the street from his office. Leaning forward, he asked, “Could I at least get you to dump those schoolboys into a snowdrift somewhere along the way?”

  Sam grinned and patted him on the shoulder as he climbed back into his seat. “I’ll see what I can do, buddy.”

  By the time Cole walked around to the back of the truck, Brad was jumping down to greet him.

  “I thought you’d gotten lost,” Brad said. “You need some help with that bag?”

  “Nah, it’s all right. I’ve carried it this far, so I can carry it into a truck.”

  “Actually, you’ll need to carry it up to the top of the truck. The Great White Hunter’s taken up almost every bit of space inside.”

  Cole squinted through the glare of the snow on the ground and tried to make out the shapes huddled in the darkness beneath the truck’s tarp. He could see the quiet man sitting with his back against the farthest end of the cab, his bags gathered around him like a fort. The frat boys didn’t seem to mind sitting in each other’s laps, and Gerald had staked out a spot for himself. That left just enough room for Brad and himself. Unless he wanted to balance his duffel bag on top of his head, Cole knew it had to go somewhere else besides the back.

  “God damn it,” he muttered.

  Brad let out a sympathetic laugh. “Come on. I’ll climb up and you can hand it to me.”

  “Don’t bother. I can haul myself up.” But before Cole was even finished saying that, Brad had already taken hold of the tarp’s frame and pulled himself onto the steel arch.

  Cole’s duffel bag was quickly brought up and strapped onto the truck using a length of rope provided by Sam. He then barely managed to wedge himself in between Brad and the cold, rusty tailgate before the truck lurched forward.

  Once the exhaust thinned out a bit, Cole was treated to a view that constantly shifted between brilliantly clear skies to rolling plains of snow. Scents from the truck mingled with the crisp taste of uncivilized air. He had smelled trees and seen snow plenty of times before, but this was something else. To compare this to the stuff back home would have been like comparing Mom’s homemade cookies to the sweetened disks that came along with a fast food value meal.

  For the first few hours of the drive, there was nothing but miles of flat, white ground in all directions. As the sun worked its way across the sky, the truck rumbled past trees and frozen lakes. Cole even glimpsed mountains here and there. He wasn’t sure which mountains they were or if they were just big hills that he’d mistaken for mountains, but that didn’t make them any less breathtaking. He spotted a few animals running freely along the side of the road. One of them was some sort of bear, loping through the snow faster than a creature its size had any right to go.

  The frat boys never stopped talking.

  The quiet man stayed quiet.

  Brad and Gerald swapped a few words now and then, but Cole couldn’t take his eyes from the view.

  The longer he gazed outside, the more he wanted to see. Before he could give his eyes a rest, the sun dipped beneath the horizon and the breath was taken from his lungs all over again. Brilliant hues of orange and red became even crisper after being reflected off the pristine snow. Another bear sat a ways from the road, watching the truck pass with mild interest. Only after the shadows overpowered the light did Cole shift his focus back to the inside of the truck.

  There was no change in the quiet man, but the frat boys had finally shut the hell up. Cole couldn’t have asked for anything more.

  “We should be there before too much longer,” Brad said. “How’d you sleep?
”

  “I didn’t,” Cole replied.

  “You haven’t moved for hours.”

  “I know. It’s been great.”

  “For Christ’s sake, leave him be,” Gerald grumbled. “You talk any more and you’ll wake up them two little shits with the stupid hats.”

  Chapter 3

  Transit Point #59 13 miles west of the Klinaklini River

  “We’re here,” Sam said cheerily. “Get your stuff and head for the lodge.”

  When he lifted his head, every muscle in Cole’s neck creaked like a bunch of gears that were trying to turn after being frozen in place. He, along with the rest of the men, jumped out and made their way outside amid a cavalcade of grunts and groans. The night was darker than anything he had ever seen. Even though the stars glittered overhead like diamonds on a jeweler’s cloth, that wasn’t nearly enough to put a dent in the inky blackness that had settled over the world. When he looked up, Cole thought he could see into eternity. When he looked back down, he could barely see the duffel bag that had been tossed to the ground near his feet.

  “There’ll be food in the lodge,” Sam said.

  Cole looked to where some of the others were headed and saw a large shack with smoke drifting up from the roof.

  “That’s the lodge?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Brad said as he walked by. “Cozy, isn’t it?”

  “Not exactly how I would describe it.”

  Gerald was the next to walk by. He carried one pack over his shoulder and used a worn stick to keep his footing. “There’s food in there,” he said. “I can smell it.”

  The quiet man was last. He didn’t seem to mind the cold as he lugged his bags slowly through the snow while looking carefully in every direction. When his eyes settled upon Cole, he stared him down until Cole looked away. Only then did the quiet man resume his shuffling journey toward the lodge.

  “Jesus,” Cole muttered to himself. “This’ll teach me to buy a vacation without a real travel agent to yell at once I get back.”

  The lodge turned out to be much better on the inside. A large fireplace took up a huge section of the wall opposite the front door. That way, the breeze from the door fanned its flames while providing immediate comfort from the cold. There was also a kitchen supplying food to three large tables set up in the main room. Seated at one of the tables was a woman with shoulder-length blond hair and a thick sweater that hugged her figure like a second skin. Another man stood next to the coatrack, bundling himself up before heading back into the cold. The two of them glanced at the front door and halfheartedly waved at the new arrivals.

  “Beds are in there,” Sam said to everyone who walked into the lodge. He pointed to the only other room, which was to the right of the entrance.

  Having served time in summer camp in his youth, Cole instinctively went into the other room to stake his claim on one of the beds. There were only six to choose from, and the frat boys had already picked theirs out. Cole dropped his duffel onto the bed at the opposite end of the room from the younger men and headed back toward the smell of food.

  Brad made himself comfortable at the blonde’s table. Her legs were curled up beneath her, so she leaned one elbow on the table and used her free hand to play with some of the curls dangling from under Brad’s cap.

  The cook was a burly man with a bald head and full beard. At the moment, he was setting up a row of wooden bowls in front of him. After the neat row was completed, he used a dented ladle to fill them. The smell drifting through the air told Cole that whatever was in those bowls was hot and tasty.

  The quiet guy headed for the other room and stayed there.

  “Come and get it while it’s hot,” the cook said.

  Cole didn’t have to be asked twice, so he walked over to claim a bowl for himself. “What is it?” he asked.

  The burly man replied, “Just beef and potato stew. It’s from my ma’s recipe, so if you got complaints, keep ’em to yerself.”

  After taking a bite, Cole looked up and replied, “No complaints here. I just hope there’s more.”

  The cook slapped Cole on the shoulder and walked back to the stove. “I got enough to feed a pack of wild animals in here.”

  Cole went to a table and didn’t look up until he’d devoured half of his second helping. When he glanced around, he saw everyone scattered among the tables eating their meals. Naturally, the bros with the funny hats settled in at his table to regale him with stories of how many different ways they could drain a bottle and then fall down afterward. Looking around for a beam to hang himself, Cole realized that not everyone from the truck was there after all. Brad was still making good time with the blonde, but Gerald was nowhere to be seen. Cole pushed away from the table before his new buddies could start in on tales from spring break. After dropping his bowl off at the kitchen, he stepped out through the front door.

  Gerald was outside, sitting beside an oil drum that contained a crackling fire. His hood was pulled up and cinched tightly around his face to protect him from a cold wind that cut like sharpened steel. In defiance of the fierce elements, Gerald remained focused upon a task that monopolized every bit of his attention. No matter how hard the wind howled, the older man kept his hands moving and his head low.

  As far as Cole could tell, he was carving something into his walking stick. It had to be the same walking stick that Gerald had before, but Cole only now noticed the groves worn into the wood. Flickering light from the fire played across the intricate carvings along the thinnest section of the staff.

  “It’s a lot warmer inside,” Cole said.

  Gerald didn’t look up, but he did nod.

  Cole took a few steps closer until he was able to reach out and warm his hands by the fire. “This fresh air is doing wonders for my sinuses. I’m from Seattle, so it practically takes a miracle to clear out the smell of coffee grounds from my clothes.” Laughing reflexively at his own joke, he noticed that his was the only voice drifting through the air. “That one usually goes over a little better.”

  “Not with someone who was born in Seattle, I bet,” Gerald said sternly.

  “Oh. Were you born there?”

  Gerald kept his eyes fixed firmly upon the small knife in his hands as he smirked and replied, “Nah. Just keeping you on your toes.”

  “Heh. Good one.”

  Gerald ran coarse fingertips along the wooden staff that lay across his lap. Despite the beefiness of his fingers, he handled the jackknife the way a surgeon used a scalpel. While rolling the staff along the upper portion of his knees, he carved into the wooden surface in a constant flow of motion. Considering how thin the wood was on top and how hard he was working, it was a wonder to Cole that he didn’t slice the staff into bits.

  After a few seconds of working quietly, Gerald asked, “You saw it, didn’t you?”

  Cole kept his arms stretched toward the fire and looked around. “Saw what?” he asked.

  “During the ride on the truck. You saw that thing that was following us.”

  “I did?”

  Gerald nodded and flipped the staff around so the clean end was closer to his jackknife. Probably because of the flickering firelight, that end now looked thinner than the one with all the carvings. “I saw you watching it. You were probably wondering how a thing that big could move so damn fast.”

  Just as he was getting uncomfortable with the conversation, Cole made a connection in his head. “Oh! You mean those bears?”

  Gerald nodded.

  “There’s probably bears all over the place around here,” Cole said. “Good thing we’ve got that nut job with all the guns staying here with us.”

  “I guess.”

  “There aren’t any bears…you know…like, right around here, are there?” Cole asked.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you see for yourself?”

  Cole looked up again and took some more time to study his surroundings. His eyes drifted toward the trees that encroached upon the cabin from the north. They grew there in a thick wall of large trunks that seemed to be as solid as the black shadows between them; infused with some ominous presence or possibly keeping one at bay. For a second, light from the fire seemed to catch a figure within one of those distant shadows. Cole rubbed his eyes and took another look just to be certain.