Ironclad

by Daniel Foster

  The abominations continued to struggle and tear at the tree. The tree groaned. With a booming pop, it split from roots to crown under their assault. Then it split again. They abominations were going mad, flinging bark and wood.

  For an instant, their efforts synchronized, and the tree gave out under the stress. It basically exploded. Wood crackled and flew, and the abominations tumbled onto the road. Only then did Garret see why their struggles had become so frantic. They were growing at an extraordinary rate. They didn’t appear slimy, but their scrabbling, slippery movements gave them a putrid appearance anyway. They were roughly humanoid in shape, though they were growing so quickly that it was hard to be certain.

  Garret felt the Hollow Man looking at him. Then the Hollow Man’s gaze shifted, down to the creatures at his feet. Again Garret felt that alien emotion radiating from him: the bloated, rotting cousin of enjoyment. Without a word, the Hollow Man raised a hand, covered beneath his cloak, and pointed at Garret.

  Holy shit, am I just standing here watching this?!

  Garret spun on all four paws and, with tail tucked and eyes wide, he ran like a squirrel. Garret knew better than to run forward and glance back, but he did anyway.

  The abominations clawed, clambered on all fours, and, flung themselves down the road after him. They clawed for speed even as their bodies grew and took shape. They were wickedly fast, scuttling like hunting spiders, but fortunately Garret was faster, and he began to outdistance them. They kept trying to rise from four legs to two, and they grew quickly, the size of bloodhounds, now the size of St. Bernards, now the size of panthers. They were stretching out, their four limbs becoming long and lanky and even more spider-like, but they were picking up speed.

  Shit shit shit SHIT! Garret turned every scrap of energy he had into forward momentum, and began to outrun them again. Were it not for the fact that their bodies were changing with every step, he knew they would already have run him down.

  Their bodies continued to expand and grow as they came. Their limbs stopped stretching out, and muscle began to surge over their lanky frames. This at last allowed them to come upright onto two legs, running like sprinters. Still they grew. Six feet tall, seven feet, eight. Faster they came. They were outpacing him now, effortlessly.

  Crests of bone erupted from their crowns, running back along their skulls and coming to a blade-like point behind their heads. Horns swept back from their brows, curling, growing absurdly thick, thicker than a man’s arm. The horns wrapped all the way over their backs and under their arms. They picked up speed so quickly that Garret felt like he was running through molasses. They were closing the gap on him as quickly as if he were walking.

  Their heads became more and more human, but their faces were still featureless, just smooth skin where eyes, nose, and mouth would be.

  A year prior, the creature had seemed to Garret to be the epitome of speed and power. Compared to what pursued him now, the creature was slow and weak. The creature had moved as if its weight was of no consequence. The abominations were now moving as if the laws of physics were of no consequence. A keening sound began to issue from them as they came, and Garret knew what it meant. They wanted the rest of the blood from which they had been born. His blood.

  A wet crunching sound, like breaking bone came from both of them. Their knees snapped backward and their legs reshaped, becoming more thickly wrapped in muscle. The abominations pushed hard against their newly reverse-jointed legs, flinging themselves towards Garret so hard that the space around them began to wail in pain. They keened again, high and fluting.

  Garret was flying down the road as fast as he could go, though he knew the road went on forever. He glanced back again.

  A small bulge was forming at the center of each of their chests. Their dark skin ripped open, revealing an orb of bone beneath. Then the bone opened, revealing a single, large, green eye with a snake-like pupil. The eyes focused on Garret, and he felt their gaze as if it was a focused blast of hot air. Then the eyes closed again, sealing themselves behind lids of bone. More and smaller bulges were rising on the sides of their arms as they ran. One by one, the char skin burst, revealing more bone-lidded green eyes, a row of six down each arm. The eyes blinked, all out of sequence, like clams opened and shutting over the eyes from hell.

  At the same time, Garret knew though he could not see, one more eye was opening on the back of each of their skulls, directly below their bone crests. Eyes to all four sides. The abominations would never tire, would never sleep, and there was nothing that they would not see.

  Garret turned his gaze front for the final sprint before they overtook him. As he did so, he caught sight of the last thing he expected to see. Navy uniforms. Off the side of the road, no more than a dozen yards into the trees, stood four young men in United States Navy attire.

  Garret’s heart surged with joy and terror, because he knew all four of them.

  Curtis.

  Sweet Cheeks.

  Burl.

  Theo.

  Perhaps Garret’s human sense could have been deceived by some underworld trick, but his wolf senses were not. His friends were beckoning frantically to him, and between them, he could see a distortion in space, a portal, just like the one the Hollow Man had thrown him through the last time he’d left this accursed place.

  Garret turned so quickly that he slid sideways, clawing for traction as he tried to turn all of his momentum sideways into the forest. His friends were running to meet him. They moved quickly as well, much more quickly than Garret would have expected them to. Theo and Burl broke off, reversing course to run with Garret back to the portal. Sweet Cheeks and Curtis slid to a stop on the yellow leaves, glaring over Garret’s back towards what pursued him. Their faces were grave, resolute. Behind him, the abominations turned the corner with no loss of speed. They just snapped a ninety degree turn at full speed as if momentum didn’t exist.

  Curtis and Sweet Cheeks weren’t following. Garret began to slow, but all four of them yelled at him to keep going, with Curtis and Sweet Cheeks frantically waving him away. Sweet Cheeks gave him a grim smile. Curtis only nodded. It wasn’t an unfriendly gesture, just a focused, determined one. Curtis’s hard gaze was fixed on the abominations, his big body loose and ready.

  They’re not gonna try to—

  Garret began to slow again, but Burl and Theo seized his fur at each of his shoulders. “They’ll be fine, go!” Burl yelled. He and Theo had many times their old strength, and they heaved him forward, flinging him through the air and towards the portal.

  As abruptly as jumping off a cliff and hitting a lake, Garret felt the underworld give way. He passed through the portal, or pass, or whatever it was, and tumbled to the rocks in the cleft on the side of the hill in Austria.

  He raised his head. The pass was closing up quickly behind him. His friends stood their ground, and if anything the abominations picked up speed, wailing in anger as they came. Just before the Pass collapsed, Garret was treated to the sight of the end of their transformation. A third horn sprouted from their foreheads, this time curling down past their chin. Its forward edge sharpened like a blade, and Garret saw his own blood begin to trickle along it, down the edges of the horns and drip off the ends.

  Then the Pass stretched long, moving the abominations miles away in a heartbeat. They both stopped. Their quarry was beyond their reach. They stood still on their backwards jointed legs and opened their hands to him in beckoning.

  Garret’s friends had stood their ground. His last sight was of Curtis and Sweet Cheeks giving each other a determined nod before suddenly starting to move apart. The abominations moved too, lightning fast, but Garret only glimpsed the beginning of it all before the Pass collapsed and they were gone.

  Garret was kneeling on stone, back in Austria again. He didn’t have time to process any of the craziness that had just happened before the tickling began in his chest again, stronger than ever. He started coughing, hard. He coughed on hands an
d knees until something dislodged in his lung. He hacked it into his mouth and it clacked against the back of his teeth. He spit it out into his hand. It was a bullet, mangled from passing into his body. With the single bullet gone, his whole body felt better. He tossed the bullet weakly away and lay down on the stone. He rolled over onto his back and breathed in and out, slowly.

  He was free at last, and he was unharmed. Curtis, Sweet Cheeks, Burl and Theo would be too, of that he was certain. Burl had told him they would be okay, and he believed it. This was not a night for endings. Not for any of them.

  This night was a new beginning.

  Chapter 34

  A few minutes later, Garret made his way back to his sleeping friends. They too were fine. Velvet, Pun’kin, Fishy, and Butterworth all slept soundly. In fact, though there was no way for Garret to know for sure, he had the distinct impression that very little time had passed since he’d left.

  Garret settled weakly to his knees on his end of the tarp. He took breath after breath, feeling his lungs move without restriction. He raised his arms to the night sky, then folded his hands behind his head and savored the feel of the cool night air moving in and out of his chest. His body was weakened from the ordeal, but his soul no longer bore the shackles it had worn for so long.

  Molly, I’m coming home a new man. Garret reached into his pack and pulled out a pair of pants that he had also “borrowed” from the farmhouse at which they’d also procured the shovels. The simple effort of putting on the pants filled Garret with the desire for sleep. Pun’kin had come back from watch, but had forgotten to waken Fishy. Garret shook Fishy’s shoulder. Fishy rolled over and mumbled something unintelligible, but his eyes did open.

  “Hey buddy,” Garret said tiredly. “Your turn for watch.”

  Fishy’s face twisted up in a comical child-like pout, but he got up and walked towards the mouth of the cleft. Garret lay down in his own spot, next to Velvet. He pulled the cool tarp over himself, but in moments, it was deliciously warm with his own body heat. Then he was fast asleep.

  June 26th, 1914. Two days to Vidovdan

  By the time Garret awoke, the sun was high, moving towards midday. In the past, he would have felt guilty for sleeping half the morning away. Instead he stretched leisurely, put his hands behind his head, and lay on the ground, letting the morning sun trickle into his half open eyes. He was free. Free in heart, mind and spirit, for the first time he could remember. It was amazing.

  Is that coffee?

  Garret pushed himself up. The other guys had built a fire in the middle of their makeshift camp, and Garret could smell the heavenly aroma of the black brew. He stood and trailed towards their circle. Fishy scooted one way and Butterworth the other to make room for him.

  He sat and sniffed the mingling aromas of fresh summer morning, laced with wildflowers, and hot coffee. Velvet and Pun’kin, who sat on opposite sides of the fire, were each holding opposing ends of a big stick, jammed through the handle of a tin cup. All four of the guys were sipping from their round canteens, but tipping them back as if they didn’t have much in them.

  Velvet gave Garret a half smile. “I grabbed a couple handfuls of coffee before we left the ship,” he said. “I thought there might come a time we’d be glad of it.”

  He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to. After what happened yesterday, Velvet had decided that now was the time if there would ever be one. Garret shot an underhanded glance around at his friends. How am I gonna tell them? Curtis, Sweet Cheeks, Theo and Burl—they’re all alive. The other guys would think I’m crazy.

  It made no sense to Garret that someone could die but still be alive, yet they were. Garret took another furtive glance around the circle. He wanted so badly for them to know what he knew, to feel the relief he felt. To have the assurance that the other guys were okay, in some manner.

  “He could have stolen some of the Captain’s whiskey,” Fishy grated, his throat dry, his eyes circled darkly. “But he brought us coffee.”

  It wasn’t meant unkindly, and small smiles flickered briefly around the circle.

  “Grab your canteen,” Velvet said to Garret.

  Garret fetched it and unscrewed the lid. Pun’kin and Velvet pulled the tin away from the fire. Butterworth stood, opened a piece of cloth, damp with coffee stain, and spread it over the mouth of the cup. Garret held out his canteen, and they poured a portion of the volume of the cup into it. Fishy handed over everyone else’s canteens, one at a time, and they divided the rest of the cup.

  Garret sniffed the steam rising from his canteen. One fifth of the tin cup was only a couple swallows, but he was grateful to have it. Almost as grateful as he was to sit there with his friends on a beautiful morning and breathe the free air. He took a sip.

  The liquid was bitter and rich and hotter than a firepoker. He gasped, tried not to choke. The other guys blinked at him.

  “Are you alright?” Pun’kin asked.

  Garret nodded, and waited until the burning sensation went away before he said, “I’ve never had coffee before. It’s good.”

  They all blinked again. “Never?” Velvet asked.

  Garret shook his head. “Ma said it was bad for us.” Even though she drank it, he thought.

  A half-hearted chuckle went around. Garret took another sip. Lordy, that taste is gonna take some getting used to.

  Fishy nursed his canteen, holding it with both hands and almost hunching over it, as if it were his own little campfire. “Where’d you go, anyway,” he said to Pun’kin as he took another sip. “You were gone for almost an hour.”

  Pun’kin stood, went to the spot he’d slept, and returned with his arms loaded with four parcels, wrapped in cheese cloth. He sat and opened the biggest one. It contained a stack of round, flattened loaves of bread, and as soon as the cloth fell away, Garret could smell them from where he was sitting. They were so fresh that Pun’kin must have somehow gotten them straight from the oven. Garret’s mouth watered.

  “Pogacha,” Pun’kin said proudly. “She told me twice so’s I could remember.”

  Pun’kin unwrapped the second smaller parcel. It was a heap of cured meat sides. They were small but they looked delectably dark with seasoning and smoke. The third package contained a wheel of cheese, white and smooth in the morning sun. The fourth and final package turned out to contain a small crock of yellow butter.

  Pun’kin smiled at their ravenous expressions, slapped his knee and said, “Let’s eat!”

  Pun’kin took his lanyard off his neck, opened his navy knife, and started carving off big chunks of warm bread, slathering them with butter, and handing them around. With each piece he handed a side of the cured meat and a crumbly wedge of the cheese.

  With muttered thanks, praises, and exclamations of Pun’kin’s near-divinity, they dug in. Garret tried to savor it, but he wolfed his first serving. The bread was soft and warm, soaked with so much butter that he got it all over his fingers as he ate. The crust of the bread crackled and flaked in his mouth. The meat had a hearty, invigorating flavor, tangy with woodsmoke and savory spices that Garret didn’t recognize. Despite the crumbly consistency of the cheese, it was soft and creamy in the mouth, and wonderfully filling in the stomach.

  “Bless you,” Velvet said as he chowed down, making the Catholic crossing sign at Pun’kin with his free hand. “Bless you, my son.”

  “Oh my god,” Fishy said. “That’s so damn good. What kind of meat is this?”

  “Goat,” Pun’kin said. “So’s the cheese.” He was happy, but not with himself. He was happy to see his friends fed.

  Garret felt another rush of gratitude as he ploughed through the bread, butter and rich meat. I have the best friends in the world.

  As fast as they could eat, Pun’kin passed around more, between his own bites. They would all eat until they were stuffed, and there would be leftovers.

  “Thanks mate,” Butterworth smiled, his face smeared with butter. Pun’kin han
ded him more.

  “Where did you get this?” Velvet asked around a mouthful.

  “Over the field a piece,” Pun’kin said, pointing to the west.

  “You stole it?” Fishy asked.

  Pun’kin was hurt.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry,” Fishy said.

  Mollified, Pun’kin said, “Nah, I bought it from the farmer’s wife. I knew it was good cheese ‘cause we make it back home,” he said proudly. “She done good.”

  Pun’kin took another huge bite of buttered bread and tore off a piece of meat.

  “Bought it with what?” Fishy asked.

  “The money,” Pun’kin said.

  “What money?” Velvet asked. “Lieutenant Bartram kept the…” Velvet trailed off, looking at Pun’kin with new eyes.

  Fishy laughed a little. “You took the cash from Bartram?”

  “I didn’t steal nuthin’,” Pun’kin said testily. “It was ours by rights!”

  Fishy was enjoying this new turn. “You pinched it,” he said. “You pinched it right out of his pack before he woke up.”

  “It weren’t stealing!” Pun’kin insisted. “We never got paid!”

  They all paused. They had worked right to the end of their last pay period aboard ship, but then they’d departed, and in the ensuing events, they’d all forgotten about their money.

  “It’s ours by rights,” Pun’kin said stubbornly. “I gave her plenty for breakfast,” Pun’kin said, gesturing to the food they were eating. Pun’kin raised his chin with southern pride. “We earned our money, and he didn’t have no right to keep it from us.” He nodded as if that cinched the matter. “Ya’ll have your share as soon as we’re done. If you all eat a good breakfast.” He said the last line like a country grandma, keeping an eye on a brood of feisty kids.