by Matt King
That’s not good.
By the time he saw the spikes in the road, he had no time to hit the brakes. The front tires blew out first, then the rear. The steering wheel jerked out of his hands. He watched, helpless, as the road curved to the right while the truck went straight.
The last thing he saw in the headlights before everything went to hell was a pine tree branch rushing toward the windshield. The corner of the truck slammed into the tree trunk, flipping it sideways and sending him head-first into the driver’s-side door. He was weightless in free-fall until the truck came to an abrupt landing at the bottom of the gorge.
It took him a second to realize he’d landed upside down. His skin was hot with lacerations from the broken side windows. All he could think about was getting out and running. Running required legs, though, and his were caught in the mangled steering wheel above his head. He freed one with a heavy pull. Before he could free the other, he heard the sound of motorcycle engines overhead. He also heard the deeper rumble of a car approaching.
Coburn.
He yanked at his other leg until it came loose. The smell of smoke from the engine filled his nose. He stuck his hands through the smashed window to grab hold of a root outside and used it to pull himself free. Before he stood, he reached back inside the cab for his swords. His hand came away with nothing.
“You gotta be kidding me.”
A twig snapped in the slope of trees above where the truck came to rest. One of the Chevy’s headlights still worked. It pointed diagonally in the direction of the cliff. At the edge of its reach, a set of black boots stepped into the light.
August wedged himself back through the truck's window, patting his hands around in the dark and coming away with nothing but broken glass and ripped pieces of fabric from the ceiling. He swept his arms from side to side. Come on, come on. Just give me one!
The blades were gone.
A pair of hands grabbed him by the heels and pulled him outside the wreckage. One of the Horsemen picked him up by the back of the jacket and threw him against the side of the truck bed. August looked up to see the four of them standing in a line.
“Hey, fellas,” he said, trying to buy some time to formulate a plan. “You’re looking…similar.”
The Horsemen said nothing. Some things never changed.
“You guys wouldn’t happen to have a Triple A membership, would you? I seem to be having some car trouble.”
He expected a well-choreographed attack, and it came in a blur. One of the men threw a punch at his face. August knocked it away only to have another punch land squarely in his solar plexus. The rest happened too quickly for him to see anything, but he sure as hell felt it. He caught a punch to the head, and a kick to the side of his knee. One of the Horsemen grabbed him behind the neck. August managed to flip the man over, only to have the ridge of another’s forearm strike him in the throat. He went down, and that’s when the Horsemen pounced. Two grabbed his legs and flipped him over, tying some kind of metallic rope around his ankles, then did the same to one of his wrists. They turned him onto his stomach and ran the cord over his shoulder, across his open mouth, then back to his other wrist. A second later, dirt and leaves blew into his open mouth as the Horsemen began dragging him up the slope.
When they got him to the road, the brothers picked him up by the rope binding his wrists and held him upright in front of a black Mustang. August recognized the cowboy hat through the tinted windshield. The Mustang’s door opened.
“It has been some time,” Coburn said as he stepped out of the car. “I hoped that one day we would see each other again.”
“Uck ooh,” August replied.
Coburn lit a cigarette. The smoke trailed off into the wind. “Save your energy, Mr. Dillon. Come tomorrow, you’re going to need it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Bear woke to the sound of wheels rolling over rocks in the gravel parking area. He unzipped the tent door and stuck his head outside, ready to tear August down for taking off on his own and leaving them stranded. His shoulders slumped when he saw the Forest Ranger insignia on the truck’s door. He waved to the driver before falling back on his sleeping bag.
“I guess that wasn’t our boy?” Ray asked. His pills rattled against the plastic bottle as he shook a couple into his palm and then downed them dry. He was taking so many now.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“You want me to make breakfast?”
“I can do it, Daddy. Stay here and rest a bit more.”
“I don’t believe I’ll be sleeping any longer this morning, Bear. Listening to that stream all night has made me need to go to the bathroom something fierce.”
The dirt outside the tent was solid with frost. Bear lit the stove burners and emptied a bag of peppered jerky onto a pan to grill. It didn't take long for the heat to bring it to a sizzle. Pan-frying jerky was something his dad discovered by accident when Bear was a kid. He thought it might be good for Ray to be reminded of those days. On the other burner, he set coffee to brew. He looked over his shoulder to see his father dragging an oxygen cylinder behind him on his way back from the woods. Bear had cursed August’s name countless times throughout the night, and he did it again as he watched his father struggle to lose the morning chill. “Here,” he said, “Let me get your blanket.”
“Thank you much.” Ray lowered himself to a log beside the fire pit. He drew the edges of the blanket under his arms as Bear draped it over his shoulders. “Jerky smells good,” he said.
Bear smiled briefly in reply. He tried to concentrate on turning the jerky. In between pieces, he glanced toward the road.
“He’ll be back, Bear.”
“Will he?”
“I don’t think after everything we’ve gone through that August meant it all as a setup to steal our truck.”
“Maybe not, but look where we are. How are we supposed to get home?”
“I’m sure August didn’t plan on leaving us here forever.”
“I don’t think he was planning anything. August isn’t much for that.”
He pulled the pan off the burner and shook it to loosen the pieces. He offered some to Ray.
“You know,” Ray said, taking a piece, “you boys are going to have to start trusting each other if you’re going to be partners in this.”
“Partners fill each other in on plans. That’s my understanding.”
“Maybe. Usually, yes. August is on the run, though, and the men chasing him sound like hard characters. If they’re as good at hunting people as he says they are, he might’ve thought that running away was the only way to keep us out of the line of fire.”
“I wasn’t worried about being in it,” Bear replied.
“I mostly meant me, son.”
The wind pushed a strand of hair over Bear’s angled brow. He sat down with his plate. “Still,” he said, “I would’ve liked to know.”
“So you’d do what? Let him go alone? Something tells me that wouldn’t have happened, given your nature.” Ray bit off a piece of the jerky. The act of chewing seemed to tire him out. “It's funny,” he said. “We've only known August these few days, but I feel like he's family now. Can't help but be a little worried about what's happening to him, even though I know he can take care of himself.”
Bear felt another flash of anger at the thought of August causing Ray more discomfort than he was already in. Truth be told, though, he had to admit that he was as much worried about August as he was angry at him. And then there was Shadow. Ever since he watched August pull away in the truck, he felt an overwhelming urge to run after him. He had a hard time telling if that urge was hers or his.
Ray pondered the trees overhanging the camp site as he finished his bite. “So, being as August is almost family, I suppose you’ll be off to look for him soon.”
“I can’t do that,” Bear said.
“You most certainly can.”
“I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“Bear…”
&n
bsp; “I won’t do it, Daddy.”
“Johnny, I...” Out of wind and unable to finish, Ray rapped his cane on the ground instead. The exertion brought on a string of coughs. He took a strong inhale of oxygen to fill his depleted lungs. His lip quivered as he waited to regain his breath. When he spoke again, his voice barely carried between them. “I want you to stop this foolishness. You’re not thinking straight.”
“There are things out there that will hurt you.”
“And what about August? What about the responsibility you’ve been charged with? You can’t throw it all away over me, Bear. My time here is up.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Say it as often as I need to.” Ray held his lips together to silence a cough. His eyes were red from straining. He placed a hand on Bear’s knee. “Do you see?”
“Daddy…”
“I want you to go. Find August. Do what you were charged to do and save him.”
At forty-three years old, Bear was well beyond the age of being told what to do, and yet here he was, about to change his mind because his daddy told him to. He took his father’s hand. The skin was loose and cold. “What will you do?”
“Wait,” Ray replied. “There’s plenty of food. Temperature’s not too bad. I got enough around me to keep me busy.”
“Do you have enough pills?”
“More than I want.” He tapped the end of his cane against the oxygen tanks. “And there’s always this.”
Bear stood, looking over his shoulder at the road. “I’ll try to find the truck on the way to Brevard. If I come across it, I’ll bring it back here and take you to a hotel. I’m not going after August until I know you’re safe.”
“You’re as stubborn as your mother,” Ray said. “Never could talk sense into her.”
“I’ll find him, Daddy. I promise. I just need to make sure you’re taken care of first.”
Ray smiled weakly. A tear formed and fell along the wrinkles of his cheek. He wiped it off and extended his arm to Bear. “Help me up for a second.”
Bear helped him to his feet. Ray drew him down with a hug.
“Do you remember what I used to say to you when you were younger?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Ray squeezed him hard. He whispered in Bear’s ear. “You’re not so big that I won’t miss you.”
And just like that he was a kid again, being told to go to school when all he wanted was to stay close. Bear didn’t know if he could let him go.
“Go on,” Ray said, releasing him. “You don’t want to get caught in the dark on the way back. Brevard ain’t close.”
Bear straightened up. “You sure you don’t need anything?”
“You brought enough.”
“Don’t forget there’re blankets in the red bag if you catch a chill.”
“I remember and I’m sure I’ll be using them.”
There were a hundred more questions Bear could’ve asked him, a hundred more things he could’ve said, but he knew they were only in his head to keep him from leaving. He stayed silent instead, turning his attention to packing a small backpack for the trip. He took only a few strips of jerky and two bottles of water. Everything else he wanted to leave for Ray just in case the trip took longer than he hoped.
“You all set?” Ray asked.
“Set as I’m ever gonna be.”
“Well then, you go find our boy.”
Bear cleared his throat. “Goodbye, Daddy.”
“Take care of yourself,” Ray said.
Bear accepted the words with a half-smile. Anything else and he was likely to lose what little control he still had left over his emotions. He set off for the road. As he walked under the canopy of trees, he looked back at the campsite. Ray was still watching. He gave Bear a single wave, and Bear held the image with him as he crossed onto the fire road and started toward the highway.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Michael leaned against a tree, staring at the deer carcass lying at his feet. He nudged it with his foot. He couldn’t help but focus on the deer’s neck, bent unnaturally at a right angle. Puncture wounds from Talus’s claws dotted the skin where he’d grabbed the beast and squeezed until its neck snapped.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” Michael asked. He lifted the deer’s head with his boot.
Talus bent to grab the carcass. It hung from his fingers like a toy. With one hand pinching the neck, he used his other to snap the deer's head back, peeling the skin down its spine like a banana. He tore off two other sections of the hide before throwing the skinned animal back at Michael’s feet. The smell of blood filled his nose. Steam rose from the entrails as they leaked out onto the leaves. Michael kicked the body away, trying to keep himself from retching.
“I can’t eat that,” he said.
Talus glanced at the deer. He picked it up and took a bite out of its gut, offering the rest to Michael while he chewed. Strands of muscle dangled from the open cavity.
Michael took one look at the hole in the deer belly and emptied his stomach onto the mossy roots of a nearby tree. The stench from the carcass made him heave again and again until he fell to his knees, his stomach muscles tensed into rigid bands. When he paused long enough to take a breath, he stood and moved away.
“Lessul aucht mier,” Talus said.
Michael spit bile, resting his hands on his knees. “I don’t know what you just said,” he replied, “but I wish like hell you’d get us out of these woods.”
Talus stopped chewing and dropped the deer. His lidless eyes narrowed as a high-pitched ringing noise grew from beyond the tree where he stood.
Michael thought his ears were playing tricks on him. The noise grew louder. “What is that?” he asked.
“Synap-seh. Mjolina thu rubol.”
“I told you, I don’t understand your stupid language.”
Talus held out a hand like he was telling him to wait. Behind the beast, the air rippled. An image formed in mid-air like a puddle of water standing on end. The edges were a blurry white, but Michael could make out shapes of things forming inside the growing canvas. When it stopped expanding, the shimmering arch reached ten feet across and it stood taller than Talus. The upper portions were a dull shade of blue. There were other, smaller blurs in the middle that he couldn’t make out and a dark patch at the bottom. Michael walked toward the image. He could still hear a faint hum. He held out a hand, bringing it closer until he could feel vibrations in his fingertips. He jerked it away.
Talus pointed to the shimmering wall. He let out a sound that Michael took to be laughter. “Synap-seh.” In his drawn out, growling tone, it sounded like seeeee-napse.
“Synapse,” Michael repeated. He looked at it like it might explode any second. “What does it do?”
Talus knelt and picked up the deer carcass. He showed it to Michael again before throwing it through the synapse. There was a sucking sound as the deer’s body flew into the rippling surface, but it didn’t disappear. Instead, a blurry image of it landed on the dark patch on the other side.
“It’s a doorway,” Michael said as he moved closer. He stepped to the side until he could see around the edge. There was a funnel cloud of white smoke trailing away from the back. When he came around to the front again, Talus was pointing toward the opening.
“Regaly,” he said. He jabbed a clawed-finger at the door again, his impatience starting to show.
Michael hesitated. He looked at the ashen color of his skin and the lava-red streaks of light networked along his arms and hands. I shouldn’t be scared. Not anymore. Whatever was on the other side, it wasn’t going to hurt him.
He took a calming breath and walked toward the archway. Just don’t stop moving.
The vibrations started as soon as he got within arm’s length. He kept going even when he felt like his bones were going to shatter. The buzzing noise filled his ears until it was all he could hear. There was a moment as he broke through where he felt like he was being rushed forward. It lasted only
as long as it took him to completely break the plane. When he took a few steps onto the other side, the buzzing noise faded. The vibrations melted away.
Talus’s deer carcass sat at his feet. He stepped over it and kept walking, drawn forward by the sights and sounds of a world straight out of his dreams.
It was a scene he might’ve drawn when he used to hide away in his room as a kid. Sitting directly above him, as though it were etched in glass against the pale sky, was a planet. The surface was cloudy, like pictures he’d seen of Jupiter and Saturn. Mountains lined the horizon, rising against the loose blue bands of the planet's surface. A red sun glowed above the peaks to the east. Their rocky faces shimmered like diamonds, giving way to carpets of dark green ground cover. His skin tensed as a cool gust of wind rushed past, brushing the thick-bladed grass across his feet.
Talus stepped through the synapse and immediately started walking toward a grove of slender plants whose stalks rose above Michael’s height. The flowering tops brushed against Talus’s head. He held them aside and motioned for Michael to walk through.
It wasn’t until he got close that he saw the trail of bare earth leading away from the brush. Talus followed him. Shafts of light filtered between the stalks, lighting their way toward a clearing only a few feet ahead. Michael stepped past the last of the plants. His eyes were drawn immediately to an imposing rock wall extending out of the mountainside. The structure behind it looked like one of the castles he used to draw in his notebooks. A castle for a king. The buildings making up its base had high arched doorways. Towers stretched above them, rising to various heights around a central pillar that touched the clouds. He could barely bend his neck back enough to see the top.
The curved wall only guarded the front of the castle, as the rest was bordered on the sides and in the back by the mountain. The castle looked like it had been chiseled out of the sparkling rock face. Its walls were rough but the lines were crisp and expertly cut. Dark figures paced along the top of each of the spires.