by M. D. Massey
“What did he mean, Don Paco? Did he lose someone to the Sack Man too?”
Don Paco smiled sadly. “No. The curandero told me he had visions. He claimed that a voice in his dreams told him to find the disgraced professor and teach him the old ways, the warrior ways. As it turned out, that old man had been hunting and killing Them since before I’d been born. He helped me sober up, and then he started teaching me what he knew.”
I nodded. Finally, it all made sense.
“You’re a hunter, like me.”
“Yes, leonita—that is what I became. And I have been hunting this thing ever since.” His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, and his voice became low and serious. “And you are going to help me finally put an end to El Viejo del Saco.”
TWENTY-TWO
AWAY
Don Paco shared what he knew of The Sack Man. He liked living up high for some reason, he always worked alone, and he was supernaturally fast, tough, and strong. Don Paco had located him in the past, but he’d always been one step behind the monster.
“He steals children, eats them, and then he leaves to hunt somewhere else. In this way, he avoids being caught. But this time, I think we might be able to stop him. Maybe this time I will not be too late.”
I filled my water bottles and packed them in my bag while I listened. Then I checked my pistol to make sure it was loaded, and examined the string on my crossbow as well. I looked up at Don Paco and nodded. He had an ancient hunting rifle over his shoulder, and a long machete on his belt. He carried a light knapsack on his back, but I saw no other weapons on him.
“You said you knew where this thing lives?”
“I think he is living in an abandoned cabin, not far from here.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Hang on. If you know where he’s located, why haven’t you taken a bunch of men with guns and hunted him down already?”
Don Paco’s face soured. “As much as I hate to admit it, I am now too old to take El Viejo del Saco down myself. And I could not get the others here to listen to me. I was forced to wait for the monster to act.” He spat. “Pah! Foolish men. Now the child is gone. I only hope we can locate them quickly.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “So what’s the plan once we do locate this thing?”
“We will lure him out, and I will put him down with my rifle.”
“Must be some rifle. So how are we supposed to lure him out?”
The old man’s eyes twinkled. “You will be the bait.”
“That figures.” I rolled my eyes and frowned. “I hope you’re a damned good shot, because that thing moves really fast.”
“I am. My hands are still steady. My eyesight is not what it was, but it’s still good enough to hit what I aim at.”
“How do you know a bullet will stop this thing?” I asked him. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable question to ask, considering that I was going to be risking my hide to lure this thing into a trap.
“I’m shooting silver-tipped bullets, which you know are more effective against the supernatural creatures than lead and copper alone. Hopefully, it will be enough.”
I looked at him incredulously. “‘Hopefully?’ You hope? You’re not making me very confident about our chances for success, Don Paco.”
He shrugged. “This rifle once took down an elephant in Africa. I have used it to kill every type of supernatural creature—vampires, werewolves, and other undead. It should be enough to take down The Sack Man.”
I sighed. “That praying thing? I just decided I’m going to take your advice.”
He chuckled and headed out the gate at a surprisingly fast pace for an old man. I followed after, trying to remember the way my mother and I used to pray when she’d tuck me in for the night.
We walked for the better part of the day, coming to a hilly area dominated by one particularly tall rise. The area was heavily wooded, but I saw smoke coming up from the trees near the top of the taller hill. Don Paco pointed at the smoke.
“That is where I believe he is hiding. When I determined that he was headed this way, I traveled ahead and staked out the area, looking for places where he might choose to hide. I found a cabin up this hill that had long been abandoned.”
I sniffed the air. “Well, it’s not abandoned now. Someone or some thing has moved in there since you were here. Think it’s him?”
He shrugged. “We shall see, leonita, eh?” He scrambled off up the hill, and I followed close behind him.
Once we got close to the top of the hill and in sight of the cabin, we found a good observation point and hid. What creeped me out was that the smell from the cabin wasn’t just smoky; it also carried the scent of something cooking. It smelled like pork, but I knew it might be something else. The thought made me want to barf. I sipped water and took slow breaths, trying to think about other things besides the prospect of Raleigh being in that thing’s cooking pot.
After about an hour, we noticed movement inside the cabin. Don Paco said he didn’t have a decent shot, and didn’t want to even attempt it unless he knew it was The Sack Man. After a short discussion it was decided that I’d approach the cabin, pretending I was lost. If it was The Sack Man, then he’d most certainly take the bait, and Don Paco could put the whammy on him with that enormous and ancient cannon.
Don Paco made me leave my crossbow with him, but he let me hide my pistol under my jacket in the small of my back. No way I was going near that cabin without some protection, no matter how puny my pistol might be next to Don Paco’s elephant gun. I tucked it inside my waistband and headed up to the house.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
Soon someone called out from inside the house. “Whatdya want?”
Well, that didn’t sound like what I’d expected. I really didn’t know what I’d expected, except that I thought it would have an accent. The voice that came from the cabin sounded southern, but not that southern. I decided to play this thing through, just in case.
“Um, I was out foraging and I got lost. Can you please help me by telling me how I can get back to my farm?” I tried to sound as lost and helpless as I could, and I guess it worked, because the door to the cabin opened. A large burly white man with graying hair and a beard came out, and although I didn’t think he was The Sack Man, I didn’t like the way he looked at me at all.
“Sure, girly—I can help you get home. Why don’t you come inside and have a bite to eat, and we’ll figure out where you live.” His eyes gleamed wickedly in the afternoon sun, and he looked me up and down, undressing me at a glance.
Now, something that throws people off about me is that I’m the size of a twelve-year-old kid, but in a lot of ways I still look like I’m older. Sometimes people think I’m a little person, while most people just think I’m a kid. But for your typical sicko like this pendejo, I looked like a piece of hard candy.
I backed up a step to put some distance between us. “No, that’s okay, mister. Just tell me which way Canyon Lake is, and I’ll know where I need to go.”
He crept closer to me, leering at me and licking his lips. “Now now, missy, there’s no need to get skittish. Just come on inside and sit a spell, have some food and we can get to know each other better. I don’t bite.”
I doubt that, and I bet you’d give me rabies too, I thought as I continued backing away. I angled my body slightly as I backed off, hoping to hide my hand as it slid to the gun at the small of my back. Just as my hand touched the handle, he lunged at me.
I sidestepped, drew the pistol out in a smooth motion, and shot the man in the kneecap as I spun away. His leg buckled and he collapsed in a heap, and I saw a flash of blued steel at the small of his back. Apparently I wasn’t the only sneaky one here.
“Aw hell, you shot me! You little shit, you kneecapped me!” I ignored his cussing and circled around him, stripping him of the revolver he had tucked in his belt.
“Looks like we were both hiding something, fatso.” I backed away just as Don Paco entered the clear
ing. I gestured at the man with my gun. “This him?”
Don Paco tsked and shook his head. “No, just some fat old slob.”
I looked at the old man. “You still could’ve shot him, you know. I wouldn’t have minded.”
He pulled out his pipe and began loading the bowl. “Yes, but you seemed to be doing fine. Besides, he might know where our quarry is hiding.”
TWENTY-THREE
CLOUDS
The man sat there cussing us for a while, but after I threatened to shoot him in the other leg he became very cooperative. He said that he knew of another cabin a few miles away, up on a hill and secluded. He was sure that someone had moved in there not long ago.
Don Paco turned to leave without sparing a glance for the man we had tied up on the ground. “There isn’t much time. Come, let’s head to this cabin and see if we can rescue the boy.”
“What about him?” I asked.
He turned to look at the man, his face unreadable. “You can untie him if you like. Or shoot him. Or leave him as he is. But he is not worth wasting a bullet on, if you ask me.”
I looked at the man, who was now sitting up and glaring at me. I kicked him in the face and he toppled, then I followed after Don Paco. I hollered back over my shoulder as we walked away. “Think about this the next time you try to rape a little girl, you pervert!”
Don Paco chuckled as we headed down the hill in the other cabin’s direction. “You have a mean streak, leonita. I suppose that is not a bad thing.”
“Meh, he was a perv who deserved worse than that. I should have killed him, but—” I paused mid-sentence, because I really didn’t know why I hadn’t killed him. Or, at least, I didn’t know how to put it into words.
“Here is what is confusing you, as I see it,” he said. “You move like a killer, someone practiced in the art of death. Perhaps you are tired of being unsure whether the things you do will make you something you don’t want to become.”
I nodded once, slowly. “Yes, I think that’s it. All my life I’ve had someone there who wanted to turn me into what they thought I needed to be.”
“And who might this person be?” he asked.
“My Uncle Tony. He helped raise me, and taught me how to hunt Them. And how to—how to kill.”
The old man nodded. “Knowing how to kill is not a bad thing, but kill too often and it soon becomes much too easy to do. Before long, it changes you. After a certain point, life becomes a cheap thing to be sorted and spent like the worthless coins men now use when they play cards.” He looked over at me. His eyes were soft, but knowing. “And you lose a part of yourself.”
I coughed and broke eye contact. This conversation was making me nervous, because his observations were way too accurate. But the more he talked, the clearer everything became. About Tony, about how I was raised at the Facility… pretty much all the stuff I’d been confused about lately.
I stared off into the trees as I spoke. “I guess sometimes I feel like I’ve never really had a chance to be a regular kid. It’s like I’ve been living the life of a grown-up since I started living with my uncle. I mean, in a lot of ways it’s been helpful—what he taught me has saved my life more than once. And I haven’t met any kids my age who can do what I can do, or who know as much as I know about killing Them.”
Don Paco continued to hobble along in his rapid old man’s gait. “And yet, you don’t really know what you want to be. You feel like you are in danger of losing yourself before you even know who you are.”
I considered his observation for several moments before replying. “That’s exactly how I feel about it. I just couldn’t put it into words.”
He laughed. “I was young once, too. My father wanted me to be a rancher, to help him raise cattle. Me? I dreamed of being an adventurer, of seeing the world—at least some part of it. The rancher’s life held no mystery for me. When I decided to go to school instead, he was furious.”
“What happened?”
He scratched his chin and tossed his head slightly to one side. “He didn’t speak to me for years. Then, one day, he saw a story about me on the television set, and it changed his mind. He realized that I was living the life I was meant to live, and he stopped being angry.”
The old man took a few more steps before continuing. “I am glad he was not alive to see me become a drunk. Nor a bitter old man who has only lived for vengeance for the last thirty years.”
I looked up and pointed at a hill in the distance. “Well, Don Paco, hopefully your search is about to end.”
We staked out the cabin, but no one came in or out, and soon it became dark. I could still see just fine, but Don Paco suggested that we find someplace safer to spend the night. We found a rocky overhang along a bluff less than a half-mile away and slept without a fire, each of us taking turns keeping watch.
The next morning before dawn we snuck back to the cabin, but again no one came in or out and there was no movement inside the cabin. We sat within the concealment of the trees and scrub for hours, waiting for something to happen, but all we saw were squirrels. It was nearly noon when I stood up and dusted myself off.
“Alright, I’ve had enough with waiting. I’m going in.”
Don Paco pursed his lips, then let out a long breath. “I would say that isn’t a very good idea, but I am also tired of waiting. I’ll cover you with the rifle from close by.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll just take a quick look and come right back.” I sprinted off through the trees toward the cabin. I slowed my pace to a crawl once I got closer to avoid making any noises that might draw attention, should anyone be inside.
I crept around the cabin, listening carefully for movement inside. The place was empty—I was almost sure of it. Still, I snuck around to a window and peeked inside. It was just as I thought; no one was home. The place was neat and tidy, and lacked the layer of dust that I might expect if it had been abandoned for long. That meant someone was living here, but it didn’t necessarily mean that it was The Sack Man. Whoever it was could be long gone, or they might not come back for days. That would mean we’d lose precious time waiting to see who lived here, and that was time we didn’t have.
I moved cautiously to the door and tried the knob. It was unlocked. Whoever lived here wasn’t worried about burglars, that was for sure.
Once inside I walked softly around the place, looking for any evidence of wrong-doing. My search turned up absolutely nothing: no bones, no kid’s clothes, no boiling witches cauldron; nothing. The place was so neat and tidy, it almost made me feel guilty about breaking in.
Dejected, I headed for the door. But as I was about to leave, I caught the faintest sound of someone talking, just at the edge of my hearing. Then, it was gone. I thought I must have been imagining it, but I held my breath and listened carefully just to be certain.
Fifteen seconds passed—then twenty, then thirty. I kept holding my breath so I could take in every tiny sound, something I’d practiced with my uncle many, many times. I counted to sixty-Mississippi, and was just about to exhale when I heard it again. Voices, coming from beneath my feet.
One of them was Raleigh’s.
TWENTY-FOUR
CAUGHT
I called out in a loud voice, hoping he could hear me. “Raleigh! Raleigh, it’s Gabby. Holler so I can find you!”
He replied immediately. His voice was muffled, but still clear enough to make out. “Gabby, we’re in the cellar. Come quick, before he gets back!”
I searched the place frantically, looking for a trap door of some sort. After moving a heavy table and large rug, I found what I was looking for underneath. I flipped up the recessed handle on the trap door and pulled it open. Underneath, there was a rickety staircase that made two turns as I followed it down. It led to a short passage that had been carved from the limestone bedrock, to a door locked with a sturdy padlock and hasp.
“I’m coming for you, Raleigh! Just give me a minute to find the key to this lock
.”
His voice was louder now, and I could tell he was just on the other side of the door. “Don’t bother—he keeps it with him. You’re going to have to break the lock.”
I heard other voices whispering excitedly as I searched around for something heavy to use on the door. My search turned up nothing down below, so I ran back upstairs and grabbed a heavy cast iron frying pan. It was clean but well-seasoned, and I tried not to think about what might have been used to season it.
I dashed back down the stairs and began clobbering the lock with the frying pan. It took me several minutes, but eventually the lock gave way. I pulled the hasp and opened the door, and inside I found a room lined with large dog crates, the kind you might find in a vet clinic. About half of them held kids, and at the other end of the room there was a large tree stump that looked like it was used as a butcher’s block. On top was a small hatchet, a cleaver, a saw, and several knives. The stump was stained black with dried blood.
“Oh, Raleigh,” I cried as I ran to the cage that held him.
He was unharmed, and surprisingly clean. Strangely, the place didn’t smell like unwashed bodies or human waste; it only smelled like old blood and fear. From what I could tell, the kids all looked well-fed—which was the creepiest thing about the whole scene.
“I know, it’s awful. But I didn’t see any of it.” Raleigh’s small, chubby fingers gripped the thick welded wire of the dog crate door. “Look, if he comes back you have to hide, and fast. This thing is crazy—I’m talking completely nuts. He keeps saying he’s our uncle, and that he loves us and only wants the best for us.”
He coughed and leaned his head close to the door. His eyes bored into mine. “You can’t fight him, Gabby. No one can. So if you can’t get us out, you have to hide, or run so you can get my dad. Maybe him and his men can help. Otherwise, you’ll just end up like us.”
His eyes darted to the kids in the other cages, and I realized that some of them had been in here for a very long time. I pulled on the lock that held his cage closed, and when it didn’t budge I ran to get the frying pan that I had left outside. As I grabbed it I heard the loud crack of a rifle. I knew it must be Don Paco, either warning me that The Sack Man was back, or taking a shot at the monster.
