by Bret Tallent
Roscoe leapt at the dark thing and bit down as hard as he could on the arm he had found. He felt his teeth sink into the flesh of the thing and it made him want to gag. Its flesh was hard and difficult to hold onto, but Roscoe would not let go. He locked his jaw and instantly began to shake from side to side. The dark thing howled and it made Roscoe crazy, crazy with blood lust. An old voice was inside his head goading him on, and it made him shake harder.
Ouray leapt at it as well but was not quite as quick as the younger dog. A quick blow from a huge hand caught Ouray in the ribs and knocked him over the top of the snowmobile. He landed with a hard thud and the cracking of ribs on the frozen ground. The dog let out a sharp cry as the air was forced out of his lungs and the pain began to register. There was a searing pain in his side and his lungs would not refill with air.
Roscoe was having the ride of his life. Up and down and side to side he went as the dark thing tried to shake him off. But the Pitt Bull would not let go. He was beginning to taste its blood and revulsion swept over the black dog, but still he would not let go. He felt a crushing weight strike his side and still he would not let go, it only made him more truculent.
Ouray felt light headed and his world was going dark. He lifted his heavy head to see Roscoe fighting the dark thing, over the top of the snowmobile seat. Then his head dropped to look at his own form, broken and immobile on the hard ground. Ribs protruded from the long gashes in his side. The thing's claws had sliced cleanly through flesh and muscle and bone. Blood and even some of Ouray's innards were beginning to pool on the ground next to him.
Suddenly, the dog felt very tired and his head was too heavy to hold up. He could no longer see beyond the snowmobile and all he could hear was his own heartbeat, slowing. The cold was upon him and his body racked in tremors. Then there was darkness and no sound at all, only the pain and the incredible cold…Then only the cold. Then nothing at all.
Johnny scrambled frantically to pull the axe free and finally managed it as the thing stood over him, smiling. Roscoe was hanging on one arm shaking wildly, but the thing ignored him. Johnny glanced at the dog and saw that his side was bleeding profusely from four deep gouges there. The dog was wild eyed though and either didn't notice or didn't care. Johnny saw only one chance and he took it.
The Indian jerked and rolled quickly to the left, towards the arm the dog was hanging from, towards what remained of the fire. The beast wheeled as Johnny did so and scooped at him with its left hand, striking only rock. Johnny rolled right into the coals and his suit started to smolder, but the thing stopped short. It stood there, contemplating.
Johnny took the time to stand and get a good hold on the axe. The creature took several good swings at Johnny but would come no closer and they were short. He raised his head and bellowed in frustration. Then he looked back down at Johnny and one side of his lip turned up in a grin. The huge thing raised his arm, and Roscoe, above his head, then flicked the nails of his other hand in front of Johnny's face.
When Johnny saw the razored fingers approaching the weakening, nearly limp form of Roscoe, he did the only thing he could think of. He swung the axe as hard and fast as he could, catching the thing off guard and landing a blow to its side. The blade bit into the stringent flesh and stopped. The impact passed through the handle to Johnny's hands and he felt as though he'd hit concrete.
It bellowed again and this time there was pain in its cry, its head stretched towards the heavens. It looked back down at Johnny and there was a new determination etched on its face. Never removing its gaze from Johnny, it calmly reached over and pried the dog from its arm. Roscoe had no more strength and gave little resistance. The thing tossed the dog aside like an apple core and he landed heavily somewhere to the front of the snowmobile.
Just as calmly, the thing pulled the axe from its side and tossed it past Johnny into the fire. Its arm was mottled in a pale gray where Roscoe had chewed it, and strands of gray ran down its side from the gash there. It let the injured arm fall to its side but raised the other up in front of it. Then it took a step towards Johnny.
Johnny tried to raise his arms up but it was much too fast for him. Its hand swung around in a blur of white and caught Johnny on the shoulder, knocking him to the side and backward, over the fire. Johnny landed on his back and felt the air knocked out of him. There was a tremendous throbbing in his left arm and stars floated around his head. The thing's ululation cleared Johnny's head and he looked up to see it across the fire from him, preparing to leap.
Johnny reached behind him with his right hand and pulled out a handful of arrows. He stretched as far as he could but the tips couldn't quite reach the coals of the fire. Inches, it was only inches. Johnny glanced back at the thing and saw it leaving the ground, a hell born projectile aimed at him. There was a smug look on its face as it registered the situation. Johnny's attention was brought back to the fire by the loud "POP!" of pitch. The tiny explosion rocked loose a log and it plopped down beside Johnny's arm.
He moved the arrows across to it and they ignited instantly. Johnny turned them upward before him just as the thing cleared the fire. There was actual astonishment on its face as it fell towards Johnny. The flaming weapon caught it in the chest and its weight forced Johnny's hand back down to the ground, which gave a strong backing to force the arrows deeper. It landed half on Johnny, half on the solid earth.
Its weight was oppressive and again the Indian felt the wind knocked out of him. The thing stood almost instantly, towering over Johnny, staring at the broken shafts protruding from its own body. There was puzzlement on its face, then realization, then fear, and then anger. Johnny began scooting backwards in a mad scramble for survival while these emotions registered on the thing.
Jrahl stared down at the insect thing in disbelief, already the fire within him spreading. In that brief moment before the flames consumed him he made no move toward the human. For the first time in his life, he understood fear and pain.....and dying. Jrahl cocked his head slightly as he studied the human; he understood a great many things now. Then the flames filled his head and he winked out.
Johnny moved perhaps six feet from the thing and stopped, it made no attempt to follow. It only stood there and stared. It stood there and looked at him and its expression changed, it softened somehow. Johnny was confused and stared back at it puzzled. The thing ignited in a luminescent glow, a white hot fire, and was consumed. And again Johnny thought he saw something in the face of the burning dead. It seemed as though it cocked its head and gave an expression of remorse. Then it was gone.
Johnny stood slowly. His body ached all over and the fingers of his left hand were numb. He could feel the cold seeping in through the tears in his suit and chill the blood running down his arm. Limping around the fire he pulled the empty quiver from his back and tossed it into the flames. On the far side, near the front of the snowmobile, he found his bow, broken. It had been snapped in two somehow during the fight. He picked it up and threw it into the fire as well.
A whimper brought his attention back to the front of the machine. Roscoe was a heap several yards forward and to the left. His side was bleeding, though not profusely as before, and his breathing was shallow. Johnny knelt by the black dog's side and comforted him. He scraped some snow from the ground and rubbed it across the wound. It wasn't deep or even lethal, but the dog was exhausted.
Johnny picked up Roscoe and gently carried him to the litter. He laid him on it and wrapped him in the skins and blankets that he'd carried supplied in. The dog looked at him appreciatively then laid his head heavily on the skins. Johnny turned around and looked solemnly down at the body of Ouray. His eyes welled with tears and he looked away. It was as he had seen, and he had been unable to change it.
Johnny sniffed and rubbed a glove across his eyes. He bent down and lifted the broken heap as gently as he could and carried it to the fire. Johnny let Ouray slip from his arms and fall into the red hot coals.
"Go with him Ouray. Hunt with him. Be wit
h him.” Johnny mumbled between hard swallows and the bright bursts of flame on the dog's body. It was little more than a campfire now, but it would be enough.
Johnny turned and hobbled back to the snowmobile and climbed on it. The motor grumbled, reluctantly at first, then more enthusiastically until it was a high pitched whine. Johnny glanced back at Roscoe then gunned the throttle. Hayden needed him in a bad way, and he only hoped that he wouldn't be too late.
CHAPTER 12
Sarah stood in the doorway of "The Mineshaft Lodge", Copper Creek's only lodgings, and it was still a mile or so out of town. The Mineshaft catered to fishermen in the summer and skiers in the winter, taking the overflow from Steamboat. It was one of the few things that kept Copper Creek alive. Along with its two-pump gas station, the diner, a five and dime, and a small general store and bait shop.
It was a two story building with a rough wood exterior and a covered porch that ran the length of the building. It looked like any one of a hundred such places, made to blend in to the surroundings, and to give it atmosphere. At the far end of the porch were a string of snowmobiles that the lodge rented out to the tourists, and did a good part of its business from. Sarah looked at them and they appeared as mangled as the front door did before her.
Sarah moved cautiously into the large main room, her heart pounding at every creak and moan the building made. Her arms and legs felt leaden from the cold and she shuffled along on the hardwood floor, kicking a trail in the drift that had moved in the opening before her. The room was a giant icebox and her breath hung heavily in the air around her head before the drafts finally carried it away.
She looked around at the carnage and felt a sinking feeling come over her. There would be no help here she decided, this place looked worse than the ranger station. Blood was smeared around the room and left in bizarre patterns that looked like a child's finger paintings. There were hand prints in blood as well. Huge hand prints, high on the walls and is made Sarah shiver. She swallowed hard and decided that she would have to investigate it anyway. Somehow she didn't think they would be back this way too soon, and she felt safe, for a little while anyway.
***
There was a soft white light, and shadows. The ringing began to subside and the world around came into focus. Nick finally recognized Mike and Barbara standing over him, concern on their faces. His head felt as though it had been split apart and glued back together, the wet Elmer's glue still running down his lip. He sat up slowly and the pounding at his temples surged momentarily then returned to its dull throb.
"What the hell happened?” Nick managed in a gruff voice, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
"We hoped you could tell us Nick, you just...passed out.” Mike said quietly. "Barbara said you started to bleed from your nose and ears, and then just collapsed. You had us pretty scared there for a while.", then added, "Butthead." Mike smiled that infamous grin and Nick had to return it.
Nick pondered for a moment, contemplating just how to explain it. He wasn't too sure himself. He had heard something, or felt it, he just wasn't sure. Finally, "I was talking to Barbara when I felt all these emotions, mostly despair, and futility. I know that it was Sarah, she needs me, and she’s in trouble." Barbara looked at him incredulously but Mike nodded, he understood. He had seen it between them before.
Nick continued, "I was feeling what she was, only stronger than I ever have before. Then there was an itch in the back of my mind. It grew and started to pound on my temples. Then the pounding became words. I could still hear Barbara talking, but from a great distance. Her voice was being crowded out by the others."
"What others?” Mike asked, curious.
"I, I'm not sure. There were hundreds of voices, all talking as one, all talking directly to me. They knew my name Mike, they knew my name and yours and Sarah's, and Barbara's too.” he said, shaken.
"What'd they say?” Mike prompted.
"They didn't really say anything, they...they teased me."
"What?” Barbara had a skeptical smile on her face.
"They said they were going to kill me, then Sarah, then Mikey, then you Barbara. Mikey, they called you Mikey,” turning to Mike, trying to add some validity to what he was saying, "I never call you Mikey."
"No, you never have."
"Then they said how they'd ripped my buddies apart, they didn't call them by name but I know they meant Mo and Taylor. They asked me if I wanted to know how they tasted." Nick paused, taking in several deep breaths and holding up a hand so that he could finish before they responded. He could read it in their faces, they didn't believe him and it made him so frustrated. It was important that they believe him, their lives depended on it. All he could do was to finish it and then argue its verity.
Nick continued, "It wasn't even so much an actual voice. It was more like their thoughts became my thoughts. Like they were just there and I could think what they thought, or what they wanted me to think. I tried to fight it, then that's when everything went black. The next thing I knew I was staring up at you two.” Nick finished it and rubbed his forehead with his thumb and fingers. He shook his head slowly, "I know it sounds crazy, hell, I wouldn't believe it either." He looked down at the table, sullen.
Mike cast a glance at Barbara then looked back down at his friend. He'd known Nick for seven or eight years and thought he knew him pretty well. And he himself had a bad feeling about what had happened to Mo and the Tails, and this damn storm. Yes, it did sound crazy, but he believed him. He looked at Barbara again out of the corner of his eye and said to himself, "But she sure doesn't, buddy." Mike placed a hand on Nick's shoulder, "So what do we do now?"
Nick looked up appreciatively, "We've got to help Sarah. She needs me Mike, she needs us."
"How Nick? What can we do? When we didn't show back up last night, Lord knows what they did?"
"I know. But, I think she's somewhere between the ranger station and town.” he grabbed Mike's arm, "She's in trouble."
"I guess we could go out on the snowmobile.” Mike offered. "Hayden said there was a gun...” his mind working, he turned to look into the living room.
Barbara was staring intensely at the two young men, she had missed a lot of what was said but she could read it on their faces. Mike believed that crap, maybe not entirely, but enough. She had clenched her teeth to keep from saying anything but she could bide her tongue no longer and her Irish came through.
"Horse hockey!” Barbara blurted out. "Don't you two get no damn fool notions about going back out in this storm, Hayden told you to stay put! I believe you sensed something from your sister Nick; I get feelings every now and then too. But you didn't hear any voices. The only voices were the ones already in your head, things you were already thinking."
Barbara took a deep breath to calm her tone, and then continued, "Listen Nick. Its right for you to be concerned, a lot has happened. But you're just worried and your imagination has gone overboard. You just aren't handling the stress well, hun. What you need is to stay here and rest, and wait for Hayden to get back." She looked over at Mike for any support, and then back down at Nick, both were stoic. She finally threw her arms up in exasperation and walked over to the sink with the bowl of bloody water, mumbling to herself the whole way.
Nick and Mike looked at each other, the stoicism still there. Mike turned and walked into the living room, "I'll get the gun, you see if you can talk her into making us some hot chocolate for the trip!” he yelled back.
"Thanks a lot! In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly her favorite person right now.” the yelling made Nick's temples pound again and he winced. He got up and walked over to Barbara who was busy ignoring him at the sink. Nick grabbed her gently by the shoulders and turned her to face him.
"I have to go, she's my sister.” he explained. "I know that she needs me, somehow, I just know."
Barbara looked deep into his eyes and saw the hurt there, the worry. "I know it, damn it. I'd be the same way if it were Hayde
n." Her expression softened, "Let me fix you somethin' warm then, and God be with you. "Then she entirely surprised Nick by giving him a good hard hug, "And be careful!"
***
There was an eerie calm in the streets of Copper Creek as Nick and Mike passed through it. It was not calm from the aspect of the wind and how it brutalized the snow, but from the absence of life. The town appeared dead. More than that, it felt dead. Behind the store fronts and the houses there was nothing. Nick felt as though he were looking at tombs, the monuments of the people who had once lived in this little hamlet. It had the feeling of a ghost town.
Nick caught movement to his right out of the corner of his eye. But when he turned to look there, there was nothing. Again he thought he saw movement, this time to his left, and again he turned to see nothing. Ahead of him he saw Mike jerking his head about in the same motions and wondered then, if he was seeing it too? He saw movement again, to the right.
It could have been the alien landscape in the blizzard, or even the vacant streets playing on his imagination. It could have been the snow being tossed about by the ruthless wind. It could have been all those things, but it wasn't. Something was moving on the streets of Copper Creek, something that wasn't human. Suddenly, Nick felt a hundred eyes upon him and Mike. They were being watched, he could feel it. Soulless eyes boring into them, but when he turned to look they were gone.
Mike throttled up the snowmobile just then as if he felt it as well. A snow rooster kicked up behind the machine as it approached full speed. The two were being thrown about by the rough terrain created by the drifting snow, and Nick increased his grip on the hand rails at his sides. He had no desire to fall off, not now. Somehow, he knew it would be the last thing he would ever do.
The town went by in a blur and still Nick thought he saw movement. He saw shadows and outlines, but nothing tangible. Yet it was all too real at the same time. Always teasingly out of reach, tantalizingly at the edges of his peripheral vision. Movement all around…Ghosts.
