Wake of Vultures

by Lila Bowen

  Nettie looked at her fingers. “My hands ain’t shaking.”

  More softly, right by her ear, Dan said, “I can feel them. Your whole body is shaking. Thrumming like the beat of a drum. Relax. Focus. Not every touch means something more. Look to your target.”

  But her heart wouldn’t still. She’d never been this close to another person for this long, and it felt ten kinds of wrong. She’d seen other people hug, mostly at funerals in town, but the hard length of a full-grown man’s mostly nekkid body pushing up against hers made all sorts of inside organs flip around like a grasshopper in a skillet, and not in a good way. How could she think about arrows when she was trembling like a new colt? And yet she suspected that if he ran hands all over her like she did to a bronc before applying the saddle, she’d bolt instead of calming down. Heck, she’d already bolted once tonight, and that was from a feller she actually liked, a feller who didn’t annoy her something awful, as the one currently touching her did.

  “Nettie. Focus. Your hand grips here, palm pushing out. Tight but easy. Fingers loose. Pull the bowstring back until your fingers touch your cheek. Left elbow out. Look at your target, not your arrow. Feel the tension in the cord. And when you’re ready, twitch your fingers to let go.”

  “Let go? Just like that?”

  His hands released hers, and he stepped away. The tension was gone, and she very nearly let the arrow fly into the ground as her arms collapsed inward. At the last moment, she straightened and pulled and tensed and gripped and loosened and lost all control of what the hundred thousand parts of her body were supposed to do, and the arrow went flying off into the sky, soaring over the target and into the desert like a falling star.

  Dan watched her, his arms crossed. “And what did you learn?”

  “Nothing. You messed me up.”

  He grinned. “Only when I released you.”

  Nettie shoved the bow at him, her face burning red. “This is bullshit.” She wanted to storm off, but it was her duty to watch the herd and protect the camp on this side until sunup, and she danged well wasn’t going to get hollered at in front of the Rangers for abandoning her duty, much less get stuck burning their chewed-up carcasses after another siren attack. Instead, she climbed back up on the rock and turned her back on Dan to watch the horses twitch their tails in sleep.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow night, Nettie Lonesome.”

  “Good for you, Coyote Dan.”

  “While you’re riding today, be on the lookout for a piece of wood for your bow. Osage orange, cedar, ash, willow, juniper. Strong and hard but flexible. It should be a yard long, higher than your waist. You might wish to bring several possibilities.”

  “And what if I don’t want to learn?”

  She now recognized the sound of him unstringing his bow and wrapping his weapons up in his leather skirt. A small part of her fell. Was he giving up on her that easy?

  As if reading her mind, he gave a small laugh. “Oh, you want to learn. More important, you need to learn. Tonight, you learned something. And tomorrow night, you’ll learn something new.”

  “What did I learn tonight?”

  “Tonight you learned how much you still have to learn. And you learned that someone can touch you without wanting anything from you. And when I leave, I hope you will practice learning to relax.”

  She spun around on her butt to find him watching her, stark nekkid and holding the packet of leather wrapped around his bow and arrows. She couldn’t help looking down before meeting his eyes, and there was no way she could hide how hot her face went. Men’s parts made no damn sense. Then again, neither did women’s parts. The whole thing was ridiculous.

  “I know how to relax.”

  His eyebrows raised. “I don’t think you do.”

  Before she could rebut, he hunched over, sprouted hair down his backbone, and soon sat on a coyote’s haunches, tongue lolling. He gave a small yip, picked up his packet, and trotted away.

  “See? I’m relaxed right now,” Nettie muttered. She leaned back on her elbows, hunting for the warmth the rock had held just a short while ago. But it was cold and hard and pokey, making her squirm all the more.

  A coyote cried, far away, a half-laughing song.

  She wondered if he’d found his lost arrow.

  Just about dawn, as the sun painted the desert in shades of red and pink, she went looking for it herself in the thicket behind the dummy target. But she didn’t find Coyote Dan’s arrow.

  What she found was a child’s foot.

  CHAPTER

  18

  The Captain didn’t know what to make of the small brown foot, and Jiddy’s nose wrinkled up like he’d stuck his face up a bull’s butt.

  “Stinks of predator,” he finally said, holding it out between thumb and forefinger. “Just reeks of leave-it-the-hell-alone. Did you see anything?”

  Nettie shrugged. “Nothing but Coyote Dan.”

  The Captain’s head jerked up. “You think he’s capable of this?”

  Jiddy shook his head, waggling his beard. “That feller couldn’t do this to a side of bacon.”

  “But what is it?” the Captain asked.

  Jiddy shrugged, dropped the foot, and rubbed his nose with a filthy hand. “It ain’t human, I know that much. Neither was the thing that cut it off.”

  The Captain spit on the ground, far from the foot, and Nettie was compelled to pick it up. Poor thing, whoever it belonged to. Seemed wrong to just throw it on the ground like so much dirt. It was small and smooth and warm, as if it were still attached to an invisible child, with skin that almost matched the prairie, a reddish-tan slightly lighter than Nettie’s own. It was right pretty, with perfect little toes, right up until a person’s eyes got to the place where it’d been hacked off.

  Nettie had butchered plenty of animals for Pap, so she knew what the insides of a critter were supposed to look like. But this foot made no sense. It should’ve been bleeding, or at least bled out, but it looked like the cut was fresh, only a heartbeat old, the meat still a happy pink and the bone dark and wet in the middle. Like the foot didn’t even know it had been cut off.

  “You get anything more off it, Rhett?”

  “Injun,” she said. “Smells a little like pig. I don’t know what all sorts of monsters there is, though.”

  The Captain snorted. “Ain’t nobody knows that. That’s why ol’ Jiddy’s so angry. He didn’t know what that siren woman was, and he don’t know what this thing is, either. Monsters are like animals. Just when you think you seen ’em all, something else shows up to bite your ankles from under the bed.”

  “They ain’t animals.” The ferocity in her voice surprised her. “They’re people, most of ’em. But I reckon the Cannibal Owl did this. I can’t remember the last time I saw a child. Cannibal Owl’s been taking ’em all.”

  “But why would it drop a foot?” Hennessy asked, coming up to put a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off.

  “As a warning, most like.” The Captain spit again. Nettie figured he had the wettest gullet of any creature in the territory, or maybe just the biggest wad of tobacco. “Means we’re close,” he said. “Or on the right track, at least.”

  Nettie swallowed hard and looked to where she’d last seen the Injun woman. “The foot was on our route, in the direction we’re supposed to be headed. So maybe we’ll find out what it means if we press on. If we hurry.”

  The Captain nodded at her, almost as if she were an equal. Lord, what a difference a badge made.

  “Have your guns ready and be on your fastest horse today, boys,” the Captain hollered over breakfast. “Could be trouble.”

  They left Nettie standing there with a foot in her hand, a pregnant woman in her saddle, and a good-looking cowboy stepping close enough to make her skitty with his big blue eyes full of worry and something else. She couldn’t imagine being any more uncomfortable if there’d been a dang scorpion in her britches, so she wrapped the foot in a bandanna and tucked it into her saddlebag under the bl
ood-splattered clothes. Didn’t seem right to bury or burn it, since she figured its owner was still alive, but she wouldn’t leave it there for the vultures to eat while the Rangers continued west.

  Aside from the moment when something twitched and rustled deep in her bag, the foot didn’t seem to mind.

  The morning went by at a fast trot. Considering Jiddy was acting a mite jumpy, Nettie rode in back with Hennessy and Regina, cussing herself for not keeping her old saddle instead of leaving it to burn with the siren’s loot. She was curious if she’d be able to feel any new monsters, considering the nearness of the foot and the spiteful scout and that senselessly random eyeball in the Captain’s watch, but she shouldn’t have worried. Just as she was staring at the horizon, trying to grasp why a cactus would glint in the sun between two rocky outcrops, her belly just about fell out of her butt.

  There was something there—a lot of somethings. Monsters. They felt different from Dan or the Javelina or the siren, different from anything she’d encountered thus far. When Jiddy whistled and the Captain reined up, she checked her gun and knife, hoping for the chance to prove herself again, maybe earn another saddle. She’d most likely be trying to prove herself every day for the rest of her life.

  “Rhett, Hennessy, and Qualls. Y’all pull your guns and come on with me.”

  Nettie nodded and tossed Puddin’s rope to Jiddy, who spit on Ragdoll’s hooves.

  “Unless you got acid spit, you’re just wasting water in the desert,” she muttered. But he didn’t drop the rope.

  Sam handed the rope from Regina’s horse off to one of the other fellers and leaned in to speak with her. The woman just nodded and rubbed her belly. Qualls was scared half out of his britches and sweating through his burgundy shirt as Nettie and Ragdoll fell in behind his dun mare. She remembered him dashing tears away as they’d tossed Chicken on the pile of half-eaten bodies and set it afire just a few days back. Hopefully Qualls had better instincts and more stopped-up ears than his dead friend.

  According to campfire talk, being chosen to investigate trouble with the Captain himself was considered both an honor and a death sentence. After the upset with the siren, Nettie assumed the Captain wanted young, expendable folks by his side but didn’t trust them enough to go on their own. She checked her gun yet again as they trotted up the dusty road into another rotten-tooth town at the edge of nowhere. This one was nestled between two craggy buttes and looked a lot more loved and lived in than Reveille had. Laundry failed to flap in the nonexistent wind, and a few patches of land sported just-abandoned plows and picked-over gardens. Dogs barked from behind closed doors and cats twitched their tails from fences and porch rails decorated with carved curlicues and painted daisies. It was downright pretty, actually. A fancy sign just outside the main street made it look right cheery.

  “Welcome to Burlesville,” Qualls read out loud, and a sharp ping of jealousy jerked through Nettie when she realized somebody had gone to the enormous trouble of teaching the idiot his letters.

  The gunshot that punctuated his statement was loud and high, a warning that set the horses dancing.

  “Don’t feel very welcome,” Hennessy said with a grin, but he drew his gun just the same.

  Nettie already had her revolver out and her horse pointed in the direction that was pulling at her gut like a catfish on a line.

  “Bunch of folks holed up over that way, Captain.” She aimed her gun for the general store, which backed right up into the butte as if it were trying to crawl out of a giant’s mouth.

  “Yeah, but the gunman’s in the church tower,” the Captain said, putting his big Henry rifle to his shoulder and firing right back. “Luckily, he can’t aim for shit. Everybody fire a shot at him, then we’ll race for the cover of the stable by the general store, yonder. Time to figure out what this town’s so damn scared of.”

  But Nettie reckoned she knew why the townfolk might be jumpy, considering how the sun winked off the Captain’s Ranger badge. A town filled with monsters, however peaceful, wouldn’t welcome their crew. With a sigh, she aimed her gun at the wink of metal in the church’s bell tower and pulled the trigger. A chunk of wood blew off, Sam and Qualls shot and missed, the Captain whistled, and the four horses full-out ran for the general store. Nettie’s heart was racing as fast as her horse’s hooves. Another shot pinged over their heads, but they were soon skidding to a halt under the lean-to of a tidy stable shielded by a tin roof. When the Captain jumped off his horse, Nettie and the others followed suit.

  “Hold the horses, Qualls. You two, come along.”

  Qualls shook like a frightened jackrabbit as Nettie handed over her reins. She wished to hell she still had possession of her saddlebags, as two more guns and a handful of bullets would’ve been more than welcome. If the folks of Burlesville hadn’t been so hell-bent on shooting visitors, Nettie would’ve been glad to leave Regina there and get on with her life in the saddle.

  A few shots whizzed overhead as the Captain, Hennessy, and the Ranger they knew as Rhett crept along the wall to the general store. When the Captain cautiously put a hand out, he found the door latched, and when he shoved it with a shoulder, it barely budged.

  “Barricades. Idjits.”

  “Captain?” Nettie pointed to an open window with a clothesline hanging out of it.

  The Captain nodded. “Go on, then.”

  Nettie promised herself she wouldn’t point out any more windows.

  “Don’t worry, Rhett. I’ll cover you. I got your back. ” Hennessy’s grin said something in a language that Nettie didn’t understand, but she spoke the language of his loaded gun and his body blocking her from any more shots, so she climbed on in the window.

  The general store was empty of people and filled with nicer goods than she remembered seeing in Gloomy Bluebird, although the shelves were half-empty at best. A barrel of food tins was pushed up against the door as a barricade. She couldn’t help picking up a shiny tin can with little dancing fish printed on it, but another shot outside reminded her that she wasn’t here to shop.

  “It’s empty,” she shouted, and Hennessy and the Captain joined her inside.

  “Nice store.” The Captain spit on the clean, waxed board floor, and Nettie winced. “Where’s the folks at, Rhett?”

  Nettie spun around, waiting to feel the now familiar pull of monsters deep in her gut. But it was coming from every direction, which didn’t make a lick of sense.

  “Maybe they’re invisible?” she muttered.

  “Not damn likely,” the Captain answered. “Should’ve brought Jiddy, I reckon.”

  “Not damn likely,” she replied, all fierce, closing her eyes to feel out the connection with the people who had to be nearby. She stretched out her hands and planted her feet.

  Suddenly, she realized exactly where they were.

  “Underground, Captain. Look for a trap door.”

  The Captain grunted, and they spread out, hunting for grooves in the freshly swept boards. Hennessy finally found it behind the counter, and they all pointed their guns as he yanked up on the handle. The square black hole below seemed empty, but soft scuffling and a muffled child’s cry gave the folks away.

  “Come on out, or we shoot,” the Captain bellowed.

  Ferocious whispering and the slap of a hand on a cheek followed.

  The Captain grabbed the other gun out of Hennessy’s holster and cocked it.

  “Please! I’ll come up. Just don’t shoot down here. It’s all rock. And we have women among us.”

  Nettie made note of the chilling lack of the words and children.

  A squat feller with a thicker beard than Jiddy soon appeared in the light below, his empty, callused hands held up in front of him.

  “Come on up, then.” The Captain stepped back and returned Hennessy’s gun, and the feller clambered up the wooden ladder to stand, blinking, before the Rangers. He was short and thick, the top of his head as bald as an egg and his half-moon glasses making him look weaker than his bulging arms proclaim
ed him to be.

  “Are you going to kill us?”

  The Captain’s mustache twitched as he tapped his badge. “Now why the Sam Hill would we do that?”

  “Gotta be honest, Ranger. Town’s been in a bad stretch. Tinker ain’t been through in a while, and every feller we send up the road never comes back. Banditos been thick. And we… there’s something…” He took off his spectacles and pretended to wipe them off on his beard while dashing away tears with his hairy wrist. “Our children disappeared in the night, a few weeks back. All but one who ain’t right in the head.”

  The men looked away, giving him a moment to compose himself, but Nettie watched him subtly, trying to puzzle out his nature. The short, squat feller only came up to Nettie’s elbows and smelled nothing like any animal Nettie had ever encountered.

  “What are you?” she asked without thinking, even as she knew how rude it was.

  “People. Mostly miners and smiths. My name’s Jasper.”

  The Captain cleared his throat and flicked his badge again, and the feller sighed. “I suppose you fellers would call us dwarves. We’re mountain folk. Our ancestors came over from Germany a while back. Heard there was gold out this-a-way and found a nice chunk of minerals and iron in this mountain. We’re harmless folk, I can tell you that. Even Smitty in the tower couldn’t hit the broad side of a butte with his old rifle, and he’s the best shot among us.” He pointed at his face. “Eyesight ain’t good in the sun, you see.”

  The Captain nodded. “Y’all come on up out of the ground now. We got questions to ask, and you can tell we’re harmless enough.”

  The feller snorted and rubbed his stubby nose. “To us, maybe,” he muttered before calling down into the cellar, “Come on up. It’s only the Rangers.”

  Whispers exploded below, and soon a whole passel of short, round folk clambered up the ladder and spread around the store, staring rudely and openly curious. Nettie was deeply confused until she realized that even the women among them wore beards, long and luxurious. Their eyes were like the stones Nettie had seen on the mayor’s wife’s fingers in Gloomy Bluebird: glittering leaf green and sky blue, others as clear as the stars and a few the hot red at the center of the fire. Last of all, they handed up a chubby child in baggy overalls who Nettie guessed would’ve been eight or so and yet still had the placid, sweet smile of a baby.