Polar (Prequel): The Turnagain Arm Read online

  THE TURNAGAIN ARM

  By

  Julie Flanders

  Published by Julie Flanders

  Copyright © Julie Flanders

  2014

  Cover Design by Michael Di Gesu

  Formatting by Polgarus Studio

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Also by Julie Flanders

  Polar Night

  The Ghosts of Aquinnah

  Chapter 1

  February, 1917 ~ St. Petersburg, Russia

  Aleksei wanted to run.

  He needed to get out of St. Petersburg and away from the mobs of marching lunatics who had killed his beloved Natasha, the woman who had nursed him back to health after he’d nearly died on the battlefield.

  The Russia Aleksei loved and had fought for was crumbling before his eyes, thanks to the ravages of war and the Bolsheviks with their endless calls for revolution. That revolution had trampled his Natasha to death, angry and frenzied boots smashing her head to pieces before he could save her. Before he could make her what he had become. Even the name of his beloved home St. Petersburg had been changed to the detestable Petrograd in 1914. Aleksei had steadfastly refused to use the name.

  There was nothing left in Russia for him now and he wanted only to leave. But he couldn’t head west into the heart of Europe. He’d seen enough of combat to know the devastation that would be waiting for him there. He wanted peace. He needed time to decide on a new path for himself. Time to adjust to his new abilities and heightened senses.

  He walked along the deserted street and heard the whistle of a train as its wheels chugged away from the station. He knew the train was returning wounded soldiers to the collapsing front. Aleksei had been smart enough to avoid this fate. From his cot in the hospital tent he had remembered the stories his grandmother had told him about the undead who roam the earth at night. He had seen them himself and had watched as they preyed on soldiers too weak and pitiful to fight back. When Aleksei had heard the vampires outside his tent he had boldly asked the group of immortals to make him one of them. He’d had no intention of succumbing to the misery and death that swallowed up his comrades one by one. He had more living to do.

  And so here he was, more powerful than he could ever have imagined and facing an eternity of living, but without the woman he had planned to spend this eternity with. He needed to carve out a new path for himself, far away from St. Petersburg. He listened to the whistle growing fainter as the train headed away from him and thought of stories from his childhood about the building of a railroad that would connect Russia’s western cities with the frigid eastern landscape of Siberia. Perhaps that train was exactly what he needed.

  He could take the train all the way across the country, away from the noise of battle and the screams of marchers calling for revolution. Eventually he’d come to the city of Vladivostok and to the sea. From there, who knew? He could go anywhere now. Do anything.

  Aleksei had always been an exceedingly handsome young man, tall and lean, with broad shoulders and a slim waist. His hair was thick and blond and his eyes were the color of sapphires. Even the ravages of combat hadn’t dulled his appearance. He had always been able to use his looks as the tool he knew they were. He smiled as he realized how well his appearance could complement the powers he now had. It was as if the world had suddenly become a giant toy that existed only for his pleasure.

  Aleksei headed for the train station. He broke into a run.

  ***

  Chapter 2

  October, 1917 ~ Potter Creek, Alaska

  Kenneth MacNeil pulled his coat tighter around him and shivered as he waited in vain for a fish to take his bait. For what must have been the millionth time, he cursed himself for ever leaving his home in the Appalachian Mountains and traveling to this god-forsaken frozen wasteland. He’d only wanted to try his hand at a little gold prospecting but, as his luck would have it, he’d arrived in Alaska too late to get in on the action. The only action he’d managed to find was the construction of the Alaskan railroad and his job helping Mr. Dzubenko with his traveling saloon.

  He’d been miserable from the get-go, but this stretch of rail in the Turnagain Arm area was by far the worst yet. He never understood why Mr. Dzubenko was so taken with the area that he’d changed the name of his saloon from Dzubenko’s to the Turnagain Arm. Mr. Dzubenko had said he’d simply liked the name, but Kenneth couldn’t see why. He’d heard that the Turnagain Arm waterway had received its name from the explorer Cook, who had encountered the dangerous tidal bores the water was known for after turning into the arm of what would become the Cook Inlet. He’d told his crew they needed to “turn again” and head back out to sea.

  Kenneth couldn’t see the point in naming anything after something dangerous. But ultimately he didn’t care about the name, all he cared about was that the terrain of this area was the worst he’d encountered along the railway. The tracks were built right along the coast, with nothing on the other side of them but steep, nearly vertical cliffs. The crew was struggling to build tunnels through the mountains that surrounded the area. And now winter was coming back and it was sure to make everything about this place worse.

  Not exactly the place of riches MacNeil had dreamed of back in Tennessee. He could just hear the boys back home laughing and snickering at the sight of him now, freezing his ass off while trying to catch fish for Mrs. Dzubenko to fry up for the camp workers. He didn’t know how he’d managed to get stuck with this detail, but he’d be damned if he’d do it much longer. The winter was just around the corner, and he knew enough about Alaskan winters now to know he wouldn’t be sitting outside on the ice in the middle of the night waiting for fish once winter came. No sir, he wouldn’t.

  Kenneth glanced at the crescent of the moon that now shone nearly level with his gaze. It would be disappearing soon, and the sun would rise to take its place. At least then he may be a little warmer. Not that the sun had a whole hell of a lot of warmth up here in this place. His mind drifted back to the warm bed he’d left to come out to this creek at 4:30 in the morning. It killed him to think of the beautiful Miss Rebecca still sleeping away in it.

  As soon as he could, he’d save up enough money and take Rebecca out of this hellhole. She could go home with him to Tennessee and the two of them could have their own little place up in the mountains. Rebecca was far too much of a lady to be stuck working as a whore anyway. Back in Tennessee, no one would know about all the men she bedded here. She’d just be Kenneth’s woman, like she should be.

  As he daydreamed about his plans for the future, Kenneth heard a faint movement in the trees behind him. He smiled, thinking perhaps Rebecca had changed her mind about coming out here to keep him company. Somebody ought to. God knows there wasn’t a damn fish to be found.

  Kenneth pulled his line from the water and stood up on stiff legs. He picked up the lantern that was his sole source of light and turned towards the trees, but saw nothing.

  “Rebecca? That you, baby?”

  A rustling in the bushes was the only response Kenneth received.

  “Rebecca? Who’s there?”

  Hearing nothing, Kenneth reached for the gun he carried on his belt. He never went anywhere unarmed, not when he knew he could come face to face with a bear at any time. He figured that’s what this noise was now. Some goddamned grizzly foraging for food.

  Kenneth’s head jerked to his
right as he heard the unmistakable sound of sticks cracking under a heavy weight. But he didn’t hear the lumbering sound of a bear foraging through the trees and scattering everything in its path. No, he was sure what he heard was the sound of human footfalls. An owl hooted in the distance, causing Kenneth to jump and nearly drop his gun.

  “Who the hell is there?” he shouted, trying to hide his growing anxiety from his voice. “What kind of game are you playing at?”

  Kenneth jumped again as a tall blond man walked out of the trees and straight towards him. He raised his gun and pointed it with shaking hands at the unwelcome intruder.

  “Who are you? Don’t come any closer to me ‘less you tell me who you are. You from the camp?”

  The man ignored Kenneth’s questions and continued to walk in his direction. Kenneth backed up, forgetting he only had a few steps to go before his feet landed in the icy water. He stumbled as the water lapped over his boots.

  “Goddammit!” he yelled, looking down at the ice that immediately crusted over the wet boots.

  Kenneth looked up to see the man now standing directly in front of him. He had yet to say a word, and Kenneth felt a chill go down his spine as he realized the man was not wearing a coat, hat, or gloves.

  “Ain’t you cold, man?” he asked. “Where’s your coat?”

  The man continued to stare at Kenneth with penetrating blue eyes that betrayed no expression.

  “Don’t you speak English?” Kenneth asked. “Are you new here? Working for Mr. Dzubenko?”

  For the first time, Kenneth saw the man react to his words. His ears perked at the mention of Kenneth’s boss.

  “Mr. Dzubenko, you know him? Did he send you out here looking for me?”

  This time, the man smiled at the mention of Vasyl Dzubenko’s name. But it wasn’t a smile that eased Kenneth’s nerves. Instead, it was a smile that turned his veins to ice. There was something strange about this guy’s teeth…

  Kenneth stepped to his left this time, making sure to avoid the water of Cook Inlet. He tightened his grip on his gun and pointed it directly at the strange and menacing man standing in front of him.

  “I’m warning you, man. Back off, right now. I won’t think twice about shooting you if you come one step closer to me.”

  The man widened his smile, exposing fangs that glimmered in the light of Kenneth’s lantern.

  “What the hell?” Kenneth yelled. “Get away from me!”

  He fell backwards as he fired his gun, his hands shaking so much that he worried he may hit himself. Instead, he was immediately relieved to see that the bullet had struck his unwanted visitor in the chest and knocked him onto his back.

  Kenneth let out a deep breath and returned to his feet.

  “Goddammit I warned you to get away from me. Son of a bitch, I didn’t wanna shoot ya.”

  Kenneth’s relief turned to terror as the man sat up and continued to smile at him. The bullet had blasted a hole in his chest that tore and bloodied his shirt, but as he stood up the gaping and exposed wound that reddened his chest began to close.

  Kenneth dropped his gun and turned to run away, but didn’t make it more than two feet before he felt an iron grip on his shoulder. The man spun him around as if he were no more than a child’s toy and brought his face within an inch of Kenneth’s. Kenneth opened his mouth to scream but was unable to make a sound as the man’s smile again widened. He leaned towards Kenneth’s neck, and Kenneth felt a stab of pain as razor sharp teeth punctured his flesh. Within seconds, the world around him faded to black.

  Aleksei felt nothing but euphoria as he drained Kenneth’s body of his blood. Even though he was used to it by now, the rush he got from hunting and feeding was like nothing he’d ever felt as a human. It never got old.

  He dropped Kenneth’s limp and lifeless body to the ground and removed the man’s coat and gloves before kicking his corpse into the water next to the abandoned fishing line and empty bucket. He knew the coat would be small on him, but it didn’t matter. He could button it to hide the blood on his shirt and it would help him blend in. While he didn’t need the lantern to see he picked it up anyway. He had learned quickly that it was always smart to act like the humans.

  While he had no idea what sort of gibberish the man had been spouting before he killed him, Aleksei knew one thing for certain. He had mentioned a Dzubenko. Surely a man with that name would be able to understand Aleksei’s language. He needed someone he could communicate with so he could learn English if he was going to stay in this new place he’d landed in. The crew on the freighter he’d stowed away on in Vladivostok had all been fellow Russians and none spoke more than a word or two of English.

  Aleksei glanced up at the moon, which was now starting to disappear from the sky. He needed to find shelter before the sun began its ascent. Something else he had learned very quickly after he’d nearly burned to death on the train to Siberia.

  He looked back towards the water and noticed the dead man’s body was now nowhere to be seen. He briefly wondered if it had sunk or if the waves had merely taken it away from the shore. He didn’t care either way, although sinking was preferable. It was easier on him when none of his victims were found.

  Aleksei tossed the man’s fishing line and bucket into the water before slipping into his coat. The sleeves didn’t even reach his wrists, but it would still serve its purpose. He moved quickly, returning to the woods to go in search of shelter where he could spend the upcoming day. When the night fell again, he’d go on another search.

  He’d go looking for the man named Dzubenko.

  ***

  Chapter 3

  Vasyl Dzubenko let out a sigh of irritation as he ran a wet rag over the bar at his Turnagain Arm saloon. This was something that idiot MacNeil should be doing, one of the many things Vasyl paid him to do, yet no one had seen hide nor hair of MacNeil since he’d gone out to fish early that morning. Now it was time for the dinner crowd and, thanks to MacNeil, Vasyl was short on fish as well as on help.

  Vasyl had worked hard to make a life for himself after leaving his native Ukraine and ultimately settling in Alaska. A short, stocky man with black hair that was turning to grey, his wide face and high cheekbones were a tell-tale sign of his Slavic roots. He had a prominent nose and small dark eyes that frequently betrayed his tendency towards impatience and irritability.

  The one person he was never impatient with was his wife Lara, a blond with cornflower blue eyes and long straight hair she wore rolled up in a bun. Lara was taller than Vasyl, and lanky, with arms and legs so thin she had often been described as birdlike. But her lean physique belied the strength and toughness that had impressed Vasyl from the moment he’d first met his cherished wife.

  Now, he glanced across the bar and scowled at the sight of Lara fussing over Rebecca, girlfriend of the erstwhile MacNeil. He thought the best course of action was to ignore the girl and hope she’d go away, but Lara had, as usual, disagreed with him. Rebecca had been crying since the morning hours and loudly insisting that MacNeil would never have up and left Potter Creek without her. The two of them had plans to leave Alaska and head back to Tennessee. Or so the girl had claimed at least 50 times since she had run into the saloon looking for MacNeil.

  Vasyl was tired of hearing her proclamations. True, he hadn’t figured MacNeil for the type who would run off and leave folks in a lurch either. And he had heard the idiot waxing eloquently about his plans to take Rebecca away from the railroad camp brothel and set up a new life with her in his home state of Tennessee. But Vasyl had lived long enough now to know that no one can figure what someone else was likely to do. As soon as you thought you knew someone, they’d show you that you were wrong. As far as Vasyl was concerned, Lara was the only exception to this rule.

  A scream from Rebecca jolted Vasyl’s attention away from the bar and towards the girl, who was pointing at a tall blond man who had just entered the saloon. She shrieked again and ran towards the newcomer.

  “That’s Kenneth’s c
oat,” she yelled. “Where did you get it? What have you done to him?”

  The man stared at her with a blank expression on his face. If Vasyl had to guess, he would swear the man didn’t speak English and had no idea what Rebecca was screaming about.

  As Rebecca cried and threw herself at the man, he caught her arms with lightning speed and stared down at her. He was so tall Rebecca barely went up to his chest. Vasyl watched with surprise as the girl suddenly went limp and quiet under the stranger’s piercing gaze. She let out a soft whimper as he pushed her towards a nearby chair. Rebecca crumpled into the chair like a rag doll.

  “Dzubenko?” the man said, now ignoring Rebecca and glancing around at the men in the room.

  Vasyl jumped at the sound of his name and came around from behind the bar.

  “Are you looking for me?” he asked. “I’m Vasyl Dzubenko.”

  “ты русский?” the man asked.

  Vasyl scowled and repeated the man’s question. “Am I Russian?” So he had been correct that the man didn’t speak English. “No,” he said, switching to the man’s language. “I’m Ukrainian.”

  The man nodded. “But you speak Russian?”

  “Obviously. I just answered you, didn’t I?”

  Vasyl had no use for Russians. Or for their precious mother Russia. While his homeland of Ukraine was part of the Russian Empire, neither Vasyl nor any of his family had ever acknowledged it as such. He had been forced to leave his home in the Crimean Mountains and go to Russia to work on the construction of the Trans-Siberian railroad but he’d hated every second he’d spent in the country. When the construction to the ocean city of Vladivostok was completed in 1904 and he’d made it to the end of the rail he’d been happy to find work on a freighter and come to Alaska. He hadn’t realized then how many blasted Russians would be here with him.