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Showing posts with label Rick Brant RED DEATH. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rick Brant RED DEATH. Show all posts
Friday, February 1, 2013
RICK BRANT RED DEATH
RICK BRANT RED DEATH 3
all current chapters available at this alternate site:
https://sites.google.com/site/rickbrantfanfiction
THE SIGN OF THE RED DEATH
a Rick Brant fanfiction adventure
Chapter Three: THE BIG SNOW
Rick Brant gazed out the window of the passenger plane at a world of whiteness. The seemingly endless forests of northern Minnesota were laden with snow and rolled on as far as the eye could see under a clear blue winter sky. Far ahead toward the north, however, that same sky was darkening threateningly, and Rick knew they were flying toward a severe winter storm that was battering central Manitoba.
He turned to Scotty, who was sitting next to him. "You can already see that blizzard up north. I hope we're able to land in Winnipeg before the storm hits the city."
The stewardess on the Canadian airliner had advised them earlier of the possibility of turbulent weather ahead.
Scotty shifted in his seat to peer out the window. "You can say that again. Otherwise we'll have to fly back to Minneapolis-St. Paul and wait it out there. That would really mess up our plans."
Rick nodded. "And even if we do land in Winnipeg, we probably won't be able to take the connecting flight up to The Pas. We may be stranded in the city."
Scotty grinned. "In The Peg," he laughed, reiterating the city's nickname they had learned from the stewardess. He tapped the page of the travel guide he was reading. "Winnipeg is a bona-fide big city and cultural center, plopped right in the middle of the Canadian prairies and filled with people of all nationalities from all over the world. And there's a huge French quarter across the Red River in St. Boniface, peopled largely by the Metis, descendants of the early French voyageurs
"We may get to see more of it than we planned," Rick said, as he watched the darkening northern skies. "Depending, of course, on how big this Big Snow really is."
They had also learned from the stewardess that blizzards were called Big Snows in Manitoba, and that sometimes they could last for days. The boys were fervently hoping that the storm would not impede their progress north and delay their arrival at Churchill on the Hudson Bay coast.
Early that morning, after a bouncy boat ride on the wind-whipped Atlantic from Spindrift Island to Whiteside Landing, Rick's dad and Hobart Zircon had driven them to Newark Airport. Arrangements were made to service the Piper Cub and store it in a hangar until the boys' return. They had arrived home late from the police headquarters in Newark the night before and hadn't got much sleep, up late finalizing preparations. Then, saying goodbye to Mrs. Brant, Barby, Dismal the dog, and the other scientists had not been easy. They hated to miss even a few days of the holiday season at home!
With their luggage and the tracking system equipment safely in the passenger plane's cargo hold, they had flown from Newark to Chicago without mishap, catching a snooze here and there and often squirming in their seats because of the bruises they had sustained the day before. In Chicago they had transferred to the Canadian plane which was now taking them to Winnipeg. From there, the plan was to transfer to a small plane manned by a bush pilot from the Manitoba Department of Natural Resources and fly north to The Pas, a small mining and lumber town in central Manitoba and gateway to the vast Hudson Bay north country. They would spend the night there and fly on to Churchill in the morning.
That is, if the Big Snow didn't ground them in Winnipeg or Minneapolis-St. Paul!
Scotty read aloud from the travel guide. "'St. Boniface is the largest French settlement in North America outside of the province of Quebec.' Some of the sites to see are the big St. Boniface Cathedral and the Louis Riel grave and home. He was the half-breed Metis leader who became 'The Father of Manitoba'."
"We'll have to check them out if we get stranded," Rick said. "But I sure dread the idea of being stuck in town riding out a blizzard."
It was a short while later when the boys and other passengers were informed that the plane had crossed the border into Canada and was now flying over southern Manitoba. A light snack was served, and Rick and Scotty had sandwiches and cokes. They had eaten a quick early lunch in Chicago during the turnover there.
"What's the weather situation in Winnipeg?" Rick asked the amiable young stewardess.
"The storm is quickly approaching the city," she answered in low tones. "So far it looks like we'll be able to land. However, if you have a connecting flight, forget it. All departures have been canceled."
Scotty gave a grim smile. "Just our luck. We're supposed to go further north. A pilot was flying down to pick us up from The Pas."
The girl in the crisp stylish uniform smiled. "You'll have to get used to Canada's bilingual nature. That's a French name, pronounced 'the paw', not 'the pass'." Then she shook her head. "And that pilot surely won't be able to fly down to Winnipeg from the north country. The Big Snow has been battering that part of the province for two days now. You'll have to remain in town until it's all over, or perhaps you can get a train north. That is, if the tracks are clear," she added, as she turned her attention to a fellow passenger.
Rick grumbled ominously. "I guess even the trains get bogged down in these parts."
Scotty pointed to a paragraph in the travel guide. "Severe blizzards can dump six to ten feet of snow on the Manitoba interior. We may be stranded here until New Years."
Rick punched Scotty's arm. "No way. Come hell or high water - or even ten feet of snow - nothing is going to stop us from getting back home to Spindrift Island for Christmas!"
But it was soon apparent that the airliner was meeting up with the bad weather, and the gray gloom that surrounded the plane as it descended to lower altitudes for its approach to the city sobered the boys considerably. Blusterous winds buffeted the craft and at times air pockets caused it to bounce along like a pebble skipping over water. Both Rick and Scotty were experienced fliers, in big planes and small, but they nevertheless fastened their seat belts along with the other passengers.
The stewardess quickly cleared away the snack trays and plates, then fastened herself into a seat at the front of the rocking cabin.
"Try to remain calm," she advised the others over her shoulder. "This is just turbulence we are experiencing as we come down from the higher altitudes. Landing has been cleared for us and all should go smoothly, although it certainly won't feel like it! We'll be in Winnipeg in about twenty minutes."
Scotty held onto the arms of his seat. "This is like riding out a typhoon in the Pacific!"
"You know," Rick gritted back, "I always feel a little safer in an airplane when I'm the person flying it."
Scotty raised his brows and smirked. "I am so glad you're not flying this one, buster. It's a little out of your league, don't you think?"
Rick affected an insulted look. "Humphh! If I were flying this kite, I'd take it back up over the clouds and scoot all the way up to The Pas. And I mean 'The Paw'! And I'd do it all blindfolded."
"I'll blindfold you, all right," Scotty jeered. "And gag you, too. We'd probably run out of fuel and crash-land in a muskeg swamp. We'd have to rent a dog sled and huskies and mush it up to Hudson Bay. They'd make us honorary Eskimos for all our trouble."
Rick digested this and a grin split his face. "Now that sounds like a great adventure. Heck of a lot more fun than what happened yesterday in New Jersey. Stick with me, pal, and you'll find some excitement."
"Tell me about it." Scotty stiffened as the plane took an especially hard knock. "Guess I sure learned that in the rocket launch contest and again last summer in Tibet. But do you really think anything out of the ordinary can happen here ... in Canada?"
Both boys burst out laughing.
"I think everything out of the ordinary can happen to us, anywhere," Rick chuckled.
Then, suddenly, he let out, "Whoa -oa -oa -oa!"
The airplane was falling straight down at an incredible speed while still maintaining its horizontal position. Several of the passengers shouted and screamed. Then, just as suddenly, there was a terrific impact, as if the plane had hit solid ground. There were more cries and shouts and a loud "Yikes!" from Scotty.
But the plane continued on its bumpy way as if nothing had happened.
The stewardess turned back to the passengers. "That was just a rough air pocket, everybody. Don't worry, everything is all right. We'll soon be home at The Peg."
She was right. A few minutes later the descending airliner shot out of the clouds into a whiter but even more interminable gloom of thick falling snow. Rick could vaguely make out some lights ahead, the big city of the Canadian plains in the thrall of the Big Snow.
"Definitely not ideal landing conditions," he muttered.
"But a whole lot better than going back to Minnesota," Scotty put in, as the plane steeped and headed down to Stevenson Airport.
The boys held on grimly, hoping for a safe landing, and when the wheels touched down smoothly on the tarmac cheers of exultation erupted from the passengers.
Rick and Scotty let out a few war whoops of their own.
"Now that's what I call delivering the goods," Rick sighed in satisfaction.
Scotty eagerly agreed. "This pilot sure knows how to earn his paycheck!"
As the plane taxied slowly to a halt, Rick looked out the window, trying to penetrate the darkness of the heavy blowing snow. But there was nothing to be seen except shadows. The stewardess unstrapped herself and, after a few encouraging words to the passengers, went to the forward cabin to confer with the pilot. When she returned a few minutes later, the passengers were unfastening their seat belts and getting together their carry-on bags.
"The airport is closed because of the storm and all flights are canceled," she told them. "Thank goodness we were able to land, but all further incoming planes have been rerouted. Of course, there are still people inside to help you, and you can check with the ticket clerks if you had connecting flights. They'll tell you when to call for updates on flight schedules. A bus will be available to transport you to the downtown hotels so you do not have to remain stranded at the airport. The storm is a severe one, but it may blow over and move east into Ontario by tomorrow noon."
Rick's brows twisted in consternation. "Looks like we'll have to hole up in town. What will we do about our equipment?"
"We'll have to store it here at the airport until we make further plans," Scotty figured. "We may have to take a train up to The Pas. Let's check inside. The Department of Natural Resources may have left us a message."
They stood to file out with the other passengers, but as the door was opened onto the portable staircase that had been rolled into place, gusts of wind and snow blew wildly into the cabin.
The stewardess grinned sheepishly. "You'll all feel much better when you are safely back at home or downtown in one of the hotels. You are all excellent fliers! And those of you who are visitors, I welcome you to wonderful Winnipeg. Unfortunately, you won't be able to see much of her until the snow stops!"
Once inside the airport building, the boys brushed snow off their caps and coats, then lined up with some of the other passengers at the ticket counters. They didn't have to wait long. The various problems of the travelers were attended to with great efficiency, and soon Rick was asking one of the clerks if a message had been left for him about his connecting flight.
"Yes, indeed," the man responded, flipping through some memos on the counter. "Here it is, to Mr. Rick Brant from the Manitoba Department of Natural Resources at The Pas. The pilot, of course, could not fly down to meet you today. There was so much snow up north that they will not be able to lift off until later tomorrow at the earliest. They suggest you try the CNR to see if any trains are running up to The Pas."
The clerk placed the memo on the counter top and jotted a phone number on it. "Here is their number. But I doubt that any trains will be going north. They'll have to clear the tracks through the lake country and up to central province where several feet of snow fell. But they do it efficiently and you'll probably be able to get a train by tomorrow noon if Winnipeg itself doesn't get totally buried."
"Thanks," Rick said. "I'll give them a call. We're transporting some equipment with us. What can we do about it until we know our next move?"
"Just let me have your cargo receipt number and we'll hold the equipment until we hear from you. If you do get a train out, we can deliver your cargo to the CNR station for you."
"Hey, that's great," Scotty beamed, as Rick took out the cargo ticket from his wallet and handed it to the clerk. "Sure makes the inconvenience a lot easier."
"I'm beginning to like Canada a whole lot already," he added a minute later as he and Rick made their way to the luggage pick-up area. "The people here seem to know exactly what to do in an emergency like this."
"Big Snows are pretty common here," Rick suggested. "Guess they've had a lot of experience."
The boys picked up their traveling bags and headed to a bank of phone booths where Rick called the Canadian National Railroad office.
"All trains north of Dauphin are canceled until track clearance is completed in the wake of the storm," he was told by the voice on the wire. "Please call back in the morning. By then we may know at what time through trains to The Pas will be departing again."
Rick hung up and related the news to Scotty. "Looks like we have to spend the night in town. We may as well take the bus downtown and get a hotel room."
Scotty nodded in resignation, but then his eyes lit up. "And how about dinner in St. Boniface? I could sure go for some of that fancy French cuisine."
"Great idea. That is, if we can get over there. Who knows? The whole town may shut down as this blizzard sets in."
But if Rick expected Winnipeg to roll up and go to sleep because of the storm, he was pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. There was an unexpected amount of traffic on Ellice Avenue as the airport bus made its way downtown on the busy Saturday afternoon. There were hundreds of bundled-up pedestrians hurrying up and down the sidewalks, heads bent against the ruthless wind and blowing snow.
"Brave souls, aren't they?" Rick murmured, watching the residents go about their business despite the severe weather conditions.
Scotty furrowed his brows. "It might not keep me and you inside, but a blizzard like this at home in New Jersey would shut down the whole state."
A woman sitting in front of them laughed hardily and turned to look at the boys. "Americans! How nice to see you, boys. I live in Miami, where it never snows at all. This storm is terrifying me!"
Rick recognized her from the airliner and the line at the ticket counter in the airport. "Hello there. What brings you all the way up here from Florida at this time of year?"
"I'm visiting my aunt in Swan River for Christmas. I haven't seen her since I was a little girl. I just telephoned her from the airport and she said they had four feet of snow overnight. Just imagine! I hope to take the train up there tomorrow. By then I'll probably need a sedative!"
"We'll be on the first train north, too," Scotty told her. "All the way up to The Pas."
"That's another hundred miles past Swan River," the woman said. "You boys are certainly headed for the wilds."
Rick nodded. "You can say that again. From The Pas we're going to Churchill on Hudson Bay."
"Churchill? My gosh! Watch out for the polar bears. My aunt sent me a postcard from there a few years ago. She wrote that those big white bears come right into town."
Rick smiled to himself. It was those big white bears that had brought him and Scotty up to this frigid part of the world in the first place, and he was looking forward to trying out The Barby Bear Tracker on them. He hoped they'd be able to reach their destination without too much further delay and soon be able to commence the experiments.
The woman introduced herself to the boys as Mrs. Jane Fisher, a widow who had lost her husband in the war. She was surprised to learn that Scotty had served in the Pacific.
"You certainly don't look old enough, young man," she said to him, "but thank you for the sacrifice you have made for our country. And thank God you made it back home in one piece. I get very blue at holiday time without my husband around, so this year I've come to spend it with my aunt. I was born here in Winnipeg and lived in the North End until I was five years old. Then my folks moved to Florida and we became U.S. citizens. I vaguely remember the cold and snow and I probably lived through a couple of these Big Snows. But this is the first time I've been back to Manitoba since my childhood."
The bus had now reached the downtown area and shadowy shapes of big civic buildings, hotels, and department stores came into view. Traffic snarled and stacked up as they approached the corners of Portage and Main, the city center, and Mrs. Fisher told them that the famous corners were popularly billed as 'the windiest spot in North America'.
"And here I thought Chicago was the windy city," Scotty scoffed.
The friendly woman's eyes twinkled. "Try walking around Portage and Main on a windy day and you'll change your mind about that - so they say."
The boys did indeed have to hold onto their caps as they stepped off the bus into winds that stormed the corners with the power of freight trains. Rick lugged their bags and Scotty aided Mrs. Fisher as they hurried into the Royal Alexandra Hotel.
"Whew!" Scotty brushed snow off his coat sleeves in the elegant lobby of the Edwardian-era hotel, now gaily festooned with Christmas decorations. He grinned at Mrs. Fisher.
"How many Winnipeggers get blown away every year?" he asked in jest.
The woman responded snappily. "No one really knows for sure because they are never seen again. They blow all the way over to western Ontario and get lost in the bush!"
Rooms were secured at the front desk and the boys politely declined Mrs. Fisher's invitation to join her for dinner in the hotel dining room.
"Scotty wants to go to St. Boniface," Rick explained, "to sample the French cuisine. He's quite a connoisseur of fine foods."
"Well, good luck getting there, boys. Normally you could hike right over the bridge, but in this weather you might get blown off. Don't miss the cathedral on Tache Avenue. That's one thing I do remember from my childhood. It's lovely."
They took the elevator up to their rooms and made plans to meet with Mrs. Fisher and some of the other stranded travelers in the lobby later in the evening. Rick and Scotty's room was comfortably furnished in the old-world tradition and its windows looked out onto Main Street, the Red River, and St. Boniface beyond. But in the gloom of the blizzard hardly a thing could be seen except the dim shapes of buildings across the way.
"Who was Alexandra?" Rick asked, pulling some items out of his bag. "The woman they named this hotel after? Does it say anything about her in the travel guide?"
Scotty plopped down on one of the beds and stretched out his long frame as he paged through the booklet. "The hotel is listed in here, but it doesn't give any historical information. Hmmm, could it be one of those Russian princesses from the early part of the century - the Romanovs?"
Rick's brows knit in thought. "Queen Victoria had daughters. Maybe one of them was Alexandra. It's more likely they'd name a hotel in Canada after an English princess than a Russian one."
"Let's wager a bet on it," Scotty suggested. "When we go out to eat, we can ask the clerk in the lobby who Alexandra was."
"Speaking of dinner," Rick said, with a forceful clearing of his throat. "You'd better get those two hundred pounds of yours off that bed and back on your feet. It may take us a while to get over to St. Boniface, and I can feel my stomach grumbling already."
Scotty grinned at the ceiling. "Mine always grumbles, day and night, day in and day out. The darn thing never seems to get enough. Only problem is, it feels great to be laying down like this. I'm still sore from yesterday and sitting cramped up in airplanes all day sure didn't help."
Rick snapped his suitcase shut. "Suit yourself. I'll go eat French food by myself."
Scotty was back on his feet in a flash. "I guess I can endure a few aches and pains in the pursuit of the perfect meal!"
The boys freshened up, pulled on their heavy coats, caps, and gloves, then hurried back down to the lobby. Scotty walked over to check out the elaborately decorated Christmas tree set before a bank of windows looking out to Main Street while Rick went up to the front desk to ask about the Alexandra of the hotel's name. When he joined Scotty a minute later by the heavily adorned tree, his face wore a chagrined expression.
"We were both wrong," he almost whispered. "But don't tell Mrs. Spencer, our history teacher. She'd bop us both. We should've known."
"What? Who was she?"
"She was Princess Alexandra of Denmark and she married Edward VII, Queen Victoria's son who was the King of England during the first decade of this century."
Scotty pondered a moment, rubbing his chin. "Oh sure, the Edwardian era."
"Right. She was King Edward's queen consort, a queen by marriage only, but always a princess. We should've remembered. We studied all that British lineage earlier in the school year."
Scotty smiled tolerantly. "Come on, boy genius. We can't remember everything about every royal we study. Besides, it's just not as interesting as electronics and science, which are far more important anyway. At least you guessed English. I was way off with Russian."
Rick's face brightened. "Right. My guess was closest to the correct answer. Does that mean I win the bet?"
"Sure, and the winner gets to pay for dinner."
Rick laughed and pounded Scotty's shoulder. "Yah, right. Since when does the winner pay? Let's get a move on, pal. The Big Snow awaits our return into its midst."
It seemed that the relentless wild gusts of wind roaring down Main Street would surely blow the boys down, or perhaps up and away, but they were lucky enough to hail a taxi within a couple of minutes after foraging out into the storm.
"St. Boniface," Rick told the driver. "The cathedral. We'd like to see that first."
The man frowned as he pulled away from the curb. "Sightseeing in this weather, eh?"
"You bet," Scotty replied. "We're from the States and will probably never get another chance to visit Winnipeg." He twitched his nostrils in anticipation. "And I can smell that delectable French food way on this side of the river."
The taxi driver chuckled. "Spoken like a true tourist. Try La Petite Maison on Provencher Boulevard. It's right around the corner from the cathedral. M'sieur LaPierre has quite a reputation with the American diners."
The car turned onto the Water Street bridge that crossed the Red River to the city of St. Boniface. The boys peered out the windows but could see only vague impressions of the frozen winding waterway that had played such an important part in the settling and development of western Canada. Soon they were driving through St. Boniface on Provencher Boulevard, and the taxi made a quick right turn onto Tache Avenue and pulled up in front of the famous cathedral.
The driver smirked, raising his brows. "Are you sure you fellas want to get out here?"
Rick looked at the wind-driven snow outside the car and shrugged his shoulders. "Yep, we're on our way up to Churchill, so we'd better be able to handle this."
"It'll be good experience for Hudson Bay," the driver agreed as Scotty paid him the fare. "But in weather like this, tourists usually aren't running around out and about."
Scotty let out a loud guffaw after he and Rick had stepped out of the taxi and slammed the doors behind them. "Oot and aboot!" he hooted, mimicking the cabby's accent. "Did you know, Mr. Brant, that tourists in Winnipeg usually are not running around oot and aboot in weather like this?"
Grinning, Rick slapped Scotty on the back. "Relax, Max. That's just Canadian for 'out and about'. Which, if we had any sense, we wouldn't be! Just imagine, we had the nerve to complain yesterday when we were tied up in the cold by the river in New Jersey. That was nothing compared to this crazy weather."
Scotty pulled on his thick gloves. "Right. But today we are not tied up, and we're properly dressed for the cold. Hey, look at that awesome cathedral. No wonder it's a famous tourist attraction."
The boys trudged across the snow-covered lawns leading up to the huge twin-towered cathedral that soared far up into the sky. Between the bell towers was a triple-arched entryway, above which loomed an enormous round stained-glass window that glowed ever-so-slightly in the almost impenetrable gloom. Under the entrance arches were spruce and pine trees festooned with rows of colorful lights, in their midst a life-sized manger scene with the newborn infant, Mary and Joseph, the three Wise Men, and all the attentive stable animals.
Rick was impressed far more than he would have expected, moved by the eerie atmosphere and soaring architecture. "It almost beats St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York, don't you think?"
"Pretty close," Scotty agreed. "I'll bet the interior is beautiful, too. According to the travel guide, this is the fourth St. Boniface Cathedral. The original was just a log building, and it was the first church in western Canada and the Red River settlements."
Rick saw that Scotty was almost totally covered with snow. "You look like a big snowman," he laughed. "Let's see if we can go inside for a moment or two and get out of this storm."
The boys hurried under the center arch, past the pungent evergreens and manger, and pulled open the massive front doors which swooshed closed behind them from the force of the wind as they entered the vestibule. Suddenly, all was quiet, as the thick old walls shut out the roar of the Big Snow.
"Wow," Scotty whispered, spinning around. "This place sure is swell."
Beautiful cut and scored stone and thick rich timbers formed the vestibule which was lined by statues of the saints in both directions leading to the bell towers. A mellow glow from banks of flickering votive candles lit the way and the solemn hush of silence sent chills up the boys' spines as they brushed snow from their caps and coats.
Ahead, through elaborately carved open doors, could be seen the nave of the enormous church. A center aisle, lined by rows of pews on either side, led, underneath a towering and vaulted ceiling, up to a raised sanctuary and altar. It was flanked by statues of angels and saints and dimly lit by dancing candles and stained-glass windows. Christmas evergreens, adorned with twinkling lights and banked high with brilliant crimson poinsettia plants, clustered the sanctuary.
"Gosh," Rick breathed. "Mom and Barby would sure love to see this place."
Scotty pulled off his cap. "It's wonderful. Makes you feel kind of humble."
Rick pulled off his cap, too. But he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "And to make you feel humble," he whispered, "it's really got to be mind-boggling."
Scotty smiled at the remark, but he didn't respond as he stepped forward tentatively, feeling somewhat breathless. Rick followed, a hand on his chest in awe. There was the sweet smell of incense in the air and, mixed with the heady scents of the candles and evergreens, it seemed to the boys that they had truly stepped into another world, far away and far apart from the one they had left outside in the snow.
Then, suddenly, the miracle of silence within the awesome cathedral was shattered by an angry shout and the click-clack of heels on the old stone floor!
Rick and Scotty spun to their left, in the direction of the startling sounds. Two figures rushed through the archway in the base of the bell tower on that end and hurried down the vestibule in the heat of an argument. Rick felt himself almost pulled off his feet as Scotty dragged him into the shadows behind a large statue of the Virgin Mary cradling the prostrate crucified Jesus in her arms.
"But, mon Pere, you cannot .... sacre! You cannot allow this to continue!"
The angry words were spoken by a boy their own age, dressed in a fur cap and a red and black checked mackinaw. His accent was heavily French and there was unmistakable outrage in his pleading tones.
He was addressing a priest, middle-aged and bearded, and wearing flowing monk-like robes. He was walking quickly in front of the boy, obviously not wanting to hear what the young fellow had to say.
"Arret! Arret!" he spat back to the boy. "You must stop this interference into matters that are not of your concern, Pierre! You do not understand that about which you speak. You are just a boy, interfering in the world of men. I pray that you drop this matter!"
"Mon Dieu!" the boy exclaimed, grabbing the priest by the arm as they both rushed on. "You have involved my uncle in this. He could lose everything he has worked so hard for all his life. It can harm me, too. I will be disgraced at the English Academy. It is wrong, Father Jacques. It is wrong!"
The priest shrugged off the boy's hand and stopped before the big front doors. He pushed one open and gusts of wind and snow shot in, billowing his robes and causing the candles in the vestibule to flicker wildly.
He pointed out the door. "Go, Pierre! Sortir! And do not come back unless you wish to attend Mass and pray. I will not speak to you of this matter again!"
The candlelight illumined the boy's face as Rick and Scotty cringed back against the wall in the shadows. His expression was so intense that they could feel his deep emotion across the space that separated them.
Fury overtook him and he shouted at the priest. "Grace a Dieu! I will not remain silent and allow my uncle and myself to come to ruin. I will stop you, mon Pere. This cannot be! I will not allow us to be destroyed by ... by ... La Mort Rouge!"
And with that, he stormed angrily out into the blizzard and the priest hurriedly pulled the door shut, muttering to himself as he brushed flakes of snow from his robes. He turned, poker-faced and angry, staring straight ahead, and strode quickly through the doors into the nave of the cathedral. His quick footsteps echoed in the empty church as he hurried down the aisle toward the altar.
Rick pushed himself away from the wall, his heart pounding. He could have touched the priest as he had rushed by.
He whispered to Scotty, "Jeez, what do you think that was all about?"
Frowning, Scotty blew out a tense breath. "La Mort Rouge! The Red Death. The smallpox plague. Barby spoke of it last night, remember?"
"Yes, but the disease itself is all but eradicated from this part of the world now."
"But she said the people up this way can still be superstitious about it and its legends."
Rick nodded slowly. "Obviously. But this has to be something different. Something big, and bad. That boy is really scared it can harm him and his uncle."
He gaped around at the vestibule in the flickering candlelight, with its life-like statues frozen in pious, dramatic poses. He looked at the Virgin Mary's face and saw the pain in her eyes, and he shuddered. Something was wrong, very wrong. In this place of good and beauty, they had witnessed something that could pertain only to bad and evil.
"Scotty!" Rick hissed. "We've got to help that boy. Let's hurry out and catch up to him. We can't let his life be ruined by this La Mort Rouge - whatever the heck it might be!"
https://sites.google.com/site/rickbrantfanfiction
THE SIGN OF THE RED DEATH
a Rick Brant fanfiction adventure
Chapter Three: THE BIG SNOW
Rick Brant gazed out the window of the passenger plane at a world of whiteness. The seemingly endless forests of northern Minnesota were laden with snow and rolled on as far as the eye could see under a clear blue winter sky. Far ahead toward the north, however, that same sky was darkening threateningly, and Rick knew they were flying toward a severe winter storm that was battering central Manitoba.
He turned to Scotty, who was sitting next to him. "You can already see that blizzard up north. I hope we're able to land in Winnipeg before the storm hits the city."
The stewardess on the Canadian airliner had advised them earlier of the possibility of turbulent weather ahead.
Scotty shifted in his seat to peer out the window. "You can say that again. Otherwise we'll have to fly back to Minneapolis-St. Paul and wait it out there. That would really mess up our plans."
Rick nodded. "And even if we do land in Winnipeg, we probably won't be able to take the connecting flight up to The Pas. We may be stranded in the city."
Scotty grinned. "In The Peg," he laughed, reiterating the city's nickname they had learned from the stewardess. He tapped the page of the travel guide he was reading. "Winnipeg is a bona-fide big city and cultural center, plopped right in the middle of the Canadian prairies and filled with people of all nationalities from all over the world. And there's a huge French quarter across the Red River in St. Boniface, peopled largely by the Metis, descendants of the early French voyageurs
"We may get to see more of it than we planned," Rick said, as he watched the darkening northern skies. "Depending, of course, on how big this Big Snow really is."
They had also learned from the stewardess that blizzards were called Big Snows in Manitoba, and that sometimes they could last for days. The boys were fervently hoping that the storm would not impede their progress north and delay their arrival at Churchill on the Hudson Bay coast.
Early that morning, after a bouncy boat ride on the wind-whipped Atlantic from Spindrift Island to Whiteside Landing, Rick's dad and Hobart Zircon had driven them to Newark Airport. Arrangements were made to service the Piper Cub and store it in a hangar until the boys' return. They had arrived home late from the police headquarters in Newark the night before and hadn't got much sleep, up late finalizing preparations. Then, saying goodbye to Mrs. Brant, Barby, Dismal the dog, and the other scientists had not been easy. They hated to miss even a few days of the holiday season at home!
With their luggage and the tracking system equipment safely in the passenger plane's cargo hold, they had flown from Newark to Chicago without mishap, catching a snooze here and there and often squirming in their seats because of the bruises they had sustained the day before. In Chicago they had transferred to the Canadian plane which was now taking them to Winnipeg. From there, the plan was to transfer to a small plane manned by a bush pilot from the Manitoba Department of Natural Resources and fly north to The Pas, a small mining and lumber town in central Manitoba and gateway to the vast Hudson Bay north country. They would spend the night there and fly on to Churchill in the morning.
That is, if the Big Snow didn't ground them in Winnipeg or Minneapolis-St. Paul!
Scotty read aloud from the travel guide. "'St. Boniface is the largest French settlement in North America outside of the province of Quebec.' Some of the sites to see are the big St. Boniface Cathedral and the Louis Riel grave and home. He was the half-breed Metis leader who became 'The Father of Manitoba'."
"We'll have to check them out if we get stranded," Rick said. "But I sure dread the idea of being stuck in town riding out a blizzard."
It was a short while later when the boys and other passengers were informed that the plane had crossed the border into Canada and was now flying over southern Manitoba. A light snack was served, and Rick and Scotty had sandwiches and cokes. They had eaten a quick early lunch in Chicago during the turnover there.
"What's the weather situation in Winnipeg?" Rick asked the amiable young stewardess.
"The storm is quickly approaching the city," she answered in low tones. "So far it looks like we'll be able to land. However, if you have a connecting flight, forget it. All departures have been canceled."
Scotty gave a grim smile. "Just our luck. We're supposed to go further north. A pilot was flying down to pick us up from The Pas."
The girl in the crisp stylish uniform smiled. "You'll have to get used to Canada's bilingual nature. That's a French name, pronounced 'the paw', not 'the pass'." Then she shook her head. "And that pilot surely won't be able to fly down to Winnipeg from the north country. The Big Snow has been battering that part of the province for two days now. You'll have to remain in town until it's all over, or perhaps you can get a train north. That is, if the tracks are clear," she added, as she turned her attention to a fellow passenger.
Rick grumbled ominously. "I guess even the trains get bogged down in these parts."
Scotty pointed to a paragraph in the travel guide. "Severe blizzards can dump six to ten feet of snow on the Manitoba interior. We may be stranded here until New Years."
Rick punched Scotty's arm. "No way. Come hell or high water - or even ten feet of snow - nothing is going to stop us from getting back home to Spindrift Island for Christmas!"
But it was soon apparent that the airliner was meeting up with the bad weather, and the gray gloom that surrounded the plane as it descended to lower altitudes for its approach to the city sobered the boys considerably. Blusterous winds buffeted the craft and at times air pockets caused it to bounce along like a pebble skipping over water. Both Rick and Scotty were experienced fliers, in big planes and small, but they nevertheless fastened their seat belts along with the other passengers.
The stewardess quickly cleared away the snack trays and plates, then fastened herself into a seat at the front of the rocking cabin.
"Try to remain calm," she advised the others over her shoulder. "This is just turbulence we are experiencing as we come down from the higher altitudes. Landing has been cleared for us and all should go smoothly, although it certainly won't feel like it! We'll be in Winnipeg in about twenty minutes."
Scotty held onto the arms of his seat. "This is like riding out a typhoon in the Pacific!"
"You know," Rick gritted back, "I always feel a little safer in an airplane when I'm the person flying it."
Scotty raised his brows and smirked. "I am so glad you're not flying this one, buster. It's a little out of your league, don't you think?"
Rick affected an insulted look. "Humphh! If I were flying this kite, I'd take it back up over the clouds and scoot all the way up to The Pas. And I mean 'The Paw'! And I'd do it all blindfolded."
"I'll blindfold you, all right," Scotty jeered. "And gag you, too. We'd probably run out of fuel and crash-land in a muskeg swamp. We'd have to rent a dog sled and huskies and mush it up to Hudson Bay. They'd make us honorary Eskimos for all our trouble."
Rick digested this and a grin split his face. "Now that sounds like a great adventure. Heck of a lot more fun than what happened yesterday in New Jersey. Stick with me, pal, and you'll find some excitement."
"Tell me about it." Scotty stiffened as the plane took an especially hard knock. "Guess I sure learned that in the rocket launch contest and again last summer in Tibet. But do you really think anything out of the ordinary can happen here ... in Canada?"
Both boys burst out laughing.
"I think everything out of the ordinary can happen to us, anywhere," Rick chuckled.
Then, suddenly, he let out, "Whoa -oa -oa -oa!"
The airplane was falling straight down at an incredible speed while still maintaining its horizontal position. Several of the passengers shouted and screamed. Then, just as suddenly, there was a terrific impact, as if the plane had hit solid ground. There were more cries and shouts and a loud "Yikes!" from Scotty.
But the plane continued on its bumpy way as if nothing had happened.
The stewardess turned back to the passengers. "That was just a rough air pocket, everybody. Don't worry, everything is all right. We'll soon be home at The Peg."
She was right. A few minutes later the descending airliner shot out of the clouds into a whiter but even more interminable gloom of thick falling snow. Rick could vaguely make out some lights ahead, the big city of the Canadian plains in the thrall of the Big Snow.
"Definitely not ideal landing conditions," he muttered.
"But a whole lot better than going back to Minnesota," Scotty put in, as the plane steeped and headed down to Stevenson Airport.
The boys held on grimly, hoping for a safe landing, and when the wheels touched down smoothly on the tarmac cheers of exultation erupted from the passengers.
Rick and Scotty let out a few war whoops of their own.
"Now that's what I call delivering the goods," Rick sighed in satisfaction.
Scotty eagerly agreed. "This pilot sure knows how to earn his paycheck!"
As the plane taxied slowly to a halt, Rick looked out the window, trying to penetrate the darkness of the heavy blowing snow. But there was nothing to be seen except shadows. The stewardess unstrapped herself and, after a few encouraging words to the passengers, went to the forward cabin to confer with the pilot. When she returned a few minutes later, the passengers were unfastening their seat belts and getting together their carry-on bags.
"The airport is closed because of the storm and all flights are canceled," she told them. "Thank goodness we were able to land, but all further incoming planes have been rerouted. Of course, there are still people inside to help you, and you can check with the ticket clerks if you had connecting flights. They'll tell you when to call for updates on flight schedules. A bus will be available to transport you to the downtown hotels so you do not have to remain stranded at the airport. The storm is a severe one, but it may blow over and move east into Ontario by tomorrow noon."
Rick's brows twisted in consternation. "Looks like we'll have to hole up in town. What will we do about our equipment?"
"We'll have to store it here at the airport until we make further plans," Scotty figured. "We may have to take a train up to The Pas. Let's check inside. The Department of Natural Resources may have left us a message."
They stood to file out with the other passengers, but as the door was opened onto the portable staircase that had been rolled into place, gusts of wind and snow blew wildly into the cabin.
The stewardess grinned sheepishly. "You'll all feel much better when you are safely back at home or downtown in one of the hotels. You are all excellent fliers! And those of you who are visitors, I welcome you to wonderful Winnipeg. Unfortunately, you won't be able to see much of her until the snow stops!"
Once inside the airport building, the boys brushed snow off their caps and coats, then lined up with some of the other passengers at the ticket counters. They didn't have to wait long. The various problems of the travelers were attended to with great efficiency, and soon Rick was asking one of the clerks if a message had been left for him about his connecting flight.
"Yes, indeed," the man responded, flipping through some memos on the counter. "Here it is, to Mr. Rick Brant from the Manitoba Department of Natural Resources at The Pas. The pilot, of course, could not fly down to meet you today. There was so much snow up north that they will not be able to lift off until later tomorrow at the earliest. They suggest you try the CNR to see if any trains are running up to The Pas."
The clerk placed the memo on the counter top and jotted a phone number on it. "Here is their number. But I doubt that any trains will be going north. They'll have to clear the tracks through the lake country and up to central province where several feet of snow fell. But they do it efficiently and you'll probably be able to get a train by tomorrow noon if Winnipeg itself doesn't get totally buried."
"Thanks," Rick said. "I'll give them a call. We're transporting some equipment with us. What can we do about it until we know our next move?"
"Just let me have your cargo receipt number and we'll hold the equipment until we hear from you. If you do get a train out, we can deliver your cargo to the CNR station for you."
"Hey, that's great," Scotty beamed, as Rick took out the cargo ticket from his wallet and handed it to the clerk. "Sure makes the inconvenience a lot easier."
"I'm beginning to like Canada a whole lot already," he added a minute later as he and Rick made their way to the luggage pick-up area. "The people here seem to know exactly what to do in an emergency like this."
"Big Snows are pretty common here," Rick suggested. "Guess they've had a lot of experience."
The boys picked up their traveling bags and headed to a bank of phone booths where Rick called the Canadian National Railroad office.
"All trains north of Dauphin are canceled until track clearance is completed in the wake of the storm," he was told by the voice on the wire. "Please call back in the morning. By then we may know at what time through trains to The Pas will be departing again."
Rick hung up and related the news to Scotty. "Looks like we have to spend the night in town. We may as well take the bus downtown and get a hotel room."
Scotty nodded in resignation, but then his eyes lit up. "And how about dinner in St. Boniface? I could sure go for some of that fancy French cuisine."
"Great idea. That is, if we can get over there. Who knows? The whole town may shut down as this blizzard sets in."
But if Rick expected Winnipeg to roll up and go to sleep because of the storm, he was pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong. There was an unexpected amount of traffic on Ellice Avenue as the airport bus made its way downtown on the busy Saturday afternoon. There were hundreds of bundled-up pedestrians hurrying up and down the sidewalks, heads bent against the ruthless wind and blowing snow.
"Brave souls, aren't they?" Rick murmured, watching the residents go about their business despite the severe weather conditions.
Scotty furrowed his brows. "It might not keep me and you inside, but a blizzard like this at home in New Jersey would shut down the whole state."
A woman sitting in front of them laughed hardily and turned to look at the boys. "Americans! How nice to see you, boys. I live in Miami, where it never snows at all. This storm is terrifying me!"
Rick recognized her from the airliner and the line at the ticket counter in the airport. "Hello there. What brings you all the way up here from Florida at this time of year?"
"I'm visiting my aunt in Swan River for Christmas. I haven't seen her since I was a little girl. I just telephoned her from the airport and she said they had four feet of snow overnight. Just imagine! I hope to take the train up there tomorrow. By then I'll probably need a sedative!"
"We'll be on the first train north, too," Scotty told her. "All the way up to The Pas."
"That's another hundred miles past Swan River," the woman said. "You boys are certainly headed for the wilds."
Rick nodded. "You can say that again. From The Pas we're going to Churchill on Hudson Bay."
"Churchill? My gosh! Watch out for the polar bears. My aunt sent me a postcard from there a few years ago. She wrote that those big white bears come right into town."
Rick smiled to himself. It was those big white bears that had brought him and Scotty up to this frigid part of the world in the first place, and he was looking forward to trying out The Barby Bear Tracker on them. He hoped they'd be able to reach their destination without too much further delay and soon be able to commence the experiments.
The woman introduced herself to the boys as Mrs. Jane Fisher, a widow who had lost her husband in the war. She was surprised to learn that Scotty had served in the Pacific.
"You certainly don't look old enough, young man," she said to him, "but thank you for the sacrifice you have made for our country. And thank God you made it back home in one piece. I get very blue at holiday time without my husband around, so this year I've come to spend it with my aunt. I was born here in Winnipeg and lived in the North End until I was five years old. Then my folks moved to Florida and we became U.S. citizens. I vaguely remember the cold and snow and I probably lived through a couple of these Big Snows. But this is the first time I've been back to Manitoba since my childhood."
The bus had now reached the downtown area and shadowy shapes of big civic buildings, hotels, and department stores came into view. Traffic snarled and stacked up as they approached the corners of Portage and Main, the city center, and Mrs. Fisher told them that the famous corners were popularly billed as 'the windiest spot in North America'.
"And here I thought Chicago was the windy city," Scotty scoffed.
The friendly woman's eyes twinkled. "Try walking around Portage and Main on a windy day and you'll change your mind about that - so they say."
The boys did indeed have to hold onto their caps as they stepped off the bus into winds that stormed the corners with the power of freight trains. Rick lugged their bags and Scotty aided Mrs. Fisher as they hurried into the Royal Alexandra Hotel.
"Whew!" Scotty brushed snow off his coat sleeves in the elegant lobby of the Edwardian-era hotel, now gaily festooned with Christmas decorations. He grinned at Mrs. Fisher.
"How many Winnipeggers get blown away every year?" he asked in jest.
The woman responded snappily. "No one really knows for sure because they are never seen again. They blow all the way over to western Ontario and get lost in the bush!"
Rooms were secured at the front desk and the boys politely declined Mrs. Fisher's invitation to join her for dinner in the hotel dining room.
"Scotty wants to go to St. Boniface," Rick explained, "to sample the French cuisine. He's quite a connoisseur of fine foods."
"Well, good luck getting there, boys. Normally you could hike right over the bridge, but in this weather you might get blown off. Don't miss the cathedral on Tache Avenue. That's one thing I do remember from my childhood. It's lovely."
They took the elevator up to their rooms and made plans to meet with Mrs. Fisher and some of the other stranded travelers in the lobby later in the evening. Rick and Scotty's room was comfortably furnished in the old-world tradition and its windows looked out onto Main Street, the Red River, and St. Boniface beyond. But in the gloom of the blizzard hardly a thing could be seen except the dim shapes of buildings across the way.
"Who was Alexandra?" Rick asked, pulling some items out of his bag. "The woman they named this hotel after? Does it say anything about her in the travel guide?"
Scotty plopped down on one of the beds and stretched out his long frame as he paged through the booklet. "The hotel is listed in here, but it doesn't give any historical information. Hmmm, could it be one of those Russian princesses from the early part of the century - the Romanovs?"
Rick's brows knit in thought. "Queen Victoria had daughters. Maybe one of them was Alexandra. It's more likely they'd name a hotel in Canada after an English princess than a Russian one."
"Let's wager a bet on it," Scotty suggested. "When we go out to eat, we can ask the clerk in the lobby who Alexandra was."
"Speaking of dinner," Rick said, with a forceful clearing of his throat. "You'd better get those two hundred pounds of yours off that bed and back on your feet. It may take us a while to get over to St. Boniface, and I can feel my stomach grumbling already."
Scotty grinned at the ceiling. "Mine always grumbles, day and night, day in and day out. The darn thing never seems to get enough. Only problem is, it feels great to be laying down like this. I'm still sore from yesterday and sitting cramped up in airplanes all day sure didn't help."
Rick snapped his suitcase shut. "Suit yourself. I'll go eat French food by myself."
Scotty was back on his feet in a flash. "I guess I can endure a few aches and pains in the pursuit of the perfect meal!"
The boys freshened up, pulled on their heavy coats, caps, and gloves, then hurried back down to the lobby. Scotty walked over to check out the elaborately decorated Christmas tree set before a bank of windows looking out to Main Street while Rick went up to the front desk to ask about the Alexandra of the hotel's name. When he joined Scotty a minute later by the heavily adorned tree, his face wore a chagrined expression.
"We were both wrong," he almost whispered. "But don't tell Mrs. Spencer, our history teacher. She'd bop us both. We should've known."
"What? Who was she?"
"She was Princess Alexandra of Denmark and she married Edward VII, Queen Victoria's son who was the King of England during the first decade of this century."
Scotty pondered a moment, rubbing his chin. "Oh sure, the Edwardian era."
"Right. She was King Edward's queen consort, a queen by marriage only, but always a princess. We should've remembered. We studied all that British lineage earlier in the school year."
Scotty smiled tolerantly. "Come on, boy genius. We can't remember everything about every royal we study. Besides, it's just not as interesting as electronics and science, which are far more important anyway. At least you guessed English. I was way off with Russian."
Rick's face brightened. "Right. My guess was closest to the correct answer. Does that mean I win the bet?"
"Sure, and the winner gets to pay for dinner."
Rick laughed and pounded Scotty's shoulder. "Yah, right. Since when does the winner pay? Let's get a move on, pal. The Big Snow awaits our return into its midst."
It seemed that the relentless wild gusts of wind roaring down Main Street would surely blow the boys down, or perhaps up and away, but they were lucky enough to hail a taxi within a couple of minutes after foraging out into the storm.
"St. Boniface," Rick told the driver. "The cathedral. We'd like to see that first."
The man frowned as he pulled away from the curb. "Sightseeing in this weather, eh?"
"You bet," Scotty replied. "We're from the States and will probably never get another chance to visit Winnipeg." He twitched his nostrils in anticipation. "And I can smell that delectable French food way on this side of the river."
The taxi driver chuckled. "Spoken like a true tourist. Try La Petite Maison on Provencher Boulevard. It's right around the corner from the cathedral. M'sieur LaPierre has quite a reputation with the American diners."
The car turned onto the Water Street bridge that crossed the Red River to the city of St. Boniface. The boys peered out the windows but could see only vague impressions of the frozen winding waterway that had played such an important part in the settling and development of western Canada. Soon they were driving through St. Boniface on Provencher Boulevard, and the taxi made a quick right turn onto Tache Avenue and pulled up in front of the famous cathedral.
The driver smirked, raising his brows. "Are you sure you fellas want to get out here?"
Rick looked at the wind-driven snow outside the car and shrugged his shoulders. "Yep, we're on our way up to Churchill, so we'd better be able to handle this."
"It'll be good experience for Hudson Bay," the driver agreed as Scotty paid him the fare. "But in weather like this, tourists usually aren't running around out and about."
Scotty let out a loud guffaw after he and Rick had stepped out of the taxi and slammed the doors behind them. "Oot and aboot!" he hooted, mimicking the cabby's accent. "Did you know, Mr. Brant, that tourists in Winnipeg usually are not running around oot and aboot in weather like this?"
Grinning, Rick slapped Scotty on the back. "Relax, Max. That's just Canadian for 'out and about'. Which, if we had any sense, we wouldn't be! Just imagine, we had the nerve to complain yesterday when we were tied up in the cold by the river in New Jersey. That was nothing compared to this crazy weather."
Scotty pulled on his thick gloves. "Right. But today we are not tied up, and we're properly dressed for the cold. Hey, look at that awesome cathedral. No wonder it's a famous tourist attraction."
The boys trudged across the snow-covered lawns leading up to the huge twin-towered cathedral that soared far up into the sky. Between the bell towers was a triple-arched entryway, above which loomed an enormous round stained-glass window that glowed ever-so-slightly in the almost impenetrable gloom. Under the entrance arches were spruce and pine trees festooned with rows of colorful lights, in their midst a life-sized manger scene with the newborn infant, Mary and Joseph, the three Wise Men, and all the attentive stable animals.
Rick was impressed far more than he would have expected, moved by the eerie atmosphere and soaring architecture. "It almost beats St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York, don't you think?"
"Pretty close," Scotty agreed. "I'll bet the interior is beautiful, too. According to the travel guide, this is the fourth St. Boniface Cathedral. The original was just a log building, and it was the first church in western Canada and the Red River settlements."
Rick saw that Scotty was almost totally covered with snow. "You look like a big snowman," he laughed. "Let's see if we can go inside for a moment or two and get out of this storm."
The boys hurried under the center arch, past the pungent evergreens and manger, and pulled open the massive front doors which swooshed closed behind them from the force of the wind as they entered the vestibule. Suddenly, all was quiet, as the thick old walls shut out the roar of the Big Snow.
"Wow," Scotty whispered, spinning around. "This place sure is swell."
Beautiful cut and scored stone and thick rich timbers formed the vestibule which was lined by statues of the saints in both directions leading to the bell towers. A mellow glow from banks of flickering votive candles lit the way and the solemn hush of silence sent chills up the boys' spines as they brushed snow from their caps and coats.
Ahead, through elaborately carved open doors, could be seen the nave of the enormous church. A center aisle, lined by rows of pews on either side, led, underneath a towering and vaulted ceiling, up to a raised sanctuary and altar. It was flanked by statues of angels and saints and dimly lit by dancing candles and stained-glass windows. Christmas evergreens, adorned with twinkling lights and banked high with brilliant crimson poinsettia plants, clustered the sanctuary.
"Gosh," Rick breathed. "Mom and Barby would sure love to see this place."
Scotty pulled off his cap. "It's wonderful. Makes you feel kind of humble."
Rick pulled off his cap, too. But he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "And to make you feel humble," he whispered, "it's really got to be mind-boggling."
Scotty smiled at the remark, but he didn't respond as he stepped forward tentatively, feeling somewhat breathless. Rick followed, a hand on his chest in awe. There was the sweet smell of incense in the air and, mixed with the heady scents of the candles and evergreens, it seemed to the boys that they had truly stepped into another world, far away and far apart from the one they had left outside in the snow.
Then, suddenly, the miracle of silence within the awesome cathedral was shattered by an angry shout and the click-clack of heels on the old stone floor!
Rick and Scotty spun to their left, in the direction of the startling sounds. Two figures rushed through the archway in the base of the bell tower on that end and hurried down the vestibule in the heat of an argument. Rick felt himself almost pulled off his feet as Scotty dragged him into the shadows behind a large statue of the Virgin Mary cradling the prostrate crucified Jesus in her arms.
"But, mon Pere, you cannot .... sacre! You cannot allow this to continue!"
The angry words were spoken by a boy their own age, dressed in a fur cap and a red and black checked mackinaw. His accent was heavily French and there was unmistakable outrage in his pleading tones.
He was addressing a priest, middle-aged and bearded, and wearing flowing monk-like robes. He was walking quickly in front of the boy, obviously not wanting to hear what the young fellow had to say.
"Arret! Arret!" he spat back to the boy. "You must stop this interference into matters that are not of your concern, Pierre! You do not understand that about which you speak. You are just a boy, interfering in the world of men. I pray that you drop this matter!"
"Mon Dieu!" the boy exclaimed, grabbing the priest by the arm as they both rushed on. "You have involved my uncle in this. He could lose everything he has worked so hard for all his life. It can harm me, too. I will be disgraced at the English Academy. It is wrong, Father Jacques. It is wrong!"
The priest shrugged off the boy's hand and stopped before the big front doors. He pushed one open and gusts of wind and snow shot in, billowing his robes and causing the candles in the vestibule to flicker wildly.
He pointed out the door. "Go, Pierre! Sortir! And do not come back unless you wish to attend Mass and pray. I will not speak to you of this matter again!"
The candlelight illumined the boy's face as Rick and Scotty cringed back against the wall in the shadows. His expression was so intense that they could feel his deep emotion across the space that separated them.
Fury overtook him and he shouted at the priest. "Grace a Dieu! I will not remain silent and allow my uncle and myself to come to ruin. I will stop you, mon Pere. This cannot be! I will not allow us to be destroyed by ... by ... La Mort Rouge!"
And with that, he stormed angrily out into the blizzard and the priest hurriedly pulled the door shut, muttering to himself as he brushed flakes of snow from his robes. He turned, poker-faced and angry, staring straight ahead, and strode quickly through the doors into the nave of the cathedral. His quick footsteps echoed in the empty church as he hurried down the aisle toward the altar.
Rick pushed himself away from the wall, his heart pounding. He could have touched the priest as he had rushed by.
He whispered to Scotty, "Jeez, what do you think that was all about?"
Frowning, Scotty blew out a tense breath. "La Mort Rouge! The Red Death. The smallpox plague. Barby spoke of it last night, remember?"
"Yes, but the disease itself is all but eradicated from this part of the world now."
"But she said the people up this way can still be superstitious about it and its legends."
Rick nodded slowly. "Obviously. But this has to be something different. Something big, and bad. That boy is really scared it can harm him and his uncle."
He gaped around at the vestibule in the flickering candlelight, with its life-like statues frozen in pious, dramatic poses. He looked at the Virgin Mary's face and saw the pain in her eyes, and he shuddered. Something was wrong, very wrong. In this place of good and beauty, they had witnessed something that could pertain only to bad and evil.
"Scotty!" Rick hissed. "We've got to help that boy. Let's hurry out and catch up to him. We can't let his life be ruined by this La Mort Rouge - whatever the heck it might be!"
Thursday, January 31, 2013
RICK BRANT RED DEATH 2
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Rick Brant fanfiction adventure
Chapter Two: HIGHWAY ROBBERY
Rick suddenly found himself sprawled out on the cold hard ground several yards from the banged-up coupe, which had stalled and jerked to a standstill near the riverbank. His head was spinning, spots danced in front of his eyes, and he gaped around in bewilderment. He heard a groan and turned to see Scotty struggling to sit up just a few feet away, a hand to his cheek and a trickle of blood rolling down from his nose.
"Scotty, you okay?"
Scotty opened his mouth to speak but his words were squelched by the slamming of the doors of the big sedan that had been chasing them. It had stopped not ten feet away. Three men jumped out, all of them wearing dark overcoats and wide-brimmed hats pulled down low. One of them, the driver, immediately leveled a gun at the boys.
"Alright, you eggs, stay where you are!" There was venom in his tones and his eyes held a mean glint. "We'd hate to have to hurt you any more than you already are."
Rick scowled, twisting up painfully into a sitting position, and he and Scotty exchanged feverish glances. What had they gotten themselves into now? Scotty nodded slightly, letting Rick know he was okay. Then Rick placed his hands flat on the ground to steady himself. The wind had been knocked out of him and he found himself sucking in huge gulps of air.
"Shake a leg," the gunman grunted to his accomplices. "See what kind of goods are in that coupe."
Rick blinked in confusion a couple times before he could comprehend that he and Scotty were being robbed. He watched as the other two men began to ransack the wrecked car, stiffening when he saw them pull the shopping bags out of the back seat.
"Hey, those are Christmas gifts!" he exploded.
The man with the gun laughed harshly and leered at the boys, showing rows of chipped uneven teeth. "Expensive gifts, too, I'll betcha. Parking your car at the Plaza is a dead giveaway that you got plenty of cash money to spend."
"So you did follow us from the hotel," Scotty spat angrily. "What made you think you'd be able to stop us?"
The thug chuckled in grim conceit. He pointed his gun at the rear end of the rental car. "That was duck soup, chum. Jersey plates, car rental decal on the back window. That spells 'Newark Airport' to me. And there sure are some nice lonely roads out this-a-way."
The other two thieves had opened the trunk of the coupe. Finding nothing of value within, they slammed it shut and carried the shopping bags over to the sedan.
"Guess this is it, boss," one of them said. "There's some nice stuff in these bags. Not a bad haul."
With a low snicker, he and the other man placed the shopping bags into the back seat of the big black car.
Rick clenched his fists in anger, staring in speechless amazement at the robbers. He and Scotty had spent a lot of money on the gifts, especially the bear claw necklace for Barby, which he knew they'd never be able to replace. And they wouldn't have another chance to go Christmas shopping! They were leaving for Canada in the morning.
Scotty had pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and was dabbing at the blood dripping from his nose. He looked at the men with contempt. "How'd you know we'd been shopping?" he demanded.
The leader of the highway robbers lowered his gun a few inches and spoke with a condescending disdain. "Don't know much about a stake-out, do you? We saw you get out of the taxi and go in the hotel carrying those bags with Fifth Avenue store names on 'em. So we just sat and waited for you to pull out of the garage."
One of the other men snorted, then his voice rang out with humor. "Tell 'em about it! This is our busy time of year, ain't it?. Cripes, we work twelve hours a day or more during the Christmas season!"
He let out a loud guffaw and the other two thugs joined in for a hearty laugh. Then the 'boss' with the gun said, "Get the ropes and tie these boys to the bumpers of that coupe. We don't want 'em running out to the pike and getting the cops on our trail."
Several lengths of rope were retrieved from the sedan's trunk and Rick and Scotty were forced to get up on their feet and walk over to the rental car. Rick's head was reeling and he ached all over, and he knew that Scotty probably didn't feel any better. The last thing they needed now was to be tied up to the car in the cold and the falling snow!
His eyes spat daggers at the three men as he was forced to sit down on the ground next to the coupe's back bumper. "Are you guys crazy? We'll freeze to death out here!"
"We won't gag you," the boss jeered in his hard-as-nails tones. "We'll give you a break. After all, you made this heist easy for us by pulling off the road and driving back here. If you holler loud enough, someone'll hear you, sooner or later."
Rick's wrists were securely bound to the heavy metal bumper with the stout ropes. Scotty was then shoved to the front of the coupe, almost on the water's edge. They pushed him down to the ground and tied his wrists to the front bumper. Rick could see only Scotty's legs because of the opened passenger door.
When the men were done, they turned away and tossed back a couple taunting goodbyes as they strode to the sedan. Then they climbed into the big car and, moments later, its engine roared to life. The car backed up and turned around, then shot forward down the dirt road. Rick and Scotty were left alone in the falling snow, bound to the bumpers of the damaged rental car.
For a minute or two there was complete silence. Then Rick's voice rang out, "Jeez! What do you make of it, Scotty? I've heard of highway robbery, but who'd think crooks would follow you all the way out here from Fifth Avenue?"
"I don't get it," Scotty retorted angrily. "If they watched us get out of the taxi and go into the hotel, how would they know we parked our car in the garage and would be coming back out? We could have been registered guests and staying overnight, for all they'd know."
"Good point." Rick tugged aimlessly at the ropes binding his wrists. "Maybe they saw us pull in earlier? They may just play a waiting game, watching to see who goes in to park, goes shopping, then comes back out in their car."
Scotty grunted. "Could be. It was sure worth their trouble, anyway. We spent several hundred dollars on those gifts. Did you happen to get their license plate number? I didn't even think of looking."
Rick puzzled a moment, then rolled his eyes in chagrin. "I didn't think of it either. Everything happened so fast and my head feels like I got a concussion. Guess I'm not thinking clearly."
"That makes two of us." Rick could hear the slow burn of anger in Scotty's voice. "This is bad news. We wrecked this sharp-looking coupe and lost all our Christmas gifts!"
A sudden thought tugged painfully at Rick. "And the extra bear tracker collar in the shopping bag, too!"
Scotty groaned in response. "Right! I forgot all about it. And now we're both half-knocked out from being thrown from the car, and tied up in this desolate spot where no one will ever find us. We may as well be on the moon!"
"And even if we do get out of here," Rick added, "we won't be able to fly the Cub home. It'd be too late by the time we get to the airport." He looked up at the bleak sky and grimaced. "It'll be dark in a couple hours and we'll never get back on the road by then."
Rick's yellow Piper Cub was not equipped for night flying, nor was he experienced at it. It appeared that they were trapped in this miserable lonely spot with no hope in sight.
Then Scotty suddenly let out a wild hoot. "Wait a minute! The bear tracker! You're wearing the tracker collar on your arm. Barby will know where we are!"
A grin crossed Rick's face and a tide of relief washed over him as he once again became aware of the snug coil of the collar around his arm. He started to laugh. "Man, it totally slipped my mind!"
Then both boys were laughing heartily as relief and hope made the dire situation they were in seem suddenly not so perilous.
Rick breathed out a happy sigh. "Whew! Barby is probably right now wondering why we've stopped along the river."
Scotty hooted again. "Yeah, just a quick stop to do some fishing."
"If it gets any colder," Rick snapped back, "it'll be ice fishing."
"If the river freezes, that's okay," Scotty went on.. "Just so it doesn't rise. A few more feet and I'll be in it!"
"Don't worry. We'll be all right." The flame of hope now sparked in Rick's eyes. "Barby will know that something's wrong. There's no way we'd stop out here. She knows we have to fly home before dark." He flexed the bicep of his arm to feel the snugness of the collar again, feeling like a goose for having forgotten about it. "Barby will tell Dad we've mysteriously stopped. He'll call the police and we'll be rescued...."
"Hopefully before we turn into icicles," Scotty cut in with a grim chuckle.
Rick looked up to the gloomy sky again with its increasingly thickening snowflakes fluttering down. He was grateful that it wasn't particularly windy. That would have made the cold feel much colder and the ordeal of being bound to the car by the riverbank even more threatening.
"Try to move around," he suggested. "Can you stand up? I think I can. I'm not quite so dizzy anymore."
Fortunately, Rick's wrists were tied to the bumper in front of him and not behind his back. Leaning against the bumper and trunk, he pushed himself to his feet. But it cost him some effort. He was breathing hard and felt dizzy again in the stooped-over position.
"Ho!" he gasped, leaning heavily against the back of the car. "I feel like I just took on Notre Dame's entire defensive line."
There was a series of grunts and groans from Scotty. Then, "Confound it! I'm up on my knees but now my head's spinning. This'll drive me batty!"
"I'm on my feet," Rick told him, "but not too steady. Maybe I can cut these ropes on the bumpers' edges if I can get some slack."
"Good idea. And I'm going to shout. I'll put this booming voice of mine to good use."
Rick smiled as Scotty started yelling, "Help! Help! Help!"
"They ought to hear you all the way back home on Spindrift Island," Rick laughed.
"That's the idea. And somebody has got to be around here somewhere. At least I hope so. And I intend to make them hear me!"
Scotty continued his shouting and Rick kept on pulling and tugging at the ropes. He groaned in exasperation, wishing this awful ordeal was over and done with, and that he and Scotty were back home - safe, sound, and warm.
"Hey there, Mr. Scott," he called out. "I guess this is good practice for being outdoors up at Hudson Bay."
"Yah, right," he heard Scotty jeer back. "Only problem is, we're dressed for Christmas shopping on Fifth Avenue, not for polar bear tracking in the subarctic."
"So right you are," Rick agreed, shivering in the leather bomber jacket he wore for flying the Cub. "Brrr! So right you are........"
They would be staying at Fort Churchill up in Manitoba, a Canadian military base near the town of Churchill and the shores of Hudson Bay. Rick knew that the military would outfit them in all the latest cold weather gear worn by the soldiers for their maneuvers. They'd probably be as warm in the subzero northern cold as they would be basking in the sun on a south Florida beach. Certainly much warmer than they were right here and now!
Time passed slowly as the boys struggled with their bonds and tried to warm up by jiggling around the best they could. Rick was just beginning to get a little slack in the rope that bound his left wrist when he realized that Scotty had stopped shouting for help.
"Hey, did you fall asleep?" he asked.
"No, sir! It's too cold to sleep. I'm just resting my voice. There's no one around to hear me anyway. Heck, I may as well sing."
"Please don't," Rick shot back with affected fright. "Lest you forget, I'm here. I'd hear every miserable note of it."
Scotty noisily cleared his throat. "Good. Talk about a captive audience!"
With that, he burst into song, a warbling rendition of The White Cliffs of Dover that rang out over the wetlands like a gorilla's mating call. Rick cringed, but he couldn't help laughing. The lovely ballad that had been a victory call to millions during the war was never intended to be delivered in that manner.
"You sound worse than Bob Hope and Martha Raye, together," he called out.
Scotty ended the verse he'd been warbling. "Humphh! In that case, buster, you'll now have to endure my down-home-hillbilly version of G. I. Jive."
"Oh no," Rick groaned, as Scotty segued into a bouncy country rendition of the popular swing tune about the woes of military camp. But he smiled in satisfaction as he looked around at the desolate riverside landscape. Scotty always had a way of bringing some humor into a stressful and dangerous situation. He hoped, however, that he wouldn't have to listen to all of Scotty's favorite songs that he had learned in the Marines. Somebody had better come to rescue them, and soon!
But time dragged on, and Scotty sang on and on, as the sky began to darken and the snow fell harder. Rick's fingers, even though gloved, were numb from the cold, and he felt completely exhausted and aching all over. He'd given up trying to loosen the ropes after having little luck at it, and was now sitting on the ground again, shivering and listening to Scotty's grating vocals.
It was too late now to fly the Cub home. It was already dark. It seemed like they had been there for hours and hours. Was help never going to arrive?
"Come on, Barby, " Rick muttered to himself. "Come on! You've just got to have figured out by now that we've stopped!"
Several minutes later as Scotty was just revving up an especially hoarse and boisterous Chattanooga Choo Choo, Rick suddenly heard the wailing of a siren in the distance.
"Yippee!" he cried, pushing himself back up to his feet. "Scotty! It's a siren. Out there on the pike!"
Scotty abruptly stopped singing. The wailing siren was loud and clear. "It's the police! Coming for us! They can throw me in jail, for all I care. Just so the heat is on!"
Both boys began to yell at the top of their lungs as the blaring siren drew closer and closer. The whining wail seemed to hover in a spot, then move on, at times diminishing as it moved further away, but then it would come back in their direction again, growing louder.
"They're searching," Rick said. "Must be other roads along this way that lead into the woods. Hey, it sounds like they made a turn and are coming down the dirt road toward us!"
The siren was indeed closing in on them. Soon they saw the bright beams of headlights twisting and turning through the darkness of the woods. Rick stiffened and his nerves began to tingle. Then he and Scotty were shouting again, their voices hoarse and strained but filled with exultation.
"Over here!"
"This way!"
"Ho! Here we are!"
The car with the blaring siren shot out from the trees and brush and its headlights fixed directly on the damaged coupe with the boys bound to it on either end. Rick blinked and averted his eyes to avoid the sudden bright glare as the vehicle, a Newark police car, pulled up to a skidding halt a few feet away. The front doors flew open and two burly police officers jumped out. For a moment they were stunned and stood there gaping in surprise at the boys. Then they sprang forward, quick concern flashing in their eyes.
"What goes on here?" snapped the officer who had been driving. "What happened to you fellows?"
"Highway robbery," Rick was quick to answer. "We were Christmas shopping in Manhattan. Three crooks trailed us all the way out here in a big sedan. We headed down this road to get away, but it sure was a mistake."
"You bet it was," Scotty broke in. "They followed us and shot out a back tire. It set us into a spin and we side-swiped that tree and were thrown from the car."
"Then they stole our Christmas gifts," Rick added in disgusted tones, "and tied us up to the bumpers. Right out here in the cold and snow."
"No good so-and-so's!" The driver of the patrol car growled as he pulled out a pocket knife and hurried over to Scotty. "Stealing from shoppers increases every year at holiday time, but it's usually confined to Manhattan and downtown Newark."
"Right," the other policeman agreed, as he too pulled a knife from his belt and approached Rick. "This is a first, out here by the river. You boys could have frozen to death. Good thing we got that call from Whiteside."
"Whiteside?" Rick exclaimed, as the man began cutting the ropes around his wrists.
"Yes indeed, young man. Our station got a call from Captain Douglas at the Whiteside police barracks about twenty minutes ago. Said to look for two boys stalled along the river, right in this very area. Something about a radio tracking experiment gone wrong."
"It sure did go wrong," Scotty growled, as he was helped up to his feet. "We never expected highway robbery to be thrown into the equation."
Rick was cut free and helped up onto his wobbly legs. He had to lean against the car for a few moments before he could take a step forward.
"Better get inside the cruiser, boys," they were urged. "You've been out in this cold far too long."
Walking felt like something they'd have to learn all over again as the policemen helped the boys over to the patrol car and into the back seat.
"Do you need anything from your coupe?" asked one of the men.
Rick leaned back wearily against the cushions. "No. It's a rental car from Newark Airport. The thieves took everything that belonged to us."
"Then just sit back and relax," the driver said, as the doors slammed. "We'll get you to headquarters in a jiffy. Your folks are coming there to meet you. In from some island, I think."
"Spindrift Island," Rick said, as the warmth from the car's heater overwhelmed him. He felt like he could float away into pleasant oblivion.
The other officer turned the heater up a notch. "Isn't that the location of the famous scientific laboratories?"
"Right," Scotty answered, sprawled out on the back seat. "Rick and his family live there. His dad runs the laboratories. I work for them and live there, too." He guffawed loudly and slapped his knee, adding, "Oh, lucky me!"
Rick elbowed him in the ribs as the cruiser sped back to the pike. "Lucky you is right. Look at the adventure you just had. Which you certainly wouldn't have had if you didn't pal around with me!"
Scotty rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh sure. Chased by crooks, thrown from a car, tied up all afternoon in the winter cold. What a great ball! Next time I pick a friend, I'll make sure he's the son of a librarian, not a famous scientist."
The policemen chuckled at the boys' friendly banter as the patrol car pulled off the dirt road and roared on down the pike toward Newark, which could now be seen twinkling with lights in the distance.
Scotty leaned closer to Rick. "Barby came through," he whispered. "Just like we figured she would. Not only is the tracking system a success, but it already saved our lives!"
Rick grunted in agreement, feeling himself begin to slip away. Scotty was right, the system was a success. Their rescue in the wetlands proved it. But something kept nagging at his mind as the warmth inside the cruiser enveloped him. Something just didn't seem right. But whatever it was, he just couldn't think straight enough to put a finger on it. Then his lids drooped and complete exhaustion overtook him.
************
"Wake up, Rick. Don't think these Newark police
are going to let you sleep the night away. They want a complete report
from us about the accident and robbery."
Rick opened his eyes to see Scotty looking down at him. He was standing outside the police car holding out his hand, waiting for Rick to join him.
"And they have a doctor here at the station to check us out. 'Attaboy, rise and shine."
Like in a dream he didn't want to awaken from, Rick reached out to Scotty and let his friend pull him out of the back seat. There was a dull throb in his head and it seemed that every bone and muscle in his body was aching.
He grimaced and forced a laugh. "I hope that doctor has some strong pain pills. I think I'm going to need a few."
Glaring lights lit up the yard in back of the police station and cast weird shadows on the patrol cars and other vehicles parked in the lot. Through the falling snow, the skyscrapers of downtown Newark could be seen looming over the rooftop ahead, their windows bright with light for late office workers and cleaning crews. Rick groaned in dismay as he and Scotty fell into step behind the two policemen who led them to the back entrance.
"What's wrong?" Scotty asked.
"The Cub. We'll have to leave it at the airport for now."
"May as well just keep it there until we get back from Canada," Scotty suggested. "It'll only be a week or so. The mechanics can give it a once over."
"Good idea," Rick agreed. "Dad and Hobart can drive us to the airport in the morning and we'll arrange to store the Cub in a hangar."
Hobart Zircon was a famous scientist who lived with the Brants and worked at the Spindrift Laboratories. He was a big booming man who was afraid of nothing and nobody, and he had accompanied the boys on the expedition to Tibet earlier in the year.
"Don't you wish Hobart was coming with us to Hudson Bay?" Scotty asked, as he and Rick entered the building.
"It'd sure be great to have him join us," Rick agreed. "I know I'd feel better having him along. But we should be okay on our own. What could possibly happen in Canada?"
"There they are!"
"The boys!"
"Rick!"
"Scotty!"
Familiar voices rang out in exclamation from down the corridor, and the boys looked ahead to see Mr. and Mrs. Brant and Barby hurrying toward them. Following close behind were Hobart Zircon and Jerry Webster, their friend who was a reporter for the Whiteside Morning Record.
In a moment the group had reached their side and there was pandemonium for several minutes as shouts and cries of greeting were heaped upon them. Every hug and handshake and slap on the back made both Rick and Scotty wince in pain because of their bruises and sore muscles and bones.
"Hold it, already!" Rick laughed in the confusion, as he hugged Barby happily. "We're okay. Really! Just banged up a little."
"I had a bloody nose, but it's all right now," said Scotty, as Barby pulled away from Rick to hug him in turn. "That was good going, Barby. We knew you'd wonder what was wrong and call the police."
Barby looked up to him with wide round eyes, and then gaped over to Rick. "But what happened? All of a sudden you stopped, and then didn't budge. By the river outside of Newark, of all places. After a while I knew something had to be wrong!"
"Yes, Rick," Mrs. Brant worriedly put in. "Tell us what happened."
"We were stalked all the way from Fifth Avenue and robbed," Rick explained, as the two police officers patiently waited for them. He told the others about the stake-out and resulting attack in the wetlands by the lonely pike.
"My gosh!" Mrs. Brant declared, wringing her hands. "That's awful. Who would think something like that could happen nowadays?"
"I'd sure like to get my hands on those birds," Hobart Zircon growled, raising a big fist. "Shoot at my friends and tie them up in the cold? No way! They better hope they don't run into me."
Hartson Brant shook his head in dismay, but there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes as he looked at Rick and Scotty. "At least you boys didn't get hurt seriously. You could've broken some bones in that car crash, or worse. But have no fear, the police will round up those second-rate thieves."
"You bet they will," barked Jerry Webster, who was jotting down notes on his ever-present pad. "I'll write this up for the morning paper with full details. Everyone in North Jersey will be wise to those thugs and on the lookout for them. If they have any brains, they'll stay in Manhattan after this!"
Rick suddenly snapped his fingers. "There was an extra bear tracker collar in one of those shopping bags. The thieves might activate it!"
Barby nodded eagerly in understanding, her blonde ponytail bobbing. "I'll keep the receiving unit on day and night in case they do. I'll be able to get their coordinates and send the law right to their doorstep." She stopped to chuckle. "Well, maybe not that precise, but at least to their neighborhood."
"And hopefully get all our Christmas gifts back," Scotty interjected. "We bought some really neat stuff. Expensive, too. And a very special gift for you, Barby - well, it's one-of-a-kind. It can't be replaced."
"Don't you fret," she returned, eyes sparkling. "People are curious. Those men will surely activate the collar. And I'll track them down!"
"And now we had better let the doctor check you boys out, and make a police report about the incident," advised Rick's distinguished-looking and famous dad, nodding in the direction of the waiting policemen. "Then we can return home to Spindrift Island. You are flying to Manitoba tomorrow and still have plenty of preparations to make."
As they walked down the hall to the headquarters main office, Rick asked Barby if she had come across any information about black polar bears while doing her research.
She looked at him oddly. "Funny you should ask that, Rick. Yes, there is the legend of Nanook noir, the spirit bear, or sometimes called the devil bear. It's an old Eskimo legend. The aboriginal people of the far north have all kinds of spooky superstitions. Then add to that the beliefs of the old French fur trappers and voyageurs, the Cree and Chippewayan Indians, and the resulting half-breeds called the Metis - and you have a whole encyclopedia-full of north country scary stories." Barby shuddered. "One I found really fascinating was the legend of La Mort Rouge."
"La Mort Rouge?" repeated Scotty. "What's that?"
"The Red Death." Barby's eyes widened. "That's what they called the smallpox plagues that ravaged Europe and North America in the latter decades of the last century. It brought horrible death to thousands in Canada's far north, and to this day many of the people remain fearful of it and superstitious. They say that off in remote far-flung places you can still see the sign of the Red Death - a red cloth flag hung from the doorway of an old abandoned cabin in which someone had died from the disease."
Scotty looked at her in wonderment for a moment. Then, with a grin, he faked a nervous shudder. He reached over and clapped Rick on the shoulder.
"Wow! We may have to think twice about this trip," he declared. "Black polar bears and the Red Death! What in the world are we getting ourselves into, old chum?"
RICK BRANT RED DEATH 1
THE SIGN OF THE RED DEATH
a Rick Brant fanfiction adventure
all current chapters available at this alternate site:
https://sites.google.com/site/rickbrantfanfiction
a Rick Brant fanfiction adventure
all current chapters available at this alternate site:
https://sites.google.com/site/rickbrantfanfiction
Chapter One: THE WHITE CLAWS
New York City, December 1948
Rick Brant and his friend Don Scott walked down
bustling Fifth Avenue in New York City. It was a gray overcast Friday
afternoon in mid-December and the boys were on vacation from Whiteside
High for the holidays. The jostling crowds of Christmas shoppers, the
Salvation Army Santas clanging their bells at the store entrances, and
the hawkers of every type offering their wares on the street corners all
added to the festive holiday spirit boldly announced by the colorful
decorations on storefronts and lampposts.
Rick smiled broadly as he looked around. "There's nothing quite like Fifth Avenue at Christmas time, Scotty," he said, using his friend's nickname. "It sure can get you in the holiday spirit."
Scotty, a husky dark-haired boy who was a year older and a few inches taller than the slimmer brown-haired Rick, nodded in agreement. "We're in the holiday spirit, all right." He looked down at the shopping bags they were carrying, both of them filled with gifts. "All we have to do is buy something for Barby and we'll be finished with our Christmas shopping."
Barby was Rick's sister, a pretty blonde a year younger than him. Scotty had taken a special liking to her since having come to live with the Brant family at their big house on Spindrift Island off the New Jersey coast, not far from New York City.
"We have to get her something special. Something relating to polar bears," Rick said as they walked past Saks Fifth Avenue department store. The boys both craned their necks to look over the heads of the crowd at the elegant holiday window displays.
"I know of a taxidermy shop on 46th Street near Times Square," Scotty told him. "There's a pawn shop next door where I used to pawn things when I needed money before I joined the Marines."
Rick didn't know much about Scotty's life before he had come to live with him and his family after his stint with the Marines in the war was over. Scotty seldom talked about it. "Sounds good," Rick said. "They might have a polar bear tooth, or something like that. Let's go to Rockefeller Center to see the ice skaters and the big Christmas tree, then we'll go over to Times Square."
Scotty agreed and the boys crossed the avenue at 50th Street by St. Patrick's Cathedral, moving along with the teeming crowds. Rick was especially proud of Barby right now. Through her very own ingenuity, he and Scotty were poised on the brink of what promised to be an exciting adventure. Rick tensed the muscles of his upper left arm, and he could feel the snug-fitting band he wore wrapped around it that he and Scotty had dubbed 'The Barby Bear Tracker'. He grinned as a couple of the holiday shoppers jostled him and Scotty.
"Hold onto those bags," Scotty remarked. "We sure don't want to lose our gifts."
"No way," Rick replied. "Especially with the extra tracker collar in this bag I'm carrying. Isn't it great to know that Barby is back home tracking us here in New York City?"
"It's super," Scotty agreed. "We should call her by telephone and see how it's working."
"Great idea! We can call her on the way over to Times Square."
The boys knew that right now Barby was sitting at the desk in Rick's bedroom tracking them on the base station radio unit. The entire bear tracking collar invention had been her idea. Barby had written a paper for school last term about the polar bears up north on Hudson Bay in Canada. While doing her research, she discovered that the Canadian Wildlife Service was trying to put together a tracking collar system for the bears so that the biologists could keep tabs on them to study their lives and habits.
Because of his talent in electronic science, Barby had suggested to Rick that he try to design a bear tracking collar system. He took up the challenge and within several weeks had a working model. With the help of his father, Hartson W. Brant, the world famous scientist, and the other electronic scientists at the Spindrift Laboratories on Spindrift Island, Rick soon had a base unit put together that could track the collars using radio waves and geodetic coordinates.
Then came the really exciting part. Through connections of Rick's dad and the Spindrift labs, Rick was invited by the Canadian Wildlife Service to take his tracking system up to Hudson Bay and try it out on the polar bears. If it worked and the service wanted it, the Spindrift Laboratories would produce the system and Rick would receive a royalty for having conceived and created it.
Of course, Scotty was to accompany Rick to Canada, and the boys were scheduled to leave for the Manitoba coast of Hudson Bay on the following day. The plan, if all went well, was to stay a few days in the Churchill area testing out the system and then return home to arrive the day before Christmas. Chahda , the Hindu boy they had recently met in India while on their way to Tibet, was going to be home from his boarding school in Massachusetts for the holidays, and they were looking forward to seeing him. He had become another adopted member of the family. Even though both Rick and Scotty were excited at the prospect of going to the far North in the dead of winter, they wouldn't dream of missing Christmas on Spindrift Island for anything.
Soon the boys had reached the lower plaza, the world famous open court surrounded by the towering skyscrapers of Rockefeller Center. They wormed their way through the crowds to the ice rink where dozens of skaters were spinning around in carefree abandon beneath the golden statue of Prometheus and the tall beautifully decorated Christmas tree above it.
"That's the tallest Christmas tree in the world," Rick said, gazing up at its heights. "Wow, what a job to decorate it, huh?"
Scotty didn't respond and Rick looked over to see a very pensive and sober look on his friend's face.
Scotty sighed. "I used to come here every Christmas season when I was younger. Usually alone. I'd stroll over here to see the tree and watch the skaters."
Rick looked at him, feeling uncomfortable and not knowing what to say.
Scotty smiled a sheepish grin. "I guess I'll tell you about those days ..... someday."
Rick clapped him on the back and squeezed his shoulder. "Hey, anytime you want to." Knowing it wasn't polite to pry, Rick looked back to the ice rink and added, "This is one of the most popular New York holiday traditions. Lots of people from all over the world come here to see the ice skaters and the Christmas tree."
Scotty looked up to the tops of the powerful skyscrapers surrounding them. "Whew! How did they construct these buildings? Darn if it doesn't make you wonder. Manhattan is one heck of a place. Sure beats that lost city back in Tibet, doesn't it?"
Rick nodded in agreement. Scotty was referring to the adventure they'd had earlier in the year when they discovered THE LOST CITY of the Mongols in the Valley of the Golden Tomb in Tibet, and relayed a radio message from there to Spindrift Island via the moon.
"Good thing Barby gave us those fireworks for the Fourth of July," Rick said. "They sure helped to scare off the Mongols and save the day. We were lucky to get out of there alive."
Scotty smirked. "We'll be lucky to get out of this place alive, too. But if we don't make it, at least Barby will know where we are."
The crush of the crowd had grown to annoying proportions, and they really did need to move on and finish their shopping so they could get home to Spindrift Island in time for supper. The boys had flown to Newark Airport in Rick's yellow Piper Cub airplane. There they had rented a late model coupe and driven into the city. They had parked the car at the Plaza Hotel near Central Park.
"Then let's scram," Rick suggested. "We'll stop and call Barby, then go to the taxidermy shop."
Scotty agreed and they literally had to push their way out of the crowded plaza. Both of them being young and strong and athletic, they had to be careful not to knock anyone down.
"Sort of like holiday-shopping football, isn't it?" Scotty commented with a laugh. "Look at all these people!"
Rick chuckled too. "But I bet I'm the only one here wearing a bear tracking collar!"
"The only one in all of Manhattan," Scotty corrected. "You truly are one-in-a-million, young man!"
The boys walked over to Seventh Avenue and then down to 46th Street in the heart of the theater district. They stopped at a telephone booth on the corner where Broadway intersected, and Rick stepped inside to place a call to Spindrift Island.
Barby let out a squeal when she heard his voice. "Rick! I'm tracking you perfectly! This system is a huge success. Right now the co-ordinates tell me you are smack in midtown Manhattan. Looks like, um, Times Square......?"
"We're right on the uptown edge of it," Rick said, excited at the exactness of the tracking system. "Are you picking up the signal loud and clear?"
"Clear as a bell, Rick."
"That's amazing, considering the crowds and these tall buildings."
Barby chuckled. "The relay antennas Dad got them to put on the Chrysler Building and the lighthouse at Sandy Hook really do the job! And those new-fangled things you scientists call 'transistors' really fire up the transmitters on those collars."
Rick's eyes crinkled with a big grin. "You bet they do. I just knew the Spindrift labs were right on track with dreaming those up. When they become readily available in the near future, why .... they'll revolutionize radio!"
Barby always knew Rick was one hundred percent right. "Wowsville! Just wait till you guys get up to Hudson Bay. You'll be able to track the polar bears all the way to the North Pole."
Scotty leaned into the booth and shouted in the phone. "We're almost done shopping, Barby. Just have to get a gift for you and then we're on our way home."
"We'll get you something really special," Rick added. "The tracking system was your idea, and you deserve something out of the ordinary."
Barby wished them luck. "I'll track you on the way home," she added. "Have a good flight from Newark!"
Rick hung up the phone and he and Scotty crossed Broadway at the intersection famous for being one of the busiest in the world. Lugging the shopping bags, they hurried down West 46th Street.
"That's the pawn shop." Scotty pointed ahead as they approached. "And next door is the taxidermist."
Rick looked at the pawn shop as they passed and he couldn't imagine Scotty having to go there to trade items for cash. He was glad his friend now lived with him, had a good job and school to attend, a family, and a roof over his head.
The taxidermy shop was far more interesting. The sign above the door read MORRY'S WILD ADVENTURE, and the windows on each side were filled with animals of every kind, from small squirrels and chipmunks to the large heads of deer and moose.
"Looks like my kind of place," Rick said as Scotty pulled open the door, setting off a little bell to tinkling.
Entering the store was indeed like walking into a wild adventure. Animals of every size and shape filled the crowded establishment, every one of them frozen forever in a dramatic pose. There were jungle beasts from Africa, India, and South America, predators from the mountains, forests, and deserts of North America, and critters familiar to everyone from their own backyards.
"Wow," Rick breathed, impressed as he looked at antlered heads, skins, and pelts hanging on the walls. "I sure could spend a fortune in this place."
Scotty's eyes darted from one beautiful trophy to the next. "They're all pretty incredible. I guess people actually buy these animals and pelts and display them in their homes."
Rick rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Could you imagine Mom's surprise if we brought her home a tiger?" He pointed to a white one with black stripes that was almost as big as Scotty. It was hunched down and ready to spring at an imaginary victim.
Scotty grinned. "I think she'd throw us out if we brought something like that home. I've heard of white tigers, but I never saw one before."
"They are very rare, indeed," said a voice behind them. "That one is an especially excellent specimen. And a good buy, too, at only five hundred dollars."
The boys swung around to see a short elderly man with graying hair and a close-cropped beard. His sharp-featured face held a friendly expectant smile and his inquisitive eyes darted up and down as he assessed the boys as prospective customers.
"Five hundred!" Scotty exclaimed. "Jeez, who would buy it at a price like that, and what would they do with it?"
The man smiled in amusement, giving the boys a somewhat condescending look. Scotty's remark had let him know they weren't going to be big spenders. "The usual buyer for a trophy of that quality is an uptown executive, and it'd most probably be placed in his library or den where it can readily be admired from a favorite easy chair. It might even find its way out to a Connecticut or Long Island estate."
Rick's brows furrowed. "Well, it's definitely not going out to the New Jersey estate where we live. My mom would bop me one, even if I could afford it. What we're interested in is polar bears. Not a whole one, mind you. Something small. A pelt, a claw, maybe a tooth?"
The man introduced himself as Morry Patterson, the owner of the shop, then crooked his finger. "You're in luck. I recently got a shipment of polar bear items from an associate up north."
Rick and Scotty followed him around to the next aisle where an elephant head competed with a huge gorilla for attention, next to them two striking wolves, one white and one black. Across from the wolves was a polar bear cub on all fours with several fluffy white pelts piled high next to it. Beside them was a massive full-grown male polar bear that looked more than ten feet tall. It was standing on its hind legs, its front paws raking the air with long black claws extended.
"Man, would you look at that beast?" Scotty exclaimed. "Big fellow, isn't he?"
Rick nodded with wide eyes. "I sure wouldn't want to run into him on an ice floe."
"A prize specimen, to be sure," Morry said proudly, patting the big bear affectionately. "But the price on this fellow is one thousand dollars. I don't think you boys are interested in spending that much, eh? What price range are you looking for?"
Rick shrugged. "Around fifty dollars or so, I suppose. We need a Christmas gift for my sister, something for a girl. She has a keen interest in polar bears."
Morry's eyes lit up and he grinned shrewdly. "I might have just the item you seek, although I don't know if I can go that low on it. Come on over to the showcase."
He led the way to a glass showcase in the back of the shop where he had his cash register and other office items. He stepped around behind as the boys looked at the articles within. There were feathers of every color and hue, some made into headdresses, pins, and other decorous items. Snake skins, small birds, and rabbit feet on gold chains were set on the velvet-covered shelves along with an array of jewelry made from the animal hides and parts.
"This is great stuff," Rick said admiringly. "I didn't know taxidermy extended to items like these."
"Its main popularity is with interior decor, but jewelry and accessories are a close second." The shopkeeper pulled a box out of the showcase and placed it on the glass top. The boys' jaws both dropped at the sight of what lay within it. It was a necklace on an ornate silver chain featuring five long gently curved white claws connected an eighth of an inch apart by silver caps and links.
"It's beautiful," Rick said, immediately liking the piece.
"And the perfect gift for Barby," Scotty added, his eyes wide with admiration.
Suddenly Rick's brows knitted in thought. He looked down the aisle at the huge white polar bear, then back to the necklace. "Are these polar bear claws?"
Morry nodded. "You bet they are. And rare ones, too."
"But they're white," Rick said. "Polar bear claws are black, aren't they?"
The older man grinned. "Indeed they are, almost always. But these claws are from a black polar bear. Blacks are extremely rare and almost never seen. Some experts believe they are only the stuff of old Indian and Eskimo legends. They are like a reverse albino specimen, an oddity, and they have white claws."
The boys looked at him dubiously. "Are you serious?" Rick asked. "Black polar bears?"
"Serious as can be." Morry turned and pulled a manilla folder off a shelf behind him. He flopped it on the counter, opened it, and began rifling through a bunch of eight-by-ten hunting photographs.
"Here." He placed one of the photographs on the counter so the boys could see it. It was a winter scene on a frozen treeless tundra. A parka-clad hunter stood on each side of a huge black bear spread out on its stomach to show its enormous size. It looked like a polar bear, but it was black.
"They're probably one-in-a-million," Morry went on. "Or even more rare than that. This is a photo of the only known one ever to be taken whole, several years ago up in Manitoba. The claws on this necklace came from one that had been killed in a fight with another bear. Its carcass had mostly been devoured by scavengers when the hunters found it, but they were able to salvage some of it."
Rick and Scotty exchanged glances. They knew that many animal species were known to produce strange oddities now and then. It would only make sense that the same would apply to polar bears. Rick wondered if Barby had come across this information in her recent study of the polar bears, and he made a mental note to ask her about it.
"This is really a very special item then," he said, looking at the necklace again. "And that's what we want. What's the price?"
"One hundred dollars."
Rick and Scotty both groaned.
"We just can't afford that," Rick said. "Although I'm sure the necklace is worth every penny of it."
Scotty made a fist and pounded it lightly on the showcase top. "But we have to get this for Barby!"
Morry Patterson lifted an eyebrow. "Is it so important to get her a polar bear item? I have plenty of other things appropriate for a young lady."
Rick nodded. He briefly told the man about Barby's idea for the tracking system, how he had actually turned it into a reality, and that he and Scotty would soon be bound for Hudson Bay to test it out. "So you see, we just have to get her something like this," he added.
The shopkeeper stood back and looked the boys over. "That's quite an impressive tale. It just so happens that I get most of my polar bear items from the Churchill area. I'd heard from my contacts up that way that the Canadian Wildlife Service has been testing ways and means of tracking the bears."
"Rick is wearing one of the collars," Scotty told the man. "And we have another in one of these shopping bags. Barby's at home tracking us right now. Show him the collar, Rick."
Rick usually didn't like to flaunt his inventions, but he could see no harm in showing the collar to the man. He withdrew his left arm from its jacket sleeve and showed Morry the brown leather collar coiled tightly around his upper arm. In its center was a round metal casing which held the electronic tracking device.
Morry stroked his beard and looked dubious. "And it really works?"
Scotty nodded eagerly. "It sure does. We called Barby a few minutes ago and she knew exactly where we were. In Times Square. Through connections of Rick's dad, we got test relay antennas put up on the Chrysler Building and the old lighthouse at Sandy Hook, in the state park in New Jersey. They are picking up the signal, amplifying it, and sending it back to the base unit at home perfectly."
"Hmmm." Scratching his chin, the elderly man pressed his lips together and his eyes narrowed. "And you have another in one of those shopping bags?"
Rick nodded, pulling his jacket sleeve back up into place. "It's not activated, but we brought it along as a spare, just in case. They're really pretty simple devices that most anyone with a knowledge of radio electronics could understand."
The shop owner chuckled. "Nothing electronic seems simple to me. But it sure looks like you got a winner there, and your little gal who came up with the idea does indeed deserve this necklace as a reward."
"Can you come down on the price?" Rick asked eagerly.
"Tell you what I'll do. This item is for sale on consignment. In other words, it belongs to another party and I get a commission for selling it. I sell a lot of items in that manner. I can call the owner at his office, and if he's willing to come down to what you can afford, it's yours."
Rick and Scotty exchanged hopeful glances. "We'd really appreciate your doing that, Mr. Patterson," Rick told him.
"Let me go in the back and make the call," said the man. "It might take a few minutes, so just hold on and I'll be back shortly."
He put the lid on the box with the necklace and took it with him, pulling aside a curtain which hung in the doorway leading to another room in the back of the shop. He was soon lost to sight and the boys could hear him dialing a telephone.
"Man, if we can get it for fifty bucks, that'd be half price," Scotty said in a low voice. "A real bargain, huh?"
"He'll probably want seventy-five," Rick said with a grin, expecting that this was just a set-up for bartering. "We'll have to offer sixty in that case. That's the absolute highest we can go."
Scotty nodded sagely and they listened to the murmur of Morry's voice as they awaited his return. Soon enough, they heard the click of the phone being hung up and the curtain was thrust aside. The man walked out smiling.
"You fellows are in luck," he said, placing the box back on the counter. "The owner says you can have it for fifty dollars. He can use the money for some hunting gear. Believe me, you're getting a really good deal."
Rick and Scotty looked at each other with surprised glances, then eagerly sprang for their wallets. They hadn't expected such good news.
"Thanks, Mr. Patterson," Scotty beamed. "You really caught us a break."
They paid him for the necklace and the man removed the box lid so they could see it again. Then he wrapped the box in a heavy protective paper. "Did you boys drive in from New Jersey?" he asked, as he placed the wrapped box in a paper bag.
"We rented a coupe at Newark Airport and drove in from there," Rick told him. "We parked the car uptown at the Plaza Hotel. And we'd better hurry and get going. It's a long drive back to Newark in the afternoon traffic."
The shop owner handed the bag to Rick. "Good luck to both of you on your trip to the far north country. You're sure to see polar bears at Churchill. They often wander right into the town."
Scotty chuckled as they turned to leave. "Who knows, we might even see a black one, if we're lucky."
Rick placed the bag with the necklace into the shopping bag he was carrying, and he and Scotty, after once more thanking the man for his kindness, hurried outside. Light snow was falling and it seemed even colder than before.
"We'd better get a taxi," Rick suggested, not relishing the idea of a walk uptown in the snow.
Scotty agreed, and they hailed a taxi and were soon flying across town and then up Fifth Avenue toward Central Park. The traffic was heavy, but it still seemed like they were caught up in a speed race on the avenue with the other motorists. The boys were laughing when they got out of the taxi in front of the Plaza Hotel.
"Next time we get the notion to go to far-off strange lands for excitement," Scotty jibed, "we can just come to New York and take a taxi ride instead!"
It was almost the same when they retrieved their rented coupe from the hotel garage and Rick began to drive back toward midtown. It was impossible not to get caught up in the rushing flow of the traffic and drive a little faster than normal, but Rick knew he'd never be able to drive in the city with the devil-may-care panache of a New York cabbie.
He drove down through the Lincoln Tunnel across to New Jersey and followed the route through Union City. He and Scotty eagerly discussed their upcoming trip along the way, making last minute plans about gear and equipment. The radio equipment, antennas, and collars had already been sent to Churchill, but they were taking along a complete system with them, just in case. They'd learned from their trip to Tibet that the unforeseen could happen, and often did. Even so, they had no real fear that any kind of trouble could befall them in a country so civilized and cultured as Canada.
Rick had driven to the outskirts of Union City and the coupe now sped down the highway to Newark in the wetlands near the Hackensack River. There wasn't much traffic at all on this stretch, only their coupe and a long black sedan not too far behind. The skies were miserably bleak and snow was falling lightly. Scotty had become unusually quiet since they'd come into the swampy area.
"What's up?" Rick asked, wondering why Scotty had gone quiet.
"That big sedan in back. It's tailing us."
Rick looked in the rearview mirror at the expensive-looking auto. He had noticed it a few minutes ago but had no idea how long it had been behind them.
"It's been behind us since we left the Plaza Hotel," Scotty said when Rick voiced the question. "All the way down to midtown, through the tunnel and Union City, and it's still right behind us now."
"Why didn't you say something?" Rick asked, frowning.
Scotty shrugged his broad shoulders. "I thought maybe I was imagining it, or maybe they're just going the same way. Why would anyone want to tail us?"
Suddenly, as they approached an especially lonely stretch of the remote pike, the big sedan sped up and closed in on them. Rick grunted. "Why would anyone want to tail us, indeed! Who knows? But no doubt they are!"
He slammed the accelerator to the floor and sped up, but the big car followed suit and stayed within a few yards of them. In the mirrors, Rick could see two men in the front seat with hats pulled down low over their foreheads. "Two guys in the front," he told Scotty. "Maybe more in the back. What the heck is going on?"
"Trouble," Scotty quickly returned, his fists clenched. "That's what. Try turning off down this side road."
They were closing in on an unpaved road that led toward the river. Rick made a sudden turn and the flashy coupe careened off the pike and sped down the dirt track. The big sedan followed, almost tipping over as it made the hairpin turn on two wheels.
Then, suddenly, the air was full of the unmistakable ping-ping of gunfire!
"Talk about highway robbery!" Scotty muttered angrily, hunkering down in the seat. "Those guys are shooting at us!"
Rick slammed down the accelerator again, giving the lighter-weight coupe all it had. It roared along the bouncy road, jostling him and Scotty. He gritted his teeth. "Looks like we're not going to get back to Spindrift Island as planned!"
Ping! Ping! Ping!
Just then, a bullet hit one of the coupe's back tires and the resulting blowout threw the car wildly out of control. The steering wheel flailed round and round, back and forth, as the coupe twisted and turned, and Rick could not keep hold of it.
"Watch out!" Scotty yelled as the coupe fishtailed directly at a huge old tree on the verge of the swampy shoreline.
Both boys tried to grab hold of the spinning steering wheel, but it was impossible to get the car back in control. The next moment brought a resounding crash as the coupe side-swiped the tree and seemed to spin around it as both Rick and Scotty were flung mightily out of the popped-open passenger door!
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