Dead of Winter by Brian Moreland Read Free Book Online

folded parchment. “I found this letter inside written in French.” Tom began reading. “‘I pray this diary reaches Father Xavier Goddard at the Notre-Dame de Montréal Basilica. It is of dire importance.The Jesuits are the only ones who can stop the madness that has befallen Manitou Outpost.’ It’s signed by a Father Jacques Baptiste.” Tom shook his head. “I can’t make any sense of the diary itself.”
    Hysmith said, “The priest is from Quebec. Why not write in French?”
    “I don’t know,” Tom said. “Do either of you have any idea what ‘madness’ Father Jacques is referring to?”
    Doc shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest.”
    “Let me take the diary,” said Hysmith. “Master Pendleton and I can decide what to do with it.”
    Tom kept the journal. “First I’m taking it to the chapel. Brother Andre might have some answers.” He looked down at the Métis girl lying in bed. Zoé coughed, her lips stained with red speckles.
    Doc said, “She seems alert now.”
    The girl hugged her chest, shivering.
    Tom spoke in French, asking the girl why she was out riding in the woods alone.
    The girl’s jaw quivered as her head rolled from side to side across the pillow. She gasped and mumbled something.
    “She’s hungry,” Tom said. “Tell Myrna to bring the soup.”
    Doc Riley said, “Wait, there’s something else you should see.” He rolled back the quilts to show her left leg. He turned it. Zoé’s calf was black and blue with several scratches. “Looks as if she was attacked by some kind of animal,” Riley said. “The area around the lacerations is infected. I’m not sure what’s causing the infection–the pneumonia or the scratches. Take a look at her epidermis.” He rolled up her shirt. The girl’s belly caved inward, the bones of her ribs pressing up against thin skin, which had somehow turned translucent, exposing branches of blue veins beneath.
    “She’s so cold.”
    Tom placed his hand on her forehead. It was like touching the skin of a cadaver.
    Doc leaned over the girl’s mouth. “Her breath has a chill to it.” Zoé moaned. The old man jerked then stood abruptly. Wiped his cheek. “She just licked me.” Doc shook his head, chuckling. “Okay, lass, I guess it’s time we feed you.” He shouted to his wife, “Myrna, bring in the soup—”
    There came an odd growl, as if a vicious dog had entered the room. With a rabid snarl, Zoé sat up and bit down on Doc Riley’s hand. The old man buckled over, crying out. Tom grabbed the girl. Her jaw clamped down tighter on the old man’s hand. She growled and wrenched.
    Tom pried open the girl’s mouth. Doc Riley slipped free, his hand dripping blood across the quilt.
    Zoé flopped on the bed, convulsing, eyes rolling back.
    Tom shouted to Hysmith, “Your scarf!”
    While Hysmith held the girl down, Tom strapped her wrists to the bedposts with the scarf and his belt. Zoé arched her back. Her bloodstained teeth chomped the air.
    “Okay, let her go.” The three men backed away. The girl fought against the bindings. Staring at them with feral eyes, Zoé licked the blood around her lips.
    15
     
    Tom entered the chapel, the cold wind howling at his back. The nave was dark except for a table with glowing candles. As he walked down the center aisle between the pews, Brother Andre approached. The French Canadian missionary wore a black cassock and soup-plate hat. He was a young man. His shoulder-length brown hair and blue eyes made him appear like a clean-shaven Jesus. “ Bonjour Inspector, what brings you to church on an evening like this?”
    Tom pulled out the diary and letter and explained that it had been sent by Father Jacques from Manitou Outpost. “I heard you traveled here with him from Quebec.”
    “Yes, Father Jacques is my mentor.” He read the letter. His eyes filled with concern. “Has something happened to him?”
    “I don’t know,” Tom answered. “Can you translate the diary?”
    “No, I can’t read