by David Haynes
The expression on his face was one of shock as the blow sent him skidding across the floor, through the pink-colored snow into a table. It was the same table where he had been treated by Puckett just a few hours ago. Beneath the table were still blooms of his blood.
Draper now had access to the rifle again, their positions reversed. He glanced down at Vinson then at the dark shape shambling toward him. In-between a rock and a hard place, he thought and leaped for the gun.
His hand closed around the stock but as he lifted it there was a hideous scream from the other side of the kitchen. He saw Vinson scrambling across the floor. His legs and feet were pumping but they couldn’t get purchase on the slick floor. He looked over his shoulder, above Draper’s head and screamed again. His grotesquely deformed face dripping in blood, his eyes a maelstrom of horror. He pulled the saloon door open and tumbled into the darkness beyond.
Draper didn’t waste any time watching him, he just turned around and squeezed the trigger without aiming or even seeing properly, such was the wind. The stock jarred painfully against his shoulder.
He heard wood splinter a split-second later as the round missed its target and hit the timber wall. The shadow loomed over him. It was too late to lock another round in the chamber.
“Go to hell!” he shouted, hurling the rifle at the monstrosity, his vision blurred by the whirling snow.
“Some way to greet an old buddy,” a voice replied.
“Mercer?!”
Mercer nodded and then dropped to his knees. As Draper reached for him, Mercer fell face-forward onto the bloody floor.
*
Draper did not dare leave Mercer on his own, not with Vinson on the loose. Not with the beast out there. So he waited with him until Puckett and Meg returned. He crouched down beside him, cradling his great shaggy head. Mercer was unconscious, his skin a terrible shade of gray, but he was breathing. He was alive.
Meg screamed when she came inside the kitchen and saw the two men slumped together. She ran toward them and screamed again when she saw the blood on Draper’s face. Vinson’s knife was so sharp that the slash he’d made had cut Draper without him feeling it.
Both Meg and Puckett knelt down. “Is he...?” she asked.
Puckett had his fingers on Mercer’s throat. “No, but he’ll have hypothermia. His clothes are wet through, we need to get him out of them and wrap him in towels and blankets.” He turned to Draper. “Go fetch me something to wrap him in. Meg, help me to pull him toward the stove. We need to get some warmth into him.”
Puckett stood up, leaving Draper still holding Mercer’s head.
“Go!” shouted Puckett.
Draper jumped up. He closed the weighing room door to stop the snow blowing in. Puckett had seen Mercer, a man he loved, lying on the floor, possibly dying and so he forgot his own nightmares, his own selfish need for survival. At that moment, all he wanted was to make Mercer better again. Watching Puckett made him shiver. Not with the frigid air of Black Pine Creek, but with hope for them all.
He loaded the rifle and ran outside. Visibility was down to just a couple of feet. If he couldn’t see, then neither could Vinson. As for the beast then there was no guessing but games had been played at his expense, at the rest of the crews’ too. Playing games were what liars were good at, whether they were from Carlisle, PA or the underworld.
Vinson was wrong though. He wasn’t the same as the beast. He wasn’t its kin. The thing was lying to him and would take him too, when the time came. Vinson was deluded if he thought any different. The Keelut was using him.
What it could do to a body was hideous. He’d seen Flynn crushed and mangled from the inside. He’d seen Burgess’s head, the miner’s limbs, all of them taken apart with the expertise of a butcher carving up a cow. He’d felt it inside his head too, tasting him, cutting awful images into his brain, trying to push him down the same road Vinson was riding. Whatever it was, this was its domain and they were trespassing. But instead of wanting them to leave, it wanted them to stay with it. Forever.
He pushed his way into Mercer’s camper and rifled through some of the cleaner-looking clothes. There weren’t many.
He bundled them up and did his best to sprint across the yard to the saloon. He could see practically nothing as the snow blew directly into his face, peppering it with stinging bites. His hearing wasn’t much better. The wind whirled and corkscrewed around his ears, turning each and every heartbeat into a wailing howl inside his head.
He passed the clothing to Puckett, who now had Mercer lying almost naked in front of the stove on a blanket they had found from somewhere.
“How’s he doing?” Draper asked Puckett.
“In and out of consciousness. How’d he get in here?”
“He just walked in, like a ghost.”
“Walked in?” Meg frowned. “Look at him. He looks like he’s been lying at the bottom of the river for the last twenty-four hours.”
Draper knelt down. Mercer was covered in mud, his hair and beard were thick with it. His face was gray, ashen. Even though the stove was kicking out a fierce heat, Mercer shivered violently.
“We need to get him to the hospital.” Puckett laid another blanket on him. He put the clothes Draper had fetched beside the stove to warm up.
“We all need to get out of here,” Meg said and looked up at Draper.
He nodded back. She was right. They needed to leave right now. Forget the gold, forget ever mining again. And forget Vinson. If he was out there somewhere, he was as good as dead. If not from the weather then from his beloved kin.
“Is it safe to move him?” he asked.
Puckett sighed. “If we can get him in the truck, we can wrap him up, mummy-style. The rest will be up to God.”
Mercer opened his eyes and fixed Draper with a stare. “Vinson... killed Burgess... tried to kill... he’s dangerous...”
Draper put his hand on his old friend’s chest. “I know, man. Don’t worry about him now. We’re going to get you out of here.” He looked at Puckett and Meg. “It’ll take three of us to do this. We go straight for my truck, put him in the back. Okay?”
They both nodded.
“I’m not going out there without... my pants on,” Mercer grunted. His eyes fell shut again.
“You heard him,” Draper smiled at Puckett. Hearing Mercer’s voice momentarily made him feel better.
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a bunch of keys. He tossed them to Meg. “You get the gold out of the safe.”
“What about the rest of it in the plant?”
“Forget it. Vinson can take that as his share.” He looked away before Meg had a chance to argue.
“Come on, big man, lets get you dressed.”
32
Vinson used his fingers to remove two more loose teeth. He dropped them and in a moment they were buried beneath the snow. He let a long thread of bloody drool slide from his mouth. He trailed it around, sketching a wiry snake in the virgin snow before that too was obliterated.
He felt no pain. Even when the chair knocked him back and a tooth was ripped from the gum, he felt nothing. No pain, nothing. He was angry with himself about that. All those years of living with the fear of being cut, sliced, beaten or tortured had been wasted. None of it hurt, not when you were numb anyway. The bastards who had threatened him over money had made him afraid of pain. And yet when it boiled down to it, pain was far easier to cope with than the threat.
He was angry about running out of the saloon too. But when he saw Ray Mercer’s ghost walk through the door, something had snapped inside him. Some primitive sense that couldn’t understand what he was seeing. It said run. It hadn’t given him the chance to think on it. To reconsider the ghost and decide it wasn’t a specter from beyond but simply a man who he had failed to kill, who he should have made sure was dead before kicking him into the river.
So, if the cold hadn’t killed him, why hadn’t the beast? Maybe it was afraid of the water? Some animals hated the stuff, wouldn�
�t go in or near it. It didn’t really matter anyway because if he didn’t die from exposure now, he wouldn’t last long here. Certainly not the rest of the winter. That’s what was waiting for him. That was what was waiting for all of them. Nobody was going anywhere and that suited him just fine. He had his gold, he would just sit it out with his pet dog beside him for protection. Although… the beast had allowed Draper to knock some teeth out and bust his jaw. That wasn’t much protection when you came to think about it. There had to be a reason. It was probably a lesson in pain. How it wasn’t so bad really. It was what had been holding him back for so long, at least the fear of it anyway.
He took a quick glance over his shoulder. He could smell the beast. He could hear it breathing, he could taste the air, strong, acrid and meaty. It was better than the smell of a barbecue in high summer.
He understood now. He understood what the beast was saying. It was looking out for him, it wanted him to succeed. It had told him what the others wanted. They wanted the gold to themselves, they wanted him to help them drag it out of the ground, and then they would kill him and take his share. Well, that hadn’t gone to plan for them, had it? In return for its protection, it merely wanted their souls. That was no problem, he would feed it whatever it wanted for as long as it wanted it. As long as he got his gold, he didn’t care.
He smirked and edged back into the forest as the saloon door opened. He saw Puckett and Draper supporting a much taller but shrouded figure, dragging him down the steps into the snow. It had to be Mercer but he still looked like a ghost or a zombie. The girl followed them down. She was moving the gun from side to side like a cop. They couldn’t see him with the light at their backs but he could see them just fine. Nobody was going anywhere. Nobody.
*
“Can you help us a bit, man?” Draper shouted above the wind. Mercer groaned and tried to move his legs to help them across the deepening snow.
“Can we get through this?” Meg asked from behind.
He didn’t know if they could or not but staying put was not an option.
“Just keep moving,” he called over his shoulder.
Meg stepped in front and opened Draper’s truck doors. The back seat was empty save for a few magazines and paperwork.
“Can you slide in?” Draper asked Mercer.
Mercer didn’t answer but supported himself long enough to ease himself along the seat. He lay down immediately, pulling the blankets around him.
Meg opened up the driver’s side and turned on the ignition. The engine started first time.
Draper gave a silent thank you to whoever was up there as he closed all the doors.
“We should all stick together,” he shouted above the wind. He wanted them all in one truck. It was safer that way but he knew if one of them got in trouble and stuck out there on the track, the other pickup would be crucial in getting them free.
“I’ll travel with Luke. That way if one of us gets stuck, we can tow the other out.” Meg had read his mind.
“Okay, but you follow me.” He moved closer to her to make sure she could hear him above the sound of winter trying to destroy the claim. “I know that road better than either of you. We take it slow, okay? Real slow.”
“Take this.” Meg unfastened the Beretta and handed it to him. “I won’t need it if I’m driving and Luke’s got his.”
“You’re driving?” Puckett turned to her.
“Damn right I am,” she replied.
Draper took it and fastened it to his waist. The rifle could go in the back with Mercer. Not that he was in any position to use it.
“Let’s go then.” Meg grabbed Puckett’s arm and hauled him toward his truck. Draper watched them go. When they were just blurry shapes in the haze, he did his best to remove the snow from the windshield. Once satisfied he climbed back inside, reaching over and placing the rifle in the rear foot-well.
“Ready, buddy?” he asked over his shoulder. There was no reply but heavy, wheezing breathing. He put the truck in drive and slowly eased forward.
The snow screamed as it was compacted beneath the tires. But almost immediately Draper could feel that something was off. The truck slid, its wheels spinning and churning up the freshly fallen snow behind him. He eased off the gas and corrected the slide, slowly turning the wheel into the skid. He wasn’t moving any faster than a person could walk yet the truck felt like it was on skis. He pushed down again and heard a horrible screeching whine come from beneath the wheels.
Puckett’s lights flicked on, throwing light across the camp in front of him. In the trees, Draper caught the sight of movement. Movement and the shiny steel blade of a knife. A second later he saw Vinson’s evil grin backing away into the forest. His face looked impossibly white.
He shook his head. No time for rescue attempts on someone who just tried to kill him and his best friend.
The truck lurched forward and slid again, threatening to go sidelong into the nearest tree. He eased off then slammed the gas pedal down, hoping to give it an almighty shove forward.
Puckett’s horn blasted through the air. Draper turned his head to see Meg easing forward, drawing a hand across her throat. Cut the engine, she mouthed at him.
Draper took his foot away and allowed the truck to stop by itself. He banged his hands on the wheel.
“Feels like you’ve got a blowout back here.”
Draper lifted his head and looked in the rear-view mirror. Mercer was sitting up. There were still a few twigs sticking out of his hair and beard. He looked like a scarecrow.
“Huh?”
“A blowout,” Mercer repeated. “At least one.” His voice was raspy, deep and labored.
Draper banged down on the wheel again and climbed out. Puckett was already on his way over.
“All four are flat,” he said. “Just the same as ours. Look like they’ve been through a thresher.”
Draper turned and looked toward the forest, toward the place where he had just seen Vinson. He drew the Beretta and fired four shots into the darkness. Each round echoed and combined with the howl of the wind, creating a hellish cacophony.
“They’re all the same,” Meg shouted. “Someone’s slashed the tires.”
“Vinson,” Draper said. “It’s Vinson.”
“I saw him.” Puckett pointed. “He’s in there with... with that animal.” He turned back to Draper. There was a trace of panic in his voice. “What’re we gonna do? We won’t get far in the trucks.”
“The excavators?” Meg shouted. She was standing with them now.
As far as Draper could see, unless they wanted to spend the next few months up here, the excavators were the only option. The rock trucks might make it too but they could slide the same way a pickup could. So could an excavator, but what choice did they have?
He looked over at his truck. Mercer couldn’t make it down to the plant to collect the excavators and he doubted whether they could drag him all that way anyway.
“I’ll leave the engine running. Meg, you stay with him until we get back.” He looked at Puckett who nodded.
“I’m not staying!” Meg yelled. “If anyone stays, it’s Luke. He’s the best one to help Mercer and I can drive one of those better than either of you.”
Puckett opened his mouth but Meg kissed him on the lips quick before he could speak. “You know I’m right.” She turned to Draper. “Both of you do.” She staggered slightly as the wind smashed into her body.
Draper knew she was right on both counts. She was the best driver by a long margin. But driving in conditions like this was something none of them had experience of.
“What about the Keelut?” Puckett’s voice was full of anger but it was tinged with fear too. They had all seen what it had done to Flynn. Crumpled him up like a rag doll and tossed him into the air.
Nothing was said for a few seconds. What could they say? If the Keelut chose to come for them, there wasn’t much they could do about it except hide. And if they chose that option, Draper knew they would never mov
e again. They would freeze to death.
“All right, let’s go,” he said.
Together they half-slid and half-ran across the claim toward the plant. Draper was conscious of the growing intensity of the smell the farther away from the camp they got, but he was more concerned with Vinson than the beast. It was him who had slashed all the tires, that much was obvious. He wanted to keep them there, keep them trapped in Black Pine Creek. For his own and the Keelut’s hellish desires.
As they slid across the bridge, the wash-plant came into view. The sodium lights hummed and ignited the side of the machine. In parts, the metal frame poked through the thick covering of snow like the skeletal remains of a long-dead dinosaur.
The excavators, Draper knew, had been left on the far side of the plant.
“The cabs are barely big enough for one, let alone three,” Meg panted.
“Three?” He thought he had misheard her in the storm. Draper caught his foot on the edge of a concealed part of the frame and stumbled, only just keeping his feet.
“Luke won’t leave Flynn, just like you wouldn’t leave Ray.” She stopped and grabbed Draper by the arm. They were both panting, vapor pluming out of their mouths like old-time locomotive steam. Since reaching the plant, they were less running and more wading through the snow.
A sound like sharpened fingernails running down a chalkboard wormed its way out of the forest.
“We’ll manage,” he said and dragged her forward.
He pointed at the closest of the two. “You take that one.” He boosted her up into the cab. There was almost no additional room for a passenger, let alone two. They would manage though. Even if he had to sit on Mercer’s lap and have Flynn tied into the bucket, they would manage. They were getting out of there and no murderous lunatic or hell-hound was going to stop them.
