The Night of Wendigo

A Tale of Human Survival and Terror

Suluk shot up from where he slept. His forehead dripped with sweat, as his senses were alert to the danger surrounding him.

For a moment it seemed like a shadow rested along the edge of his sight. Before he could gather anything more, however, it was already long gone—lost to the dredges of a mind still delirious from sleep.

He waited for several moments before his misty breath steadied in cadence. Whatever it was, it had clearly left him in a hurry. He got up, his leathery face wrinkling as he peered about the interior of his tent. Thankfully nothing had been tampered with. All was as it had been the night before…

Nevertheless, he could tell that something was wrong. For up until that point everything had been utterly silent—no sound of birds or even the wind—which only reinforced the idea that something had been in there with him.

Yet there was little he could do about it now. He passed through the entrance of his abode, settling towards the small area that was his fire pit. As was evidenced by the coolness of the embers, the fire had gone out some time ago. Suluk moved to the edge of his camp, removing a few logs from a pile, where he quickly sparked another flame. Already he was beginning to feel his bones being warmed by the steady source of combustion.

He then procured a tiny wooden bowl from his pack, filling it in the nearby waters of the lake, before returning also with a pack of instant porridge. The man stirred in the contents of the packet once the water came to a boil, the mixture quickly foaming into a solid shape.

Breakfast was served.

The man finished his meal in silence, all the while making sure to keep an eye on his surroundings. He stood up, where his eyes now settled on the rising column of smoke overhead.

Suluk grimaced. For though it still lay some distance out from him, nevertheless he could tell that this was the source of that strange disturbance. Suddenly he turned, packing up all of the possessions he owned into a few compact bundles. Indeed, he had learned to travel light in his years of wandering after civilization’s collapse. Needless to say, however, that he had done the same with his emotions—keeping his burdens as light as possible.

In just a few minutes he had had everything together, which he then packed into a canoe just off the shore of Skilak Lake. It was a shame that he should already be moving on, yet something deep down was signaling that it was in his best interest to do so.

Shoving off his vessel and making a deft leap over the rim, the small boat was now careening effortlessly downstream. The seasoned hunter pulled up his paddle and began stroking—twice starboard, then three times port—as he directed himself down the nearest outlet.

In truth, Suluk probably should have avoided that direction. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still some mystery which needed solving—some occurrence which involved him in some capacity or another. If nothing else, he was in sore need of any supplies he could find, as that had been his final meal after several days without caribou to hunt.

And what was more, he strangely felt vulnerable out in the open…

Yes—even if he was going into danger, Suluk knew all too well how to handle himself. Ever since his childhood he had been forced to learn the basics of survival and stealth, as both his people and the Soviets had come into conflict over his home state of Alaska. It was not long after that bloody war, following several years of communist occupation, that the United States and Soviet Union had finally exchanged nuclear warheads.

He hardly remembered those years, other than hearing that what remained of either country was barely even salvageable. Yet Suluk’s home had been remarkably spared, as since its conquering in the early seventies, the bordering power was occupied and treasured by both sides of that conflict.

What followed was a series of skirmishes which brought only more death and suffering. To think that all of that was just thirty years ago was a surreal thing, indeed. This was not made any easier by Suluk’s mixed heritage—him being half-Russian on his father’s side whilst his mother was pureblood Inuit. Yet when push came to shove, he had spent all of his thirty years living and fighting for the rights of America—what remained of it, anyway.

Now it was just Suluk and his small canoe. The man moved his paddle from left to right, the far banks gradually moving in closer on either side. Now was close enough, he determined, as he turned and docked his vessel along the left flank. He quickly scoured about the place, covering the boat with whatever leaves, twigs, and snow he could find. Better to be safe than sorry, he mused.

He collected himself as he removed his hunting rifle along with what remaining bullets he had, strapping both to where they would be most easily accessible. There was also his hunting knife which he kept on his person—the blade being honed to a razor sheen, as always. He prayed that he wouldn’t have to use either, as neither weapon would be very effective at dealing with groups of enemies.

Thus he lowered his stance, moving quickly from one tree to another as he made his way forward. An hour or two passed in silence. Suluk was beginning to see the outline of concrete walls, topped by barbed-wire fencing, just up ahead. Oddly enough, the front-gates were left open and unmanned…

After a moment of waiting to see if anything moved, Suluk determined that the way was safe enough, and so moved himself further. Now passing through the entrance of that outpost, he found himself within a large central courtyard, which was in a worse state than he could have imagined. Dozens of Soviet soldiers lay dead and mangled all around him. Looking closer, the hunter realized that these men had perished either through severe burns… or some strange sort of claw markings. Many also bore signs of being partially eaten, with pieces of their flesh strewn about in a most horrific manner. Even so, they were unlike any animal attacks he had ever seen.

It was then that Suluk heard a groan coming just a short distance away; he slowly approached, seeing that it was none other than a surviving soldier who was now thrashing weakly along the ground. Luckily the man was still alive, with only a compound fracture near his calf-bone showing as a wound.

Suluk could also tell that the soldier was speaking his own variant of Russian, one which mingled to a certain extent with English and even Inuit.

“What happened here?” asked Suluk in the same dialect.

“Th-they are coming back for us! Coming back for us all!”

“Slow down… Now tell me, what is coming back for us?”

“Those men! Th-those beasts…” It was obvious that he was hyperventilating, as evidenced from his ragged breathing. The hunter waited a second for him to calm down. Thankfully he did, and continued, “We tried to contain them… Tried to learn from them. Yet we didn’t think they would break free so easily. They tore us apart… I’m the only one who survived, and that’s just because I was knocked unconscious… after our fuel reserves went up in flames, that is.”

“And what are these… er, beasts? You said you contained them. Were they the ones who blew up your fuel tanks?”

The soldier nodded. “They are a product of our experiments here. Those we captured from the war, that is. They were subjected to the most terrible tests… used as lab rats so we could produce a new serum, one which would allow us to become both stronger and more resilient. The doctors said it could even ward off some of the more harmful effects of radiation…”

Thus the man recounted all the evils which they had exacted. These included genetic tests, blood experiments, tests of savagery, along with many others. At one point even cannibalism was tested among their number, all for situations when food would likely be at a crucial low. On that front, the results proved even better than expected, as the lab subjects were extremely resourceful in preserving their prey for extended periods of time. The Soviets’ ultimate goal, it seemed, was to breed a new strain of man—one which could live through the apocalypse and repopulate the world. The final result would be stronger, faster than any regular person. Eventually their scientists would have arrived at a formula, then in time all Soviet soldiers would be inoculated, bearing the gifts of a veritable superhuman.

“But all of our tests ended in failure. Those who survived were kept below, where they were suddenly transformed into something else. Their bodies remolded, their teeth and fingernails grew into claws! And now they’re free… Oh God! What have we done…”

“And where are these things now?” the hunter probed further, his voice steady despite the subject at hand. Even so, he found his hands balling up into fists at the mention of such atrocities.

“They are hiding out there!” replied the man, now pointing towards the all-encompassing wilderness which surrounded them. “I can only imagine they’re stalking us right now. I know that by nightfall they’ll be making their return, and then we’ll both be dead for sure!”

“Then we’ll have to see how we can kill them.” Suluk rubbed his chin, thinking of any potential weaknesses that these creatures might hold. Finally he asked, “Do you know why they’re not here now, tearing us to bits?”

The man shook his head, stammering, “I-I don’t think they like the light. Nor any kind of fire for that matter. There were a few of us who had flamethrowers when the things escaped. But there were still too many of them, and one even leapt onto our comrade’s back. The flames scattered in the midst of that chaos; the next thing I knew I was here with a broken leg, talking with you.”

“That would certainly explain the fire,” replied Suluk. He quickly removed his belt, folding it several times as he moved closer, placing it in the Soviet’s mouth. “Bite down on this,” he murmured. “This is going to hurt.”

A loud crack was then heard as the man’s leg moved back into place. For a second he fainted, his screams stifled by the improvised mouthpiece which he held. He awoke once again, his senses now in a state of excruciating alertness. His pain was then magnified as alcohol was poured over the wound, along with a disinfected bundle of gauze being pressed directly against it.

After a few more agonizing moments, the Soviet found that his bleeding had now stopped, along with his leg being both bandaged and splinted. He slowly stood up on his one good leg, now facing the man who had just saved his life.

What he didn’t expect was a hunting knife being held against his throat.

“Normally I would have killed you,” Suluk continued, a smile adorning his dark features, “being an enemy to my home and all that. But in this case I will need your help. If what you’re saying is true—and I’m inclined to believe you are—we’re both being hunted now. Provided that the two of us survive, then I’ll let you go free, and there will be no hard feelings between us.”

Suluk took a few steps back, all before returning the blade to its sheath. A moment passed before he looked out overhead. “Night is fast approaching,” he said. “We should first get some firewood, then figure out what our next move will be.” He nodded, then extended his hand. “My name is Suluk Baelyev. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The Russian sighed. “Nikolai,” he murmured, “and the pleasure’s all mine.”

Later that day, as the sun sank towards the horizon, Suluk and Nikolai gathered whatever resources they could find. Hours passed as they sifted through the still-burning rubble, yet they later reconvened with a couple boxes of pistol ammo; at their sides also were an SVT-38 carbine coupled with an M1985 revolver. Though the weapons still bore some vague burn marks, they worked all the same as if they had just been brought out of the factory.

All the while the shadows of the woods deepened; soon enough, Suluk was able to point out the many pairs of red eyes gazing in their direction. The hunter only huddled closer to the large bonfire which he had made earlier, fueled by the remaining wooden planks scattered about. Meanwhile Nikolai only found himself shaking terribly, as a horrific, bestial screech then filled the night air.

He could feel their bloodlust, their longing to feast on his flesh…

It was not until the sun peeked over the hills that those eyes finally disappeared. Suluk and his companion stood up, seeing that they were no longer being watched for the moment.

The former ruminated on their situation, concluding at last that they should head back towards Skilak Lake; at the very least then they would have the water at their backs, not to mention a greater understanding of the area. Here they were both stranded and surrounded, and all that remained of those buildings was already fast crumbling. Not to mention that these creatures had looked on them from above during the night, so the defense of those walls was looking questionable at best.

“We should move quickly,” spoke the Alaskan. “First we’ll have to stop near my canoe for supplies, then we strike east. It’s doubtful that we can carry everything with us, but at least having the essentials should help us survive.”

He turned to his companion, seeing that though the man was scared, Nikolai didn’t protest his plan in the slightest. The man gripped both of his clutches which he had found in the ruins of their medical ward. Both of them nodded, setting off as the sun still rose high in the heavens. They would have to act quickly, Suluk knew, for their time was limited.

Their trek through the forest was steady. At several intervals the Alaskan had to wait for his companion to catch up. Other times he was merely content to carry the Soviet when his patience wore thin. Yet these moments never lasted for very long, as the man was surprisingly heavy for his size. Suluk gritted his teeth as he shouldered the additional burden. If one of them was to perish, he thought, the other would likely follow suit.

It was a little after midday when they arrived where Suluk had docked. Yes—this had to be the place. They searched around, looking for any trace of where the hunter had camouflaged his boat…

Suluk cursed, now realizing that his boat had either been removed or destroyed. If this was the doing of those man-beasts, then they were cleverer than he thought.

“It is strange that these things should hunger for us like animals,” he said. “There is a legend among my people, one which tells of a curse—how men can be possessed by evil spirits after devouring one of their own. Wendigos, we once called them. I had only thought they were just a myth… but who knows what is possible now, after the apocalypse?” He chuckled. “Ironic, wouldn’t you say?”

“What’s ironic?” muttered his companion.

“That we should be hunted by something straight out of legend. Not men nor beasts, but… monsters.”

“Perhaps, though I hardly find it funny, seeing as it’s our hides on the line.”

Suluk nodded, now looking due-east. “I guess there’s nothing for it now. Upstream we go.”

His footsteps were barely audible as they crunched through the soft snow of their surroundings. The Russian dutifully followed behind him, though his own steps were much louder by comparison. The day wore on. Darkness was beginning to creep steadily from its hiding place. Already, both men were swearing that they could see movement from amongst the shadows.

Nikolai gritted his teeth, worried that at any moment one of those wendigos might emerge and devour him alive, or spill his innards along the clean snow…

“We are here,” said the hunter, his wrinkled demeanor now loosening somewhat. Both saw that they had indeed arrived at Skilak Lake. The clandestine waters sloshed ever so gently upon the shoreline, the celestial bodies mirrored below in an image of unparalleled tranquility.

Yet the men took little solace from such sights and sounds. Dusk was already close at hand, and it was vital that they get to work.

Immediately, Suluk set about starting another campfire. Meanwhile, the other gathered as much spare firewood as he could muster, the darkness only growing as he now limped along with the one crutch he needed. Afterwards, both checked their weapons, numbering all of the bullets in their possession. In total, they counted over three-dozen shots for their revolvers, along with nearly half that for their rifles. That would last for some time, at least, not to mention Suluk’s hunting rifle being just that little extra.

That night those shadowy faces returned. The wendigos’ cries were repeated as from the night before, and at this even Suluk shuddered in response. For what kind of torture could have caused such bestial behavior from beings who were once human?

In time the things ceased their yowling, and the two took turns closing their eyes. Nikolai was the first to get some rest, as he was clearly the more exhausted. A few hours went by without incident before they swapped places. Now the Soviet peered out into the night, his arms and knees still shaking from the cold along with what also lurked out there.

Suddenly there came the low padding of feet to his left. The campfire was steadily going out. Nikolai placed another log onto the flame, now seeing the long shadow of what was creeping towards him.

Inwardly he screamed, the shock being so profound that not a whisper left his lips. Those dilated eyes gazed at him with malicious purpose, along with a hungering for his very life essence…

Yet he could not move; he was paralyzed from the neck down at the sheer sight of that which he saw. The thing moved closer, and finally the man conquered his paralyzed vocal cords, emitting a scream which was unlike anything he had ever heard.

Suluk was all but forced awake by the sound. His rifle aimed in an instant, he suddenly let loose an explosion which deafened both of them. The wendigo hurtled backwards, its brains now being splattered against the white snow.

Suluk rushed forward, checking that Nikolai was alright. Luckily he did not show any signs of being wounded. Yet even so, the man was clearly too afraid to do anything other than gibber wildly at what he had just seen.

The hunter now inched closer towards the corpse, reeling only slightly at the horrific sight which had once been a man. He kicked it into the dying flames, imagining whatever evil spirit that had possessed it was now hurtling back to its wretched domain.

He sighed. For the time it seemed that the other wendigos had left amongst the chaos. It seemed they were safe for the moment. But tomorrow they would have to come up with a plan, along with helping Nikolai steel his panicked nerves. Otherwise they would both be wendigo food.

Dawn rose once again. And despite the shaking of his nerves the night before, Nikolai all but quickly regained his senses, now helping Suluk in preparation for the coming dusk. It was readily obvious that the previous two nights had been met with caution on the part of their hunters. The wendigos were clearly a clever bunch—perhaps even a bit too wary. After all, their camp was a fair distance out from the edge of the trees. And the creatures would first have to crawl along the ground before finally reaching them.

Suluk would use this to his advantage.

The hunter felt all his extremities going numb as the day wore on, filing away at a bunch of smaller branches with his hunting knife. Nikolai helped greatly in this effort; by the time the sun was hanging low they had already procured a number of wooden spikes at their disposal. These they placed along the perimeter of their camp, so that when their attackers arrived they could only pass through one crucial bottleneck, otherwise risk being impaled.

It wasn’t a perfect plan by any means. However, given the amount of time they had, it would have to do.

At last darkness arrived. Suluk and Nikolai gripped their weapons tightly as the silence of the wilderness became once more apparent. There came no sound as they all huddled around the small campfire, their eyes flickering back and forth with alarming frequency.

They waited for several hours. Yet there was no stirring or movement. Something was clearly awry, Suluk concluded, as he held his focus towards the edge of those trees. The night was lasting longer than even he had expected. At other seasons the sun would have well peeked its way over the trees by now. Yet this was the dead of Winter, he reminded himself, and so the blackness of night remained absolute and without compromise.

Finally there came another one of those horrid shrieks. The eyes emerged once again from those desolate woods. Yet, deep down, Suluk got the feeling that there was one less of those creatures compared to the previous night.

It was then that he heard the slightest movement coming from behind. With a deathly fear, he turned. There, now just mere inches away, he saw the remaining creature—eyes, teeth, claws—all poised for the kill!

Surely he would have been torn to shreds, if it hadn’t been for Nikolai and his carbine. The bullets plunged into the man-thing’s flesh, and rather than gutting him, Suluk was instead tackled by the beast. He hurtled backward, colliding with what remained of their own fire, scattering the still-burning logs into the snow. Both he and his companion were then plunged into darkness. A few shots went off, with Suluk hearing the other’s screaming just a short distance off.

Several pairs of feet followed the Soviet—judging by the sounds—which were made with all the speed and rapidity of several canines on the hunt. With lightning reflexes Suluk reached for his own carbine, aiming upward and firing out of pure instinct. Judging by the terrible squeal which reached his ears, he imagined that another one of those things had come over him, and he had shot it directly in a vital area.

He stood up, hearing at least half-a-dozen more of those wendigos settling around him. A few feet scampered near one branch which had not completely burned out. Suluk fired in front of him as he reached for the small brand, picking it up and illuminating the area about him.

All he saw were those horrific eyes, dilated from untold weeks of madness and never-ending hunger. Now aiming his weapon once again, he fired the last of his ammunition into that crowd. That hit at least another two wendigos, he thought. Now he would have to dispatch the rest using other means…

He suddenly discarded his torch, his revolver now being aimed with trembling accuracy. Meanwhile, his left hand clutched his hunting knife, which had apparently left the sheath, seemingly of its own accord. The light of the torch quickly faded out, the screams of those creatures made manifold as the first shot was then fired. Suluk howled his bestial rage as his gun clicked empty. He threw it into the onslaught of those unseen attackers, before putting every remaining ounce of strength into stabbing with his blade.

It was a terrible night, a night filled with blood and death and entrails, and it was not until hours later that the victor realized whether he had, in fact, lived or perished.

Light filtered through the trees as Suluk finally awoke. Corpses lay all around him—horrific, monstrous things—and he found that his arms and hands were covered in a thick layering of crimson.

Slowly, wearily, he stood up. The chirping of birds came clearly to his ears as he checked his wounds—strange that he should notice it only now. Though his body was covered in a series of claw marks, many of them running deep, at the very least all of his innards were still in one place.

The same could not be said for his comrade, however, as the mangled form of Nikolai still lay some distance out from him. Evidently, the Soviet had been clawed through horribly and torn to pieces—his arms, legs, head, and torso all lying at opposite ends of one another. Even so, the number of wendigo corpses surrounding him was impressive, and Suluk couldn’t help but thank the man for the courage he had exhibited in the end.

It would still be a long and tough road ahead, yet Suluk knew that he would recover from his wounds. He would have to, as in the end, moving forward was all he had really known. If you turned back or hesitated even for just a moment, then death was never really far behind.

Yet Suluk was a survivor—a stranger in a world that he had once called home. He slowly put one foot in front of the other, staving off the hands of death for yet another day.