An Occurrence in Crazy Bear Valley

by Brian Keene

  The clearing was filled with enormous footprints—dozens, perhaps even hundreds of them, leading in every direction. She stared at the tracks, trying in vain to decipher them—trying to determine where the surviving creatures had gone. Then she decided that it didn’t matter. She knew which direction she was going, and it was a place they couldn’t follow.

  Crystal limped down the hill. The forest echoed with birdsongs and other signs of wildlife, but the valley’s beauty had been tainted. The wildflowers and other plants had been trampled beneath many big feet, and what remained was withered and brown. The only color still prominent was the occasional splash of red where blood had been spilled the night before.

  She reached the shore, knelt, and splashed water on her face. Shivering, she cupped her hands and drank. The cold water soothed her sore throat. She splashed more, washing the blood and grime from her face, arms, and hands. Then, when she was finished, Crystal clutched her burlap bag tightly to her bosom and waded into the water until only her chin remained above the surface. Closing her eyes, she went limp and let the river carry her away. As she drifted from sight, silence returned to the valley once more.

  STORY NOTES

  An Occurrence In Crazy Bear Valley was written for a collection of weird western novellas published by Cemetery Dance. The book was called Four Rode Out and also contained stories by Tim Lebbon, Tim Curran, and Stephen Vernon (name checked here as the character Vernon Stephens). Four Rode Out was published as a signed, limited edition hardcover, and is long out of print.

  I’ve always wanted to write a story about Bigfoot, and when I was asked to come up with a weird western novella, I figured this was my chance. I’ve been a Sasquatch aficionado since I was about six-years old. Over the years, I’ve amassed a number of books on the subject, and have even spent a considerable amount of time driving through the heart of Bigfoot country in the Pacific Northwest, hoping to catch a glimpse of one.

  I drew upon that background lore during the writing of this tale. The disclaimer at the beginning of the book states that this novella is based on true events, and it is, in as much as a group of mystery hominids (which is what we serious Bigfoot researchers refer to them as) attacked the cabin of a bunch of lumberjacks after the lumberjacks killed one of the beasts. The rest of the story is fiction.

  Or is it…?

  Anyway, here’s another weird western story for you on the next page, complete with cowboys, zombies, and dinosaurs.

  LOST CANYON OF THE DAMNED

  The desert smelled like dead folks.

  The sun hung over our heads, fat and swollen like that Polish whore back in Red Creek. It made me sweat, just like she had. The air was so thick, it felt like we were breathing soup. The heat made the stench worse. Our dirty handkerchiefs, crusted with sand and blood, were useless. They stank almost as bad as the desert. Course, it wasn’t the desert that stank. It was the things chasing us.

  We’d been fleeing through the desert for days. None of us had a clue where we were. Leppo knew the terrain and had acted as our guide, but he died of heatstroke on the second day, and we shot him in the head before he got back up again. We weren’t sure if the disease affected folks who’d died of natural causes, but we figured it was better to be safe than sorry. Since then, we’d been following the sun, searching the horizons for some-thing other than sand or dead things. Our canteens were empty. So were our bellies. We baked during daylight and froze at night.

  All things considered, I’d have rather been in Santa Fe. I knew folks there. Had friends. A girl. From what we’d heard, the disease hadn’t made it that far yet.

  Riding behind me and Deke, Jorge muttered something in Spanish. I’ve never been able to get the hang of that language, so I’m not sure what he said. Sounded like, ‘There’s goats in the swimming pool’ but it probably wasn’t.

  I slumped forward in the saddle while my horse plodded along. My tongue felt like sandpaper. My lips were cracked and swollen. I kept trying to lick them, but couldn’t work up any spit.

  “They still back there?” I was too tired to turn around and check for myself.

  “Still there, Hogan,” Deke grunted. “Reckon they don’t need to rest. Don’t need water. Slower we go, the closer they get.”

  I wiped sweat from my eyes. “We push these horses any harder and they’re gonna drop right out from under us. Then we’ll be fucked.”

  Behind us, Janelle gasped at my language. I didn’t care. According to the Reverend, it was the end of the world. I figured rough language was the least of her worries now.

  “The good Lord will deliver us,” the Reverend said. “Even you, Mr. Hogan.”

  “Appreciate that, Reverend. Give Him my thanks the next time you two talk.”

  Deke rolled his eyes. I grinned, even though it hurt my lips.

  We were an odd bunch, to be sure. Deke and I had come to Red Creek just a month ago. We’d bought ourselves a stand of timber there, and were intent on clearing it. Jorge had worked at the livery. The Reverend was just that—had himself a tent on the edge of town and gave services every Sunday. Terry was just a kid. Couldn’t have been a day over fourteen. No hair on his chin yet. But he shot like a man, and I was pretty sure that he was sweet on Janelle. It was easy to see why. Women like her were hard to find in the west. Janelle was from Philadelphia. Come to Red Creek after marrying a dandy twice her age. Don’t know if she really loved him or not, but she’d certainly carried on when those corpses tore the old boy apart in front of the apothecary like a pack of starved coyotes.

  Red Creek wasn’t a big town, but it was large enough that none of us had known each other until we fled together. Except for me and Deke, we were strangers, thrown together by circumstance. That made for an uneasy ride.

  The first any of us heard of the disease was when a man stumbled into town one night, feverish and moaning. There was a nasty bite on his arm, and a chunk of flesh missing from his thigh. The doc took care of him as best he could, but the poor bastard died just the same. Before he did, he told the doc and his helpers about Hamelin’s Revenge. That’s what folks back east were calling it, on account of some story about a piper and some rats. They say that the disease started with rats. They overran an Indian reservation back east, which wasn’t a surprise, as far as I was concerned. I’d seen the conditions on those reservations, and figured those people would be better off sleeping at the bottom of an outhouse. It was a terrible way to live. The thing is, these weren’t no ordinary rats. They were dead. Guts hanging out. Maggots clinging to their bodies. But they still moved. And bit. And whatever they bit got sick and died. Mostly, they bit the Indians. The Indians took ill and died off, and the government didn’t seem to care—until the Indians came back and started eating white folks. But by then, it was too late.

  The man told the doc about this, and then died. Doc got some of the town bigwigs together, and while they were having a meeting about it, the dead fella got back up and ate the doc’s helpers. Then they came back and started eating folks, too.

  Hamelin’s Revenge spread fast, hopping from person to person. Other species caught it, too. Before we hightailed it out of Red Creek, I saw dead horses, dogs, and coyotes attacking townspeople in the streets. And lots of dead people, of course. By then, there were more corpses stumbling around than there were live folks. Lucky for us, the dead moved slowly. Otherwise, we’d have never escaped. Even then, it wasn’t easy. They swarmed, trapping us inside the saloon. We had to fight our way out, and we burned most of Red Creek down in the process.

  How do you kill something that’s already dead? Shooting them in the head seems to work. So does smacking them in the head with a hammer or a pick-axe or a length of kindling. You can fire six shots into their chest and they’ll keep on coming. You can chop off their arms and legs and they’ll keep wriggling like a worm on a hook. But get them in the head, and they drop like a sack of grain.

  I glanced up at the sky, squinting. The sun hadn’t moved. It felt like we hadn’t, either.
Our horses shuffled through the sand, wobbling unsteadily. Janelle coughed. I turned around to see if she was okay. She fanned her hand in front of her nose. When she saw me looking at her, she frowned.

  “They’re getting closer, Mr. Hogan, judging by the stench.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, what do you intend to do about it?”

  I looked past her, studying the horizon. There were hundreds of black dots in the distance. Each dot was a dead thing—the population of Red Creek, and then some. Every infected animal had joined in the pursuit, too. I’ll give the dead one thing—they’re determined sons of bitches.

  “I intend to keep moving,” I told her. “Stay ahead of them. We don’t have enough bullets to kill them all, and even if we did, I reckon they’re out of range. Ain’t none of us gunslingers. Even if we were, nobody’s that good of a shot—not even your boyfriend there.” I nodded in Terry’s direction. The boy blushed.

  Scowling, Janelle stuck her nose into the air. I turned around again, trying to hide my grin. Deke chuckled beside me.

  “She’s taken a shine to you,” he whispered.

  I shrugged. It took a lot of effort to do so. I was trying to work up enough energy to respond, when something ahead of us caught my eye. The flat landscape was broken by a smattering of low hills. It looked like God had just dropped them right there in the middle of the desert. Jorge must have seen it too, because he jabbered and pointed.

  “Look there.” Deke patted his horse’s flank. “We could hole up atop one of them hills. Make a stand. Shoot them as they climb up.”

  “Until we run out of bullets,” I reminded him. “Then we’d be surrounded.”

  “We could drop boulders on them.”

  “Don’t know about that, but I reckon we’ll make for those hills, anyway. Maybe if those things lose sight of us, they’ll give up. Or maybe there’s something on the other side.”

  “Water?” Terry’s tone was hopeful.

  Before I could answer him, the sky got dark. We glanced upward. Janelle screamed. Jorge made a kind of choking sound. Deke and Terry gasped. The Reverend muttered a prayer. I just stared in shock.

  The sky was full of dead birds. They moved like they were still alive, circling and careening as one, but slow. Parts of them kept falling off. They stank. The flock headed right for us, dropping down like hail.

  “Ride!” I dug my heels into my horse’s sides, hoping she had more energy than I did. Apparently she had some reserves, because she took off like lightening, stirring up clouds of dust beneath her hooves. Deke’s mare did the same, keeping pace with us. The others rumbled along behind us. I looked around for some cover, but there wasn’t any.

  “Head for them hills,” I shouted. “Might be some trees or a cave.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to make sure that Jorge under-stood the plan, and what I saw stopped me cold. Janelle sat motionless, face upturned, gaping at the flock of dead birds. Her horse danced nervously beneath her. Terry held onto her horse’s reins and kept his own mount in check. He was urging Janelle to flee, but if she heard him, she gave no sign.

  As I rode up to them, Terry fumbled with his shotgun. His hands were shaking and he was having one hell of a time freeing it. I grabbed his arm. He looked up at me and I saw the fear in his eyes. It echoed my own.

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “All you’ll do is waste ammunition. Skin on out of here.”

  He glanced at Janelle. “But Miss Perkins—”

  “I’ve got her. You go on and ride.”

  He stared at me, clearly reluctant to leave Janelle’s side. I reckon he had visions of coming to her rescue and then she’d repay him by sharing his bedroll if we ever found a safe place to make camp, but I went ahead and crushed those dreams. We didn’t have time for nonsense.

  “Go on, now.” I slapped his horse on its rear. “Get!”

  It took off after the others, and I turned to Janelle. I seized her horse’s bridle and gave it a tug. The mare whinnied, baring her teeth. Janelle did the same thing. I hollered at them both as the birds drew closer. I don’t reckon Janelle heard me over the terrible racket the dead birds were making.

  Frustrated, I turned my horse around and kept a grip on Janelle’s mount, too. My other hand clutched my Colt. I knew it was pointless as a defense against the birds, but having it in my hand made me feel better. I squeezed my mount with my legs and prodded her on, hoping Janelle’s mare would keep up with us.

  She did—for about the first two hundred yards. Then fatigue, heat, and thirst took their toll. She stumbled, snorted, and then sagged to the ground. She didn’t fall. If she had, that might have been it for Janelle and I both. Instead, the horse sort of eased down. I snatched Janelle from the saddle and plopped her down behind me. She slapped my shoulders, pulled my hair, and insisted we go back for her horse. I ignored her. Gritting my teeth, I spurred my mount on even harder.

  I only looked back once. What I saw made me glad and sad at the same time. Screeching and squawking, the dead birds fed on Janelle’s horse, covering it from head to toe, pecking at its eyes and flesh. But they weren’t chasing us anymore, now that they had easier pickings.

  Deke and the others waited for us. I shouted at them to go on. Wasn’t any sense in wasting our momentary advantage. The birds would strip that carcass soon enough. Then they—and whatever was left of Janelle’s horse—would be back after us again, along with all those other dead things loping along behind us.

  We caught up with them and I found myself in the lead again. Deke and Jorge flanked me. Terry and the Reverend rode along behind. I kept my eyes on the foothills and said nothing, but I noticed the wounded, hurt look that Terry gave Janelle and me.

  The day grew hotter. I wished it would rain.

  ***

  We lost Jorge’s horse before we reached the hills. The rest of our mounts were stumbling badly, the last of their strength spent. Jorge wept as he took a hatchet to the poor animal. I wondered how he managed the tears. I was so dry, I couldn’t spit, let alone cry. We all dismounted, leading our horses the rest of the way. I didn’t much cotton to the idea, but it was either that or let them keep dropping out from underneath us. Janelle complained about having to walk, but none of us paid her any mind, except for Terry, who offered to carry her. He blushed, withering under her scornful glare while the rest of us chuckled at the image of Janelle riding piggyback on his shoulders across the desert.

  The terrain changed, becoming rockier. Soon enough, we reached the foothills. Deke stopped us, shading his eyes with his hands.

  “Ya’ll see what I see?”

  We looked where he was pointing, and I whistled.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  There was a narrow canyon entrance wedged between two of the hills. The landscape seemed to arch over it, and for a moment, it almost looked like a door. Then I wiped the sweat from my eyes and looked again. Nope. No door. Just sloping canyon walls, shadowed and probably a lot cooler than where we were standing.

  “Let’s make for that,” I said. “At the very least, it’ll get us out of the sun for a spell, and give us a place to hide. Might even be a stream or a pool.”

  The others seemed to brighten at this. They picked up their pace. Even the horses seemed to sense that our luck was changing. They trudged forward with renewed strength. I looked back the way we’d come. There were a few birds circling in the haze. From that distance, I couldn’t tell if they were dead or not, but they weren’t heading in our direction. There were, however, three small objects limping across the desert. Judging by their size and movements, I figured them for dead dogs or coyotes. They were too far away to be any real danger, but I figured we should put some distance between them and us.

  We made our way into the canyon mouth, and again, I was reminded of a door. We went single file—Deke and me in the lead, and Jorge and Terry bringing up the rear. A cool breeze dried the sweat on my forehead. I smiled. Despite everything we’d been through, I suddenly felt better than I
had in days. Underneath those sloping cliff walls, the sun couldn’t touch us. With luck, the dead wouldn’t either.

  The passage narrowed. There was a slight but noticeable downward descent. It went on like that for a while. Then the walls pressed closer. I was just starting to doubt that we’d be able to squeeze the horses through it when the canyon rounded a corner and opened wide.

  I stood there gaping, half-convinced that what I was seeing was a mirage, until Deke cleared his throat behind me.

  “Get a move on, Hogan. What’s the hold up?”

  “See for yourself.”

  I moved my mount aside so that they could come through. One by one, they walked out of the narrow fissure and stopped, sharing my reaction.

  “This sure ain’t on no map I’ve seen,” Deke whispered.

  “No,” I agreed. “I don’t reckon it is.”

  Spread out before us, from one horizon to the other, was the biggest damned valley I’ve ever seen. It was filled with all kinds of trees and plants—things that had no business growing in the desert. The lush, green foliage was quite a shock after the barren wasteland we’d just crossed. A broad, clear stream ran through the center of the valley—not quite a river, but too big to be a creek. The air in the valley was different. It smelled just like the aftermath of a thunderstorm, and it was more humid, but not as hot as the desert had been. Although we couldn’t see any, the trees and bushes echoed with the sounds of wildlife—deep-throated rumblings and shrill bird-calls like nothing I’d ever heard before. Understand, this wasn’t just some desert oasis. This was an entire hidden valley, nestled between the surrounding canyon hills. The terrain was unlike the rest of the desert. I couldn’t figure out how such a thing could be.

  The Reverend must have been thinking the same thing, because he said, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was back home.”

  “Why’s that?” Terry asked.