Landlord in the Arctic-Chapter 35: Bow and Arrow

A sudden scream startled Prince awake. He let out a low growl at the door.

Feng Shan grabbed the pistol from his nightstand and walked slowly to the door. He signaled for Prince to be quiet, gently gripped the doorknob, and yanked the door open.

The biggest difference between a motel and a regular hotel is that a motel’s parking lot is connected directly to the rooms. The parking lot is right outside your door.

Any security measures consisted of a single low, wire-mesh fence that couldn’t even stop a dog.

Stepping out of his room,

he saw a man lying face down in the open area near the entrance, illuminated by a streetlight. A thin stick was sticking out of his butt, and he was wailing miserably.

Guests from other rooms also started coming out.

Feng Shan scanned the crowd. Almost everyone was holding a gun, some long, some short.

’And Frank had the nerve to praise Fairbanks for being so peaceful and quaint.’

’This is peaceful and quaint?’

’Everyone carries a gun when they go out!!’

A motel employee came running over, carrying a shotgun. It was only then that everyone got a clear look and saw that the object stuck in the poor bastard’s butt was an arrow.

An arrow, lodged deep in his butt in the middle of the night!!

’You’ve got to be kidding me!’

The motel employee squatted down, suppressing a laugh. "Buddy, did you get hunted by one of the Indigenous People?"

The injured man was a big guy with long hair. Judging by his clothes, he was probably a truck driver.

In response to the employee’s question, the unlucky fellow just whimpered and screamed in pain.

The crowd of onlookers started sharing their opinions.

"Poor guy. Maybe someone was playing with a bow and arrow and accidentally shot him."

"Shh, don’t talk nonsense. Look at the fletching on that arrow. It’s a handmade arrow used by the Indigenous People. Must be the Indians; the Inuit don’t use bows and arrows."

"The Indian reservations are down south near Cook Bay. What would they be doing up here in Fairbanks?"

Feng Shan stood in the crowd listening to the chatter, equally curious. ’To get shot with an arrow in the middle of the night... What kind of grudge is this?’

Suddenly, someone shouted.

"Fuck! Guy, there’s something under your truck!"

CLACK!

Everyone raised their guns at once. The scene wasn’t exactly identical to something out of a movie, but it was damn close.

The motel employee switched on the tactical flashlight attached to his shotgun.

A beam of light shot toward the truck.

There, wedged in the gap by the truck’s fuel tank, was a brown bear. Its head was facing the crowd.

In an instant, a chill ran down everyone’s spine.

’Damn it.’

’We were this close to a brown bear and didn’t even notice. If it charged us, we’d all be wiped out in seconds.’

"Q-quick... shoot it," someone stammered in a low voice, but others quickly stopped him.

"Shut up! Can’t you see it’s right next to the fuel tank? Are you trying to get us all blown up?"

"I just put 300 gallons of gas in it this afternoon."

"Fuck, you could drive from Alaska to the White House and still not use that much gas. Was it on sale or something?"

The unlucky guy on the ground stopped crying out in pain. He dug his hands into the dirt and tried to drag himself away from this godforsaken spot.

’If that brown bear charges, these bastards will definitely sacrifice me to it to save their own skins.’

Feng Shan narrowed his eyes. The tactical flashlight was blinding, but he vaguely felt that he had seen this brown bear somewhere before.

Suddenly, an idea flashed in his mind.

He ran to the front of the crowd in a few quick steps and spread his arms.

"Don’t shoot! That’s not a brown bear! It’s a person! A person!!"

The crowd immediately erupted.

"Are you crazy, buddy? That’s a brown bear!"

"Fuck, I’m never staying at this shitty motel again. First an arrow, then a brown bear, and now a lunatic."

"Get out of the way! That’s a brown bear!"

Feng Shan ignored them and strode toward the truck’s fuel tank. "Come on out! They’re going to shoot you."

Before he finished speaking, the "brown bear" hiding in the gap slowly started to crawl out. Everyone raised their guns again, but this time they were even more hesitant to shoot. Some even turned and ran.

People who live in Alaska all know one simple rule: stay away from brown bears and you’ll stay alive.

"Buddy, get back here!"

"Forget that lunatic, run!"

"Call the police! Call an ambulance!"

Feng Shan took a step back. Once the figure crawled out, it stood up and, to everyone’s astonishment, removed the bear-head hood, revealing a face covered in tattoos.

"Asshole! Running around in a bearskin at night? You got a death wish?"

"Shh, keep your voice down. He’s an Indian."

"Look at the honor tattoos on his face! He’s an Indian Headhunter! They cut the heads off their enemies while they’re still alive!"

"There are still Headhunters? Didn’t the government force them onto reservations?"

"I heard a few Indian Tribes refused to go."

The crowd, which had just calmed down, tensed up again.

The Indian in the bearskin walked up to Feng Shan, suddenly and silently knelt, and stretched his hands forward in a ritualistic bow.

He called out in a strange accent.

"Khilla, Khilla, Khilla."

Feng Shan was completely baffled by the scene. ’Why is this guy acting so strangely and bowing to me?’

"Hey, buddy, is he with you? Please don’t disturb the other guests." The motel employee walked over and patted Feng Shan’s shoulder.

That pat was a big mistake.

The Indian kneeling on the ground instantly shot him a murderous look, as if he’d been deeply insulted. He pulled out a bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed it at the motel employee.

Feng Shan quickly jumped in front of him. "Don’t."

The Indian immediately lowered the bow and knelt again, calling out "Khilla."

At that moment, everyone in the crowd realized where the arrow in the unlucky bastard’s butt had come from.

’So it was this Indian who shot him.’

"B-buddy, you can’t leave. Your companion hurt someone. The police will be here to handle it." The startled motel employee backed away.

’I’ve heard that some Indians coat their arrows with poison, enough to kill a bear. If that arrow had hit me just now, I’d probably be meeting God very soon.’

WEE-OOO WEE-OOO!

The wail of sirens filled the air as two police cars pulled into the motel parking lot.

Several police officers jumped out of their cars, holding automatic rifles and looking for firing positions.

"Who reported a brown bear sighting? Which way?"

"Fellas, it wasn’t a brown bear! It was an Indian Headhunter who shot someone with a bow and arrow! See? The poor guy’s still crawling over there."

A helpful guest pointed toward the truck in the distance.

’An Indian Headhunter??’

The officers lowered their guns. Two went to check on the injured man, while the rest went over to the truck.

"Buddy, you again?" One of the older officers had been involved in the restaurant incident that afternoon and recognized Feng Shan.

’My fault, I guess!’

Feng Shan shrugged helplessly. Seeing the Indian reach for his bow again, he quickly put out a hand to stop him.

"What’s going on?" the older officer asked, glancing at the Indian.

"I’m not sure. I was resting in my room when I heard a scream. I came out and saw a man lying on the ground with an arrow in his butt. Then we found this guy under the truck."

Feng Shan briefly explained what happened, then pointed at the Indian in the bearskin.

"Oh, and he doesn’t seem to speak much English. You should probably find a translator who knows an Indian Language."

"Buddy, do you have any idea how many Indian languages there are?" The older officer spread his hands in exasperation, then turned his head and yelled, "Eagle, get over here and take a statement. The suspect is one of your people."

A young officer with a tan complexion ran over. He looked the bearskin-clad Indian up and down and said a string of incomprehensible words.

The Indian in the bearskin responded with gestures, pointing first at the injured man, then at his bow, then back at Feng Shan, occasionally throwing in a few simple English words.

And so the two Indians, from the same race but different tribes, communicated through a mix of gestures and heavily accented, broken English.

...