"Hell, Doc, I don't wanna see anything with a paw eighteen inches apart! Can I see him? Why didn't you mention this before?"
Doc shifted from foot to foot, and rubbed his hand over his bald head. "They're uh...gone, Sam."
"He's gone?"
"No, they're gone. The marks. They faded as he woke. It was as if...as if..."
"As if what, Doc?"
"As if he were dreaming it, Sam, but somehow it was affecting him after he was awake, too. I can't explain it, but I had to have a few more drinks to get myself to sleep. This shit is crazy, and I hope to hell you can find some answers out there, because it seems to get weirder and weirder."
Sam stood, silent. He started to speak a few times, but stopped. Finally, all he could do was pat his friend on the shoulder, and turn, and walk out of the house. Outside, he found Old Harley two hundred yards beyond the edge of town waiting for them. Judging by his posture, he'd found the trail. Little Harley sat on his horse, quiet, patient, ready. Sam mounted up, and the two rode out to join Little Harley's father.
True to form, Old Harley found the trail and followed it like a blood hound till it got too dark to see. Rather than risking an injury to their horses, they bedded down for the night about ten yards from the trail to avoid fouling it. Little Harley sat silently by the fire while his father regaled them with stories of his past. True or not, they would have been amusing but for Sam's preoccupation with Doc's description of the stranger's disappearing wounds. They bedded down shortly after eating since all attempts at conversation died quickly.
Cold morning came, and the three men shook themselves awake as the sky paled. Sam grasped as disappearing wisps of dream as he came awake. Something about chasing and fleeing. A warning. Forbidden entry into a forest that was not. And then it was gone. Troubled, but determined, he roused the other two and they picked up the trail and pressed on. As the ride began, he wondered how Little Harley could manage to make such great coffee with a small pot, a little water, and some course grounds, while the coffee Ed served back at the inn that was little better than week-old trough-water.
The day wore on, and by mid afternoon, Sam realized he had no idea where he was. The landscape was now totally unfamiliar.
"Hey Harley," he called to the tracker.
"Yep?"
"You know where we are?"
Old Harley stopped and looked back at Sam, about to make some kind of joke. But he stopped. He looked around, and pushed his hat back on his head, rubbing his forehead. Little Harley stopped, too, looking all around them.
"Sam," started Old Harley. "I have no fucking clue."
Sam swallowed. "Well, you'll be able to get us back, right?"
"Oh yeah...just follow his trail right back to Doc's door."
"Okay," Sam said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Let's press on then."
"It's just that..." Old Harley started.
"What, Harley?"
"Well, I been all over area, Sam. I should know it all by now, and I do. Or I thought I did. A little weird finding a spot I never been."
"I’d think that’s kinda impossible, Harley."
"I…uh…I dunno, Sam. Trail goes on in this direction though."
"Let’s keep following it then."
The trio pressed on through the unknown landscape, down through a ravine, across a shallow river, and out onto a grassy plain at the base of a modest ridge. The sun had dropped to the top of the ridge, and Old Harly recommended stopping there since the tracks looked to climb strait up the bluff.
Sam stared at the path ahead, trying to mask his tension from his companions. The hill in front of them certainly fit the bill for the feared ridgeline. He hoped whatever was beyond it would stay there while they tried to sleep, but he wasn’t willing to bet on it. "I think we should rotate through watch tonight. I just have a feeling."
"No problem, Sam," Old Harley said. "I’ll take first, and since my boy rises early, he’ll take third, yeah?"
Little Harley gave a terse nod.
"I’ll take second then," Sam said. "That’s fine. Now let’s get that fire started."
Later, fed and under his blanket, with one eye on Old Harley keeping an eye out with his Sharps rifle across his knees, and his bottle in his fist, Sam drifted off to sleep. Something horrible was behind him, chasing him. He had to get away. Beyond the ridge was safety, the border of this place, but he couldn’t get away. Something kept pulling on his shoulder. Every time he pulled forward, it pulled back.
Sam woke with a start. "You dreaming, Sam?" Old Harley asked, grinning. "It’s your turn to watch. G’night."
Sam readily sat up. He remembered running from something in his nightmare, but had no idea what. It was frustrating, because he knew that in his dream he’d known what scared him. He shook it off and stood, walking over to Two-Gun, and pulling out his Henry rifle. He flipped it across his shoulders and wrapped his arms over it, and walked around their campsite. The fire was burning low, and the stars were blazing in the sky.
After a few minutes, he sat down, still looking up at the stars. He quickly realized what was bothering him. He couldn’t find the North Star. The big dipper was nowhere to be seen. None of the constellations were right. He looked back down a the fire and took a few long, slow breaths, and checked again.
They were still wrong.
The landscape was unfamiliar, despite being within two days’ ride from town, and now the stars were wrong. He hoped to God a wind storm wouldn’t come through and obliterate the stranger’s tracks, or they’d have no way to get home.
He started to hyperventilate, and see flashes behind his eyes. He needed to calm down. He stumbled over to Old Harley’s prone form and pulled the bottle from next to the older man’s cheek, and took a long pull.
"Hey!" barked Old Harley. "Geez, Sam! What gives?"
"Sorry. Just really needed a drink."
"But Sam," Harley started. "You don’t drink."
"Harley," Sam said. "Look at the stars. Tell me they’re okay."
"The stars, Sam? Really, now. C’mon, this is cra—" Harley stopped.
"Well?" Sam wheezed.
"Sam, I…I can’t find anything I know. Where the fuck have you taken us, Sam? If we lose the trail, how the Hell are we gonna get back? I got my missus to worry about, and my pride and joy is sleepin’ right over there! WHAT THE HELL’S GOIN’ ON SAM?"
Sam saw Little Harley sit up, hearing his father shout. By the time Sam focused on Little Harley, he was standing with his revolver out. Clearly, this was a good man to have watching your back. "Easy, Harley. Shit's getting weird, and we need to work together. Calm down. Easy...easy."
Old Harley slowly brought his breathing under control. Little Harley holstered his massive Colt Peacemaker.
Sam started again, "The landscape was strange to us, so I looked up at the stars after Harley woke me for my turn on watch. That's when I noticed. I don't know what's happened, and I don't know how."
"What are we gonna do, Sam? This has me weirded out." Old Harley moaned.
"What we're gonna do now, Harley, is stay alert. I'll keep watch till first light. If you can sleep, do that. If you can't try to rest. We'll figure out the rest in the morning."
Sam knew what he had to do, but it scared him. These people relied on him, and he couldn't endanger them anymore. He couldn't explain any of what was happening, so he had to do his best to protect his charges. He paced as he watched the surroundings around their camp. The Harleys slouched by the fire, not really able to sleep, but not really able to stay awake either. Sam's nervous energy kept his nerves firing at this point. There was no way he'd be able to sleep now even if he tried.
Finally, dawn brightened the sky. Both Harleys had drifted into a fitful sleep by the glowing embers of the fire. Sam roused them quietly. "Boys, I want you both to follow the trail back home. Tell Doc what we saw, and tell him I went over the ridge. I want him to hear the story in case I don't make it back."
"Yer not comin'," Old Harley whispe
red.
"No," Sam stated. "I need to find some answers, and I hope they lie beyond that bluff, but I don't know. And if something happens, I want Doc Hubert to get at least some of the answers. Now make me some o' that excellent coffee, and get back home."
Half an hour later, Sam kicked sand over the fire and waved farewell to his companions. No words were spoken. The pit was back in his stomach, but he knew he was doing the right thing this time. He then checked the ammunition in his guns, making sure they were fully loaded. He secured the rest of his supplies to his horse Two-Gun.
With a slow, deep breath, he started up the incline. Once at the top, he looked down on a landscape as if through a spyglass. He couldn't figure it out, but it was as if it was further away than down the hill in front of him. There was a haze to it, too. A slight fog through which he was seeing what was before him. He scanned the landscape trying to place the feeling...
And then he had it. It was as if he were dreaming. He saw this with a gray tint to it as if it were in a dream. He gritted his teeth, and slapped himself in the thigh with his bridle leathers. Hard. His eyes watered, but the view in front of him did not change. He was really there and really seeing it. He looked back over his shoulder, but the Harleys had already disappeared from view.
Just as he was starting down into this alien setting, he heard a distant roar. His gut lurched and grabbed his rifle out of the holster on his saddle and cocked it in one motion, stopping Two-Gun at the same time. Hearing nothing more, he urged his horse forward slowly, carefully.
As he got the bottom of the valley floor, he looked at the thick vegetation all around him. It was as if he'd been transported into one of those South American jungles he'd read about. The colors, though, were wild. Yes, they were mostly green, but some were purple, orange, and other vibrant colors. Eerie lizards darted along branches and alien bird calls pierced the air.
Sam felt light-headed. Again, he felt as if he were traveling in a dream, and had to keep reassuring himself that he was awake. With a sudden thought, he turned around. His trail was gone. The alien jungle had closed in behind him, utterly enclosing him. He could not see his trail, or any disturbed vegetation. He holstered the Henry rifle, dismounted, and checked the ground.
No tracks.
Not a one.
With his eyes glued to the ground, he led Two-Gun back the way he thought he'd come. There was no way for him to be sure, but he wanted to know that he could find his way out again.
The hairs on the back of his neck rose. In one quick motion, he drew and cocked his revolver. Directly in front of him, the jungle came alive with movement. The thick vegetation burst apart and a huge, brown-furred creature burst through. It was a large and human-shaped. Almost.
It squared off in front of Sam and his horse, towering over them both. It opened its arms that split at the elbows into twin forearms on each arm, with each of the four wrists ending in two-foot-wide claws. Its face split open vertically, and the razor-toothed maw opened, letting loose an ear-splitting roar.
Marshal Sam Branson had seen his share of horrors, but he'd never seen anything like this creature. He knew, with every fiber of his being, that this creature was pure evil, and he, as a force of good, had to stop it. If he could.
With his heart thundering in his chest, and his knees knocking like never before, Sam raised his revolver and put six .45 caliber bullets in the thing's chest. His heart sang praise and glory be as the thing stumbled backwards. Sam spun on his heel and grabbed for Two-Gun's reigns, but his terrified horse must have bolted the instant the creature appeared.
Knowing the path behind him was not the way he'd come, he cut straight to his left, hoping to go around the creature and escape this valley of nightmares. He had all the flaming answers he'd ever needed. Clearly, anyone stumbling into this place would be lost and terrified for who knew how long.
No wonder the stranger kept waking in terror. If he'd kept himself alive long enough to escape this place, Sam knew his sleep would never again be the same. He reached to the back of his gun belt and pulled out six more bullets to reload his gun, and stopped, sucking air as he dumped spent brass into the wild vegetation. A lizard-like creature with impossibly large eyes scurried out on a leaf to examine him, and scurried back into the cover of the undergrowth.
Sam cut back to his right a bit as he started running again. He had an excellent sense of direction, and while he wasn't as good as Old Harley, he was pretty certain he knew he was headed in the right direction.
Just then he heard a terrified whinny. Two-Gun! He spun and bolted in that direction, hearing the horse cry out again and again. Sam crashed through the underbrush into a small clearing only to find his poor horse, lying on his side, eyes wild with fear and pain. He knelt by the horse's head, and stroked the soft nose. He looked down to see a horribly would along Two-Gun's belly, pumping out blood.
"How long has it been, Boy, eh? Six years now, right? I got you just after I got the job out here. You've been with me ever since, every step of the way. Aw, Two-Gun. I'm sorry, Boy. I can't help you any more now. No...there's nothing more I can do, except...except one last thing. I'm sorry, Two-Gun. You were the best horse and partner a marshal could have."
Sam Branson shot his horse in the head.
Wiping his eyes, he collected his Henry rifle and pocket-fulls of bullets for both his guns, and he set out again, his jaw set.
He cocked his rifle and rested it against his shoulder as he walked back the way he came. He thought. He hoped that thing would come out again. Sam felt it was time for a reckoning.
Suddenly, Sam realized two things: one, he was utterly exhausted, and two, the ground was starting to rise. The only slope he'd experienced so far was the far side of the ridge down into the God-forsaken valley. He trudged forward, despite his exhaustion.
He climbed out of the thick jungle and looked back. He stood, scanning the area for the monstrous giant. Yeah, he wanted to feed that thing some lead, but he also wanted out of this valley. He needed to get a team out here to map the area, so everyone knew to avoid it like the plague. And Washington needed to know there was a situation here that needed some heavy artillery. He had no idea how he was going to explain it, though.
But first, he had to get back to town. He finally crested the hill, and collapsed on the other side, bone tired. Sam slept a deep, dreamless sleep. Nothing disturbed him. He'd gotten enough answers for now.
By the time he woke, it was full dark again, and he was back on the plain with the ridge behind him. Without his horse, he didn't know how long he'd need to get back, so he figured he'd set out. Happily, there was a light in the distance to guide him. Whatever was there would surely supply a U. S. Marshal with a horse.
He walked in the chill night air with revived purpose, but as he got closer and closer to the light, he felt more and more ill at ease. Something wasn't right. That light was coming from a town. Not a town, though. A city. A big city.
There were no cities that big out this way, so what could this be?
He spotted lettering at the edge of the city, too.
Lettering made of light: another impossibility.
The letters read
WELCOME
to Fabulous
LAS VEGAS
NEVADA
~*~
Epilogue
Sam sat at the counter, enjoying the last of his lunch at his local diner. He jumped as his cell phone chirped and vibrated on his hip. He still didn't understand why they called it a "cell" phone. The phone part he understood, but to him, a cell was still something you'd use for a criminal in lock-up.
He put down his coffee (again, better than Ed-the-innkeeper's swill-coffee) answered the call, jotted down some notes to himself, and ended the call. So much for his lunch break: back to work. Thinking back, it had taken some doing to get to this point, though. Local law enforcement had been very interested in him that night a year and a half ago. They'd wanted to know how a guy playing dress-up had gotten his ha
nd on an authentic, mint-condition, loaded Colt .45 and Henry rifle from 150 years ago. As it was, Las Vegas PD had held him until someone from the US Marshals had come in. Sam'd had no earthly idea what a "human resources representative" was at the time, but he'd learned...sort of. Days later, some other gentlemen came to see him, too. They didn't give their names, but claimed to be with the government, and aware of the kinds of things he'd seen. They had been very helpful.
Within the next few weeks, they'd set Sam up with a place to stay, a modern identity, and a car. The car had been tough. It was a whole new idea to the old-world cowboy. It was no Two-Gun, but it worked. It had taken months of careful training for him to get comfortable with driving. Finally, he'd managed it, and could get around. About half a year after he'd met his "handlers" as they called themselves, he was on his own. He'd had his job as a private investigator explained to him. There were a lot of adjustments former-US-Marshal Sam Branson had to make in adjusting to the 21st century, but the art of investigation was something that hadn't changed. They'd even been kind enough to set him up with his first few clients. It was a pretty straightforward job, and he liked it. They even allowed him a carry permit, but had to get him trained on an automatic. Another new technology he'd had to get used to!
He'd gone through his first few cases quite quickly and efficiently, and earned himself a good reputation. Most clients were women looking for their husbands, not expecting or accepting the lure that Sin City had for the frustrated middle-aged middle-manager.
This most recent case was something different, however. A frantic mother had called him yesterday, and since it hadn't been twenty four hours, the police wouldn't do anything yet. Some teenager on his motor bike had disappeared out in the desert. Easy place to fall and get hurt, but there was more according to another local who was trying to help: there were tracks leading up one side of the hill, but on the other side? Not a trace of him or his bike was found.
Tom is a longtime devotee of the art of the fine tale, and is descended from a line of family that enjoys a good nightmare, so is it any wonder he writes stories with a darker twist? Tom has a story in Horror for the Holidays, edited by Scott David Aniolowski, and will be appearing in Undead and Unbound, edited by David Conyers and Brian Sammons, Eldritch Chrome, and Atomic Age Cthulhu: Terrifying Tales of the Mythos Menace both edited by Glynn Owen Barass and Brian Sammons. There are others, but the ink is not yet dry enough to share details.
Lovecraft eZine Megapack - 2013 Page 6
