Trail of Blood

by Michael McBride

  VII

  PHOENIX HEARD THE CREATURE BELLOW FROM BEHIND HIM AT THE SAME time as another roared directly ahead past Jill and Evelyn. The time for playing with them was through. The creatures would now be coming at them with everything they had. He could smell the unbridled rage and aggression seeping from their pores even from the distance, feel the palpable waves of eagerness radiating from them. There were still three of them out there, charging madly through the burning woods. That much was certain. They no longer made any attempt to hide their numbers. Grotesque shadows darted in and out of the smoke, preparing to release their wrath in a flurry of claws and teeth.

  And there was something else out there…something lurking in the heart of the blaze. No. Something that was the heart of the blaze, the source of the fire and the evil he could feel spreading down the mountainside. There was something strangely familiar about it too, which caused his stomach to clench and the hackles to rise along his neck. Dear Lord! He knew that creature now. But how—?

  A roar erupted from behind him. Not just behind…above.

  He spun around, grabbing Jake and dropping to his knees to shield the boy with his body. Gunfire exploded from behind and in front of him at once, the sound chasing him into a world of tinny ringing, masking the sound of claws singing through the sky.

  A wash of fluid rained down on him a heartbeat before the body slammed onto his shoulders, driving him down on Jake. The smaller boy tried to scrabble out from beneath him, his chest fighting to expand to release a scream, but the weight of the creature atop Phoenix pinned them both. It flailed against Phoenix’s back as searing pain spread from his shoulders all the way down to his hips. Phoenix screamed and tried to roll out from beneath, but the pain was too great.

  He thought for sure he was on fire, his flesh burning away, until he felt a claw snag a rib. The hand controlling it jerked repeatedly to break free.

  Mare had seen the black creature falling though the smoke above like a lunar eclipse. It had been too close and moving far too fast to line up a clean shot, leaving him only enough time to raise the shotgun and pull the trigger. The barrel met with resistance, the weight driving it down and shoving the stock so hard into his shoulder that he toppled backward and to the side. From the corner of his eye, a lower leg, severed at the knee by the spray of pellets, hit the ground and bounded into the stream. His breath fled him in a single great expulsion. The gun fell directly on his face.

  Instinctively clutching his shoulder, he flopped over onto his side, gasping for air. His fingers probed through the dirt, seeking the weapon. He was unable to open his eyes against the pain. It couldn’t have gone very far. Prying his eyelids apart, all he could see through the tears was red. He had broken his nose too many times not to recognize the signs. A watery image of the barrel floated into view with his fingers tracing along the ground beside it until—

  He recoiled against the heat of the barrel. It felt as though he had pressed his fingertips onto an iron.

  The warm stump kicked at his rear end, the blood soaking right through his clothing.

  Mare’s breath returned with a choke that led to a throng of coughing as he wrapped his fist around the barrel despite the pain and dragged it onto his chest. He forced himself to sit up and rolled to his knees. The world swam around him as though viewing it from under a lake. He could barely keep his eyes open against the ferocious agony in the bridge of his nose. His face was covered with blood from the wounds on his head and he had to spit the freshets draining from his nostrils away from his mouth in order to breathe. Through his wavering vision, he made out the vague outline of something large, its arms rising and falling like twin serpents striking. Sprays of fluid flew in their wake. Staggering to his feet, he stumbled toward it. Flames burned from the creature’s back, a rustic-orange dorsal fin flagging from what remained of the beast’s mane.

  Reaching into the flames and grabbing hold of the nape of its neck, Mare jerked its head back and pressed the tip of the barrel to its temple. The creature had a moment to register surprise before its consciousness shot out the opposite side of its head to pattern the path with streaming gray matter.

  * * *

  Adam could only stare at Ray as he swiveled with the rifle seated against his shoulder. Flames rose from white-hot orbs in Ray’s formerly vacant sockets, the molten cores appearing to track the hillside like irises. Fingers of fire covered Ray’s forehead, but miraculously didn’t burn the skin.

  A roar roused him from his stupor and he spun toward the sound, but without his rifle he felt naked and exposed. A dark shape drew his eye up in the smoke, hurtling down toward Mare. The younger man raised his shotgun and fired, a shower of blood exploding from the grotesque ebon form before slamming down atop him.

  Another roar pierced the ringing in his ears and he looked to the right in time to see two more of those hideous creatures burst from the tree line ahead of Jill and Evelyn through a cloud of embers, flames streaking behind them like the tails of comets. Ray pulled the trigger from behind Jill with a resounding bang that stole the remainder of his hearing. The bullet took a bite out of the leading beast’s abdomen, but it hardly slowed. The other passed it from the side as Evelyn fired again.

  The steel appeared to pound the ground in front of the charging creature, but when it took the next stride, it stepped down on a severed ankle. It toppled and fell, but was upright in an instant, hobbling straight at her on the ragged end of its tibia. She pulled the trigger again, and nothing happened, the firing pin striking an empty chamber.

  Adam’s legs moved of their own accord and he lunged at the creature before it was upon her, wrapping his arms around the bloody ankle. The beast slammed to the ground, its face pounding the dirt. It snapped its head around to face him, baring a snarl full of wickedly sharp teeth stretching from ear to ear.

  “Shoot it!” he screamed.

  Evelyn was on her knees, trying to grab one of the shotgun shells with a trembling hand from where they had fallen in her hurry to pull them from her pocket. Her eyes were startlingly wide, tears leaving trails through the soot on her cheeks. She finally secured one of the red casings in her fist and brought it toward the shotgun—

  Adam screamed and looked at his shoulder. Four fingers were embedded in the muscle all the way to the first knuckles. The claws within him scraped against bone, seeking solid purchase. The hand tugged in an effort to drag him closer to that bear trap mouth.

  Releasing the ankle against his chest, it pumped a rainbow arc of arterial blood into the air above him. He pawed at the fingers ripping his muscles and saw the monster’s empty eyes as it swung its legs around, giving it the leverage it needed to bring its face in line with Adam’s, tilting its head and opening its jaws wide.

  Something black was thrust into his vision from the left, pressing the creature’s head sideways.

  Bang!

  A cloud of cordite smoke crossed that awful face and then it was gone. Adam felt warmth on his cheeks, chunks of something squishy draining down his neck.

  The creature’s lower jaw worked up and down, trying to close its teeth against the upper row that were now scattered up the hillside. A flume of scarlet gushed from its exposed throat and it toppled forward.

  Adam turned his head before the wave of blood washed over him and started prying the stiff fingers out of his shoulder.

  * * *

  Missy turned to her right and swung the shotgun up the slope, toward the flaming wall of pines. The black things were sprinting down the hill so fast she couldn’t keep up with the barrel. One slowed as a spray of fluids erupted from its gut before the other fell beside it, sliding through the dirt.

  Jill stood in their path, screaming hysterically and trying to back right through Ray, who strained to maintain his balance against her, unable to steady the sight of the rifle. He fired a shot that soared right up into the treetops, the kick of the rifle knocking it out of his hands. It clattered to the ground beside where one of the creatures was slashin
g at Phoenix’s back, shredding clothing and flesh alike. He reached for it and was rewarded with a slash from four claws that carved his forearm to the bone. Screaming, he recoiled and stumbled backwards into Jill, knocking her to the ground.

  Missy stepped up in front of Jill’s prone body and leveled the barrel at its chest. It threw itself forward, colliding with her right as she pulled the trigger.

  The combined impact from the bucking stock and the creature’s momentum separated her shoulder, but she didn’t immediately feel it as she was tossed from her feet, her breath knocked from her when she slammed down on Jill with the full weight of the beast on her chest.

  Its head hung over Missy’s shoulder, its jaws working slowly, its cooked cheek dragging against hers. She smelled the horrible stench of rancid meat on its breath, the contents of her stomach rising in response. It felt as though her sternum had been compressed to her spine, her lungs flattened between. She flopped in panic, but the weight of the thing was too great to knock it off. Its agonal respirations slowed until its jaws finally stilled.

  She grunted and shoved, her chest growing hotter by the second, and finally rolled it off her.

  Missy was covered with blood from the smears on her cheek all of the way past her waist, the saturated clothing allowing ribbons of heat to slide down the bare skin beneath. Rolling to all fours, she sucked at the air like a bellows, allowing Jill to scurry out from beneath her. She stared down at the monstrous corpse, or more precisely, through it. She could see the mud under it through a hole in its chest large enough to accommodate a melon. Jaggedly fractured ribs stood out like teeth, the singed lips curled back. As she watched, the remaining organs collapsed inward to fill the gaping wound.

  Raising her eyes to the burning forest, she thought she saw another shape through the smoke and screamed.

  VIII

  THE LEVIATHAN, ONCE THE FORMER CONGRESSMAN RICHARD ROBINSON, stood in the flames of its own design. Sap crackled and popped, exploding from knots, the bark providing only momentary resistance. Ash and embers fluttered around it, the deep black smoke swirling and churning, enveloping it in its acrid embrace. Burning branches fell from the sky and trees toppled to the smoldering detritus. It could see them down there, surrounded by the carnage they had wrought, and wanted nothing more than to stride out of the flames and rain fire onto them. The urge was insistent, but this was not the time, the voice of the master whispered in its head. Soon enough it would have its chance, but the master had bigger plans in store for them. Once they reached the master’s tower, the Leviathan could have them. All but one, anyway. And then it would set them afire and revel in their dying screams.

  The Pack had been foolhardy, savages that they were, victimized by their own insatiable hunger. They had been hardly more than mongrels snapping at their own tails. Strong though they were, they had rushed too willingly to their deaths. They had served their purpose, though. Not a single living creature remained along the trail leading back to the master. Their prey would be on their own, bereft of any assistance. They would make it to their ultimate destination, but would find only Death waiting.

  Its eyelids snapped shut, extinguishing the flames of sentience. When they reopened, something else altogether stared out through the eyes of the Leviathan from a chamber of bones no longer so far away. Death assumed the fire beast’s consciousness, inspecting his prey. They appeared more fallible than he had ever envisioned, lying there on the ground, coughing and bleeding. He felt foolish for ever considering them a threat. How they had survived the Swarm’s assault or even the Pack was a mystery. No. They had help. Their lives were guided by the hand of the Divine. God could only offer so much help, though. After that they were on their own. Only one of them had the power he possessed, his opposite number, his doppelganger, and once his frail flesh was flayed from his bones, the others would fall with no more effort than blowing the seeds from a dandelion.

  He studied his opposition, crawling in the mud, choking on the smoke. Each cough reopened the wounds along the boy’s back, refusing to allow the flow of blood to cease. But it would, he knew. The boy’s destiny was not to die in the wilderness, but to die at the hands of Death, though only after experiencing tortures beyond his worst nightmares. A part of Death pitied him, but he couldn’t allow the feeling to metamorphose into sympathy. His adversary was just a child, a smooth-skinned, naïve little boy with long scraggly hair and a physique about as intimidating as a praying mantis to a lion. How could the Lord have been so misguided as to pour His hope for mankind into such a fragile vessel?

  He would pleasure in shattering that chalice, in not only decimating the body, but in breaking the spirit as well.

  Let them come.

  The Leviathan’s eyes closed again, only this time they opened more slowly, the beast’s mind resuming control as though in the moments following birth. A breeze rose to chase away the smoke, the flames flapping like flags, and for a second it was sure one of them had seen it.

  It whirled and ran, streaking through the untamable fire that reached for it, trying to meld back into the form that had spawned it. Gaining speed with each step, it became a missile, leaving a stream of fire in its wake.

  It knew where to go. Where to wait.

  The master’s instructions were clear in its mind as though written on the insides of its eyelids.

  They would come to it.

  And they would burn.

  Chapter 6

  I

  The Trail of Blood

  PHOENIX FELT A FRIGID HAND SLIDE THROUGH THE WOUNDS ON HIS back, gripping his spine. Waves of cold emanated through his body. He had felt Death from afar, but this sensation was something else entirely. His adversary was close now, so near that he expected to turn around and see the black beast staring down upon him with predatory eyes, but there was nothing behind him in the smoke and flames. He felt like a sow being sized up for the slaughter, scrutinized by an evil greater than he had ever imagined. And it scared him to death. He had never truly given credence to the doubts before. The larger part of him had always believed that they would triumph, but now he was no longer sure. Death was not watching him from the woods, at least not physically. He was still many, many miles down the Trail of Blood in his black tower. If the mere presence of Death’s awareness had caused such a horrible physiological response over such distance, then how would he feel when he faced his opposition in the flesh?

  A strange thought struck him. If Death killed him and achieved his ultimate goal, could Death’s reign of blood come to an end? Was it possible that by allowing himself to be destroyed, Death in turn would be vanquished?

  The icy sensation abruptly ceased.

  Phoenix fought to rise to his feet. The ragged edges of the lacerations closed on his back, halting the hot flow of his own blood down his spine. Jake rose from where he had been pinned beneath him and took his hand.

  They milled in the same spots where they had taken their stand, as though by breaking the circle, the world would again be thrust into chaos. Mare smeared the blood from his face and nudged what remained of the creature at his feet to ensure that it wouldn’t rise again despite the loss of its cranium. Phoenix touched the base of Mare’s bleeding skull, stimulating the wound to close.

  “Thanks,” Mare said, running his fingers through his wet hair.

  Phoenix nodded, but said nothing. He turned to Ray and closed his hand around the gashes on Ray’s forearm, watching them heal as though they’d never been.

  “Is that all of them?” Adam asked, looking to each of them in turn.

  “Yes,” Phoenix said. “We need to keep moving now. There’s no more time to waste.”

  “Well,” Mare said. “That was a nice break. I feel well rested.”

  No one so much as chuckled as the smoke swaddled them and the flames encroached from either side down the hillsides.

  With the somber silence of a funeral procession, they walked toward the stream, stepping down into it. One by one they emerged from the w
ater, rolling the motorcycles up onto the path. Adam climbed astride his bike and took the lead, revving the engine impatiently. He had to hold his shirt over his mouth and nose to filter even a small amount of oxygen from the smoke. The headlights did little more than diffuse into the oppressive clouds in a pale aura. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the others were ready to fall in behind, so he raised his feet and started forward, pushing the bike only fast enough to keep from toppling. He could barely see the ground in front of him now, navigating instead by the walls of fire to either side, closing steadily in on the trail.

  Sweat seeped from every pore, glistening in the firelight before being baked into a salty sheen on his skin.

  With the droning buzz of engines behind him, he led them through a landscape he imagined to be hell.

  II

  THEY PASSED THROUGH THE FLAMES AND EMERGED REBORN. THE SMOKE HAD settled to a low-lying fog, hovering above the black, smoldering earth, clinging to the stands of charred trees in a final embrace. Small fires still burned from deep in the hollows of the wide pine trunks, lapping at the meal already consumed with nowhere left to go but out. Every last bit of detritus had been eliminated. There were no more leaves or needles on the forest floor, let alone any remaining in the skeletal treetops to replenish the formerly thick mat. Only fallen trees marred the ebon perfection, shattered into dozens of thick chunks, from which meek plumes of smoke stretched from dying embers. There was no movement at all except for the rich gray clouds of ash that rose in rooster tails from their tires, settling back to the path hundreds of yards behind. The world around them was dead; an eternal wasteland from which one day new forestation would rise from the enriched soil, but now, nothing remained but the ghosts, trailing away on the wind of their passage as smoke. Even the sun finally managed to reach through the lingering brown haze above in slanted rays that cast spotlights onto the fields of devastation. The stream raced past beside them, flowing thick with ash, damming itself with burnt branches that turned the water black.