by Brian Keene
Johnson stared at his boots. “I don’t think that would be too fine, boss. No, I don’t cotton to that at all.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say, cocksucker. We ain’t got room for them all. I don’t like it any more than you, but that’s how it is. Stephens’ horse is the smallest. It comes inside. The others don’t.”
Johnson and Parker’s expressions were sullen, but they didn’t reply. Stephens stayed silent, as well, but the grin on his face spoke volumes. Gunderson merely loaded another wad of chewing tobacco into his mouth.
Morgan glanced up at the sky and noted the sun’s position.
“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get this finished while we still can.”
Sullen, the others went back to work. Gunderson waited until they were out of earshot and then approached Morgan.
“Boss, I got an idea about them horses, if you want to hear it.”
Sighing, Morgan nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Well, I reckon if I was to take an axe and a saw and sharpen up some logs on one end, they’d make some pretty formidable pikes or spears. Then we could tie the horses up against the cabin, so that the wall has their backs, and encircle them the rest of the way around with the pikes. The horses wouldn’t be able to wander out, and these crazy bear things would have a hell of a time getting to them.”
Morgan paused, considering the suggestion. He glanced at the horses and then back at the burly woodsman.
“How long do you figure it would take you to do that?”
Gunderson shrugged. “If I can get some help digging the holes once I’ve sharpened the logs, I reckon it wouldn’t take more than two or three hours.”
“Okay. Do it. I’ll make sure you have the help.”
Nodding, Gunderson walked away. After a moment’s hesitation, Morgan called out to him.
“Gunderson?”
The big man stopped and turned. “Yeah, boss?”
“It’s a good idea, but do you really think it will work?”
Despite the seriousness of their situation, Gunderson grinned.
“Hell, Morgan. I don’t know. You reckon any of the other stuff we’re doing will really work?”
“You’d better fucking hope so. For all our sakes.”
Gunderson spat a stream of tobacco juice and walked away. Morgan stared up at the sky, and watched the sun continue its trek to the west. The breeze picked up and rustled through the pines. For a moment, it almost sounded as if something was walking amongst the trees. Then the wind died down again. When it did, Morgan shivered.
Other than the sounds of their labors, the forest and the clearing had gone silent again.
SIX
Supper that night was deer meat, potatoes, and thin gravy. They washed it down with water from the river. Morgan forbid any of them to drink liquor—reminding them that they might need their wits about them later on. Conversation was sporadic and muted during the meal, other than a few compliments to Clara and Crystal on its preparation. Clara responded to the attention. Crystal’s reaction was less enthusiastic, but simultaneously, she was careful not to offend the men.
When they were finished, the men relaxed long enough to smoke on the porch and watch the sun go down. There was no card game or bullshit session or taking turns with Clara or Crystal. They watched the sun’s descent in silence, and as darkness fell, so did their mood. The temperature outside dropped with the sun. The wind blew in off the river, cold and savage. Soon, their breath fogged the air, even inside the cabin.
“Well,” Morgan said, “now we’ll see. Now they’ll come.”
Johnson frowned. “Never thought I’d say this, boss, but I sure do hope you’re wrong.”
“Me, too,” Morgan agreed. “Me, too.”
The others didn’t respond.
Morgan assigned first watch to Johnson, Parker and Clara. They were to wake up Gunderson, Morgan and Stephens for the second watch. Only Crystal was allowed to sleep through the night. If the others saw this as a sign of Morgan going soft on the girl, they didn’t mention it. The only complaints centered around Stephens’ horse, which stood between the kitchen table and the bunk area, looking mournful and forlorn.
“Jesus,” Parker moaned, fanning his nose, “that damned horse smells almost as bad as you do, Stephens.”
“Considering how much time Stephens spends farting,” Johnson said, “the horse has probably done absorbed it all.”
“I just hope it don’t shit in here,” Clara said, her nose wrinkling. “Who’s going to clean it up if it does?”
“I reckon you are,” Stephens said.
“With your face, maybe,” Clara shot back.
The comment earned a round of laughter, but they quickly fell silent again. Johnson, Parker and Clara blocked the front door with logs and bags of grain, and then took their positions near the window. The others lay down in their bunks, fully-clothed except for their boots. All of them kept their weapons within reach. Morgan blew out the lamp, plunging them into darkness except for the soft, orange glow from the tip of Parker’s cigarette.
The night was still and sullen, and it passed slowly. There were no owls or insects. No birdsongs. Even the wind seemed to have died down, and the sounds of the river were muted, distorted by the darkness.
Eventually, Clara fell asleep in the chair, her head drooping low until her chin rested between her ample cleavage. Her breathing became soft and shallow. Occasionally, her nose whistled. After a brief consultation, Johnson and Parker elected not to wake her until it was necessary.
It became necessary soon enough. Slowly, the musky stench of the crazy bears filled the clearing, wafting in through the window. Parker, who had been hunched over in front of the window, clutching a long rifle in his hands and staring into the darkness, sat up and winced.
“God damn,” he said, fanning his nose. “That stinks to high Heaven.”
Johnson had been pacing the floor, walking in slow circles around the table in an effort to stay awake and alert without disturbing the others. He’d patted the horse on the nose each time he passed it. Now, he paused in mid-step and sniffed the air.
“Shit.”
Parker raised the rifle. “Yeah.”
Johnson nudged Clara’s shoulder. She jumped, startled, and then glanced around with wide eyes.
“What is it,” she gasped. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re here.” Johnson turned to the others and raised his voice. “Up and at them, ya’ll. We’ve got company.”
“Light the lantern,” Stephens said, jumping to his feet.
“No,” Morgan countered. “Leave it out. Ain’t no sense attracting even more attention. We can work in the dark. We’ve done it many times before.”
Morgan, Gunderson and Stephens rolled out of their bunks and quickly put on their boots, weapons in hand. Crystal woke as well, her expression terrified. She stared at the others’ pistols with obvious envy.
“Can I have a gun?” she asked, her voice timid.
Morgan arched an eyebrow. “Do you know how to use one?”
She nodded emphatically.
“Okay,” Morgan said. “I reckon we could use you. Stephens, give her your pistol.”
The fat man gaped. “Well, then what the hell am I supposed to use, Morgan?”
“I want you to use the lumberjacks’ shotgun.”
“They’ll have to be awfully close for me to hit anything with a shotgun, boss.”
“Don’t fucking argue with me you cocksucker. Just do as I say, or the crazy bears will be the least of your worries!”
Stephens gave the girl his pistol with obvious reluctance and consternation. He made a big show out of drawing the weapon from its holster and handing it to her. “Don’t shoot your nose off,” he said, and then reached for the shotgun leaning against the wall. “Hope those tree jockeys took care of this thing.”
Morgan moved toward the window, followed closely by Gunderson. Parker was hunched over at the window, long rifle up and at the ready. Morga
n placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned close.
“You boys sure they’re out there? You’re not just jumping at shadows?”
“Take a deep breath, boss,” Parker muttered. “You’ll see for yourself.”
Morgan inhaled through his nose and scowled. “Christ almighty. I reckon you’re right.”
“Smells like the inside of a Grizzly bear’s stomach,” Johnson said.
Morgan strode to the center of the room. His shoulders were squared, his muscles taught and tense, his eyes awake and alert.
“Okay, boys,” he said. “Ya’ll know what to do. Gunderson and Stephens, get that door unblocked. Clara, I want you and Gunderson at the door, so we can shoot at them if they come in the perimeter, but be ready to barricade it if they break through our defenses. Parker and Johnson—you’ve got the window. Stephens, you hold back with that shotgun. If they get in too close, the others will holler out. Then you rush in and blast them. Everybody clear?”
The group nodded. Their expressions were grim, but none of them seemed terrified now that the danger was at hand. Gunderson and Stephens quickly moved aside the blockade in front of the door. Then, while Gunderson and Clara stood ready with weapons pointed at the door, Stephens opened it. Gunderson knelt on one side of the doorway. Clara stood on the other side. Stephens backed up and stood between them. All three peered out into the darkness. With the door open, the stench grew stronger inside the cabin.
“What about me?” Crystal asked Morgan. “What should I do?”
“You just stay close to me, darlin’. If they get inside—and let’s hope they don’t, but if they do—then don’t you hesitate to start shooting. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Morgan turned to Parker and Johnson who were staring out the window. “See anything?”
“No,” Parker whispered. “It’s too damned dark out there. Maybe ol’ Gunderson might be able to spot something, but I can’t see shit.”
“Wait,” Gunderson murmured, still down on one knee. “There’s some clouds over the moon. They’ll pass in a minute. Then we should be able to see better.”
Clara glanced at him. “What if—”
THWUMP
Something struck the roof of the cabin hard enough to send dust and dirt drifting down from the rafters. Crystal and Johnson both screamed. Parker teetered backward in surprise, nearly falling off his chair. Clara and Stephens both jumped. Only Gunderson and Morgan remained calm as they gazed upward. Morgan held a finger to his lips, signaling the others to be silent.
THWUMP THWUMP THWUMP
Crystal screamed again. Wheeling around, Morgan clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her close.
“Quiet,” he whispered in her ear.
Moving quickly but quietly, Gunderson crossed the floor and closed the door, even as more blows rained down on the cabin’s roof. Each one shook the rafters, spilling more dirt and dust down on them. A long splinter of pine cracked overhead as yet another crash vibrated through the timbers. The bunkhouse trembled.
Parker jumped out of his chair and backed away from the window.
“What the hell is it?” Johnson yelled. “Just what the hell is going on here?”
“Shut up,” Morgan shouted. “All of you! Listen, goddamn your eyes. And watch that window.”
Johnson and Parker reacted as if Morgan had slapped them across the face. They stood for a moment, frozen, and then returned to their place at the window. The two men peered out into the darkness. Clara leaned over them, gazing out, as well. Seconds later, she reeled back with a gasp, her hand fluttering to her throat.
“Oh Lord…”
Shoving Crystal aside, Morgan rushed forward. Gunderson followed right behind him. Crystal spun, teetering. Stephens reached out and grabbed her elbow, steadying her as the others crowded around the window.
The clouds were gone, and moonlight streamed into the clearing. The river sparkled like diamonds in the distance. At the water’s edge and standing all along the tree line on both sides of the clearing were dozens of dark, man-like shapes. All of them were well over seven feet tall, and covered with thick, coarse hair, except for around their eyes. The hair varied in coloration—everything from jet black to reddish-brown.
“Sweet Jesus,” Gunderson whispered. “I’ve never seen nothing like that in all my life.”
“You just saw one last night,” Stephens pointed out.
“Not in this kind of lighting. This is worse. One thing’s for sure, though. They ain’t bears, and I dare say they’re not apes, either.”
“This ain’t good, ya’ll,” Johnson moaned. “This ain’t good at all.”
As more clouds dissipated and the moonlight grew brighter, the group inside the lumberjack shanty glimpsed further details of their attackers. The naked, hulking creatures had large, low-set foreheads with pronounced brow ridges. The tops of their heads were crested and round. Their arms were long, dangling almost to their knees. Insects hovered around them like smoke. One of the creatures raised its head and sniffed the air with a flattened nose that almost resembled a humans’ nose, except for the width of the nostrils. Then it opened its maw, revealing a mouth full of teeth, including long, sharp incisors that were anything but human. It raised one enormous hand in some sort of signal. The thing’s leathery palm was hairless. When it swung its arm down again, the moonlit figures began pelting the cabin with stones again.
Kneeling side-by-side, Parker and Gunderson leaned through the window and opened fire. The bunkhouse was filled with the noise of gunshots. A mug crashed to the floor. Crystal clung to Stephens, and he to her. Neither spoke, knowing they wouldn’t be able to hear one another. Morgan and Johnson waited behind Gunderson and Parker. Then, when the gunmen paused to reload, they took their places, unleashing a second volley.
The roar of the gunfire was loud. The roar of the crazy bears was louder.
Another bombardment of rocks shook the cabin. A watermelon-sized river stone crashed through the ceiling, leaving a gaping hole in its wake, and slammed into the floor, barely missing Clara. Then the creatures withdrew, disappearing into the darkness until only their stench lingered.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Clara shrieked. “Please, Morgan! I can’t stand it. We’ve got to ride out now!”
“We’re not going anywhere,” he said, stepping back from the window. “There’s more of them than there are of us. We leave now, they could surround us before we reached the river.”
“What did he say?” Stephens asked Crystal. “I can’t hear nothing through this ringing in my ears.”
Shrugging, she shook her head.
Gunderson waved gun smoke away from his face and peered intently into the clearing. “Looks like we dropped a few of them.”
“How many?” Morgan asked.
Gunderson paused, counting. “Five. Maybe six. The last one is lying in the shadows. Not sure if it’s a tree stump or one of those things…whatever they were.”
“They were Indians,” Parker said. “I mean, they had to be Indians. They just had to. Ain’t no animals like what we seen out there. It was nothing but a bunch of goddamned Indians, dressed up in bear and buffalo skins and playing tricks on the white men.”
“No,” Crystal said. “The Indians left this area a year ago. They headed north.”
“Well,” Parker replied, “they’re back now.”
“Those weren’t men,” Gunderson said with conviction. “And it certainly wasn’t somebody wearing a costume.”
Parker frowned. “How do you know for sure?”
“Because of their smell. That musk. And because of the way their muscles moved. If it was someone wearing skins, you wouldn’t see the muscles working like that beneath the fur.”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell you what, Parker.” Gunderson pointed outside. “Why don’t you go out there and take a look at one of those corpses for yourself. Satisfy your curiosity. Then you come back and tell us what it is.”
An eerie, warblin
g cry rose on the wind from somewhere within the pines. Stephens’ horse whinnied in fright and swished its tail back and forth. Crystal whimpered.
“No thanks,” Parker said. “I reckon I’ll stay here with you, Gunderson. I don’t much care for the company outside—whatever they might be.”
“There were giants in the Earth in those days,” Morgan muttered.
The others turned to him.
“What’s that, boss?” Stephens asked.
“That is from the Good Book, Stephens.” Morgan smiled. “Specifically, the Book of Genesis, chapter six, verse four. There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them, the same became mighty men who were of old.”
“Amen,” Gunderson whispered.
Despite the peril lurking outside, the rest of the group was slack-jawed, staring at their leader as if they’d never seen him before. In the forest, the howls and cries increased in both volume and intensity. After a moment, Johnson cleared his throat nervously.
“Those are some real pretty words, boss. I don’t much know what they mean, though, or how they’ll help us now.”
Morgan smiled. “A lot of folks say that the sons of God were fallen angels led by a fella’ the name of Shernihaza. Supposedly, Shernihaza got his fellow fallen angels to sleep with the human women, and got them pregnant. But instead of having little baby half-angels, they gave birth to a race of ferocious giants—wild, hairy, savage creatures, more like beasts than men. The giants ruled over mankind until the good Lord sent the Great Flood, and then remnants of the giants were cast into the wilderness.”
“If that’s so,” Parker said, “then how did they survive the flood? I daresay, when I was sitting on my Grandmammy’s knee and learning about the Bible, I don’t remember talk of giants onboard Noah’s ark.”
Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know. Only reason I know that much of the story is because my Daddy was a preacher. When he wasn’t taking the razor-strap to me or my little brother, he was drunk on whiskey and quoting bible verses. He used to quote other things, too. The Book of Enoch. The Book of Giants. Texts left out of the Bible when ol’ King James put it together, I reckon. But my Daddy knew them. He knew them… and other books.” A strange expression crossed Morgan’s face, and for a moment, he seemed lost in a memory. The others stared at each other, unsure of what to say.
