by Hill, Bear
Pablo said nothing.
“Hey,“ the leader said. “I’m talking to you.“ He shoved Pablo’s shoulder. Without looking up, Pablo groaned in warning.
“You are a fucking dunce.“ The boy shoved Pablo again, this time more forcefully. Pablo made a half-animal sound in his throat as he stumbled backward. The three boys chuckled, the cold light of cruelty gleaming in their eyes.
“Have a seat, you stupid piece of shit.“ The leader slammed Pablo against the porch rail. Pablo rebounded and fell to his knees. He began to rock back and forth as the inhuman sound gained volume in his throat.
“That’s right you fucking dunce.“ The leader stepped in front of Pablo. “Bow to your fucking betters. Bow to—!“
Pablo lunged forward and clamped his teeth onto the bully’s genitals. The boy screamed, his voice the terrified, high-pitched shriek of a girl.
“Get him off me! Get him off me!“
The two lackeys stood frozen in shock.
The leader shoved at Pablo’s head, but he refused to loosen his jaws. “Ah, Jesus! He’s killing me! Get him off!“ The lackeys finally snapped out of their bewilderment and rushed forward. They took hold of Pablo’s arms and pulled, trying to wrench him off their friend. The leader’s yells grew louder, his already unbearable pain tripling with their attempts to free him.
“No!“ the boy screamed. Not—!“ Unable to cope with his anguish, the boy’s body was trying to shut down. He’d gone white and his eyeballs were threatening to roll back in his head.
The lackeys stopped pulling and began to beat at Pablo’s head. Pablo seemed oblivious to their onslaught. His teeth remained a vice on the boy’s testicles. A blow found Pablo’s temple and black roses bloomed before his field of vision. His mouth fell open and he slumped to the ground.
The leader dropped onto the porch beside him, still screaming as he cupped his balls in his hands.
The lackeys looked at each other. “Let’s get the hell out of here!“ They took their leader’s arms and began dragging him away.
Pablo began to rock where he lay on the floor, moaning until the wood grains caught his eye once again. As he began to methodically count them, his world steadied and his encounter with the boys began to fade from his mind.
Pablo awoke as if from a trance to stare at the furry arm of the skinwalker carrying him through the dense fog. He didn’t realize what was happening. One minute he’d been inside counting the nailheads in the church floorboards and now he was outside in the cold and dark. He did not like the cold or the dark. What he liked even less was someone other than his mother touching him. And this stinking, hairy thing had Pablo’s entire body cradled against its side.
Pablo growled and sank his teeth into the skinwalker’s arm. The creature jerked to a halt and howled in pain. It slung Pablo away, tossing him through the fog.
Pablo smacked the earth and rolled. He scrambled to his feet and ran. He heard the skinwalker howl, and he quickened his pace. Without warning, Pablo smacked into something hard and solid in the fog. Pablo looked up and made out the shapes of the rails comprising Doc Howard’s outdoor pig pen. He slid in between them and ran for the Doc’s slaughterhouse.
Pablo heard the skinwalker’s barking grow louder as it closed in. Then the beast yelped in pain as it banged against what Pablo knew was the pig pen’s rails. Pablo ran for the chute leading inside the slaughterhouse. At the last moment, he dropped onto his belly and edged his way into the crawl space beneath the building. He heard the skinwalker roar as it crashed through the chute doors into the slaughterhouse above.
Pablo curled into a fetal ball. The skinwalker’s heavy tread on the slaughterhouse floorboards sent dust cascading down over his body. Pablo heard the monster topple over several tables, scattering knives and other tools as it sniffed for him. He caught a glimpse of its snarling face as it crossed over the floor drain.
At last, he heard the beast lope across the slaughterhouse floor and exit through the chute. Pablo feared the skinwalker would shove its muzzle into the crawlspace in search of him. He wanted to moan but a voice deep inside his head, that of his mother, told him not to, so he obeyed.
The skinwalker howled. Its call was answered by several more far off in the distance. Pablo heard the monster beat a retreat, and then all fell silent. So Pablo lay there in the dark, cold and alone, with the smell of death all around him.
Farnsworth stood in an upscale restaurant full of chandeliers and ornate crown moldings. He was dressed in a three-piece suit. A gold watch dangled from a gilded chain attached to his vest. “And then,“ J.T. said, “I watched as the savage cavorted in a vulgar manner about the fire pit, half naked and mesmerized by whatever dark gods he called master.“
“Oh, pooh, Jonathan“ the woman at the table before him said. “You did no such thing!“ She was dressed in Edwardian layers that hid a once ravishing body now decades past its prime.
“I swear it upon my father’s good name, dear lady!“
“I thought you said you never knew your father?“
“Quite right, Madame.“ Farnsworth bowed and batted his baby blues. “You have weighed my words and found their true measure. I am at your mercy. Do with me as you will.“
The woman grinned as she waved a fan at her chest. “I intend to.“
And I intend to take you and, through you, Mr. Hollister, for every scent lining your grotesquely fat pockets.
Farnsworth felt a tap on his shoulder. The restaurant’s maitre d’, a small man with a pencil-thin mustache, stood behind him.
“Excuse me, sir,“ the maitre d’ said, his words overly articulate. “There is someone at the front desk who wishes to speak with you.“
Farnsworth laughed and took the once attractive lady’s hand.
“Tell them to go away. I’m entertaining Mrs. Hol—“
The maitre d’ cleared his throat and leaned in close to Farnsworth.
“She refuses to leave until she’s seen you, sir. Please, we don’t want to make a scene, now do we?“ The maitre d’ gave Farnsworth a sidelong glance. “Especially in front of the good Mrs. Hollister—?“
Farnsworth scowled. “Very well.“ He turned and kissed the back of Mrs. Hollister’s hand. “I shan’t be but a moment, my dear.“
“Do hurry.“
Farnsworth followed the maitre d’ into the restaurant’s foyer to find a beautiful young girl grinning at him from ear to ear.
She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh, J.T.!“ she said, positively glowing. “I was beginning to fear I wouldn’t find you. I have the most wonderful news: we’re going to have a baby!“
The girl squeezed Farnsworth to her. He recoiled as he imagined the bulge of a swollen, pregnant belly pressing against him. In truth, the girl wasn’t showing…yet.
That’s something, at least, Farnsworth thought.
The girl held him at arm’s length, her eyes sparkling like stars. “Well, isn’t it truly wonderful—?“
“Uh, yes, well, uh, you see, Helen—“ J.T. said
“Heather!“
“Of course, Heather—“ J.T. took her by the arm and brought her to the restaurant’s door. “It’s just that I’m indisposed at this particular moment.“
“Indisposed—? You’re going to be a father, you silly goose.“
“Yes, well, about that—“
“Jonathan—?“
Farnsworth turned to see Mrs. Hollister waving a lacey kerchief at him from her seat at the table.
“J.T.,“ Heather said, her brow furrowed. “Who’s that woman?“
“Oh, she’s, uh, she’s with my publisher, my dear.“
Inspiration having struck, Farnsworth relaxed. “Yes. She’s with my publisher and we are in a discussion about my next book. So as you can well see, I am at a critical point in our negotiations and can’t be bothered right now.“
“But—“
“Yes, dear.“ Farnsworth opened the restaurant’s door. “Wonderful, fabulous,
astounding news.
“Now why don’t you just run on home, and when I’m done here, I’ll be right over and you can tell me all about it.“
Farnsworth smiled his smarmiest grin as he gestured for Heather to take her leave.
Heather stood there a moment, a shocked look on her face. Her expression transmuted into a scowl, and she slapped Farnsworth. Hard. Then she exited both the restaurant and Farnsworth’s life without another word.
“We’re as good as dead,“ Sanchez said. “They’re doing it again. Picking us off one by one. This Gatling gun ain’t going to do us a damn bit of good in the end.“
“Would you shut your mouth?“ The reverend said. It was a command rather than a question. He pointed to Maxine where she stood crying in the bounty hunter’s arms. “Can’t you see she just lost her son?“
“Yeah?“ Sanchez asked. “Well, I’ve lost a fucking lot, too, preacher. Every friend I had in the world. So don’t tell me to shut me fucking mouth! You got me?“
“Calm down, son,“ Wilson said. “We’ve all been through a lot.“
“Jesus Christ!“ Sanchez screamed. “Why does everybody in this fucking church want to tell me what to do?“
“Now you listen—!“ Wilson began.
“No, Wilson,“ the reverend said. “That’s all right. Can’t you see the boy’s still out of sorts from his wound. Look at him, he’s pale as a sheet and covered with sweat.“
“God in heaven.“
Everyone turned to see Farnsworth, his eyes wide and his mouth agape as he gazed down at the pile of skinwalker corpses. One-by-one, the others looked to the dead monsters, and similar expressions crept over their faces.
The corpses steamed, wisps of cloud rising from their bodies in small, snaking tendrils to distort the air.
Then the dead skinwalkers began to change.
The fur fell from their bodies in clumps, leaving behind large, copper-hued splotches of bare skin. Lupine legs straightened, drawing in upon themselves. Long, feral torsos collapsed, bones crunching as they rearranged themselves. Claws became hands. Muzzles changed into human faces. At last, the transformation halted. The survivors now stood not in a graveyard of monsters, but that of naked, young Navajo men.
“It’s true.“ Farnsworth said, his expression blank. “Every word of it. The troll did this. He changed them. It’s all true.“
The bounty hunter released Maxine and walked over to J.T. He reached into his pants pocket and produced the key to Farnsworth’s remaining piece of shackle. “You did good back there, Professor.“ The bounty hunter’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I figure if we’re all going to die, you might as well do it as a man free and clear.“
Farnsworth stared at the dead Navajo several more seconds. Then his gaze shifted to the key in the bounty hunter’s hand. A full minute passed before he reached out with his burned hand and took it.
“I’ve been a fool.“ His face was slack and his voice low, as though he were in a trance. “My entire life has been squandered in lies. And now I’m going to die before I can set things right.“
The bounty hunter rocked back in surprise.
“Did you know I have a child?“ Farnsworth said. “Or at least I think I do. I ran away when I found out. Is he right now in some back alley playing stick ball with his friends? Or is she at her mother’s side, chopping potatoes for supper? I’ll never know. I’ll never have the chance.“
Beside the men, Maxine spun on her heels and strode past the Gatling gun into the study beyond.
“Hey, where are you going?“ Wilson asked.
“To get my son!“
The men followed Maxine into the rectory to see her dropping through the trapdoor. The bounty hunter slid down after her. Maxine held a lantern aloft as she rummaged through a crate of pistols. She found one that appeared to be in good shape, lifted it, and checked the chamber for grit. Satisfied it was clean, she sat the lantern down and began loading bullets from an adjoining crate into the gun.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?“ the bounty hunter asked.
“I told you,“ Maxine said, “I’m going to get Pablo.“
“Max,“ the bounty hunter said, searching for soft words but finding none, “Pablo’s dead.“
Maxine closed the loaded chamber and then sat the pistol down to load another. “You don’t know that. You saw that thing. It didn’t know what to do with him, so it took him out of here alive. And all this time me thinking Pablo’s way of being was a curse. Now out of all us and our guns, it was the only thing that saved him.“
“Max,“ the bounty hunter said, “even if Pablo is alive out there somewhere, there’s no way you can get to him. Those skinwalkers are still crawling all over the place.“ The bounty hunter placed his hands on her shoulders. “Please, be sensible.“
Maxine shook off the bounty hunter’s hands and whirled on him. “You don’t know that! How many have we killed? Thirty? Forty? There can’t be that many of them left. They can’t just go on forever!“
“You go out there,“ the bounty hunter said, his face grim, “and you’ll die.“
Maxine slammed her fist down on the crate as tears began to leak from her eyes. “Then who won’t die? You? Will go after my boy? Because one way or another, I’m not leaving him to die out there at the hands of those things.“
“I’ll go,“ Farnsworth said. He was crouched above them at the trapdoor, now free of his last remaining bond. A calm not before present in the writer had crept over him.
“You’ll do no such damn thing,“ the bounty hunter said. “They’ll kill you before you’re ten foot out the door. You don’t know what you’re talking about.“
“The hell I don’t, sir,“ Farnsworth said. “I may have run out on my child, but not on this one. Not ever again.“
“You’re not going!“ the bounty hunter shouted. He turned and looked at Maxine. He sighed and hung his head. “I’ll go.“
Maxine’s eyes went wide as her mouth dropped open in surprise.
The bounty hunter gazed in Maxine’s direction, but his mind was far off in the past. “If anyone’s got something to atone for around here, it’s me.“
Chapter 9
THE RESCUE ATTEMPT
“Stay in here.“ The bounty hunter buckled his gun belt. But he wasn’t a bounty hunter, yet. Only an ex-soldier who had long left war behind in favor of his wife and farm.
He’d dressed hastily, only throwing on his trousers and boots, not bothering with a shirt. “Better yet, get under the bed, Sonny.“
The veteran’s wife looked up at him from her seat on the edge of their bed with large, fearful eyes. She unconsciously cupped her hands to the swell of her pregnant belly. “But what if they come in?“
The veteran bent down and cupped her lovely brown face in his hands. He had always loved Sonny’s abundant curves, the delicate hollow of her throat, the small of her back. But it was her face—that woman-child’s face with its doe eyes and small mouth that had always excited him the most.
“They won’t, Sonny. I promise, I’m not going to let them hurt you, or our baby.“ He pressed his lips to hers.
“Now get under the bed.“
Once his wife was hidden, the man edged up to one of the two windows of their single room cabin and peeked through it.
Sonny poked her head out from beneath the bed. “Don’t go, Dewayne. Please.“
The veteran—Dewayne—turned to look back at her. “That hog’s all we got. They get it, we going to starve come winter.“ Dewayne drew his revolver. “They ain’t getting our hog.“
Dewayne crouched under the window and duck-walked over to the door. He nudged it open a few inches and peeked outside. He gave Sonny a final, quick nod and then shuffled out the door.
Still in a crouch, Dewayne scanned the area to make sure no sniper waited for him in the trees beyond their field. Dawn was still arriving and so it was difficult to see. Satisfied more by the lack of gunshots than anything else that the woods were clear, he
edged his way down the side of the cabin toward the hog pen around the corner.
He reached the corner and stuck his head out just enough to snatch a glance. There were three of them. One with a rifle stood watch by the pen’s gate while the other two, armed with pistols, wrestled in the mud with the pig. They were white men, their faces bearded and their clothes soiled with dirt from a hundred roads and byways.
Dewayne exhaled, readying himself. Then he leapt from his hiding place and leveled his gun on the man with the rifle.
“Drop your guns!“
The two in the pen froze with their hands on their pistol grips. The one standing watch held his rifle at port arms, his mouth working, his body a coiled spring.
“I said drop your guns goddamnit! Get your hands up!“
Reality slowed as the lookout brought his rifle up to bear against his shoulder. Dewayne squeezed the trigger of his revolver, the action seeming to take eons. The gunshot echoed in his ears, deep and drawn out as though he’d fired his weapon underwater. Blood reached out of the lookout's chest like red hand. The other two men began to draw their pistols, their movements graceful and dreamlike.
Dewayne turned in slow motion and flipped the hammer of his revolver. His strokes were deliberate and they appeared to him like movements more akin to spreading butter than firing a gun. The bullets struck home and the hog thieves convulsed and jerked in a sluggish ballet of death until they sank backward into the mud.
Dewayne heard someone behind him and reality shot forward like a racing comet. He whirled and fired his gun just as he realized it was his Sonny who’d been approaching. Dewayne screamed. Sonny’s chest exploded with a spray of blood and gore as she fell to the earth.
He slung his gun to the ground and rushed to her side. He dropped to his knees and took her in his arms. Sonny’s eyes were blank and glossy and her breath had stopped. “No, Sonny. No!“ Dewayne’s body began to shake with sobs as the reality of what he’d done hit him. “I told you to stay inside! I told you to stay inside! Oh, God, please, no!“
