The Burning Man

9

‘Thank you,’ Nelson said into the radio before turning to Tombstone. ‘That’s a confirmed sighting of our three runaways — in the vicinity of Grand Central Terminal.’

‘This is a fucked-up world,’ Tombstone said as he pulled into traffic. He was still queasy from the shock of seeing the spider Church had pointed out, embedded in Oakes’s body, shortly before it freed itself and attempted to scurry away. Nelson’s shoe had ended its run. ‘The Army of the Ten Billion Spiders? What is that, like the Jesus Army but with extra legs?’

‘All that matters is that they’re mind-control agents,’ Church said.

‘Don’t think for a minute that I believe any of this,’ Nelson said. ‘All I know is that things don’t fit and until they do, I’m keeping you near.’

‘My friends-’

‘Still no sign of them.’

‘And why are you so important, Jude Law? British Secret Service? Or just an asshole with paranoid delusions?’

‘I can’t say.’

‘Course you can’t.’

They drove up Park Avenue to East Forty-Second Street and Vander-bilt Avenue where the imposing Beaux Arts facade of Grand Central Terminal presented itself to them. The first hint of dawn was visible in the sky, but it would be a while before the trains started running.

‘Don’t go for another jog,’ Nelson cautioned as they got out onto the deserted street. ‘This time I will shoot. Only to wound, but it hurts like hell, believe me.’

‘If they’re trying to skip town we’ll need to call for back-up to cover all the gates,’ Tombstone said.

As a newspaper delivery truck passed, its rumble merged with the chilling low, moaning cry, this time clearer: Weeen … deeg …. Another truck cut off its ending.

Some underlying quality of the sound chilled them all. It conjured up images of wintry wastes, and frigid skies, and blood on snow, as though a stream of information was encoded in a precise combination of notes and timbre.

Nelson considered what he had heard. ‘It’s saying a word,’ he concluded.

‘Yeah? It’s not in my dictionary,’ Tombstone replied.

‘ “Wen-dig,” ’ Nelson repeated.

‘The last syllable is “oh”,’ Church said.

Tombstone consulted his BlackBerry, ‘Okay, Google. Wendigo. “A traditional belief of various Algonquian-speaking tribes, particularly the Ojibwa/Saulteaux, the Cree, and the Innu/Naskapi/Montagnais”.’ He struggled over the pronunciations. ‘ “A malevolent spirit that can possess humans or take on a life of its own. A ravenous beast with a hunger for human flesh that can never be sated. It consumes the victims down to the last bone and drop of blood. It carries a feeling of winter famine with it. Icy blizzards rise up around it, trees crack, water freezes, snow clouds form.” ’

‘So our killer thinks he’s a mythical beast,’ Nelson said.

Church knew the truth but kept it to himself.

Tombstone glanced towards the station entrance. ‘Sounded like it came from inside.’

They raced through the columned entrance to the stairs that swept down into the cavernous main concourse. The four-faced clock above the information booth ticked away the seconds. Overhead the ceiling was painted with an astronomical design, but all the constellations were backwards: a reflection of reality.

‘Is it me or is it cold in here?’ Tombstone said.

A cleaner trundled a yellow trolley across the floor. After he had passed, Church registered some quality in the sly glance the cleaner had given him — it reminded him of the detective who had warned Oakes at the precinct. He hurried down the steps, but the cleaner was nowhere to be seen.

The Wendigo cry drifted over the empty concourse.

‘Shit. I wish he’d stop doing that,’ Tombstone growled.

The sound of running feet made them all whirl. A shout followed. Jack, Mahalia and Crowther ran through one of the platform entrances, to the annoyance of a rail employee who was now barking into his radio and running after them. Tombstone, Nelson and Church sprinted in pursuit, through the entrance, down steps and into a brightly lit tunnel.

The temperature dropped drastically as they ran. Frost glistened on the walls. Small drifts of snow appeared here and there.

Rounding a corner, they nearly fell over another dismembered body. The railway employee was missing his upper half. Blood formed a garish crescent across the frozen floor ending in a Jackson Pollock spray up both walls.

‘Weeen-dee-gooh!’ The sound of hungry birds over Arctic wastes, loud, nearby.

Tombstone backed against Nelson, gun raised. Church saw in their eyes that they were beginning to grasp the truth.

At the end of the corridor, he glimpsed Jack. He’d barely run a few paces towards him when the raging sound of wings heralded the arrival of the ravens flooding into the corridor. Church threw himself onto his back to avoid them. They swirled to block his path.

When they finally retreated, the corridor reverberated with the rumble of the first train of the day entering the station.

Tombstone dragged Church to his feet. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ he yelled with anger born of incomprehension.

Church looked along the corridor to where he had glimpsed the Jack that he now realised was not Jack, and from where the Morvren had emerged. ‘I’m starting to get an idea,’ he replied.

Screams drew them onto the platform. Snow encrusted the roof of the newly arrived train and the windows were covered with an impenetrable hoar-frost, apart from the driver’s cab which was splattered on the inside with blood. Crashing and rending boomed within as a terrible force tore through the carriages.

Further down the platform, Jack, Mahalia and Crowther were rooted with fear. This time Church knew they were real.

As Church ran towards them, a door exploded out from a carriage halfway between Church and the detectives. From the frozen interior emerged something that had the form of a man but moved with the loping gait of a beast. Wild, black hair framed a skull-like face, the bottom half of which was smeared red with blood. It was larger than any man, with powerful, sinewy limbs that ended in broken, red-stained nails. As it moved, it appeared to alter shape briefly, becoming all beast with thick, grey fur and yellow-green eyes, before reverting back to its original form.

Shot after shot from the detectives’ guns crashed into the Wendigo. It roared with annoyance at Nelson and Tombstone before continuing to prowl towards Church and the others.

‘Why won’t it die?’ Jack said.

Nelson and Tombstone reloaded and continued to fire.

Church could smell it now, meat and wet fur and a heavy animal musk. The cold grew more intense the nearer it came.

‘Oh, God,’ Crowther whispered.

Just as the Wendigo was about to leap, Church turned his back on it and shouted, ‘Stop this now! I’m not going to play the game any more! See, I’m walking away!’

The Wendigo’s breath rasped on the back of his neck, but it didn’t attack. Church walked past Mahalia, Jack and Crowther towards the end of the platform.

Ahead of him the air shimmered and two shadowy shapes appeared as if emerging from a heat-haze. They launched themselves at each other, rolling and punching and clawing as they fought fiercely. The indistinct figures became a raven and a coyote, both trying to rip out each other’s eyes, and then two young men: one had jet-black hair, yellow eyes and pointed features, the other long brown hair and green eyes with a broader, flatter nose. They continued to roll around the platform like brawling children, snapping and snarling.

Church got between them and threw them apart. ‘Stop fighting!’

The two men crouched on opposite sides of the platform, glaring at each other.

‘You cheated!’ the one with brown hair said. ‘There was to be no involvement in the game.’

‘You cheated!’ the other one said furiously.

‘Game?’ Church interjected angrily. ‘People have died.’

‘Well, they’re only human,’ the brown-haired one said slyly.

‘Who are you?’ Church asked.

The brown-haired one bowed. ‘Your people like to call me Coyote or Akba-Atatdia, or First Scolder. I am the cleverest and the trickiest and no one can ever beat me.’

‘Except me.’ The other bowed, too. ‘Your people like to call me Raven. Or KwekWaxa’we. Or Chulyen, Hemaskas, or a score of other names. And I am the cleverest and the trickiest.’ He sighed. ‘Though it is always he who plays tricks on me.’

‘So you set loose the Wendigo-’

‘He did that,’ Raven pointed at Coyote.

‘-and all those people were slaughtered for some kind of stupid competition?’

Raven looked sheepish. ‘But that is why I chose you, Brother of Dragons, to prevent the mayhem this fool unleashed. And because I was selected as your totem, and you already have the Morvren at your disposal. I helped you every step of the way, and he hindered you.’

Church looked from one to the other with contempt. ‘Some day humans are going to move up the ladder, and then we’re going to put all you gods out of business.’

‘Surely not,’ Coyote said. ‘Then what will you do for fun?’

Drained, Church turned to walk back up the platform. The Wendigo was gone. But so were Jack, Mahalia and Crowther. Nelson and Tombstone stood in a trance, guns hanging limply.

Coyote and Raven leaped alongside Church. ‘The boy is gone. That was always the end of our competition,’ Raven said.

‘He is too dangerous to exist in our Great Dominion,’ Coyote added. ‘He will always attract trouble.’

‘Where is he?’

Coyote and Raven both pointed up.

‘Apoyan-Tachi, Sky Father God, has taken him,’ Coyote replied.

‘If you wish to find him again, you must first find your way through the Sky Maze,’ Raven stated. ‘Take a step off the highest point of any of the highest buildings in this city and perhaps you will find yourself standing on the invisible path.’

‘Or perhaps not,’ Coyote added.