Silas: A Supernatural Thriller

by Robert J. Duperre

  The cleansing program had done its job. I took it as a sign to get moving, just in case. I threw the rucksack over my shoulder.

  Side by side, my boy and I marched onward.

  58

  I find it funny how perspective works, especially when you’re traveling. On the way to your destination the trip seems to take forever. Time slows to a crawl as your anticipation grows, making each moment stretch out. Seconds seem like minutes. Minutes seem like hours. The thrill of arrival forms an impatient lump in your throat.

  Then, when the journey’s done and you head for home, time speeds up. Before you blink, landmarks have passed you by. It’s as if the universe is getting even with you for your prior impatience, trying to balance the scales.

  The voyage out of the Wasteland was just like this.

  Silas, my human compass, led me by the hand. We traversed hills and valleys, maneuvered around trees and avoided the jungle’s concealed places where unknown creatures might lurk. We did our best to tread lightly, moving our feet with wary speed, trying not to rustle the leaves under foot too much. Besides the insects, the forest was quiet.

  My heart raced as Silas tugged me past the grown-over remains of houses we’d discovered the night before. I cocked my ear and listened for any sign of Big Guy and his platoon of mutated freaks. I heard nothing but the blood rushing through my head and hoped the bastards were somewhere in the dilapidated abodes, tucked into their beds for the night.

  Still we weaved, climbing a sharp incline. At its crest we discovered a small clearing. I sat down on a stump, reached into the pack, took out a bottle of water, and shared it with Silas. I didn’t have to pour it out for him this time; instead, he grasped it in his unsteady hands and took a tentative pull from the bottle. He caught on quick, it seemed. Even his hunched gait had straightened, allowing the blanket wrapped around him to skim above the ground rather than hang perilously close to his small feet and form a tripping hazard. I guessed that if he had a few more days of practice, he’d act just like any other human child. Again, that pang of sadness cramped my chest.

  I didn’t know exactly how long we’d been traveling, but it had to have been hours. Before too long I spotted the peak of the Crystal Mountain, its dew-covered outline shimmering in the bright blue moonlight. We’d be upon it in no time. The end of our quest was almost at hand. I stood up, shrugged the pack over my shoulders again, rustled Silas’s hair, and kept moving.

  We walked until we reached a thick copse of trees, looming ahead of us like petrified guardians. I went to walk through the thick foliage that surrounded them, but Silas jerked my hand, stopping me mid-stride. He pointed up. I followed his finger.

  Above us, woven through the trees, were hundreds of glistening, cylindrical forms. One hung down, hovering ten feet above my head. I saw the telltale, petal-like flaps and teardrop head. I stepped back, still staring, and spotted yet another dangling cranium, then another and another. We’d stumbled upon a nest of those sinister vine-snakes. I held my breath as I retreated, trying not to make a sound. The creatures didn’t react – they just hung there, swaying. In a panic I looked down at Silas, whose expression, with eyes wide and mouth hanging open, displayed how in awe he was. He displayed no fear, and this eased my mind a little. I allowed him to guide me around the coppice and up the next rise like a tiny Sherpa.

  By the time we exited the jungle, I saw the first streaks of daylight creep over the horizon. The yellow and red beams combined with the blue from the moon, turning the mountain into a tower of glistening color. For the first time it didn’t seem so ominous. I felt a twinge of hope as we neared it, but that hope nearly abandoned me when I heard the crackle of movement from behind us. I whirled around but saw nothing. Passing it off as my mind playing tricks on me, I kept moving forward.

  Loose volcanic rock replaced the dirt and leaves of the forest. I picked up Silas so their craggy shards wouldn’t impale his sensitive little-boy feet and traversed up the rise. He was heavy, and I wished he’d lost some of his mass when he made the transformation from dog to boy. Once at the top I pressed my back to the base of the mountain and skirted the edge of the giant crater. It was much easier this time than the first, even with Silas’s weight on my back.

  Finally we reached the other side. The vast expanse of the Deadlands stretched out before us, a world of ash and buried remnants of a long-lost world. I smiled despite its hopeless appearance.

  “We’re almost there, kiddo,” I said. Silas sighed in approval, his arms draped around my neck.

  59

  A freezing wind greeted us when we descended the hill and entered the desert terrain. I put Silas down and he stepped confidently over the cracked earth. I allowed him to walk ahead of me and smiled as I watched his stout legs appear and disappear from beneath the blanket. The light of day continued to emerge before us, swallowing the evening’s cobalt radiance.

  I heard a noise from behind me again – the sound of falling rocks. I paused and gradually swiveled my head. Though the Crystal Mountain glimmered, the area around it was still bathed in a strange blackness, as if the peak’s surface consumed all light. I squinted, but could see nothing. So I swiveled on my heels and continued following my boy, who hadn’t stopped.

  “Yo!” a strange voice called out, echoing all around me.

  Once more I stopped and faced the mountain. This time Silas joined me. A shape emerged from the blackness – a large being covered with hair. It approached with a hop in its step, waving.

  I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Who are you?” I yelled, but received no reply. The approaching stranger picked up speed, moving at a brisk jog now. There was something threatening about the swing of its arms. I glanced to my left and saw the buried remains of the VW van we’d passed on our way out here. I swore there were forms moving around in there, though there wasn’t enough light to tell for sure. I backed up a step.

  “Silas, I don’t like this,” I murmured.

  Still the stranger advanced. I thought about turning tail and running. I grabbed Silas’s hand and tried to yank him backward, but he wouldn’t budge. He just stood there, transfixed on the stranger. I remembered him acting like that whenever we’d met up with a certain murdering wolf-man, and then it hit me.

  It was Nick Goodman.

  The closer he came, the more obvious it became. I saw the mutton chops, which appeared longer than they’d been when I first met him back home. His eyes twinkled as the new day’s light streamed into them. His body was huge – much larger than I remembered – and though he still had a sizeable paunch he no longer seemed chubby. His muscles rippled like that of a bodybuilder. Black hair covered him, even creeping up his neck, making him look more like a bear than a human.

  And hanging there around his neck, fastened by a rope, was the disk.

  Nick slowed down. His forehead furrowed and he came to a stop, ten feet away.

  “What’re you doing, Nicely?” he asked. On this side, his voice wasn’t nasal but a full, deep baritone.

  I shrugged, trying not to show how scared I was. “Taking a walk. You?”

  Goodman’s eyes looked me over. “Nice clothes. They look ancient. Where’d you get them?”

  “At the Outskirts surplus store,” I replied, letting a bit of sarcasm enter my tone. “They might not look like much, but they’re comfortable.” I paused, and then said, “How long have you been following me, Nick?”

  “Since I left you on the cliff,” he replied. The way he talked was strange – hesitant, as if he had to remember the words before he said them. “I crossed the lake right after you, on Paul’s – your – old skiff.”

  “So you saw what went on back there?” I asked, pointing in the direction of the jungle beyond the Crystal Mountain.

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. I don’t go in there. Too many things don’t like me kind. I waited at cave in bottom of mountain.”

  His eyes squinted to beads and he coughed. His speech patterns faltered, as if he was devolving before
my eyes. Sensing an opportunity, I took a step forward.

  “Nick,” I said, “why did you bring me here?”

  He knelt down and clutched his chest, panting. “Had to…wanted to…see you again…make you understand…”

  “Understand what?”

  “Understand that…the mission…your honor…important.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not Paul, Nick. I have no mission. I just want to go home.”

  “No…not true…Paul you is…Paul you always been…”

  “Nope. Paul’s gone, Nick. He’s dead. You killed him. He was the best friend you’ve ever had, and you murdered him.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. You brought him to that…thing…and let it stick a hunk of metal in his chest. It killed him, Nick. He died slowly, and by the time I pulled the thing out of him, it was too late. And it’s all your fault.”

  “Not true!” he bellowed. “You Paul…you Paul! Me…no kill!”

  I inched perilously closer. Nick fell to his hands and knees, panting. He wasn’t looking at me. I quietly swung my pack in front of me and pulled out Kaiser’s knife. I reached forward with it and caught the rope under the blade.

  “No!” Nick screamed, and shot up. The blade slashed across the back of his neck as he did so, drawing blood. His sudden show of aggression frightened me, as did the look of hate that shone beneath a brow that extended and contracted with each breath he took.

  “No takey,” he muttered, choking on his tongue. “You no Paul…you…me…no…friend…”

  “Silas,” I whispered as I backed up. I reached down to grab him, only to find that he’d collapsed on the dusty ground as well, flailing about in the blanket that had been over his shoulders. His body distorted, elongating and retracting, just like Nick’s. The tiny hairs covering him became thick, grew longer. He was changing back with the rising sun. They both were.

  Nick rushed forward on all fours. It looked like his misshapen mouth was trying to form words, but only grunts came out. I brought the knife up as he leapt at me and it plunged into his shoulder. He let out a blood-curdling shriek and fell atop me. The knife fell from my hand.

  I kicked my legs, trying to get him off me. Nick reared back and clawed at my face. I closed my eyes and punched him as his fingers dug into my cheeks, my mouth, my neck. My windpipe constricted and I couldn’t breath. I felt claws grow from his fingertips and pierce my flesh. Blood seeped onto the barren ground. My efforts to fight him off were useless.

  Suddenly, his massive weight was lifted off of me. I gasped as air filled my lungs. I heard growls and an animal cry of pain. I rolled over and looked up.

  Silas was on Nick’s back. They were both almost completely back to their usual selves now, and Silas’s canine teeth sunk into the side of the budding wolf’s ear. Nick shook wildly and Silas flipped about like a rag doll. Nick finally snapped his neck forward and Silas went flying, taking a wolf’s ear along with him.

  When Silas landed in front of me, he was back to being a dog. He rose on his haunches and faced the monstrous wolf. A frightening, guttural rumble escaped his throat. I scampered to my knees and put a hand on his back. He glanced at me sideways, seemingly staring at the fluid that trickled from the wounds in my neck. Still baring his teeth, he took a step backward.

  The wolf Nick stared us down. Blood gushed from his massacred ear, rushed over his face, and dripped down his nose. The disk hung from his thick, furry neck, swaying, taunting me. He paced in a circle, measuring his prey, while my boy and I huddled together. I grabbed hold of Silas, who seemed like he wanted to charge. He barked incessantly. The sound rang in my ears. With the pain from my bruised and battered body already causing a headache to spike behind my eyes, I had to grit my teeth to keep from screaming.

  I gradually got to my feet and backed away. Tugging Silas along with me by the thick mass of loose flesh on the back of his neck proved difficult. He seemed like he wanted an altercation, no matter how many times I told him to calm down.

  Still Nick pressed on us, one step at a time. His massive paws dug into dry, packed earth, kicking up a cloud of dust each time a paw struck the ground. I wondered if he would get bored with the proceedings, seeing as it felt like I could actually see our shadows grow in the expanding daylight, but he didn’t. His yellow eyes seethed with anger.

  One of the dust clouds the wolf kicked up drifted too close to his muzzle. Nick opened his mouth, raised his head, and then sneezed, causing a veil of sand to fall over him. He sneezed again, and the veil grew thicker. I wheeled around and started running, dragging Silas behind me. I didn’t think about it, I just went. In the back of my mind I knew it was a futile effort – with his immense size, Nick would probably catch us in seconds if he chose to pursue.

  Which he did.

  I heard a loud rumbling followed by a massive weight that struck the bag on my back and sent me flying. I hit the ground and rolled, expecting the beast to be upon me any second, tearing for my throat, but nothing ever came except a shriek of pain. I forced my sore arms to prop me up and glanced toward the sound.

  “NO!” I cried.

  Silas ran circles around Nick. He seemed so small compared to the colossal wolf. His jaws snapped, biting our attacker on the knee, the tail, the neck. He was noticeably limping, and a large patch of his rear end glistened. Yet still he persisted, nipping at Nick with every opportunity he found. It seemed like the wolf had slowed down. His defenses – a slash of the claws, a snap of his jaws – hit nothing but air.

  I knew Nick wasn’t slowing down, though. He was simply measuring Silas’s movements, looking for his opportunity to strike. Silas, driven by a primal need to protect his companion, wasn’t much for strategy. His rotations were predictable, following a set pattern. Before I could yell out Nick surged ahead. His teeth grabbed Silas by the hind leg, and with one massive jerk he flung Silas into the air, like a killer whale does to a seal. I heard the crunch that followed once he hit the ground.

  Nick didn’t hesitate, storming after my boy and biting down on his head. Silas let loose with a frenzied stream of yelps and whines. Blood oozed down his neck, both his own and that from Nick’s ruined ear. The massive wolf stood up. Silas’s legs, though still kicking, seemed to lose steam.

  I panicked. My eyes darted around, searching for something, anything, to use as a weapon. I spotted the knife, lying just out of my reach, and made a dash for it. No one stopped me when I picked it up. There was nothing to hinder my progress when I spun around and launched myself at the beast that crushed my precious boy’s head in its mouth. And not a force in the universe could prevent me from plunging the knife deep into Nick’s muscular, fur-covered back.

  Silas dropped limp to the ground when Nick reared up on his hind legs. I was thrown to the side, landing on my bad hip with a thud. The knife still jutted from the spot I’d stuck it in, glimmering in the sunlight each time Nick spun around in an attempt to get it out. Luckily, his gyrations were taking him away from me. For the fourth time in five minutes I struggled to my feet and ran for my wounded boy.

  Silas was a mess. He’d gotten himself up on all fours, but his hind legs quivered. The dirt below him was covered with red, his face a mess of puncture wounds, and I saw a crimson gash leaking white fluid where his left eye should have been. I wrapped my arms around him and he nuzzled into my chest, letting out a whimper when his wounded face rubbed against me. I felt his blood saturate my coveralls, but didn’t care. My boy was hurt. For all I knew, he could’ve been dying.

  A chorus of wails and screeches broke us apart. I glanced about, terrified, thinking that Nick was charging again to finish the job he’d started. But that wasn’t what was going on, at all. In fact, what I did see was worse than that.

  From the carcass of the buried VW bus emerged a crowd of ten people. Their hair was long, their bodies a mess of scars and tattoos. Tattered remnants of everyday clothing hung off them. They peered in the direction of the Crystal Mountain. I followed their gaze, only to see Big G
uy running toward us, flanked by a platoon of his underlings. I swallowed hard and again backed up. This time Silas didn’t fight me, following my lead on trembling legs, his breathing raspy and strained.

  Big Guy dashed not for us, but in the direction of the still-flailing Nick. The Mercedes hood ornament hanging from his lip bounced from side to side as he ran. When he was close enough he leapt high in the air and landed square on Nick’s back. One of his arms disappeared beneath the wolf’s chin, the other grabbed the knife embedded in his back by the hilt and tore it out. With one violent motion he forced Nick’s head back and slashed the knife behind him, slicing through a good portion of muscle on the huge beast’s thigh. Nick’s hind legs gave out and he crumpled. Big Guy lay atop him, pressing his weight on the struggling creature until Nick finally stilled.

  The other Tao-Kin scurried up to the scene. One male took a thick rope and tried to loop it around Nick’s head. He lost a finger in the process due to Nick’s desperately snapping jaws, but his friends were there to assist him a moment later. Soon the wolf was bound and muzzled. Big Guy’s muscles relaxed. He slid off the beast and stood towering over the scene, hand on hips. I stared on, a mixture of gratefulness and terror paralyzing my legs.

  Very slowly, Big Guy turned to us. He glowered first at me, then at Silas. His colossal hand rose up and he pointed a damning finger at us. He then flicked the hood ornament, which created the tink of a wind chime, and turned his back. He and his kin tied Nick’s legs together and began to drag him away by the rope fastened around his neck.

  For a few desperate moments my brain cried out to the poor creature. I heard Nick’s muffled cries of terror and felt for him, for what was going to happen to him. He didn’t deserve to be strung up like the wolf-girl, to be berated and taunted and then finally murdered in the most horrible of ways. Then I thought of Bridget Cormier, of her bruised and violated body, and decided to push those feelings of pity from my mind.