The Revenants Read online

  Before Wally could answer, another gust of wind, the worst one yet, blew up out of nowhere and ended the discussion. There was a loud smacking sound as the errant breeze caught the back of the ambulance door and slammed it open.

  After the wind died down again Becca said, “You left your door unlocked,” and started moving over to it.

  Wally quickly stepped in front of her. “Uh, that’s alright, I got it.”

  Becca studied him for a second more. “Alright. We’re gonna go turn the pumps on, and then we’re going to get some gas. As soon as we do, we’re outta here.” Turning toward the cheerleader she added, “Peyton, listen, if you want to stay here and wait until morning or catch another ride, that’s fine by me, but once we’re fueled up, Wally and I are leaving for Rapid City.” That said, Becca strode purposefully in the direction of the station.

  Peyton fingered her hair, thought about it for a few seconds more, looked as though she were about to say something to him, thought better of it, and then trotted out after Becca.

  Wally was about to latch the door closed but couldn’t resist the urge to peek inside and check on Denise one last time. Maybe even if it was just to say goodbye.

  But only bloodstained bandages remained.

  Denise was gone.

  (He doesn’t seem very broken up about it)

  Wally wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel.

  (Oh goody, there’s more)

  The way she had gotten up and attacked him. It was almost as though she were possessed. The whole thing had been terrifying. The single most horrific thing that had ever happened to him, and that included Spence and the stupid birds. On the other hand, Denise had been his friend. Never the kind who came over for dinner or showed up at your kid’s baseball game to cheer him on, but he was certainly glad to see her.

  Wally half fell and half leaned against the back of the ambulance. He buried his mouth in his wrist for fear someone might hear him sobbing.

  “Mr. Wally?”

  It was Peyton. He began to wonder if she had seen or heard him when she asked, “Could you give us hand? Miss Becca can’t figure out how to turn on the pumps.”

  Wally had wanted to say, ‘Be right there,’ but nodding his head with his back to her was all he could manage.

  I have to tell them. I have to tell them that I murdered Denise. In the end, he told them that “Denise didn’t make it.” It certainly wasn’t a lie but Wally felt it was far from the truth.

  He didn’t even remember making up the stretcher with pillows and blankets to make it appear like her dead body was strapped underneath the blanket.

  (You might say he wasn’t quite himself at the moment)

  (Hey, I got an idea. What do you say we see if anybody else is having any fun this evening?)

  (Oh looky-looky. Just down the road a bit. Well within the motel’s grasp)

  (Oops… faux pas. Or is that a Freudian slip? I can never remember)

  (Any who. I think I might have found a real pair of meatbags you might find amusing. No? Not even if I were to tell you that there is a fifty percent death toll?)

  (Thought so)

  (Admit it. You’re so deliciously morbid)

  (Don’t worry, I won’t tell if you won’t)

  (Still here? Turn the page already.)

  Chapter 13

  Big Leonard

  “We’re here.”

  Leonard Crenshaw, Big Leonard to his pals on account of him being six-foot-eight and four hundred and two pounds, thank you very much, let out a big grunt as he set the parking brake.

  With surprising dexterity for a man of his girth he climbed out of his utility truck and slammed the door with the faded I.B.E.W. emblem, which every full-blooded American Power Lineman knows stands for International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers.

  (Can I get an Amen?)

  Big Leonard parked his beloved utility work truck about halfway off the road, and even though he didn’t need the yellow strobes this time of night, heck, even the long haul truckers would be in bed by now, he activated them anyway to warn all non-coming traffic.

  No sooner was he out of the truck when a long slow howl rose up from the desert.

  “Did you hear that?”

  That would be Jimmy. A buck-forty soaking wet, and even though Jimmy had gotten booted out of the Army he still wore that drab-colored army coat they gave him when he first went in.

  Big Leonard only knew Jimmy’s parents by reputation. Heck, the whole town did. A couple of real class ‘A’ citizens; when they weren’t in jail or in the process of getting back into the slammer, they were usually pumping out kids and collecting welfare checks. And hard as Jimmy tried, it didn’t look like the poor kid was going to break the cycle any more than his siblings were about to.

  Presently, the kid’s eyes were big as saucers. Boy was that cliché’, ‘big as saucers’. It’s a good thing you’re not a writer for a living or Chelle-Belle and the girls would’ve starved a long time ago. (You got that write, big fella. See what I did there? Write for Right? Oh, never mind) At least the youngest ankle-biter of the family, and last to leave, took off for Orlando for college on a band scholarship. Who knew all those hours of listening to her practice the recorder would pay off one day.

  “I said… did you hear that?” Jimmy asked again.

  “Just a coyote, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy had only been apprenticing with him for about a week. Nice enough kid, but the boy didn’t have a lick of sense. In fact, two of the other Linemen had already written him off. They even had a nickname for him…‘Scooby’, as in, Scooby-Do. Where are you? With so many eager young men, and even a few women, applying for the high-paying job of Power Lineman, it was fairly common for Linemen to use and abuse those seeking apprenticeship. They claimed it thinned out the lazy, stupid, and weak, but Big Leonard had a soft spot for the underdogs; after all, twenty years ago he used to be one. “Ain’t you ever heard a coyote before, Jim?” he asked, opening one of the truck’s tool storage compartments and grabbing his goggles and thick rubber gloves.

  “Not like that, I ain’t.”

  Before the echo died out completely, more howls answered, only this time, sounding a bit closer.

  Big Leonard slapped on his hard hat and said with mock ominousness, “Ooooo… Sounds like a whole pack of ‘em.”

  Seeing the kid was near petrified, he suppressed a chuckle. Sort of. It came out as a half chuckle, half cough. Okay, fun time’s over, you want to help this hard luck case or not? “Don’t pay it no mind, Jim. You got nothing to worry about.”

  Jimmy made a contemptuous noise. “Yeah… says the man safely in the bucket sixteen feet up in the air while I’m down here.”

  Big Leonard dropped the heavy tailgate and began unlashing the brand new eight hundred pound transformer they were here to install. Replacing damaged or old transformers was easily the most common repair on the job. Near the end of their shift they had identified the faulty transformer and gone back to town for a replacement. And since the boss man was willing to pay overtime, tonight at double-time was way better than straight time tomorrow. “Look, kid, I’ve been doing this for over twenty years, and I ain’t never heard of a Lineman getting attacked by no coyote. Bit by a stray dog maybe, but never a coyote.” Unwavering in his work, even as he talked, he pulled the wrappings off the heavy transformer. “Now give me a hand with this thing before I pull a hammy doing it by my lonesome.”

  As they worked together a heavy gust of wind blew up out of nowhere and nearly blew Jimbo right off the truck--which wasn’t surprising since the kid only had about a third of his girth. Of course Jimmy had something to say about this. Wiping ice crystals out of his eyes he complained, “Damn, the wind out here is crazy tonight, just crazy.”

  Big Leonard thought about telling him, ‘Why don’t you try putting on your goggles, numb-nuts, and you wouldn’t get so much snow in your eyes,’ and decided that tearing the kid down like the other Linemen had already done served no purpose. In
stead he settled for simply, “Safety goggles, Jim.”

  When Jimmy realized his safety goggles were on his hard hat instead of down over his eyes he didn’t say anything smart-alecky, for once, and pulled them down over his eyes.

  Big Leonard put his size sixteen boot on the tailgate and after a practice try, hoisted himself up into the back of the truck. He worked his way up into the bucket and began switching on the controls. If the little indicator lights didn’t come on straight away he liked to smack the side of the control panel like Fonzie used to smack the jukebox on Happy Days. Deep down he knew this didn’t really do anything, but he still liked doing it all the same; especially in front of the apprentices.

  Another gust of wind kicked up and scrubbed both men with snow. After it died down Jimmy yelled to be heard above the truck noise and building winds, “Maybe we should bag this until tomorrow?”

  Big Leonard operated the bucket’s lift controls and soared up, up, and away into the air like Superman, well, like Superman if he was really fat and really slow. Shaking his head he yelled back down, “No can do, Jim. If we don’t get this done, somebody else is going to have to come all the way out here and do it. It’s up to us. ‘Sides, I’ve worked in a heck of a lot worse than this little snowstorm!” This wasn’t entirely a lie. It felt like the wind was nearly twenty mph now and climbing steadily.

  As the boom truck’s bucket neared the top of the power pole he got another look at the old transformer. Yep, that’s the problem alright. This bad-boy is completely blown. Although this one doesn’t seem that old. And those cables almost look like they’ve been…I don’t know… chewed?

  With practiced movements he slipped his hands inside his thick rubber gloves, grabbed his “Hot Sticks”, and went to work. This particular Transmission pole had about fifteen thousand volts running through it. One careless move and he’d blow his arm off; which is exactly why only fully certified Lineman worked up here and apprentices started down there. In a month or so, if Jimmy kept showing up for work, he’d ease him into it slowly. Very, very slowly.

  In the exact right amount of time, he detached the broken transmission from the pole and had it nice and snug in its harness. Yelling over his shoulder, he said, “Alright, Jim, I’m gonna lower this piece of scrap metal down to you nice and slow.”

  No answer.

  “Jimbo?”

  When Big Leonard didn’t get an answer, he grumbled a curse, let go of the broken transmission in its harness, and peered over the side of the bucket.

  “Damn it, Jimbo, where the heck are you?”

  From the bucket he had a bird’s eye view of the utility truck. Of course ole Jimbo was nowhere to be found and the theme of Scooby Doo suddenly popped into his head.

  “Hey kid, you alright down there?” he asked, more grumpily than he intended.

  He double-checked to make sure the transmission was still secure in its harness and wasn’t going anywhere. Then, as he was about to lower the bucket he saw the darndest thing.

  A South Dakota dingo (more commonly referred to as a coyote) was standing on the top of one of the side-panel tool chests. And it was just staring at him like he was food… no, that wasn’t it. That was something Big Leonard could understand, sort of. Most coyotes in South Dakota actually studied you with a look of curiosity, if anything. Every coyote he’d ever seen before now was always ready to bolt at the first sign of movement. So it would’ve been kinda abnormal if the coyote was staring at him like he was food. But this particular dingo wasn’t staring at him like he was food. This was something way past that animal instinct, and went deep into the downright weird territory. This specific coyote, and this was the really unsettling part, was staring up at him with a look of absolute hatred.

  Big Leonard felt suddenly weak and vulnerable. Which was idiotic. Why would he, Big Leonard, be scared of a little old coyote? As coyotes go, this Dakota dingo wasn’t even that big.

  It occurred to him that he kept a fully loaded .357 Magnum under the seat.

  A fat lot it does you up here, dumbo.

  (Indeed)

  But in his defense, he’d never really needed a gun before today. For nearly two decades he’d never had a problem with the local wildlife. Okay, okay. Truth be told, as a much, much younger man, growing up in Arizona, he popped off a round at a rattlesnake once just for fun. He missed the first time. After nearly emptying every last bullet into the snake, from less than four feet away, he finally succeeded in killing the damn thing. And he felt terrible afterward. Thanks to his lousy aim he kept wounding the thing but never quite killing it. He was amazed how resilient the animal had been. At one point he felt so bad, he actually thought about letting the wounded fella go, but it was obviously in a lot of pain, and had already crossed the threshold from ‘leave me the heck alone’ into the ‘please put me out of my misery’. Which in the end, he finally did. Afterward, he swore he’d never kill another living thing ever again. And he hadn’t. In fact, he never even fired a gun so much as to plink beer cans after that.

  The only reason he kept the Magnum under his seat was for protection from the occasional passing troublemaker.

  He tried calling out to his apprentice one more time. “Jimmy?”

  Where the heck is he?

  Other than in the cab there was really nowhere else Jimmy could hide. That was most likely the case. Jimmy had seen the weird, scornful-looking coyote and was hiding out in the truck.

  Big Leonard lowered the bucket a few feet thinking the noise and movement from the lift would probably scare the coyote off, but nope, no cigar, the dingo was steadfast.

  “Go on, mutt, get outta here!” He wanted to throw something at it, but after scanning the inside of his bucket he realized everything he had was essential to the task at hand.

  Geez, what are you afraid of? You gotta outweigh the thing by three-hundred pounds at least. A nagging voice suddenly reminded him of one particular little factoid he had conveniently forgotten. There was that hitchhiker that one time he had read about it in the local paper a couple years back. Authorities figured the poor highwayman died of hunger waiting for a ride that never came. And it wasn’t long before the local wildlife got ahold of him, picked him clean, and swallowed him whole. Well not entirely whole, somebody at the diner had once said something about a thumb or finger being left behind.

  (If it was a thumb that made for a much better story)

  So a measly ole coyote shouldn’t have bothered him. But it did. The way it kept staring at him with absolute hatred, it was all so, well… unnerving.

  If Big Leonard thought the hateful coyote was unsettling what he saw next scared him right down to his core.

  Jimmy’s legs. His unmoving legs were sticking out from underneath the truck.

  Is he sleeping on the job, again? Especially after that come to Buh-Jesus speech we had yesterday? Alright, the kid doesn’t know it, but he’s done… is what he started to think, but then the unmoving legs suddenly slid swiftly under the truck in one quick motion, like something beneath the truck had dragged poor Jimmy into its lair. Even over the wind and truck noise Big Leonard heard Jimbo’s jeans sliding quickly across the gravel as they went.

  Big Leonard, not feeling so big anymore, feeling more like Little Leonard, wanted to cry out, but the utter shock he was feeling inside stole his voice. His hands fumbled for the bucket controls.

  As he gradually lowered the bucket toward the ground a little more, he saw another pair of golden glowing eyes in the shadows, just off the road.

  Then another pair. And then another…and then… Dozens.

  He stopped the bucket’s descent and could hear the malicious chewing noises emanating from underneath the truck.

  “Jimmy,” he breathed.

  Starting one-by-one, the coyotes on the hill, and even the one on the truck, all began to howl until they were in chorus.

  (See? I told you that would be fun. Alas, poor Jimmy. Yum-yum-yum.)

  (I feel like we’re forgetting someone)
>
  (Who’s Becca?)

  (Oh right? The broken K-9 chicky at the gas station. Her, and Wally the fireman and the um… cheerleader)

  (A cheerleader?)

  (That seems cliché.)

  (What?)

  (Just go check on them already?)

  (Aren’t we the impatient one. I think it’s worth mentioning, you’re the one who actually has to turn the page.)

  Chapter 14

  What happened to Big Leonard

  Becca beat the motel.

  It had tried like hell to get her to stay the night, but now that sucker was far behind in the mirror, along with the Mary Celeste gas station. Wally had figured out how to get the pumps back on and now they had a full tank and were on their merry way.

  Wally had told them about Denise expiring while they were inside the gas station, and she and Peyton had each been appropriately sorry. The truth was, Denise’s injuries were beyond critical and Becca was surprised the female paramedic had lasted as long as she had. Becca considered it a mercy the woman was no longer in pain.

  A gust of wind suddenly slammed into the ambulance and nearly jerked the wheel out of her hand. There was a cacophony of noise as several things clanging together in the back, along with a quick curse from Peyton, but Becca immediately tightened her grip on the wheel and kept the oversized rig from driving off the road.

  Whoa there lass, you best lash yourself to the wheel, that wind is really starting to pick up a wee bit, isn’t it?

  But it seemed the motel wasn’t done trying, at least not yet. The farther she drove west, back to Rapid City, the worse the wind became. Wind gusts had to be at least forty-five mph now, blowing snow across the highway making visibility as bad as any snowstorm she had encountered during her time in Alaska. There were times when she actually had to turn the steering wheel into the oncoming gale just to keep the ambulance from getting blown off the road. But Becca had driven through snowstorms before. They didn’t scare her. The stuff back at the motel sure as hell did though.