Yea Though I Walk

by J. P. Sloan

  I creep into the building, boot slipping on something wet and stringy. I catch a glimpse of entrails as I grab a hold of a doorframe. The Wendigo have come and gone, it seems. I search the ceiling and spot a dark square of starless night above me, with a knotted rope dropping down. Holstering my pistol, I climb up to find Eli lying on his stomach. He offers me a hand to pull me the rest of the way up, and guides my head low.

  “Obliged,” I whisper.

  “Good to see you’re still alive.”

  “Barely.” I roll over and spy the alleys below. I can see most of the north side of the main street from here. Shadows wander back and forth through the darkness and smoke. “Any retreats yet?”

  “Not yet. They’re mostly in the town. Got as best a count as I could before the air got too thick.”

  “How many are we looking at?”

  “Good fifty plus.”

  I wince. “Christ, that many?” I make a mental count of how many I’d dropped or seen dropped since I fired the first aspen trunk from the cart. With any luck my people south of town are still intact. Bichon’s family. Lizzy and her mother. “Could be down closer to thirty by now.”

  He nods. “We’re doing well.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Lots of blood out there already.”

  A pair of cannibals wanders up to the front of our building, pausing to poke inside. We lie still and silent as they pop around below, ripping up floorboards. Shit. They’ve figured out people are hiding in cellars. My gut twists. That was the only salvation for the women and children.

  The two appear to lose interest and trot out of the building, one with a link of intestine gripped in its hand.

  They linger by the jailhouse, sniffing away at the doorway. The first lunges inside, and I hear a shrill squawk. Mountain Beard’s stake must have found its home. However, the second cannibal tosses his handful of gut aside as he trots backward several steps.

  He lifts a hand to his mouth and shouts, “Hey, over here! Found some!”

  I pull my pistol.

  Eli puts a hand on my arm. “Thought you said only if they’re retreating?”

  “There’s a dozen-so children locked in that jailhouse.”

  His face pales, and he nods.

  “Think you can drop that loudmouth?” he asks.

  “Lord willing…” I take aim and fire. The front of his head explodes as the rest of his body drops limp.

  Eli whistles low. “Looks like He’s willing, all right.”

  Odell chirps from behind me, “I’m getting that notion, myself.”

  Mountain Beard sticks his head out of the doorway and looks our direction. I wave for him to tuck his head back into the jailhouse, but as a swarm of shadows flickers through the smoke behind him, I realize I might have silenced that Wendigo too late.

  Mountain Beard turns slowly and takes a good look at the advancing throng. Twenty, at least. His chest heaves, and he runs out into the night, waving his stakes and shouting incomprehensible vulgarities.

  A good half of the cannibals tear off after him as he leads them toward the burned-out church. The rest, however, keep marching for the jailhouse.

  I hear a renewed wave of weeping from the building. The children just watched their sole protector abandon them. They must be terrified.

  I get to my knees and steady my pistol on my forearm.

  Eli whispers, “If we start shootin’, they’re coming for us.”

  “Yes.”

  “And there’s no way out if they come.”

  “That does appear to be the situation.”

  He sighs. “You’re willing to die for those children?”

  I give him a quick look. “If you want to run off, then you leave your silver with me and go. I’ll give you exactly ten seconds.”

  He lifts his Colt and steadies it beside me, taking aim at the cannibals. “No, just not used to there being a damn point to anything, is all.”

  With a grin, I pull the trigger.

  Eli fires.

  Two Wendigo drop, and the rest take a second to find our position.

  I aim for one of the larger creatures and let silver fly. Eli’s a quick shot, and accurate. No silver is wasted.

  By the time I take my fourth and final shot, the monsters are sprinting for us. Two more drop as Eli fires again.

  And I’m empty. That’s the last of the silver.

  “Reload?” he wheezes.

  I shake my head.

  “Well, that’s it,” he grumbles. He considers his gun and pulls it down with a scowl.

  “Got aspen on you?” I ask as I stand up, lifting a foot to the top of the storefront façade.

  “Nope. You?”

  “Gave mine away.”

  I turn a half circle, but find no sign of Odell haunting my vision.

  “Oh, you vanish on me now?” I grumble.

  Eli shoots me a cocked eye.

  On the street below, closest creatures snarl at me, and one of them turns to bellow, “We got Richterman!”

  The wood beneath us pounds as the creatures reach for the ceiling. I’m glad I took down the tall ones first.

  Eli sits up next to me on the edge of the façade and pulls a blunt-rolled cigar from his shirt. He offers it to me, but I shake my head. He strikes a match as the creatures pound away at the ceiling beneath us.

  I turn and smile at the jailhouse. Not one of the monsters made it inside. If this ceiling gets pulled down beneath us, at least I will have kept those children alive a little longer.

  Eli takes a long drag of his smoke and leans back just a little to look over the side.

  “Shee-it,” he rasps.

  I turn my head to find more cannibals marching out of the smoke from the general direction of the church. Guess Mountain Beard didn’t last long.

  “How many, do you think?” he asks.

  “Probably all of them.”

  “They do hate you something fierce.”

  “I suppose I deserve that.”

  He cocks his head up at me. “What’s got into you, anyway? Scarlow’s had us all half convinced you’re a mule-kicked lunatic.”

  “He wasn’t wrong.”

  “Are you really crazy?”

  I smile. “As a March hare.”

  “Well, glad to meet the real you before the end.” He offers a hand.

  I take it and give him a nod.

  “Richterman!” one of the cannibals shouts. “We’ll tear the building down if we have to.”

  I spy the rooftop, in case Richterman decides to speak for himself. Alas, he’s abandoned me as well.

  So, I turn to face them. “Then I hope you get splinters in your grimy paws!”

  They launch at the building, which trembles under the impact. Wood groans, and we both reach out to catch our balance.

  “This is it,” I mumble.

  Eli’s eyes go wide, and he stands with a start.

  “What?” I shout.

  He lifts a slow finger, and I turn to see what he’s pointing at.

  Kate crouches on the side of the building, her hair flowing in the cold winter wind. She hops down onto the trembling wood and takes a couple steps forward.

  “Kate?” I mutter.

  She looks me over and reaches out her hand.

  I take it.

  “You came,” I add. “Wasn’t sure.”

  With a thin smile, she replies, “I have been busy.”

  Another creak of wood, and two of the ceiling joists angle up between me and Eli.

  “Are there any…” I can’t quite finish the question.

  She nods. And with a turn of her shoulders, she raises her hand.

  I’ve never heard Kate scream before. Not once. She’s always been calm and dignified. In fact, the angrier she is, the quieter she gets. So, when she lets loose the most blood-chilling shriek that’s ever met these ears, I jump.

  Her throat releases her war cry, carrying over the din below.

  New gusts of wind fly across my face and past my shoul
ders. Shadows drop from the air and down through the trap door.

  The pounding stops for a moment, and in that eerie silence, I hear laughter erupting from my own chest.

  The Wendigo scream beneath our feet, as do the Strigoi. It is a sound unlike anything heard before in the natural world. Rage spills into pain, crashes into the snapping of bones and tearing of flesh. I stare at the dark trapdoor, angled out of a square by the abuse from the creatures below.

  I turn to Kate, who stands resolute above the battle beneath us. She’s shining. Perhaps that’s just me. But at this moment, surrounded by death and horror, all I can see is her.

  Until the floor finally gives out beneath us.

  crash on top of something unreasonably hard. Furniture of some sort. Whatever it is, I feel something crack inside my chest. Ribs, most likely. The pain sweeps through my chest and side. I might have cried out, but I couldn’t tell over the sounds of savagery and carnage surrounding me. I open my eyes to find little more than blackness, save for the smoky brown sky above me.

  A face lunges over mine. I bristle before I recognize the gunmetal black of a Strigoi. It reaches out for me, jerking me away from something big that slams into the table I was lying on. With a hiss, the orphan Strigoi slips around me, crunching its fangs into a spindly Wendigo that no longer looks even remotely human. I pedal backward and into half of one his fellows. The top half, not that it matters. The rest has been torn clear and dragged God knows where.

  The spindly Wendigo grapples with my Strigoi savior for only a few seconds, finally snapping it in half backward. The orphan’s eyes face me, the creature bent over its own spine. I don’t know if there is any thought within its skull, but I can’t shake the notion that it accuses me of all of this.

  Nor can I shake the feeling that it’s absolutely correct to blame me.

  I reach for my holster, but find no pistol. The Remington has slipped loose somewhere in this hellish feed store. All the same. I was out of silver anyway.

  And I have no aspen. I am utterly helpless.

  The spindle-beast before me sucks in a lusty breath and releases a roar, speckling my face with bits of rotten flesh and a copper-tinged mist.

  The floor trembles as something lands between me and the approaching monster. Black leather, buckles, flowing black hair.

  Kate.

  She moves into the shadows, faster than I can follow. I suck in a few painful breaths, shaking my head as some of the old dizziness returns. Her arms are a blur. Her skin the dark shade of Strigoi rage.

  Blood slices through the air, some of it splashing across my arm.

  By the time the hacking and slicing ends, I have to clear my face of thick, ropey gore. Blinking away the sludge, I find Kate standing over several pieces of the giant, blood running off her arms in sheets, twisting into rivers over two tiny boning knives gripped tight in her hands.

  She turns and gives me a wink.

  Before I can even formulate a string of words to adequately communicate my feelings, she disappears into the fray once more. I right myself and grip my side, fresh pain slicing through my lungs. The interior of the feed store looks more like a hollowed-out corpse, meat hanging in strips from the ceiling, the floor sluiced in blood. I wander on sliding feet toward the front of the store, completely torn from the rest of the walls and hanging out into the street as fluids run over the splintered planks.

  Shadows sweep around me, flowing out into the smoky night. I stagger onto the street. A few ragged coughs pinch my cracked ribs as I choke on the fetid air. In the distance, near the church, I find a handful of Wendigo sprinting away. The orphans snatch a couple into the air as they sweep them onto rooftops. The noises of battle rush away from me, and I’m left with a whistling of wind and a belly-proud cackling from the top of the feed store.

  I turn to find Eli hanging precariously from the edge of the façade, watching from his perch. His face is twisted into what could be either grimace or glee.

  “Did you―” he sputters. “Did you see? The way they ran?”

  I nod and turn a slow circle.

  With slow, deliberate steps, I make my way back to the jailhouse. As I step through the wrecked doorway, I find all of the children, intact and staring at me with wide eyes.

  I hobble into the room and slump against the wall, sliding down beside the bars.

  A couple of the children clear their throats, but are otherwise silent.

  My hand lands on something hard and round.

  My stake.

  I grip the thing, happy to finally be armed again.

  One of the older girls weaves through the crowd of children and crouches near me. “Mister Folger?” she whispers.

  I smile at her and reach out my hand. She grips it tenderly.

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “What happened?”

  I wince as another round of pain rolls through my chest, then answer, “It’s called reinforcements.”

  “Are we saved?”

  I give her hand a squeeze.

  “If anyone can save us, it’s them.”

  I remain with the children for a while. Not sure how long, precisely, as I think I nod off at some point. I open my eyes to find the children whispering among themselves. They quiet down as footsteps approach outside.

  My hand clamps down on the aspen, though I realize I’m unlikely to be able to swing the thing.

  A familiar figure stands in what’s left of the doorway.

  She steps forward and crouches down in front of me.

  “You protected the children,” Kate whispers.

  “It was… Cheevey.”

  She cocks her head.

  I pull my hands up to my hips and try to shove myself upright. Kate guides me to my feet, her hand lingering in the small of my back.

  “Built the thing,” I explain. “Made it strong. He saved the children.”

  She runs a hand over my face.

  “Is it over?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “Your orphans found their strength, I think.”

  “They have a leader now,” she says.

  I touch her cheek. “Yes. I think they do.”

  She leans in and caresses my lips with hers. I hold for a moment before cradling her hair in my hand, pulling her close to me. I kiss my wife, my glorious, demonic wife.

  Chuckles leak from the bars, and I pull away to give them a smirk.

  “I suppose I can let you kids loose, now,” I grumble, fishing for the brass key in my pocket.

  Kate places a finger beneath my chin and pulls my face back to hers. “More.”

  I lose myself in her kiss once again, until she releases me.

  Her brow wrinkles. “Are you mine, again?”

  With as deep a breath as I can muster without wincing, I sigh and answer, “If you’ll have me.”

  We release the children, who cling to Kate despite the film of drying gore coating most of her. I keep an eye open as we herd them out into the open street. They cough at the smoke, still pouring down from the ridges. This fire might burn for a week. Bodies lie in the middle of the street, mostly the cannibals Eli and I dropped from on top of the feed store.

  “Don’t look at them,” I urge the children as we weave through ragged-torn corpses. Most of their sobs and sniffles have subsided, and they just keep stepping forward as Kate and I lead them.

  We find Mountain Beard’s body, missing its head and both legs. We also find more orphan Strigoi corpses than I had hoped to find. This was not an easy fight, and I feel a twinge of guilt as I consider how I spent the last of it, slumped over in the jailhouse, unconscious.

  A door opens beside the assay office, and four pale townsfolk step out into the smoke, coughing. We wind our way up the main street, checking each building in turn. I’ve already seen what’s become of Toomey. Lizzy and her mother are still holed up behind their door, tired and shaking, but alive.

  There’s not much left of Cheevey, or Ingrid, for that matter. But the mule still stand
s tethered to the cart, cranky and raw-nerved. That sends me into a frenzy of emotion I wasn’t expecting, and I give myself some distance from the others to take a moment. When I’m put together, I wipe my face and start counting the Wendigo bodies.

  As I finish my tour of the town’s ruins, I keep an eye out for either Odell or Richterman. Maybe I’m just too tired, or maybe something has changed. I feel alone, terrifyingly so.

  Kate approaches with a tired wave of her hand.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “One of Scarlow’s men was watching these things as they poured in. I have to be sure they’re all down.”

  “They are.”

  “I have to be sure.”

  She puts a firm hand on my shoulder. “Denton? I knew what we had to do.”

  I nod before a notion crosses my mind, a thought strong enough to make me swear out loud. The voice sounded too much like Odell for my comfort.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “There is one missing.”

  She turns a half circle before her eyes narrow. “Magner.”

  “Where’s Magner in this? I dropped a couple of the larger ones, but they weren’t him.”

  Kate sweeps off to confer with more of her orphans.

  Eli stumbles over to me, his hands out.

  “How many we got left?” he asks, looking over to the mass of survivors gathered in front of Holcomb’s, warming themselves against its remains which have been reduced to embers.

  “About half, so far.”

  “Jesus.”

  I nod. “Did you see Magner come into town?”

  He looks up, then down, then shakes his head slowly.

  Damn it all.

  Kate returns, somewhat breathless. Seems she’s reached her limit for otherworldly speed.

  “No one has seen him,” she mutters.

  “He didn’t take the bait.”

  We stand in silence for a while, before I clear my lungs, spit on the street, and turn for Ingrid’s remains. I reach inside and snatch as large a post as I can easily carry.

  “I’m going to need a horse,” I shout over to Eli.

  Kate lifts a hand to halt me. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to find Magner and ram this into his rib cage.”

  “Do you even know where to look?”