by Peter Nealen
Craig was ripping through another mag next to me, but Tall Bear had slowed down his shots, apparently having come to the same conclusions about our pursuers that I had. He was waiting for a good shot before taking it. When Craig reloaded before either of us had fired, with a shout of, “Last mag!” the wisdom of that course of action became apparent. I still had over two thirds of my bandolier left.
Tall Bear and I fired at almost the same instant, and I think we both shot the same guy. The meth head, nearly as scrawny as a concentration-camp survivor, flopped over backwards as he was hit.
“Come on!” Eryn yelled. She had found a way past the blowdown, and was standing there with her shotgun in her shoulder. I started toward her, pushing Craig along. He didn't appreciate it, but this was no place for a last stand. Tall Bear just took another shot and followed right behind me. I could hear his pounding footsteps at my back.
It took me a second, between the noise we were making thrashing through the brush, the angry muttering of the crowd that was still reaching us even through the trees, the breath rasping in my own throat, and of course the occasional gunshot, but I realized I could hear something else—sirens. The cavalry was on the way.
The road was well banked up, as it approached the river and the rest of the ground dropped down toward the rocky channel. It was a scramble up through bushes and fallen leaves, but in moments we were up on the road. The sirens were getting louder, but the cruisers sounding them weren't visible yet.
From the road, Tall Bear and I turned and looked back. We'd managed to open up almost a hundred yards between us and the mob. “How are you on ammo?” I asked the big deputy.
He didn't even look. “Two mags left,” he replied. He was in better shape than Craig, who was down in the prone on the other side of the road. It still wasn't going to be enough.
I shook my head. “Killing these people isn't accomplishing anything,” I said. “We've got to find what triggered this and deal with it.”
He squeezed off another pair of shots. “If you've got some idea of how to do that, I'm open to suggestions,” he said.
I couldn't be sure, but it looked a little like our pursuers had actually started to pick up the pace a little. Or maybe that was because we were now stationary at the road. A lanky teenager with shaggy brown hair, a thick-waisted blond woman, and another emaciated, wild-eyed meth-head with a shaved, scabbed skull came charging out of the trees. I dropped the meth-head first, worked the lever, and turned to the teenager. Tall Bear was pumping round after round into the ax-wielding woman, but she staggered another ten yards before she dropped.
Unfortunately, we couldn't go after whatever was driving the mob without disengaging from the mob in the first place, and that wasn't looking too likely. We'd killed or disabled a lot of them, but there still had to be close to a hundred coming after us. It really did look like the whole town had emptied out to try to kill us.
The terrain was deceptive; while it looked like it would take a long time for the sheriff's cars to get to us, they came screaming around the bend not even five hundred yards away, and roared toward us, blue lights flashing. They came to a screeching halt right next to us, having apparently noticed the two deputies and two civilians shooting into the trees and figuring that this must have something to do with the call.
I, admittedly, didn't notice them much beyond spotting the lights coming up on us. I was a little focused on the horde of druggies and semi-normal people trying to turn us into scarlet smears on the ground. Under any other circumstances, I'd have expected to be knocked down on the ground with my arms wrenched behind my back and be facing some serious charges. But the newcomers, seeing the deputies shooting alongside us instead of at us, made the leap and came charging out of their vehicles, rifles, pistols, and at least one shotgun leveled. The knot of weapon-wielding, vacant-eyed madmen who came out of the trees next was met with a thunderous volley of fire that knocked ten of them flat in a second.
And just like that, it was over. There were still people in the trees, but they'd stopped their strange, tireless jog and collapsed where they were, aside from a few who caught themselves against tree trunks and stood there, clinging to the bark, gasping. A couple of them fell to their knees and vomited.
I've got to hand it to the deputies; their fire discipline was excellent. As soon as the people stopped charging forward, they stopped shooting. I was momentarily glad it was over, if for no other reason than the fact that I was down to about twenty rounds left, all told. I almost immediately felt a little guilty about the sentiment; there were a lot of people dead, who probably hadn't had any idea of what they had been doing.
In fact, even as I lowered my gently smoking muzzle, several of the nearest, who had collapsed to their hands and knees in exhaustion, started to look around them, almost as if waking up from a dream. The hatchet-faced, skinny brown-haired woman, wearing shorts and an oversize t-shirt, suddenly realized she was clutching a butcher knife in her hand. Dropping it, confused, she looked around, and began to see the carnage around her. She just stared for a moment, then started to shake. Then she put her hands to her head, her hair bunching beneath her palms, and started to scream. She wasn't the only one. Even the rougher-looking customers weren't doing too hot. One dude who looked like the very image of a Hell's Angel, complete with studded black leather vest and forked goatee, was soon howling himself hoarse with horror at what had just happened.
“What in the hell happened here?” a loud voice demanded. I looked back to see a tall, barrel-chested man with white hair and slightly squinted eyes above a square jaw. While his uniform was exactly the same as Craig's and Tall Bear's, I picked him out as the Sheriff himself. He stood on the edge of the road, an AR held in large, meaty hands, and surveyed the scene with a mix of horror and weariness on his face.
“It looks like Coldwell finally went ax-murderer crazy, Sheriff,” Tall Bear said grimly as he reloaded.
The big man shook his head. “I always expected something bad to happen, but I sure didn't figure the whole town would go psycho.” He looked at me, as if seeing the tall, spare man in civilian clothing with a rifle for the first time. “Who are you? Did you have something to do with this?”
“In a manner of speaking, I guess you could say they did,” Tall Bear put in before I could say anything. I'd started to respond, but subsided when the big deputy started talking. He knew his boss, and after what had just happened, I was generally inclined to trust the man. “The town turned out as a bloodthirsty mob specifically to kill these two, and possibly Miss Meek, as well.” The Sheriff looked around to see who the other person was he was talking about, and saw Eryn, her red hair slightly disheveled, a shotgun under one arm and supporting Chrystal with the other, coming across the road toward us. He frowned.
“What did you do to make the whole town come out for your heads?” he asked. “That just doesn't happen, even in someplace as screwed up as Coldwell.”
“They didn't do anything but ask a few questions about a friend of theirs, that out-of-towner who came through asking a bunch of questions of his own about a week, week-and-a-half ago,” Tall Bear said. “We were here for most of it. Apparently, the questions they asked weren't the right ones for Coldwell.”
The massive Sheriff was squinting at me. “Well, mister?” he asked. “You got a voice, or is Deputy Tall Bear going to do all your talking for you? I've got what looks like a truckload of dead people and now a report of some mighty strange behavior. You got any explanation?”
“Not yet,” I answered honestly. When I didn't elaborate, he frowned harder.
“I don't think you quite get it, son,” he rumbled. “This isn't just idle curiosity. I've got to have answers for what just happened here. I will have answers. So if you know something, you'd best spit it out. Now.”
I hadn't been disarmed, but I kept my Winchester very carefully aimed at the dirt as I took a deep breath. I glanced at Eryn. She just nodded fractionally, still supporting Chrystal, whose head was ha
nging down, her shoulders shaking as she wept silently. I looked the Sheriff in the eye. “I'll be honest with you, Sheriff, I don't know much of anything. I might have a couple of suspicions, but I can't confirm them until I go back there in the trees and poke around a little. And even if I do find anything, well...you might not believe it.”
He just stared at me stonily for a long moment. “You might be surprised at some of what I might find believable, mister,” he said. I could tell he was trying to decide whether to play along or just throw us in the clink until he figured out what to do. But he waved his hand toward the woods and said, “Lead on. Let's see if we can find something that might explain all this.”
When I looked back at Eryn, she looked at Chrystal and said, “I think I'd better stay here with her for the moment.” I nodded and looked at the Sheriff questioningly. He thought for a second, then grudgingly nodded as well. His deputies would be able to keep an eye on her while I went into the woods with him.
As we started down the embankment, Tall Bear joined us. The Sheriff looked at him, and Tall Bear just shrugged. “I just had to kill a lot of people,” he said. “I'd like to know why.” The Sheriff nodded silently, and we continued into the woods.
We passed the nearest bodies and started threading our way through the shattered survivors. I was scanning everywhere, but was generally heading for where I thought I'd seen that unnaturally tall figure, just as everything went pear-shaped. It was the only lead we had.
It seemed like a lot longer distance, when we weren't running for our lives. We came to the burning vehicles that had blocked the road. They were still fully involved, with flames starting to lick through the undergrowth and up several of the trees. I could hear the deeper, harsher note of fire engine sirens in the distance; hopefully they'd get here in time before this little barricade turned into a forest fire. My truck was still sitting there, the doors open, far enough from the flames that the paint wasn't even going to be scorched as long as the fire got put out soon. A cursory glance showed that it hadn't been touched. Everything was still where it had been. There were a few new dents in the bumper and fenders, but it wasn't like it had been a fancy truck when I'd gotten it.
I frowned. My theory that the townspeople had been under some sort of compulsion was getting stronger. A riot or a simple mob probably would have trashed it, maybe even set it on fire. I was quietly glad that they hadn't. I didn't want to have to try to find another truck. I immediately felt guilty for the thought, given the number of bodies we'd stacked in the woods.
Given the stress we'd been under at the time, I hadn't really pinpointed where exactly I'd seen the thing, if I'd even seen it at all. I had to have a look around. I was pretty sure that it had been on the river side of the campground, so I started there. The ground was pretty torn up; footprints were everywhere, and crowding each other into illegibility. I didn't see anything in particular that looked like a monster footprint, but if the thing was the kind that could get into a few hundred people's heads and turn them into bloodthirsty pseudo-zombies, it might not be the kind that left discernible footprints, either.
Tall Bear was looking just as intently as I was, and I noticed. “Did you see something?” I asked him.
He frowned, still studying the surrounding trees. “I don't know. I think I did, but there was a lot going on. I might have imagined it, but somehow I don't think so.” He glanced back at the Sheriff, who was standing a few yards away, watching and listening without appearing to, and added quietly, “It was weird, if I did see it.”
I nodded. “Yep. That's why I told Sheriff...”
“Baker,” Tall Bear supplied helpfully.
“...Sheriff Baker that he might not believe me if I found anything,” I finished. “If I'm right, there is some very weird stuff going on here.”
I still couldn't find any marks, footprints or otherwise. That alone was starting to make me nervous all over again. Even some of the more powerful denizens of the Otherworld often need to use glyphs or sigils to exert the kind of unnatural effect that we'd witnessed. The fact that whatever this was apparently hadn't needed such instruments was...disturbing.
There was something, though. As I stepped next to a tree, I got a sudden feeling of dread, like I imagine a mouse feels when a rattler is watching it. I held up my hand and froze. Both the Sheriff and his deputy followed suit. I scanned the trees, but I couldn't see anything, just the shadows and the growing murk as the smoke from the burning cars filled the woods. The thing could be just hiding behind one of those sooty black clouds, watching. It sure felt like it.
Sheriff Baker had his AR held at the low ready as he looked around, squinting against the growing sting of the smoke. I was looking from tree to tree, but if the thing was out there, it was well-hidden in the murk. I couldn't get any sense of direction, like you can sometimes tell that there's something behind you (a lot of times there really is, you just can't turn around fast enough to see it—be glad of that fact). There was just this oppressive sense of being watched by something big, powerful, and predatory. “I think we should get out of here,” the Sheriff said carefully. “Right now.”
“You feel it, too?” Tall Bear asked.
“Yeah, I do,” was the clipped reply. “And we are not in an advantageous position right now. Let's move.” He didn't take his eyes off the trees and the smoke, but his next words were clearly aimed at me. “I think I'll be taking your word for it, mister. And we need a lot more manpower. Let's go.” Suiting actions to words, he started moving back in the direction of my truck and the burning cars. Tall Bear and I weren't going to argue. The threatening feeling of the campground was only getting worse as the smoke billowed thicker. Two fire trucks were already at the burning barricade, dousing the fire, but that just added steam to the black smoke, making it just as hard to breathe, and leaving more gloom for the thing to get closer. By the time we got up to the road by the fire trucks, I was already imagining all kinds of toothy Otherworldly predators drifting closer like Jaws. But it didn't show itself.
After another ten yards, the threatening feeling simply disappeared. I stopped and looked back. That was weird. I glanced at the other two. They were also looking around quizzically. Both had felt it, too. I took a step back the way we'd come, back toward the campground. The feeling didn't come back. Another step. Still nothing.
“What are you doing?” Baker asked quietly.
“Checking on something,” I replied, as I carefully, slowly made my way back toward the campground.
I got all the way back to where I'd been looking for footprints. The oppressive sense of being watched by something ancient and malevolent did not return. I looked back over my shoulder. Both Baker and Tall Bear had followed me, either similarly curious or determined that the crazy civilian with the lever action rifle didn't get into any more trouble and/or get eaten. “I think it's gone,” I said.
“You may be right,” Baker said. “But I'm not taking the chance with only three guns. Come on.”
When we finally got back to the sheriff's department vehicles, where the deputies had the remaining members of the mob restrained and face-down on the pavement, and were checking the bodies to make sure there wasn't anyone who still might need medical attention, I had even more questions than I'd had going in there. And I wasn't the only one.
“Do you have any idea what was back there?” Baker asked me, standing next to his vehicle. I couldn't help but notice that Tall Bear was the only other deputy within earshot. Craig was still hovering near Eryn and Chrystal, neither of whom were paying him much mind. Eryn was trying to talk to Chrystal, but kept glancing over at the three of us.
I shook my head. “I really don't,” I replied.
He squinted at me. He looked like he squinted a lot, but this was a little more intense. “I'll come clean with you, mister. I've been a cop in some capacity for twenty-five years. Probably ninety percent of the crazy, messed-up stuff I've seen has been due entirely to drugs, violence, or just plain stupidity. But th
at other ten percent...I've seen stuff I can't ever explain. So has every cop who's been at it long enough. I was a beat cop in Seattle and had to fight a guy who was, no kidding, possessed. Took six big cops, two the size of linebackers, to restrain him. Couldn't hurt him no matter how hard we hit him. I've seen other stuff I can't even begin to describe. So I've got a bit of a sense for when things are off-kilter. And this is about as off-kilter as it gets.
“Those people weren't just a mob; they were after you five, with a single-mindedness I've never seen or heard of in a mob, never mind the way the aggression suddenly cut off like a light switch had been flipped. And whatever that thing back in the smoke was, I'm pretty sure it wasn't human. And I'm getting an idea that you know a little bit of what I'm talking about.”
With a deep breath, I nodded. This part was always awkward, which was why I preferred to get the work done and leave. “I do. This kind of thing is our job.” I waved to indicate Eryn. “But I still don't know what that was back there.”
“Do you have any idea whatsoever as to what's going on here?” he asked. “Because I've got a whole town gone crazy, lots of dead people, and no explanation. None.”
