Iceberg
by John W. Steele
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
When I answered the door, the sheriff was standing like an oak tree. Just as hard and just as cold. “Hey, Stanley. We noticed your little Amy hasn’t shown up at school for a while. What gives?”
“She’s been sick.”
“Well, Stan. You’re part of the clan. Buckland sent me out here to give you a heads-up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, if we don’t see her back in class by next week, I’ll have to turn you in to the Borough. They don’t take kindly to this sort of thing. It won’t be good. They’ll take her away.”
I stared up at his smooth-shaven puss. Years of rage bubbled up from my guts like a burst of lava. “You and your whole goddamn town are nothing but blood-sucking scum! You know that, Darryl, don’t you?”
He smiled: “Well Stan, you’re family. I’m going to forget that remark... this time. But if Amy doesn’t show up next week. It’s out of my hands. You’ve been warned.” He turned. Bunny spit in the tub and they got back into the cruiser.
There comes a point where a man can no longer stand himself when he looks in the mirror. I’d reached that point long ago, and I didn’t like what I saw. Life isn’t worth living enslaved in fear. And I knew what I had to do. I called my brother, Abe. He lived in Alberta. We’d always been tight, and we talked for a long time.
* * *
I took a week’s vacation. I sent Debbie and Amy off to visit her other grandma out in Manokotak. On a cold night in November, I gazed out the bow window into the sky. A pale silver moon hung in the heavens, and stars peered through holes in the gray-scale cloud cover. I went to my duffle and pulled out my jungle BDU’s and put them on. I rammed a thirty-shot armor-piercing into my AK and grabbed my star scope. My body armor was a little snug, but it still fit. I pulled the straps tight around my chest.
A film of ice lay on surface of Pyramid Road. I shifted my Jeep to all-wheel low and turned left on Captain’s Bay. When I neared the garage, I slid the night vision over my eyes and flicked off the headlamps.
The doors of the building were shut tight. A silver radiance reflected on the frost beneath the security lamps. The crew had been released for the Thanksgiving holiday. They could be ornery, but most of them were as trapped as I was. This reckoning was between me and Buckland. In the distance, the Molsons Ale billboard shone with a muted luster in the pale moonlight. I drove up the side of the bank and parked behind it.
* * *
Buckland lived at the far end of the lot behind the maintenance garage. He’d constructed a huge steel building on a concrete pad near the rear of the structure. It had two floors and picture windows on all four sides. A tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire surrounded the building like a prison compound. From this vantage point, he watched our every move.
I focused the lens and peered inside the window at the rear. My jaw dropped. A cadaver of some type hung from a meat hook that dangled from the ceiling. Much of the body had been hacked away, but it didn’t take a lot of imagination to figure what it was.
Buckland stood beside it, a sturdy butcher’s knife locked in his meaty hands. I watched him slice chunks of flesh from the corpse and drop them to the floor. Something covered with thick black fur bobbed below him, its body obscured by the windowsill. At first, I thought it might be Rex Buckland’s attack dog.
Buckland turned and walked to the other side of the carcass. The creature stood up, its burly neck a mass of corrugated tendons. The hybrid looked like a Yeti with thick hunched shoulders and long, bone-shattering arms. Its fingers were curled like a knuckle walker, and heavy talons shot out from the end of its hands.
Like some kind of vision, the picture came to life in my head. Buckland had been feeding that creature all along. But every now and then, it must’ve needed fresh meat. He’d get a lead on a bum somewhere and bring them out here. It was perfect. The victim kept his mouth shut because he was totally screwed, anyway. Nobody knew jack, and Buckland smelled like a hero.
I raised my rifle and clicked the safety. Damn! I felt a sneeze coming on. I coughed softly into my sleeve. The creature turned and glared out the window, its orange eyes wild and alert. It screamed.
Buckland stepped out from behind the slab and looked outside. His pockmarked face wandered into my crosshairs like a big fat birthday balloon. My rifle burped and his head exploded like a piñata.
The thing screeched and charged like a lowland gorilla. It dove through the window and tumbled to the pavement. The hybrid froze for a moment. I squeezed off three more rounds. A squirt of blood jumped from its neck. It bellowed and leaped the razor wire in a single bound.
The thing charged up the bank. I heard it rumble through the briars, and then all was still. I crouched low behind the Jeep. My heart hammered and a cool sweat erupted on my skin. The hood rumbled like a Bull Drum, and the creature crashed down on top of me. We tumbled in the weeds.
Its wicked claws pierced my armor and ripped into my chest. A stream of blood pulsed from its throat in a steady cadence and dripped like a water chute on my face. The monster held my neck and pinned me to the ground.
I reached for my K-bar and drove the nasty tine deep into the ribcage where its heart might have been. The monster roared and wheezed like a ruptured bellow. Again and again, I stabbed the blade deep in its lungs. Air hissed from the wounds and a bloody froth bubbled from its chest.
It raised a paw and gazed into my face. Its jaws clamped tight and its eyes on fire. I knew those claws were about to rip off my head. The creature froze and grabbed its throat. The feral glow drained from its eyes, its lungs rattled and it toppled to the ground.
I lay panting, unsure if I was dead or alive. When my breathing stilled, I whispered a prayer and struggled to my feet. Blood drenched my jacket. The ape-man had ripped off a piece of my ear, but my arms and legs functioned, and it didn’t hurt to move. I’d survived. My eyes burned like they’d been doused with Clorox. I pulled out my bandanna and wiped the creature’s filth from my face.
* * *
I looked off at the compound and remembered what Kyle had said. He was street-smart, but he liked to play the big shot. I overheard him one day bragging to Manfred. “Yeah, Uncle Roy’s got more money than he can count. Most of its tucked away, but he’s got a fortune stashed upstairs.”
I knew an opportunity like this would never come again. After a lifetime of slavery, we had a chance to get out of this cesspool.
* * *
I worked my way down the bank and stood at the gate. I had the keys and walked into the yard like I owned the place. I’d watched where Kyle hid the spare key to Buckland’s fortress. He tucked it at the bottom of the 4D panel board beneath the security lamps. I dug it out and unlocked the gate.
I trod slowly up the stairs, my rifle itching for self-expression. Rex, Buckland’s heavy-shouldered Rottweiler, stood at the top of the landing. The dog knew me. I always gave it a treat when it wandered into the garage. Drool was dripping from the corners of its mouth, and it glared like Cujo. “Hey Rex, how you doing, boy?” I tossed it a piece of jerky I found stashed in my pocket, and Rex wagged his stubby tail.
I walked into Buckland’s’ massive great room and surveyed the carnage. His stuff lay scattered all over the place. Gym equipment. Expensive leather furniture, handguns of every size and caliber. A billiard table. Every wall held hi-def TV. A general-purpose machine gun stood mounted at the rear window. The son of a bitch had an indoor swimming pool. Buckland lay sprawled like King Kong on an Oriental rug. Those armor-piercing are the best. Parts of his head lay scattered about the room like a watermelon dropped from a hi-rise.
I stepped over his body and looked at the wall safe. He’d left it wide open. There must’ve been a million in that vault. Krugs, cash, diamonds as big as raisins. I found a gym bag, filled it with loot and beat retreat.
* * *
Buckland’s passing didn’t cause much alarm in Iceberg. The Fat-Bastard held a celebration. The theme was “Ding-Dong, the Scumbag’s Dead.” It was SRO. Daryll took the reins as the new dictator. I think he was okay with it, too, because now he had all the power. He wasn’t very smart, and things eased up a little.
We didn’t hang around Iceberg very long. A day before we left, I went down to Pyramid Motors and leased a new Chevy Suburban. Late on a Saturday night under a golden half-moon and a sky full of glimmering stars, we drove out of Iceberg never to return. Three days later, we entered Nisga a Nation in Alberta. When Abe saw us, he had tears in his eyes. Abe’s a three-hundred pound mountain of a man, and he hugged us like he’d never let go.
It’s been a while now. We bought a farmstead in Red Deer. Nothing is ever as easy as it sounds, but I think Amy’s is going to be okay. Her boyfriend Joey is a Mountie. I think she’s pregnant. I hope it’s a boy. Deb works part time at the government store... we blend here. My peeps tell me I grow the best weed in the province. Next spring we put up the greenhouse. I love this place! I know now that you can’t buy freedom, and life isn’t worth living without it.
There a lot more I could say about Buckland and the lives he destroyed. But My Granddad Gokana was probably the wisest man I’ll ever know. And he taught me it’s bad medicine to speak ill of the dead.
Copyright © 2021 by John W. Steele
