“Hogwash,” the Pastor said. “I know a child when I see one.”
“They are not children,” a hoarse voice said from across the alcove.
“George?” Jake said.
“Hello Jake,” the man replied, but there was no emotion in his voice, only a dull monotone.
“George. What happened to you? Where are the others?”
George began to talk, still in the same dull monotone.
Jake noticed that darkness was starting to fall outside, but soon he was lost in the story that unfolded.
16
“I left you a note,” George began. “And that’s the last I saw of Ruby Creek. I ran up through that cave like the hounds of hell themselves were snapping at my ass. Not because I was afeared of what had happened to the rest. No. I was afeared they’d find the mother-lode afore I got there; afeared we’d lose our stake.
“I found them hacking away at a rock face up near the top of the cave. Somebody said that was where the seam ran, but I never saw it. The rest were convinced though. They attacked that wall like it led to a roomful of whores, a-scrambling and a-yelling. They were near to a fist-fight, and tempers were running high.
“That all changed when part of the roof caved in. Jim Forbes was first in. And he was first out. He held the stump of a hand up, blood spurting hot and dark all over us. He didn’t get a chance to speak before the beasts came out of the cave behind him. A big fucking claw took his head off at the neck. That was enough for us.
“We scarpered.
“The way back down to the Creek was already cut off. The beasts were everywhere, crawling over each other, filling the tunnel, that fucking clacking echoing all around us like gunshots.
“I was the only one smart enough to have a weapon with me, but I used up all my ammo in seconds and didn’t even slow them. We only just got out of the cave, with the fuckers snapping at our asses all the way.
“We lost four more men in that fucking mud. Chopped to little bits they were, and their screams were horrible.
“I’m not shamed to say it. We ran. Fast as we could. We jumped down that hill like fucking deer, the beasties at our heels all the way. At the bottom Farting Bill and a few others wanted to stand and fight, but the rest of us were too afeared. So we ran again, and if any of us heard the screams behind us, we didn’t speak of it.
“We thought we were saved when we came to the lake huts. But that was just the start of our trouble. Those beasties kept coming down into the valley, a flood of the gray bastards, all snapping and crawling, killing their way through everything that got in their path and leaving nothing behind.
“And that included the people of the lake. Tens of them got chopped to meat before they knew what hit them. We all ran for the caves, prospectors and natives together. Thankfully the beasts ignored us. They had more than enough food down at the lake, and they don’t seem over keen to move too far from the water.
“That first night, we were treated like guests.”
George stopped talking as several of the small people came into the alcove carrying steaming bowls of food.
“I’d eat as much of it as you can,” George said dully. “They only give us the same amount as they eat themselves. And that ain’t enough to keep a man alive. Not for long anyway.”
George coughed, and something rumbled deep in his chest, something that sounded broken. He wheezed, trying to breathe, and it took several minutes before he could speak. In that time the small people spoon-fed Jake, the Pastor and the Squire from the small bowls.
Jake got his first good look at them.
Although they were short, they did indeed look like tiny versions of perfectly formed adult humans, with everything in proportion. Back in his carnival days Jake had seen several short people in the geek shows.
But ain’t none of them were ever near as hairy.
The hair seemed to cover everything apart from the flat faces and the palms of the hands. Jake suspected the soles of the feet would be the same. On the exposed areas the skin was thick and dark, like old weathered leather. Their eyes were blue and piercing, almost shining in the darkness of the cave. Their lips looked thin, blue and cold, yellow broken teeth showing behind them.
They showed no fear of the men as they used heavy stone implements to spoon the gruel into their mouths. It tasted like oatmeal and salt but smelled foul. Despite that, Jake did as George said and ate as much as they would give him. When they finished and had turned to leave, Jake looked back over at his brother. The man looked even paler than before.
He’s as near death as any man I’ve ever seen.
“What’s wrong with you George. What happened?”
George laughed bitterly.
“Winter happened.” He coughed again, and blood bubbled at his lips. “Consumption happened. Ain’t gonna take a doctor to tell me I’m fucked.
“As I said, that first night, we were treated like guests. But the food they gave us was drugged, and when we woke, we were trussed up like turkeys, like you are now. I’ve been in this fucking cold cave ever since, with the damp and the fleas and no grub fit for a grown man to eat.”
He spat out a wad of blood that looked worryingly firm, and grimaced in pain.
Jake was almost afraid to ask the next question.
“And the others?”
George sobbed.
“Ain’t no others. You are the others now.”
Then he laughed.
He is insane.
That, more than anything else, frightened Jake, shaking him to the core. George had always been the strong one, the practical one. While Jake was running off, first to join the Joshua Potts Travelling Carnival, then later to enlist in the Army, George worked the farm, long after the land had nothing left to give. It was George who organized the disparate farmers enough for the journey to Montana, George who ordered the supplies and kept the food coming. Without George, none of this would have happened.
And with that thought, came the realization of what was really wrong with his brother.
Without George, none of this would have happened.
He blames himself.
Before Jake could say anything, George had gathered enough strength to continue.
“There were twelve of us left that first morning. At first we counted ourselves damned lucky to be even alive. The little fuckers kept us tied up though, and no amount of shouting at them would make them pay us any mind beyond feeding us. We wallowed in our own piss and shit for days on end with nothing to do but bitch at each other and feel sorry for our pitiful fucking selves. “
He laughed bitterly.
“We soon came to miss those days.”
George coughed again, hacking and spluttering.
“Rest man,” the Squire said. “Your story can wait for another time.”
George laughed again, long and hard.
“Wait? What do you think I’ve been doing these long fucking months? Needlework?”
That brought another bout of bloody coughing. When he spoke again it was almost a whisper.
“I done waited for you all winter Jake. Waited for my little brother to come and save me. Now you’re here. And it’s all too late.”
“It ain’t never too late George. Hush now. Get some rest.”
George continued as if he hadn’t heard.
“It happens on rainy days mostly,” he said. “You can hear it dripping, even back here, drumming on the stone in the mouth of the cave. We came to fear that sound.”
He went quiet. Even in the rapidly dimming light Jake saw the tears glistening on his cheeks.
George spoke so quietly it was almost inaudible.
“They took Johnny Galbraith first. The boy cried for his mother, cried like a newborn babe. But they took no heed. They never take no heed.
“We heard their drums ten minutes later. Not long after that everything went quiet. We heard a rattling clacking, like distant gunfire. We all knew what it was, but no one spoke, not even when Johnny started to s
cream; such screams as you’ll never hear outside Hell itself. Higher and higher they went, as if he was being torn apart piece by piece.
“Each of us could see it in our minds, and all of us wished we couldn’t.
“Finally, mercifully, everything went silent. The hairy ones came back and they were happy, smiling, as if they’d just had a great victory.”
George fell silent for so long that Jake thought he must be asleep, but he started again.
“Every rainy day after that they fed another of us to the beasts. Every rainy day they are happy.”
“All of you?” Jake said, the horror of it only just starting to register.
George’s head slumped forward and he started to weep.
“I prayed Jake. I prayed to be spared. And I thought I’d been answered. They took everyone but me. Then, this morning, I heard the shots. I really thought God had answered me. Please, forgive me. They all died because of me.”
He wept inconsolably for a long time before falling silent.
Only then, sitting in almost complete darkness, did Jake hear the noise from the front of the cave.
It was the steady drip of rain falling on stone.
17
Frank woke to a world of pain and darkness. At first he thought he’d gone blind, but as his eyes adjusted he realized that night had fallen. He tried to move but he was backed up, almost wedged, into a crevasse in a rock face. He had been stood upright, held up by the stone around him. He could only see forward to where a hunched figure sat over a small fire.
“Pat?” he said, but his voice came only as a throaty whisper. His mouth was dry and he couldn’t make any spit to wet it. He tried again.
“Pat?”
This time the big man heard. He stood from the fire.
“You’re alive Frank. Praise the Lord, you ain’t deaded.”
Frank pushed himself out of the crevasse. The pain at his shoulder flared. He was almost afraid to look at it, but when he did he saw it had been neatly bandaged with strips of cloth. He moved the shoulder. Pain flared again, but it didn’t feel like anything was broken.
“I guess I’ll live big man,” he said. He took a step forward, staggered and nearly fell. Pat caught him and led him to the fire.
“Take it easy Frank. You done lost a lot of blood. I guess you’ll be weak for a while, huh?”
You guessed right Pat.
Frank sat down hard and the world span around him. He felt as giddy as if he’d just chugged half a bottle of sour-mash.
And what I wouldn’t give for one of them right now.
Pat handed him a water-skin and he took to that as gratefully as if it were whiskey. His hand shook and he got more water down his vest than in his mouth until Pat steadied his arm.
“Where are we Pat?” he asked once he’d had his fill.
“I didn’t know what to do,” the big man said. “I thought you was deaded. All I could think of was to get you safe, so I carried you up here.”
Frank’s head felt steady enough that he could look round without feeling as if he would fall over. They sat on a high rocky ledge looking down over the dark valley. The valley floor was at least a hundred yards below.
“You carried me all the way up here?”
Pat nodded.
“You done said to find somewhere safe. I didn’t know what else to do.”
The big man looked like he might be about to cry.
Frank put a hand on Pat’s shoulder.
“You did good big fella. You did real good.”
Pat broke into a smile.
“I done patched you up too. Just like I learned from Grammy.”
Frank tested the bandage. It felt tight and firm. A field doctor could hardly have done it better.
“Pat, you never cease to amaze me.”
Pat handed him his haversack.
“I saved this. We got the food too…and your pistol…and the axe. I ain’t found the rifle though.”
Frank found his tobacco pouch and clay pipe in the bag and started putting a smoke together.
“You did just fine Pat. You did just fine.”
Frank’s shoulder throbbed with a deep heat as he leaned over to get the pipe going. He almost fell face first into the fire but managed to steady himself just in time.
I ain’t going anywhere anytime soon. Best get used to the idea.
“The big cat? It’s not been back?”
Pat’s eyes narrowed.
“I done heard something earlier, something big in the trees below. But ain’t nothing’s come up here.” He laid the axe across his lap. “And don’t you worry none Frank. Ain’t nothing going to harm you again.”
Frank laughed.
“Wasn’t I supposed to be looking after you Pat?”
The big man didn’t smile. He looked deadly serious.
“You need to get yourself right Frank. Then you can look after me.”
Frank sucked the first puff from the pipe and immediately his head felt light.
Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.
But he stuck with it, the taste of the tobacco grounding him and reminding him of places where unnaturally large cats didn’t prowl and scorpion beasts couldn’t kill you in seconds with a single sting.
What in God’s name have we stumbled into here?
It started to rain, but Pat had chose the spot for the fire carefully. A large overhang protected them from the worst of the elements.
Pat started into space, and after a while started to sing quietly.
There's a good time coming, boys, a good time coming.
We may not live to see the day, but Earth shall glisten in the ray of the good time coming.
Cannonballs may aid the truth, but thought's a weapon stronger.
We'll win our battle with its aid, wait a little longer.
Frank had tears in his eyes when the big man finished.
“There is a good time coming Pat. I promise.”
He tried to stand but his legs wouldn’t hold him up. He put the pipe down, slowly. His hand seemed to recede away from him into the far distance.
“I think I’ll go to sleep for a while,” he heard himself say. Darkness took him fast, and as he went down, big Pat’s voice sang alongside him in the blackness.
There's a good time coming, boys, a good time coming.
18
There was to be no sleep for Jake.
The fires from out in the main cave lent the alcove a red glow that was accompanied by the smell of cooking meat. Jake started to salivate, acutely aware that the gruel had only just taken the edge off his hunger. But no more food was brought to them. They sat alone in the flickering dark.
George slept fitfully, whimpering like a whipped dog, and once more Jake felt tears form that he could not wipe away.
“Talk to me lads,” he said to the others. “How are you holding up?”
“We are in a dark place gaffer,” the Squire said. “Make no mistake.”
The Pastor laughed.
“What Squire, no tales of how you evaded the grasp of the fuzzy-wuzzies while simultaneously bedding a whole harem of luscious virgins? Surely an army man of your caliber has a means of escape from our predicament?”
The Squire smiled broadly.
“Oh ye of little faith. Even now, I am working on a plan of action that will see us free of here and home in time for tea and tiffin.”
This time Jake laughed.
“Best make it quick Squire. If George is right, that rain spells doom for one of us on the morrow.”
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning,” the Pastor said.
“Now that one I do understand,” Jake replied. “But joy ain’t in much supply around here right now.”
“Maybe the others will come, when we haven’t returned?” the Squire said.
The Pastor laughed again.
“A deserter, a hothead and a man with as much wit as a boy? Those are to be our saviors? Forgive me Squire, but I shall put my
trust in the Lord.”
“Yes,” Jake said. “Ain’t he doing well for us so far?”
The Pastor ignored him, and started to mouth prayers under his breath. With his hat off and his thinning hair showing, the older man suddenly looked less imposing, almost frail.
This cave could be the breaking of all of us.
The night crept by at a dead slow pace. The Pastor and the Squire eventually managed to find some rest, but Jake couldn’t sleep. He kept seeing Farting Bill’s face staring up at him. And when that faded, he saw the dead eyes of the poisoned horse back at the creek.
I ain’t gonna end up like that. I’ll kill myself first.
Late into the night George woke with a start. He seemed surprised to see Jake.
“Shit Jake,” he said. “I done been hoping you were just another dream.”
“No such luck George,” Jake said, trying to keep his voice light. “If I were you I’d be dreaming about other things. Womanly things, if you catch my drift.”
George didn’t smile.
“I been having a shitload of dreams lately,” he said. “And ain’t one of them been worth a fart.”
Jake managed a thin smile back.
“Well maybe now that I’m here thing’s will improve on that front. I just moseyed on down to see how my big brother was doing.”
George tried to laugh but only managed a hacking cough that brought up more blood.
“There ain’t much room for improvement. I’m a goner Jake,” he said when he could muster enough energy. “My stomach hasn’t stopped doing the Tennessee quick step for weeks now, and I can’t hardly breathe without bringing up blood.”
“I ain’t gonna sit here and listen to quitting talk George.”
George coughed again.
“I don’t see as you’ve got any more choice than I do. In the morning, when they come for me, you ain’t gonna make a fuss. I want you to promise me that.”
“I ain’t promising no such thing.”
George spoke quietly.
The Valley Page 7
