Much longer.
Not only that, they were near as wide as any of the cabin doors back down at the Creek. Jake estimated the wingspan at fourteen feet, and some of the birds joining the spiral below looked to be even bigger still.
He watched the first bird as it rose above him. Its head was as big as two fists put together and even from a distance the beak was a formidable weapon, gleaming like a well-honed knife. The feathers at the tips of the wings looked as long as Jake’s arm as they splayed to catch variations in the thermal.
There were now twelve birds soaring in the spiral, with more joining at the bottom of the thermal as they watched. The highest bird was already twenty yards above them, its shadow racing across the snowfield.
“Have you ever seen anything like it,” Jake whispered.
“Well actually,” the Squire said. “In Egypt they have vultures that can carry off a horse. I once saw…”
The Pastor interrupted him.
“Squire?”
“Yes?”
“For once, just shut the fuck up. And head for the trees. We’re in trouble.”
Jake turned towards the Pastor but the big man had already made a run for the tree line, plowing through the knee-deep snow. Jake saw why less than a second later.
A black shape swooped from high, coming at such a speed that he barely had time to react. He threw himself aside at the last possible moment and felt the wind from the bird’s wings waft against his face. The attacking eagle screeched in frustration, talons raking the air where Jake had just been. It skimmed the ground, sending up a flurry of powdered snow and stayed just airborne enough to clear the trees at Jake’s back. It banked off over the cliff edge, losing height as it lost the thermal.
A second bird headed for the Squire, but the man had seen it coming. The Englishman already had his rifle raised and was sighting along the barrel.
“Squire. Get down,” Jake shouted. “This ain’t no turkey shoot.”
The Englishman stood his ground as the bird, wings tucked close to its body, talons outstretched, powered towards him.
If it hits him he’s a goner.
The eagle closed to less than ten yards. The rifle boomed. The bird’s head flew apart in an explosion of blood and feathers. Momentum kept the rest of it going. It tumbled to the ground, bones snapping like matchsticks. The body landed in a tangle of broken wings at the Squire’s feet.
The Englishman turned and smiled at Jake.
“I do believe I may be the first man to bag a Thunderbird,” he said, and laughed. “Just wait until I tell the chaps in the billet about this one.”
Jake caught a glimpse of a black shadow moving swiftly across the snowfield.
Another eagle swooped from above towards them. Jake ducked reflexively.
Two shots rang out, and the eagle fell from the sky to land less than five yards from the other.
The Pastor stood, just inside the trees, twin pistols smoking in his hands.
“Now will you two gentlemen hurry?” he shouted.
Jake got up and in a stumbling run made for the trees. The Squire, laughing loudly, ran alongside.
“I have never had so much fun with my breeches on,” the Englishman shouted as they made it under cover. “What a fine tale this will make.”
They had made it to shelter just in time. Above them eagles screeched and swooped, talons raking the treetops and raining needles down on the cowering men.
“What in Hell are they?” Jake said.
The Pastor smiled.
“No need to invoke that place lad,” he said. He started to quote again, “And God created the great creatures of the sea and every living and moving thing with which the water teems, according to their kinds, and every winged bird according to its kind. And God saw that it was good.”
“According to its kind? And what kind are these?”
It was the Squire who replied.
“The large kind I should imagine.” He brushed a patch of bloody feathers from his tunic. “Did you see that shot of mine? I imagine such a shot has rarely, if ever been attempted. Indeed, as I said earlier, I may be the first man to kill one of these creatures. It’s a pity I have no proof. Maybe we can return this way for a feather or a beak even. Did I tell you of the time…”
Jake and the Pastor spoke in unison.
“Squire. Shut the fuck up.”
Once the Squire stopped talking Jake noticed that it had fallen quiet.
Jake looked around. The eagles still circled above, but had stopped swooping at the trees above them, for the moment at least. Jake watched them warily for several minutes until he was sure they had lost interest.
“So what now gaffer?” the Squire asked. “It seems the deer track is well known to the predators. It might not be a good idea to continue on that course.”
Jake had already made up his mind.
“We need to check who has made that fire. We go down.”
And hope the cover of the forest holds.
10
Frank and Pat were about to enter the mine when they heard the pop of weapons in the distance. They looked at each other.
“Sounds like trouble,” Frank said. “Are you ready for this big man?”
Pat nodded, but he looked scared. In truth Frank was glad of the shots, for they gave him an excuse to cajole Pat along. It had been hard enough getting him to leave the horses.
“We’ll set them loose,” Frank had said. “They ain’t stupid beasts. They’ll be able to keep themselves from harm.”
Pat hadn’t been convinced, but he had smiled when the freed horses immediately ran off, putting as much distance between themselves and the creek as possible.
I only hope we can find them again when we need them.
Frank had another struggle when he tried to get Pat up to the mine.
“I don’t like it,” Pat had said petulantly. “It’s dark. I ain’t very good in the dark Frank.”
So Frank had found them a pair of kerosene lamps in the store, and when he handed Pat the long wood-axe the big man actually smiled.
“That’s better. I ain’t any use with a gun no-how. You’ll look after me Frank, won’t you? You done promised Jake.”
“I done promised Jake,” Frank agreed.
And now I’ve promised myself.
And now the sound of the shots seemed to have firmed Pat’s resolve.
“Best git gitting,” the big man said. “Sounds like there’s gunplay up there. And that ain’t hardly ever a good idea.”
They lit the lamps and walked into the cave.
Frank had considered bringing Strang’s Walker. It did an impressive amount of damage, but it was too heavy, took too long to reload and you had to lug a lot of ball and powder around with you. It was useful if you had plenty of time, and a horse to do most of the heavy carrying for you. That wasn’t the case here. They had to travel light.
Frank carried his service rifle, and wore a Colt pistol in a shoulder holster. He had a bandoleer across his chest for the rifle bullets, and a small haversack with two boxes of dead men for the Colt. He let Pat carry a rucksack full of beef jerky, hard tack and two skins of water.
I hope it’s enough.
Pat was nervy for the first fifty yards in, but he soon got used to the flickering light from the lamp. After a while the big man started to whistle to himself and Frank allowed himself to relax slightly. By the time they arrived at where the blasting had opened up the new tunnel Pat was the one eager to hurry on ahead.
“They went this way Frank,” Pat said, pointing at the tracks on the ground. “This way.”
The big man hurried ahead up the slope. Frank had to up his pace to keep him in sight. He only caught up fifteen minutes later to find Pat standing in front of a cave that led off the main tunnel. Pat looked worried again.
“I done heard something Frank,” he whispered. “In there.”
Frank took out his pistol. Holding the lamp ahead of him, he peered in to the cave. A cold breeze ca
me up out of it. Something glistened on the wall and he turned to look closer.
A clump of silver globes hung there, reflecting his lamp back at him. They pulsated, almost as if they were breathing. Frank leaned closer.
“Be careful,” Pat said sotto voce behind him, the sound sending a whispering echo through the cave. Frank became aware he was standing on the edge of a deep drop and carefully moved back a step.
He was still close enough to get a good look at the globes. What he saw sent a chill up his spine.
Eggs.
Small, perfectly formed scorpions squirmed inside balls of fluid held together by a thick gray slime. Frank felt the urge grow to rip and tear at them, to send them down into the cave below. But they were just out of reach and he wasn’t about to risk falling into the dark.
“What is it,” Pat whispered. “Is it a beastie?”
It’s a beastie right enough. It’s a whole lot of beasties big man.
But Frank said nothing. He pulled back to the main tunnel.
“Ain’t nothing but the wind Pat,” he said, putting his pistol away. “Just the wind.”
Pat didn’t look convinced.
“You’ll look after me, won’t you Frank?” he said, almost pleading.
Frank didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded and led them further up the tunnel.
They came out into the light a few minutes later, blinking as their eyes adjusted. They found the lamps where the others had left them, and put their own down alongside. It was easy to find where they had gone; their tracks showed as fresh gouges in the mud.
Neither of them enjoyed the muddy scramble that followed, and Frank felt relieved to feel wind on his face as they pulled themselves out of the basin and on to the rocky ledge above the valley.
Frank had half expected to meet the other men heading back, but there was no sign of them. Muddy footprints showed the direction they had probably headed. When Frank looked along the line all he saw was two dark and bloody masses on the snow.
We’re too late.
“Jake!” Pat cried, and set off at a run.
Frank followed him down the deer trail, fearing the worst. He caught up just short of the nearest body. Pat had stopped, standing perfectly still, unable to move any closer. Once more the big man had tears streaming down his face.
“Not Jake,” he cried. “Please, not Jake.”
Frank walked over, and almost laughed as he got close enough to identify the body.
“It ain’t Jake big man. Not unless he’s grown wings since this morning,” he said. He knelt and held up a bloody mass of bone and feathers. “They’re birds. Big birds.”
And I reckon we now know what all the shooting was about.
Now that he was down near ground level he could see the men’s tracks heading towards the trees.
“Come on big man. They went this way. Can’t have gone far.”
11
The descent through the trees seemed to take hours. Jake led the way. Several times he turned past a tree only to find that he stood over a sheer drop to the valley floor below. They had to retrace their steps twice, once for almost twenty minutes before they found a way down.
They caught occasional glimpses of the column of smoke on the far side of the valley and Jake got a clear view of the cave mouth several times. But they saw no signs of activity.
The frustration of not being able to get any closer to their destination was almost too much for Jake to bear. It didn’t help that the Squire talked incessantly all the way down, reliving over and over the killing of the Thunderbird. By the time they did eventually reach the valley floor the bird had grown to gigantic proportions and the Squire had heroically saved both the Pastor and Jake from certain death.
Both Jake and the Pastor were already heartily sick of the tale, but Jake knew they would be hearing it for a long time yet.
Us, and every man the Squire ever meets in a saloon from now until Doomsday.
It was after noon when they finally walked out of the forest onto the valley floor. The sight that met them there quickly quelled any relief they felt at getting off the hill. The carcass of a large animal lay just beyond the trees. It had died some time ago, and most of the bones had been picked clean, but those that were left were strewn across a wide area. A huge skull lay in the slushy grass, empty eye sockets staring at them.
Bits of brown fur flapped in the wind, but there was nothing about the beast that Jake recognized. The rib cage was wide enough that two men could have walked inside it, and the thighbone was more than four feet long.
“Was it a bear?” the Pastor asked.
Jake shook his head.
“The teeth are all wrong. And it’s too big to be bison. But I’ve no idea what it was.”
“Well, once, in Africa,” the Squire started, but one look from Jake put paid to that.
There were more tracks around the carcass. Jake was starting to recognize them.
“Them scorpion things again,” he said. “They’ve been here too. Keep your eyes peeled. It ain’t safe.”
The tracks led to and from the stream that came down from the hill above. The stream fed into the large lake that sat at this end of the valley. Jake saw with a sinking heart that they were going to have to cross the water and skirt the lake if they were to reach the cave on the far side.
The Squire voiced what Jake was thinking.
“It’s getting late gaffer,” the Englishman said. “If we want to get back before dark, we need to get moving.”
Jake nodded.
“I just need to see that cave. That’s all. Once that’s done, we’ll head back. We’ll return better equipped now we know the lay of the land.”
The Squire and the Pastor looked like they wanted to argue the point but Jake didn’t give them a chance. He strode towards the stream, looking for a place they might cross.
The closer he got to the water, the more bones he found. By the time he reached the bank of the stream the ground was covered, not just with bones, but with small chopped up pieces of fur and flesh.
The tracks of the scorpions were everywhere.
The Squire and the Pastor came to stand beside him.
“I’ve seen this kind of thing before,” the Squire said softly.
“If this is another load of hogwash…” Jake started, but the Englishman waved him away.
“No, this is straight up.”
The Squire couldn’t take his eyes off the bones. “In the Hindu Kush there was a tiger there that kept to one area. It used to kill its prey near water sources. It would tear the prey to pieces and carry what it could away to feed its cubs. What was left behind in the course of a season looked like a bone-yard. Indeed, it looked a lot like this.”
“What’s a tiger?” Jake asked.
“You’ve seen a mountain lion?”
Jake nodded.
“Like that, but three times bigger.”
Jake snorted.
“I knew it was hogwash.”
Jake turned away, but not before noticing that the blood had drained from the Squire’s face, and he was looking at the scattered bones with something that looked like fear.
“What do you say Pastor?” Jake asked. “Is there such a beast as the Squire describes?”
There was no reply. The Pastor stood over a pile of bones, moving them around with his feet. He bent, and lifted a leather belt, and then a work boot. The partially decomposed remains of a foot were still inside it.
“I believe we may have found at least one of those we are seeking.”
The Squire bent and lifted a hat, then stepped back suddenly and threw up.
I don’t want to see. Jake thought. He walked over and looked down. Bill Jackson’s face stared up at him. Almost half the left side of the skull was caved in. The face was green and rotting with corruption.
But it’s Farting Bill all right. I’d recognize that moustache anywhere.
For several seconds Jake thought he’d be joining the Squire in losing
the oatmeal they’d had for breakfast, but when he finally managed to drag his view away, all he felt was anger.
“There’s another over here,” the Pastor said softly. “Although there is not enough of him left for you to tell who they were. This is no way for Christian men to be laid to rest.”
I doubt whether Christ has ever been heard of in this valley.
Jake turned his gaze back to where wisps of smoke still rose from the cave.
“I’m more determined than ever. We’ve found three. That’s all. The others may still be alive.”
He headed for the stream once more, drawing his pistol.
“I aim to have a look in that cave over there. You coming?”
The Pastor and the Squire looked at each other then followed close behind.
The stream proved to be shallow and easy to cross, though the water was bitterly cold. It soon seeped through inside Jake’s boots. He squelched across the grassy area around the side of the lake.
There were more bones and pieces of decomposing flesh scattered everywhere near the shore. Jake forced himself to look at them all. None looked human but in most cases there was too little left to be sure.
After a mile Jake noticed the remains of some structures in the lake, timber platforms that had once been huts of some kind, but now destroyed. As he got closer he could make out the now tell-tale gouges in the wood and the track-marks in the mud along the shore.
Someone else lived here. They lived here, then the scorpions came.
There was something about the structures that seemed strange to him, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He didn’t have time to think about it. He looked ahead at the cave that was now little more than a mile away. Something moved in the cave-mouth, something that stood on two legs.
They’re still alive!
Jake broke into a run.
12
Frank and Pat were lost.
Somewhere on the way down the hill they had wandered from the tracks they had been following and now they trudged through almost knee deep snow along a high ridge, heading back almost the way they had come.
The Valley Page 5
