Drovers and Demons: A Weird Tale of the Old West (Murphy and Loco Book 1)

by Scott Langrel

  A sudden, low moan caused both men to stop dead in their tracks. It began softly, only to rise in intensity before ebbing away to silence. The timbre of the sound contained an inhuman quality which could not have been issued from the mouth of any living thing.

  “Wind blowing through the tunnels, I think,” Loco said softly. “The storm must be approaching faster than we anticipated.”

  “You think?” Murphy asked, fully on edge. “You’ve been down here before. Was that the wind or not?”

  “I’m fairly certain it was.”

  “I’d feel better if you were totally certain.”

  “Relax,” Loco said. “Come on, let’s keep moving.” He started inching forward, leaving Murphy with little option except to follow.

  As if to confirm Loco’s suspicion, a loud crack of thunder from the surface cascaded into the mine and rolled down the shaft like a raucous, noisy drunk. The roar echoed eerily off the stone walls and seemed to linger for an unnatural length of time before finally dissipating into the bowels of the earth. Murphy clutched the mare’s leg a little tighter and concentrated on the passage ahead, which was dimly illuminated by the weak flame of Loco’s lantern.

  “That’s it up ahead,” Loco muttered quietly, pointing to a gaping hole in the wall at the end of the shaft. “It’s grown larger since I last saw it. I dare say it’s not bigger because anyone was trying to get inside.”

  “That means something else got out,” Murphy agreed, fighting a gag reflex. “The air coming out of there stinks to high heaven. I’m not keen on getting any closer.”

  “Since we’ve come this far, it might be prudent to take a look inside,” Loco countered. “You can stay here if you want. I’m just going to take a quick peek.”

  “I’ll manage,” Murphy said. “Just mind you don’t lean in too far. No telling what might be waiting on the other side.” He followed Loco to the end of the shaft, his nose scrunched in disgust.

  The hole was now large enough for an average man to crawl through easily, though Loco had no intention of passing through the opening. For one thing, Murphy was right: the odor emanating from the hole was repugnant beyond belief. It was all Loco could do to keep the contents of his stomach in place. And secondly, the cavern beyond the opening was definitely bad mojo. As an Apache, Loco could not enter the resting place of the Anasazi without putting his very soul at risk. He might chance it if there were no other option available, but he would cross that bridge if and when he came to it.

  Holding his knife at the ready, Loco raised the lantern and carefully leaned toward the opening. The darkness inside the cavern seemed to defy the lantern’s light, as if it were a physical structure capable of blocking the flame’s luminescence. Loco thrust the lantern to the edge of the hole. The illumination managed to pierce the darkness a few feet, but no more.

  “See anything?” Murphy hissed.

  “Yeah. A lot of nothing,” Loco responded, choking back his bile. “I’d need a hundred lanterns to see anything in there. But I get the feeling that anything wanting to escape has done so already.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Well, the fact that nothing’s come rushing out trying to eat my face off is a pretty substantial clue,” Loco retorted. “Plus, I just don’t sense any presence. The evil has already left this place.”

  “Well, they’re not in the camp,” Murphy said.

  “No,” Loco agreed. “And that means we need to get to Vulture City as fast as possible.”

  “You think they would head towards the town?” Murphy asked.

  “They’re feeding. They’ll head for the nearest populated area.”

  “Maybe they’re sleeping it off after gorging themselves on the miners,” Murphy suggested hopefully.

  “The Anasazi don’t sleep,” Loco assured him. “And their appetite can never be sated. Unless we can stop them, they’ll sweep over the land like a plague of locusts, devouring everyone in their path. Their mad need for revenge knows no bounds.”

  “At least that’s something I can identify with,” Murphy mumbled. “Come on, let’s head back.” He turned in the narrow shaft, intending to start back toward the entrance, when another low moan came drifting down through the tunnel.

  “That wasn’t the wind,” Loco said softly.

  “I was afraid of that,” Murphy sighed. “Let’s get back to the next junction. If there’s gonna be a fight, I’d just as soon have some room to maneuver.” He pressed himself against the wall of the shaft, giving Loco and his lantern enough room to squeeze by. Cautiously, the pair inched back toward the surface.

  They reached the intersection without incident. Once out of the narrow shaft, the passage again grew wider, affording them more room to move around. They paused and stood silently, each man listening for the slightest sound which would betray the position of their quarry. Presently, a muffled sound echoed down the passage—the sound of a shoe scuffing against the dirt floor.

  “It’s between us and the entrance,” Murphy whispered.

  Loco nodded in agreement. “Just make sure it’s not a live person before you go unloading on it. I don’t want innocent blood on my hands.”

  Murphy thought about telling the Apache that no one past childhood was completely innocent, but held his tongue in favor of saving that discussion for a later date. Holding the Exterminator at the ready, he followed closely as Loco began to move slowly up the shaft.

  From outside came an indignant roar of thunder which literally shook the timbers inside the mine shaft. Though they were still a good way from the actual entrance, faint flashes of lightning found their way inside and danced briefly upon the stone walls ahead of them. That, combined with the flickering of the lantern, created spasmodic shadows which had Murphy swinging the barrel of his gun in every direction. He tapped Loco’s shoulder, advising the Apache to halt and listen again.

  Another rumble of thunder, this one more distant, sounded from outside. From the sound of it, the rain had begun in earnest. Murphy was worrying about the horses getting spooked when one of the shadows separated itself from the wall and made a sudden but clumsy lunge at them. Loco whirled around and thrust the lantern out before him, and the feeble light illuminated an onrushing nightmare.

  The thing coming at them had probably been a man as recently as the night before, but it was not human any longer. Its tattered clothing was soaked in blood—whether its own or someone else’s—and its mouth had split as wide as a gar’s, with wickedly sharp teeth to match. Its colorless, bulging eyes gave the appearance of being blind, but when Loco moved to raise his knife, the abomination clubbed him with its left arm, sending the Apache hard into the shaft’s wall. The lantern went tumbling to the ground where it shattered and sent burning oil streaming up the passage.

  For a split second, Murphy hesitated. Seeing the thing before him transported him back in time to a night when a similar nightmarish creature had abducted his only sibling right before his eyes, and for the briefest moment he was frozen with fear and dread. Then he blinked, chambered a round into the Exterminator, and sent the magically charged bullet blasting from the gun’s barrel. The round hit the advancing demon square in the chest, instantly halting its progress and sending a small eruption of bone and flesh spewing from the creature’s backside. Issuing an unearthly howl, it fell back against the stone wall and crumpled to the ground, unmoving.

  “Is it dead?” Loco asked groggily as he stumbled back to his feet.

  Murphy nudged the fallen monstrosity with the toe of his boot. “As a doornail, from the look of it,” he replied. He studied the Exterminator with no small amount of awe. “Looks like the professor wasn’t spewing balderdash, after all.”

  “You doubted it would work?” Loco asked, dusting himself off.

  “I was hoping like hell it would.” Murphy turned to look at the Apache. “You okay? Looked like that thing packed a nasty wallop.”

  “I’ve taken harder licks,” Loco assured him, though he still looked a
little wobbly on his feet.

  “Okay then. We’d better make tracks while we still have some light. That oil’s gonna burn itself out pretty quick.” Murphy eyed the dimly lit passageway in front of them. “Just keep in mind there might be more of those things lurking in the shadows.”

  “The entrance isn’t far,” Loco said. “Once we get around that next bend, we should have enough light to make it out without a lantern.”

  “I’ll take the lead,” Murphy said. “Anything moves between now and when we hit the surface, it’s gonna wish it didn’t.”

  Nothing did move, and the pair emerged from the mine to find a deluge assaulting the camp. The rain was coming down in sheets, and wicked forks of lightning danced across the black sky.

  “Gonna be a miserable ride into town in this,” Murphy observed. “Maybe we should wait it out.”

  “We don’t have that luxury,” Loco said, shaking his head. “If the Anasazi tear through everyone in Vulture City, they’ll move on to the next populated area.”

  “Which would be Phoenix,” Murphy reasoned.

  “Exactly. If we don’t stop them in Vulture City, we’ll play merry hell trying to contain them. Phoenix is a pretty big town.”

  Murphy sighed. “We’d best get going then. There’s no way we’ll be able to make good time until the storm lets up. Not unless you want a lame horse, anyways.” He gave Loco a sideways glance. “I don’t suppose you know any Indian dances to make it stop raining?”

  “Keep it up,” Loco said as he pushed his way past Murphy and into the tempest. “You’ll be walking to Vulture City.”

  “One thing before we go,” Murphy stated. “Follow me to the supply shed.”

  “Why?” Loco asked.

  “We’re going to blow this damn mine,” Murphy answered. “Just in case there’s anything still in there. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder all the way into town.”

  Chapter Ten

  The storm broke about halfway to town, settling into a cool mist which was just enough to keep their clothes from drying. The dark thunderheads receded, replaced by a ceiling of dull, gray clouds which didn’t seem to be moving at all. The air temperature had dropped considerably, and Murphy actually suppressed a slight shiver as they maneuvered their mounts along the trail, being careful to steer the horses clear of the deep trenches cut into the sandy soil by the recent gully washer.

  “A fog’s rising,” Loco remarked, pointing into the distance. “The storm cooled the air too fast. It’ll be thick as pea soup by nightfall.”

  “I don’t know as to whether I’ve heard you utter one positive word since we met,” Murphy grumbled from his saddle.

  “Would you like me to sugarcoat it for you?” Loco asked sweetly.

  “I’d like to catch a break,” Murphy replied, pulling the collar of his sopping coat tighter around his neck.

  Loco shrugged. “It could be worse. We still have a chance to eradicate the Anasazi in Vulture City. And we have the element of surprise on our side.”

  “Excuse me if I don’t dismount and do cartwheels,” Murphy griped.

  “See, there’s your problem,” Loco observed. “You’re a pessimist.”

  “I am not a pessimist,” Murphy countered. “I’m a realist. It’s not my nature to look at things through rose-colored glasses. I see things the way they are.”

  “Still, a positive attitude would greatly improve your disposition.”

  “My disposition doesn’t need improving. It’s the situations I find myself in that need refinement.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that anytime soon,” Loco said as the outline of Vulture City appeared on the gray horizon.

  “It looks dead from here,” Murphy remarked. “And quiet.”

  “Could be the storm ran everyone indoors,” Loco theorized.

  “Maybe,” Murphy agreed, though his tone didn’t sound too hopeful.

  They rode in silence until they reached the outskirts of the small town. Up close, the burg seemed even more deserted than it had from a distance. In the murky dusk, no windows glowed with the faint light of candles or lamps. There was no rambunctious roar from the usually boisterous saloon; the muddy streets were eerily silent and still.

  “I don’t think we’re going to like what we find here,” Murphy said softly.

  “Maybe not, but we have to look,” Loco replied. “If they’re already gone, it’s going to be a long, hard ride to Phoenix.”

  “How many of them do you think there are?” Murphy asked, checking to ascertain that all of the ammo loops on his gun belt were full.

  “No way of knowing for sure,” Loco answered. “Maybe a dozen, maybe a hundred. The legends don’t give an exact number of the tribal leaders who were initially imprisoned in the cavern.” He made his own physical check of his weapons. “I guess we should prepare for the worst-case scenario, though.”

  “Who’s the pessimist now?” Murphy asked, smiling grimly.

  “Apparently, you’ve begun to rub off on me,” Loco admitted.

  “Then there’s hope for you yet. Let’s hit the saloon first, see if anyone’s there.”

  They rode straight in, eschewing any attempt at stealth. A thick, lazy fog rolled through the town like the smoke from a recent battle, swirling down the sodden street and between the darkened structures lining the main thoroughfare on either side. Only the sound of water from the recent storm dripping from the roofs of the buildings into numerous rain barrels broke the complete and total silence which engulfed the town. Not a single horse stood hitched in front of any of the town’s establishments. It seemed as if all life had been suddenly and utterly wiped from Vulture City.

  They pulled up in front of the White Dog and dismounted. After securing their mounts, the pair moved cautiously to the saloon’s entrance. Past the building’s swinging doors, the interior of the establishment was bathed in darkness and quietude. Not a single light was burning in the bar area, and nothing but shadows drifted down the staircase which led to the second level.

  “Decision time,” Murphy whispered to Loco. “Do we go traipsing inside, where we might walk into an ambush? Or should we wait it out in the open and try to pick them off as they try to leave town?”

  “You’re assuming they’re still here,” Loco replied. “And that’s something we can’t be certain of unless we explore the buildings in town. If they’re already gone, we could wait here all night and lose precious time getting to Phoenix.”

  “Then let’s get at it,” Murphy said. “Try to find a lantern or candle. I’ll keep you covered as best I can.”

  They eased through the saloon doors, Murphy leading the way with the Exterminator taking point. Enough light shone in so that the bar’s interior was not pitch black, but rather varying degrees of shadow which provided ample hiding places for anyone or anything which might be lying in wait. Tendrils of thick fog followed them into the building, grasping at their backs like the tentacles of some blind and hungry creature.

  Loco nodded toward the bar and began to move slowly in that direction. Murphy kept close to the Apache’s backside, his eyes straining as he peered into the darkness for any hint of movement. They made it to the bar unmolested, where Loco was able to retrieve an oil lamp from a wall hanger. He set the wick aflame, producing a flickering, uneven light which dispelled the closest shadows.

  “Light everything you can find,” Murphy said. “I’m tired of fighting in the dark. We’ll go building to building, room to room lighting every candle in this town if we have to.”

  “Good idea,” Loco agreed, moving to the opposite end of the bar to light a lamp there. “It’ll also help us keep track of the rooms we’ve already searched.” He began to walk around the room, lighting each lamp in turn. When he was finished, the pair stood and surveyed the bar area.

  “Doesn’t appear to have been any kind of struggle to speak of,” Murphy remarked, scratching at his bearded chin. “There’s one overturned chair over there, but that’s about it. No blood o
r gore that I can see.”

  “Look a little closer,” Loco advised. “There’s several half-full drinks sitting on the tables. It would appear that whoever was drinking them lit out of here in a hurry.”

  “You’re right,” Murphy said, clearly impressed. “So, something happened and they hightailed it out of here.”

  “Either that, or they were herded upstairs,” Loco whispered, nodding toward the stairs. “I haven’t heard any movement up there since we entered the building, but we have to be sure.”

  “You up for some pirooting?” Murphy asked with a grin. “Well, come on then. Let’s head up to the nanny shop.”

  Loco started to reply, thought better of it, and silently followed Murphy up the wooden stairs. Though the pair moved as lightly as possible, each step seemed to creak like a giant redwood tree falling, ensuring that nothing above would be even slightly surprised at their arrival. Loco paused to light each lamp he passed, which drove the shadows a little further up the stairs.

  “How many rooms are on the second floor?” Murphy whispered over his shoulder.

  “How the hell should I know?” Loco hissed back. “I’ve never been up here before.”

  “Not even for one little roll in the hay? Come on, now.”

  “I’ve had a few more important things on my mind since I got to town. Like the Anasazi. Remember them?”

  Murphy shrugged as he ascended the last few steps. “Fine. A man’s got needs. That’s all I’m saying. I wouldn’t think any worse of you if—”

  Murphy’s words were cut off abruptly as something dark and very fast came hurling out of the darkness of the upper landing. The thing hit Murphy like a locomotive, sending him crashing into the wall and causing him to lose both his hat and his grip on the Exterminator. The mare’s leg went tumbling down the stairs past Loco—who made an awkward, failed grab for the gun—and came to rest on the wooden floor of the first level.

  Pinned against the wall, Murphy looked into the hideous face of his attacker. The abomination had likely been one of the White Dog’s working girls only a short time ago. She may have even been pretty before suffering a fatal case of Indian demon possession, but it was hard to say now. The hag that pressed against Murphy had two rows of wickedly sharp teeth, sunken, leathery cheeks, and eyes which appeared to be glazed by death. The stench coming out of the thing was putrid; Murphy gagged involuntarily and felt his guts wrench inside his belly.