The Second Birth of Frankenstein (The Department 19 Files #5) Read Online Free PDF Page B

have.”
    “Would you not take your father’s name?” asked Grant.
    “Perhaps I would. If we survive till dawn, that is.”
    The three men fell silent. Wallace stoked the fire with a damp branch, staring into the flickering flames. What he had told Grant and Munro of his past was more than he had ever told anyone, and he was surprised to realise that he felt fractionally better for having done so; the guilt, the huge weight that he bore unprotestingly across his shoulders every day, seemed to have lightened, ever so slightly. It was perhaps only a momentary thing, a temporary lessening of his load, but it was welcome regardless.
    “So what did you see?” said Grant, eventually. “What was it that attacked Scott?”
    Paterson looked at him, and Wallace nodded. He quickly filled Grant in on the details of his encounter in the forest, drawing a look of disgust from the man with his description of the creature that had affixed itself to Scott’s back.
    “The Cree say the wendigo can possess a man,” said Grant, when Wallace was done. “Do you think that is what has befallen Scott?”
    “Undoubtedly,” said Paterson. “What else could it be?”
    Wallace said nothing. He saw no point in contradicting his young colleague, as he had no better explanation for what had befallen their party. But, having seen the creature up close, he was not sure that Paterson was correct; he was not sure at all.
    Grant opened his mouth to say something more, but never got the chance. With a sudden rush of air and a noise like a falling comet, a tree branch, as thick as a man’s waist and covered in ice and snow, fell from the sky above them, and slammed down on to their fire. The fire exploded, shooting sparks and burning pieces of wood in all directions, followed by a huge eruption of snow that sent the three men sprawling to the ground.
    Wallace found himself buried beneath a white blanket, as snow poured through the gaps of his clothing, numbing his skin. He swallowed ice and retched, coughing as the cold tore at this throat and lungs, and surged upwards, rising through the snow like a bear awakening from hibernation. He looked frantically around the remains of the campsite, and saw a hand sticking out of the snow. He waded across to it, took hold of the gloved fingers, and hauled for all he was worth. Paterson popped up like a jack-in-the-box, his eyes wide, his face bright red. Wallace released him, scanned the area for Grant, and saw no sign of him.
    Then the laugh came again, a shrieking rattle of madness, echoing out of the trees, and Wallace’s heart sank with the realisation that his search would be fruitless.
    “We have to go,” said Paterson. “We have to go now, right now, we have to go, we have to go, we have to—”
    Wallace waded through the snow and slapped the man across his face, hard.
    “Quiet,” he hissed. “Compose yourself, or I will leave you here alone. Do you understand me?”
    Wallace had absolutely no intention of doing any such thing, but his words had the desired effect; Paterson’s eyes widened, then his mouth shut with an audible click.
    “Run,” Wallace whispered. “Now, while there is time. Run into the forest.”
    Paterson shook his head. “No, please,” he whimpered. “Don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.”
    “I will not,” whispered Wallace. “But if we do not fight, we will die. So run, and I will follow. When it comes for you, I will ambush it. We will end this here.”
    Tears spilled down Paterson’s face, hardening almost instantly to ice. He shook his head again, but with less conviction than before.
    “I will not leave you,” repeated Wallace, his voice barely audible. “I swear I will not. Now run, before the chance is lost. RUN!”
    He bellowed the final word; Paterson cried out, then scrambled to his feet and staggered into the woods, sobbing as he went. Wallace drew his knife, checked its blade, forced himself to wait for five agonising seconds, then went after