by Barry Reese
“It was horrifying... but fascinating. And poor Jamie wasn’t the only one. It struck his horse and it underwent a similar metamorphosis, albeit into some kind of hybrid of equine and something else. Reptile, possibly? It all hap-pened so fast, and the darkness was falling.” Zabros breathed deeply.
“Whatever this essence struck, it fundamentally warped into something evil, something utterly inhuman. Their hide is gray as slate, rippling with muscle, their reflexes inhumanly fast... they fell on those who had not been struck, tearing and clawing. We fought back as best we could, but when the entire landscape is transforming around you into some kind of chaotic miasma... it even affected the trees. Poor chaps, if only I hadn’t been running for my life, I might have been able to obtain a sample...”
Kane frowned softly. While it was possible he may return the professor bodily to civilization, the constable was certain the old man’s reason was all but gone. It was only by clinging to his scientific principles that the man was retaining his sanity, and Kane felt the man’s grip was slippery at best.
“Is there anyone else professor? Anyone at all? We found the search party Fort Saskatchewan sent after you...” Kane kept his voice soft and even.
“Mm? Oh no. No I’m afraid not. Dreadful really. Torn to pieces by mutated flora, fauna, and homo sapiens. Quite tragic. One fellow might have slipped the net. I saw them, you know. Saw them from up here. I wanted to call out, I truly did. But I did not dare. No, no. They smell and hear so very, very well. Is it possible we could capture one of them? I am certain with two such stout men as yourselves we could easily restrain...”
Zabros drifted into barely coherent ramblings about ‘findings’ and ‘papers’ and ‘the discovery of a lifetime’ and Kane sighed. The last of the old scientist’s reason was gone. What was left was the shell of a man at best. He rose slowly, about to gently guide the man to a bedroll when Potts’s voice cut through the soft mutterings of the old man, tense and clear.
“Kane. We have visitors.”
The stone circle stood vacant, but it didn’t take the trained officer long to see what Potts was talking about. A group of creatures prowled along the periphery of the circle, snuffling at it suspiciously, hissing and snarling as if fearful of something. Some walked on two legs, others four, but they all shared that common, pasty grey flesh, rippling muscle, with teeth and talons replacing hands, feet, paws, or hooves. Kane’s eye was particularly drawn to one mas-sive shape, reared up on hind legs. Evidently the grizzly hadn’t been so much killed as it had been consumed, dull yellow eyes flashing in the darkness. For a moment the gaze of the beast and the man locked and Kane shivered. It saw him with an intelligence and malice that no mere animal could match.
He shook his head, breaking off after a long moment to crouch beside Potts. The tracker hadn’t moved from his crouch behind one of the fallen stones, gazing down the barrel of the carbine with a soft grumble.
“They started arriving about halfway through the old man's raving.” Potts raised the carbine, leaning it on the stone.
“They don’t seem to be attacking.” Kane murmured. “Damned strange. They know we’re here, so why aren’t they...” His voice trailed off as it dawned on him. He locked eyes with Potts, who nodded.
“This place is protected somehow. Long years of strong medicine, the raising of these stones... your Sky Father taking an interest, I don’t know. But it’s working. It’s keeping them out.”
“But on the other hand, it’s keeping us in. We try to ride through that, we’ll be slaughtered. There’s dozens of them, at the very least.”
“Two dozen, and the big fellow.” Potts nodded to the once-grizzly, who cuffed a smaller, once-caribou aside, shat-tering the mummified remnant of its remaining antlers to powder. The smaller creature squealed in alarm, skittering into the background.
“Anything in the wagon we could use?”
“Some papers, some stuff I can't make heads or tails of. A crate of dynamite...”
Kane grinned widely. “Well that's encourag—”
“... that opened in the snow, soaking most of it. I found four sticks worth salvaging. Dried 'em out as close as I dare get 'em to the fire, but there's no way to tell if they'll work.”
Kane ran a gloved hand along his jaw, assessing the situation. No way in, no way out. A perfect circle of protection and the perfect trap all at once. Unless...
He moved quickly, ignoring Potts’ hissing warning to stop as he slipped low, stooping long enough to grasp a stone. He moved quickly, not wanting to linger any closer to the creatures than he must, doing his best to avoid noticing the series of mouths that seemed to be opening along their flesh, the growing number of eyes. Whatever this blight was, it was continuing to change the wretched remnants of the men and beasts. Drawing his arm back as he neared the edge of the stone circle, he took aim at one of the more human-looking entities. He hurled the stone, a sidelong throw as if intending to skip it along a pond.
The stone struck the creature in the forehead, causing the eye that sprouted there to clench tightly shut as the thing yowled its displeasure. It charged at Kane, who drew his pistol with a speed that would have given Wild Bill Hickock pause. Years of instinct set him to firing, the double-action army pistol roaring as the bullets drove into what passed for the creature’s brain. The beast jerked in mid-stride, rocking backward as it struck an invisible barrier, wounds opening in its flesh as its skull exploded like rotten fruit struck by a mallet. Kane grimaced, but nodded as the thing fell to the ground with a satisfying thud. Two of the beast’s companions fell on it, biting and tearing as their fellows crowded in, ichorous, yellowish-red fluid that might once have been blood spewing as the entities fell on their fallen comrade with all the loyalty of sharks in frenzy.
A sound behind him made Kane spin, the pistol raised... then lowered as he saw Potts. The tracker whistled softly.
“That was either the bravest thing I've seen or the dumbest.” He cocked the carbine, taking aim at one of the larger beasts, and fired. It staggered, hissing its displeasure and attempted to charge as Potts fired again. Another shot caused it to fall, triggering another feeding frenzy as more of the creatures fell on their fallen comrade.
“We just pick them off, watch them eat each other, is that it?”
Kane nodded. “They seem to live only to eat, and aren't especially choosy about what it is. I think if we stay within the circle and conserve our ammunition we should have a chan—down!”
Kane leapt to the side, tackling Potts and sending them sprawling as a massive boulder flew past, slamming into the nearest of the standing stones and sending fragments of rock flying. Kane rolled into a crouch, levelling his pistol at the sight of the massive once-grizzly, it's dull yellow eyes (all eight of them at his point) glinting, lips drawn back from razor teeth as it roared a challenge. The creatures surged forward, and Kane noted with apprehension that they seemed to be closer this time.
“The big fellow's no fool,” Potts murmured, watching as the massive creature stalked back down the rocky path. “He knows what's keeping him and his brothers out.” Potts raised the carbine, aimed, and fired a shot, but the creature was out of range.
Kane eyed the damaged stone. While there were others that had fallen over in time, they were still largely intact. This one was cracked, portions of it shattered and fallen to mix with the remnants of the boulder. Another hit would be all it took to destroy it completely, and Kane very much doubted that was something they wanted.
He moved to Potts' side. “We don't have a lot of time then.”
“Do we have anything at all like a plan?”
“As a matter of fact... yes.”
In fairness, it very nearly worked. Potts mounted up, the Professor sitting dazedly behind him, still rambling softly to himself in the cave when they’d found him. Kane sat astride Persephone.
They began by firing at the smaller creatures, taking out as many as they could, preferably in groups of two or three. As the monstrosit
ies fell, their brethren swarmed them, biting and chewing as they consumed their dead. Potts focused his efforts to the left of the path, Kane to the right. Soon enough they’d had two clusters to either side, clawing and rending at the fresh carrion.
Kane nodded to Potts, who spurred his horse to begin a fast trot, breaking into a run as he made a series of circles, letting the plucky palomino build a head of steam. Kane reached down, grabbing his matches and thumbing one alight, raising it to the first of the two bundles of dynamite. Each consisted of two sticks on a fuse that was entirely too short for Kane’s liking. He lit the first, tossing it amidst the pack of beasts along the left of the path, then quickly lit the other, hurling it into the group on the right.
He spurred Persephone on, getting the mare into a quick gallop that increased in speed as he rounded the circle. His mount was faster, so he could afford to be a little behind.
Near the end of his first circle and Potts’ fourth, the first bundle went off. Dirt and rocks and flesh bursting into the air amid shrieks of the wounded and dying. Kane grinned tightly, his hands shifting on the reins. The second bundle went off a moment later, and the creatures were sent sprawling, blood and ichor spattering the earth.
Potts broke first, leading his mount down the path with scattergun in one hand and a pistol in the other, reins clenched between his teeth. A few of the creatures that had taken the least of the blasts hissed and reared, reaching out for the trapper and the professor with flashing claws, only to meet the thunder of his guns, sending them falling back among the corpses of their fellows.
Kane followed as quickly as he could, though a sudden rush of three of the creatures gave him a moment's pause. His pistol barked, each shot dead centre in the foreheads of the onrushing creatures, who fell hard into the dirt. He drove his spurs gently into Persephone's flanks, encoura-ging the steed to close on Potts and the professor. It was then he saw it.
Potts and the dazed academic had made it halfway down the pass, and had encountered the largest of the beasts, the thing that had once been a bear. It now was a warped mix of species and traits, vestigial wings that resembled a fly hanging from its broad back, tendrils forming around the fanged maw of its muzzle and jutting from its sides. In its strong arms it held a boulder, intent for the stone circle. Now it menaced the old man and the scout, clearly intent on crushing them with it.
Kane moved quickly, holstering his pistol and drawing his carbine. He took aim, doing his best to compensate for the movement of Persephone. The crack of his shot rang out, and one of the two central eyes in the creature's skull popped out of existence. It roared, drawing back in pain before turning in his direction.
“Oh dear,” Kane murmured.
The beast hurled the boulder. Kane had only an instant to turn Persephone away from the onrushing stone, but even as he slipped into a crouch it passed overhead, catching at his shoulder and sending him falling from the saddle, the carbine clattering into the brush. The mare kept running, slipping down the path and easily passing the beast and the young tracker's mount.
Kane hit the ground hard, bouncing twice before rolling into a half-crouch. He clutched his shoulder, biting back a scream of pain. Dislocated, his right arm hung limp at his side.
The beast was charging now, ignoring Potts' fire as if moving through a cloud of gnats. Potts drew his scattergun and started to reload. A rustling behind him made Kane turn his head. Four of the creatures had managed to survive, and even hideously wounded they were advancing on him.
“Go!” Kane roared. He staggered to his feet, taking a breath as he braced himself for what was to come.
Kane moved toward a stout-looking slab of rock jutting from the earth. He lined his shoulder as best he was able, then slammed it into the stone. The pain was unbelievable, threatening to overwhelm him but he felt the joint go back into its socket. He staggered, momentarily dazed.
The air near him turned foul, and Kane spun to face one of the wounded creatures, its claws raking toward his face. He leapt backward, drawing his pistol and firing in a single motion. The beast gurgled, fell, and lay still.
Damion Kane's eyes grew cold. Switching the pistol from his right hand to his left he drew the sabre at his hip. To his left the great beast loomed, moving at an ambling gait, weighed down by its bulk. To his right the hissing, gibbe-ring things that had once been man and elk. His duster fell open, the crimson of his uniform tunic standing out in harsh relief against the snow and dirt.
“Come on then.” Kane's voice was even, almost pleasant, but his eyes blazed. “We're none of us getting any younger.”
The trio rushed at him, moving in a limping gait that belied their ferocity. Kane moved quickly, his pistol barking even as he swung his blade in a vicious, downward arc. The weakened creatures fell, the once-man's head bouncing on the dirt path. He drove his blade downward, nearly severing the heads of the elk-things in two vicious swipes.
He stiffened, hearing the sound of something massive moving through the air. Instinctively he dove and rolled. As it stood the massive arm of the great beast nearly took his head, the glancing blow tearing his scarlet jacket, knocking the Stetson off to roll in the mud and snow. He rose to his feet, aiming his pistol dead centre at the beast's face as it roared challenge. He pulled the trigger.
Click.
Kane's expression shifted from grim satisfaction to annoyance. “Of course.”
The beast charged, and Kane slipped to one side, driving his blade in hard against the creature's flank. It roared in pain, greenish-yellow fluids bleeding from the wound in its side. Kane's eyes narrowed, then widened as he felt a warmth at his chest. He touched the icon hanging from his neck. The ebony wood had long since been smoothed by the passage of years, carved from a larger item into the image of a cat's head. He squeezed it tightly, drawing strength from it even as his enemy charged again. He heard the clap of Potts' guns, the cries of the man warning him to get away, to run, to get back to his horse. He ignored them.
Kane charged, spinning the blade in his wrist and moving into the creature's two-legged charge. He ran and leapt, spinning the blade and driving it downward, into the creature's throat, his own torn by a roar of defiance. The beast's eyes widened in shock, its arms reaching to grasp at Kane, to rend him limb from limb, only to draw back, writhing in pain as Kane brandished the feline icon. The Mountie leapt clear, leaving his sword in the creature's neck.
The great beast teetered on its feet and took a step toward him, letting out a low, mewling gurgle, then fell heavily to the ground. It spasmed once, twice, then lay still.
Kane snapped his reloaded sidearm shut, advancing on the creature.
Potts dismounted his horse, moving to Kane's side. “Careful. It might still—”
Kane emptied the pistol into its skull, watching as the remaining eyes on the great hide rolled over white.
“Not any more it isn't.”
Kane couldn't explain the rest (much of what happened would be left out of his official report), but after the great beast died, whatever eldritch force had taken hold of the forest seemed to have been broken. Gradually the enforced night gave way to day, the trees became trees once more. They rode clear of the forest, and Kane sighed with relief at the sight of a refreshingly beautiful twilight sky.
They rode in silence for a time, broken only by the occasional rambling of the once-sane man of science. Potts was the first to speak plainly.
“Nobody will ever believe us.”
“Does it seem likely they would?” Kane raised an eyebrow.
“Some of the elders might, but yes, I see your point.” Potts grunted. “We'll never speak of this again.”
“Agreed.”
TRAIN COMES A-BURNIN'
by Mark Bousquet
They'd boarded the train in Kansas City, two women with violence in their hearts. They cut a striking pair, the long-haired, lithe Korean in black leather pants and brown duster, and the curly-locked New Englander in blue jeans, white blouse, and a black vest,
but their steeled eyes kept strangers at a distance. When the porter came for their tickets an hour outside of the city, he was prepared to offer up a quip to the Oriental about the kind of train that had brought her to America, but the bruises on her face and the cold glare from the brunette stilled his tongue.
The porter took their measure as he took their tickets. They were beautiful, a shade short of thirty, and while the women weren't soft, they were a long way from hard, no matter how cold their glares. He wondered if the white woman (she'd registered under the name Jill) was a Union widow, and if the Korean (Haneul) was her servant; certain-ly, it was the white woman who did all the talking.
There was something in the way they looked at the world around them that told the porter they were headed for trouble. Jill's eyes seemed eternally focused on the future while Hanna's were locked on the past.
The porter wondered if they knew the trouble they were headed for was each other.
Any woman on a westbound train would draw the attention of those already hardened by the western sun and dirt, but there was a sense of unease on this trip from the moment the train had departed Roanoke. The porter had chalked it up to his inquisitive nature, his need to find a story everywhere he went, but it was in Cincinnati that the unease turned palpable. An off-limits caboose had been connected to their train and with it had come the Haverton agents. Dressed in their signature dark red jackets, black pants, and black bowler hats, the Havertons looked like Victorian cops trapped on the wrong continent. They were a security service for hire, but it was an open secret that they were connected all the way back to Queen Victoria, herself. One Haverton was enough to make the average person nervous and now there were twenty of these hardened, serious men roaming the train.
