He moved back to the sinkhole. Nikolas’s hat had floated to the very edge. Martin knelt down to retrieve it. It felt heavy in his hand, as if snagged on something. He set down his rifle and used both hands to pull the leather hat from the water.
The hat gave way suddenly, and Martin fell on his backside onto the slick moss and gravel. Nikolas’s severed head, the hat still firmly tied to it, fell into his lap. Martin scrabbled sideways away from the horrible object.
He raised his head and yelled as loud as he could. “Peter! Goddammit, Peter, get over here! Quick!”
Martin moved backwards through the willows just as the dog had done and ran as fast as he could down the same trail.
Fifteen minutes later, Freddie and Alex knelt looking at moose tracks leading to the edge of the circle of black water.
“Uncle Alex. This is what I wanted to show you.”
The old man looked down at the mud. Freddie pointed. Alex saw three sets of tracks; one set made by a big bull.
“That’s a big moose. See how deep he sinks into the mud?” Alex said. “That other set of tracks is a cow moose. Her hooves ain’t as pointy as the bull’s.” He moved a few feet to his left. “Look here, Freddie, the cow had a yearling with her, too.”
Freddie studied the bull’s tracks. His mouth felt dry and he moistened his lips with his tongue. “Somethin’ ain’t right here. Come and look at this.”
Alex looked where Freddie touched the slurred tracks with a willow stick.
“These tracks are real deep and messed up. See how they are bunched up close together with the dew-claws showin’ in the prints?”
“I see that.” Alex said. “What does that tell you?”
“It tells me it was a damn big bull moose, and that he was pullin’ backwards trying to get away.”
“Trying to get away from what?”
“From whatever was tryin’ to pull him into the sinkhole.”
“Whatever was pulling him in had to be monstrous big,” Freddie said.
“Maybe it was several things all pullin’ together,” Alex replied.
“What?” Freddie scratched his head at the thought.
Alex studied the other tracks. “Something pulled the cow and the yearling calf into the water. Look around, you won’t see no tracks comin’ out!”
“What do you think happened?”
“I think somethin’ got the three moose we been huntin’ before we did.”
“Whaaat?” Freddie dragged out his question.
“And now I think we best get away from this place fast as we can.”
“What about the canoe?”
“Forget about the canoe. What killed them moose will kill us, too. Let’s go. Rose knew what she was talkin’ about!”
Old Alex started down the trail away from the bog at a wobbly trot.
“What are you talkin’ about, Uncle Alex?”
“I’ll tell you when we get back to camp. You’d better get a move on if you want to keep livin’.”
Martin heard the padding of feet behind him. When he turned, he saw the willows were shaking. He cocked his rifle and held it at waist level, the barrel aimed at the spot where the willows moved.
Alex and Freddie came through the willows and stopped in their tracks when they saw Martin in the trail with his rifle pointed at them.
“Martin! Don’t shoot!” Freddie yelled.
Alex saw the fear Martin struggled to hide. “So you know about the bog things?” Uncle Alex said.
“Something killed Nikolas—in the death hole place.”
“Let’s get as far away from here as we can. Come on. It’s a long way to run.”
“What about Peter, we can’t go off and leave him up there.”
“Pretty sure the things got Peter, too.”
“Why would you think that? We gotta look for him!” Martin said.
“Old Rose said two people would die on this hunt. It’s too late to save Peter. He’s gone. Them dead, flesh-eatin’ things—those damned creatures took him or we’d have heard from him by now.”
“Martin. Let’s go! I wanna get outta here.” Freddie ran down the trail.
Rose sat staring up the trail. Uncle Alex hobbled to his sister. The others rushed to greet the hunters. The group encircled Auntie Rose. The old woman’s eyes were open but not seeing. “Rose,” Alex said. There was no response. “Rose?” The old woman’s eyes fluttered shut and she began to moan.
Alex shook his sister. “Answer me!”
Sophia explained. “Yesterday, a little time before noon, I heard her scream. Prunie heard it too, and we thought a bear had come into camp.”
“About an hour ago, that black dog came runnin’ in here. His legs were all chewed up but he wouldn’t let anyone get near him,” Prunie said.
Ephraim said. “Rose just been sittin’ there and mumblin’.”
“She began to say words that frightened all of us,” Nettie said.
“What in hell did she say?” Alex demanded.
“She called Peter’s name. She said. ‘Matchi wanisid manitou got him.’ And the words: ‘They pulled him under. Madagamiskwa nibi; gi-nibowiiawima manadas matchi ijiwe-bad—wissiniwin, matchi! The water is moving, he is dead, just a body now; the evil ones are eating!’
“I thought she’d gone crazy.” Sophia swallowed hard and continued. “Next she hollered, ‘Nikolas! Look out! Get away from there!’ ”
“I don’t understand what’s goin’ on,” Nettie whimpered.
“I do,” Alex said. “What she saw in the bones came true. Peter is dead and Nikolas too. We have to go back to Cranberry and give them the sad news.”
Rose exhaled a great breath and shuddered and opened her eyes. “I have seen it all,” she said.
“It is finished,” the old man said.
“No. It is not finished yet.” Rose struggled to her feet. “Are you ready to listen to me now?”
“Say what you want to say, Sister,” Sophia said.
“Strike camp and pack up. We must be gone from here before dark comes.”
No one doubted the old woman’s words. They hiked the trail to Martin’s hunting camp, where there was shelter. Uncle Alex and Ephraim coaxed the wounded black dog to follow.
Alex, Freddie, Sophia and Nettie packed the freight canoe for the return trip to their village. Prunie and Martin insisted Old Rose spend the winter at their cabin and Rose agreed.
Two weeks later, a flotilla of seven canoes from Cranberry Portage made their way to Rabbit Lake. Forty men from Prunie’s village carried cans of fuel oil and gasoline two miles inland to the sinkhole.
The men did as Old Rose had instructed them. They spread oil and gasoline on the black surface of the death hole, dropped in a sealed case of dynamite with a timed detonator and hurried down the trail. The resulting explosion was heard miles away. The fire burned for several days, but died out beneath the heavy rains of mid-September.
When the first heavy frosts crusted the ground, four young men from Flin Flon appeared at Martin’s cabin. They told Prunie and Rose they intended to hike to Rabbit Lake and see what remained of the sinkhole.
“There is nothing there. It is finished,” Rose said. “You should not go.”
The boys were polite to the old woman but paid no attention to her words. They left that afternoon, promising to return the next day. Snow clouds massed in gray billows overhead began to drop light flurries.
Rose made her way to a dark corner of the cabin.
The boys found the dynamite and fire had obliterated the sinkhole and left meters of burned brush and scorched trees. Farther away from the ruined bog, the taller trees and leafless willows were untouched by the fire. The boys moved into the shelter of the trees and set up a lean-to of canvas and spruce branches before exploring the area.
“Hey, Lucas, look over here. There’s a whole bunch of trails and tracks,” a slender boy said.