by Ronald Kelly
He felt blood on his face, as well as something else: the jellylike substance that filled the eye.
His lid clamped shut on the shard of wood and refused to open again. “The son-of-a-bitch blinded me!” he screamed.
Enraged, Caleb drew the Remington revolver from his belt, and cocking the hammer, took aim with his good eye. The .44 belched smoke and the lead ball hit its mark—the hand that held the semiautomatic pistol. It tore into the knuckle of Dud’s thumb, knocking the .45 from his grasp. With a harsh yell, the farmer retreated from the edge of the door, leaving most of his thumb behind.
“Bingo!” hissed Caleb from between clenched teeth. He thumbed back the Remington’s hammer for another shot. If Dud wanted a fight, Caleb would be more than happy to oblige.
When Paul and Bessie reached the house, they found a silver Lincoln Continental parked in the road out front. As they made it to the car, they found their preacher’s wife, Tammy Craven, sitting in the front seat. She seemed torn between staying in the car and going into the house.
“Miss Tammy!” Bessie called with delight.
Tammy was surprised to see the children coming from the direction of the mountain road. “Paul! Bessie! Where did you come from?”
“Dud Craven let us go,” the boy told her. “We were heading down the mountain when we heard the shooting. What’s going on in there?”
“It’s your dad and Caleb Vanleer,” she told them. “They went in to get you two.” A stray bullet punched through the front door, cutting the air a few inches above the top of the Lincoln. “Get inside!” she told them.
Soon, Paul and Bessie were in the backseat, huddled below the windows.
“Maybe we ought to go in and help them,” suggested Paul.
“It’s too dangerous,” said Tammy, although she felt guilty for staying put. “They’ll be out in a minute. Then we’ll be on our way home.”
As the gunfire grew more intense, Tammy began to realize that there was a good chance that the two men would not leave the Craven house alive. If that was the case, then she knew she would have to consider the safety of the children and leave the mountain without Boyd and Caleb, whether she liked it or not.
“Oooh, gross!” said Bessie from the backseat. Tammy looked in the rearview mirror and saw the girl holding her nose. “What’s that awful smell?”
“You don’t want to know,” said Tammy. A bullet ricocheted off the hood of the car and she sank lower in her seat, praying it would all be over soon.
Boyd reached the head of the staircase, the Dragoon still fisted in his hand. Gunfire boomed downstairs. It sounded as if a full-scale war was being waged in the northern wing of the old house. Apparently, Caleb had found Dud and they were going at it tooth and nail.
He was halfway down the stairs when fingers of mist began to swirl before the beam of his flashlight. Boyd saw the smoke seeping from the cracks of the foyer’s floorboard, and at first he was certain that the house was on fire. Then, as the wisps of blue mist mingled and began to solidify, he knew that wasn’t the case.
It was the master of the house emerging from the cellar below.
Red eyes formed in the column of smoke. A second later, Grandpappy Craven stood at the foot of the stairway He glared up at Boyd, his fangs bared. “I thought I told you never to come here again!” he growled.
“I had some unfinished business to attend to,” said the carpenter.
Grandpappy noticed the shaken look on Boyd’s face. “Where’s my great-granddaughter?”
“You heard the shot,” he said, nodding over his shoulder to the upper floor. His eyes looked mournful and full of regret.
A mixture of terror and rage possessed the vampire’s face. “I’ll send you to Hell for that!” he promised, then started up the stairway toward him.
“I don’t think so,” said Boyd. He lifted the reloaded revolver and aimed it at the center of Grandpappy’s chest.
“That won’t harm me!” said the old man with a laugh.
“Oh no?” Boyd smiled and cocked the hammer.
Grandpappy saw the triumph in the carpenter’s eyes and knew that something wasn’t right. He reached out to the staircase railing, and with inhuman strength, wrenched the banister from its moorings.
Boyd felt the stairs quake beneath his feet. Abruptly, he was thrown off balance. The gun discharged, but his aim had been altered. The barrel swung wide. The wooden projectile creased the top of Grandpappy’s right shoulder, instead of punching through the center of his chest.
The wound, though superficial, had a devastating effect on the vampire. He clamped a bony hand to his smoking shoulder and stared at Boyd. There was something other than contempt and arrogance in his eyes. The sharp gleam of fear was there as well.
Boyd was drawing another bead on the old man when mist engulfed Grandpappy once again. He watched as the red eyes grew smaller, descending into the cloud of vapor. Boyd fired quickly, but the bullet tunneled through open air and nothing else.
He bounded down the stairway and reached the foyer below. He swung his flashlight back and forth, searching for some sign of the old man. Suddenly, he spotted a black widow spider skittering across the boards of the floor. It was heading for a large crack in the base of the foyer wall.
Boyd leaped across the foyer and tried to stamp the creature with the heel of his boot. His foot came up an inch short, however, and the tiny black spider made it safely to the opening.
“Damn it!” he growled. Somewhere from beyond the far side of the wall he could hear Grandpappy laughing at him.
Frustrated, he turned toward the hallway. “Caleb?” he yelled. “Are you all right?”
He took a step toward the family room. The beam of his flashlight revealed only swirling gun smoke at first. Then he caught movement on the hall floor and saw Dud crouched there. He saw the gun in his hand a second before he fired. Boyd threw himself against the wall and felt the bullet snap through the air scarcely two inches from his nose. The slug punched through the front door, rattling it in its frame.
“Get out of here, Boyd!” came Caleb’s voice, full of panic and pain. “I’m half dead already. There’s nothing you can do for me. Save yourself and the young’uns.”
Boyd turned and ran for the front door. He heard the crack of the .45 behind him and braced himself for the shot. But the slug missed its mark, hitting the doorjamb to his right. As Boyd turned the knob and flung the door open, Caleb’s words came back to haunt him. Save yourself and the children. But where were they? Had he come all that way and risked his neck just to leave empty handed?
He was crossing the porch and heading for the Lincoln parked out front when a familiar voice shrilled in his ears, lifting his heart.
“Quick, Daddy!” cried Bessie, peeping over the edge of the car’s back window. “We don’t have much time!”
Soon, he had jumped over the hood of the Lincoln and was sliding into the driver’s seat, pushing Tammy toward the passenger side. He leaned over the backseat and embraced his children. They hugged him back, reluctant to let go. “Oh, thank God!” he said. “I was afraid you were still inside!”
It wasn’t long before Boyd felt someone tapping him on the back. “Excuse me,” said Tammy, “but can the reunion wait? We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Right,” said Boyd. He pulled away from his children and settled back into the driver’s seat.
Tammy looked toward the house. “What about Caleb?”
“I couldn’t get to him,” said Boyd grimly. “I tried, but Dud wouldn’t let me. I came close to getting shot a couple of times.” He reluctantly put the car in gear. “Looks like he’s on his own.” Boyd glanced in the rearview mirror and saw his kids sitting on the edge of the back seat. “Buckle!” he called out.
The two grinned. “Yes, sir!” said Paul, gladly buckling both his and his sister’s seat belts.
Boyd was about to send the car forward when a loud cawing split the air. “Look!” said Tammy, pointing toward the porch.
>
A black crow was perched on the porch railing, staring at them with small red eyes. It regarded them for a long moment, then took to the sky. Soon, its dark form had merged with the black velvet of twilight.
“That was Grandpappy,” said Boyd. “He got away from me.”
“Just don’t sit here!” Tammy told him. “Go!”
Boyd stamped on the gas, sending the Lincoln down the dark mountain road.
As they left the Craven house behind, Bessie craned her neck and looked out the rear window. “Daddy?” she asked.
Boyd glanced into the backseat. “What, baby?”
“Where’s Mama?”
Tammy looked over at Boyd. Sadness shown in the man’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said softly. “But she didn’t make it.”
They all lapsed into grim silence, their thoughts occupied with those who had suffered and eventually perished due to the evil of Josiah Craven. There had been many, so many that it was nearly unbearable to consider.
As they began their long journey down to the valley, they knew that it hadn’t ended yet. Grandpappy was somewhere out there in the darkness, and they knew he would do all in his power to prevent them from leaving Craven’s Mountain alive.
Chapter Forty-Four
The mountain road seemed much darker and more treacherous than Boyd remembered it to be. It was pitted with deep ruts and potholes, and the curves were so sharp that he found himself driving much slower than he would have liked, just to keep the Lincoln on the road. Boyd wanted to floor the gas pedal and get the hell away from Craven’s Mountain, and he might have done just that if he’d been in the car alone. But he wasn’t. There were Tammy and the kids to consider. Boyd knew that one wrong twist of the steering wheel or one misplaced burst of speed could spell disaster, sending the car off the road and over an embankment.
And, as if the danger of the road wasn’t enough, they also had Grandpappy Craven to contend with. Several times after leaving the house, the coal-black raven had swooped down upon the hood of the car, dive-bombing them, screeching unnervingly. Several times, they had been certain that it would come right through the Lincoln’s windshield. But an instant before impact, the crow would always pull up and away, ascending into the dark sky, a gleam of cruel amusement in its tiny red eyes.
“How far is it to the highway?” asked Tammy. She sat tensely in the passenger seat, her left hand gripping the dashboard, her right clutching the vinyl door handle.
“We’re about halfway there,” said Boyd. A particularly sharp curve loomed ahead. He had to wrestle with the wheel and ease on the brakes to successfully maneuver around it.
A couple of minutes had passed when Paul spoke up. “Dad?”
Boyd glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the boy’s pale, frightened face. “Yes, son?”
“It’s been a while since that bird attacked us. I wonder where it went.”
Boyd had been wondering the same thing. Frankly, it scared him. It was certain that Grandpappy hadn’t tired of fooling with them and abandoned his pursuit. No, he was still in the game, perhaps lying in wait further down the mountain, patiently watching for his chance to ambush them. He had only been playing cat-and-mouse before. But now Boyd was sure the old man was through toying with them. The next time he came for them, it would be to finish them off.
He took another hairpin curve and started down a long, steep grade. He was halfway down the stretch when Tammy leaned forward in her seat and peered through the windshield. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing up ahead.
Boyd slowed a little and looked past the high beams of the Lincoln’s headlights. Suddenly, he saw what she had spotted at the foot of the grade. At first, he thought he was seeing things. A huge, hulking shadow was barreling up the mountain toward them, a shadow that grew clearer and more horrifying with each step it took.
It was a bear, but not one of the cuddly black bears that frequented the length and breadth of the Smoky Mountains. No, this one was much larger, perhaps thirteen or fourteen feet in height. It looked more like a grizzly than anything else.
Boyd began to apply his brakes, but the Lincoln was descending the mountainside too swiftly. He knew he would never be able to stop in time. “Y’all hang on!” he called out. “We’re gonna hit it head-on!”
A moment later, the bear was upon them, no more than a dozen feet away. Boyd could see the shimmer of powerful muscles beneath its coat of coarse black hair, as well as the sharp glint of its claws and teeth. Its large eyes blazed at them, fiery crimson and murderous.
Boyd didn’t have to think twice to identify the creature. It was Grandpappy Craven, looming toward them with the deadly abandon of a runaway freight train.
He jammed his foot against the pedal, mashing it to the floorboard. He felt the brakes catch and the tires lock, their tread grating against the loose earth and rock of the mountain road. But there simply was no stopping in time. The beast that advanced toward them was coming much too fast.
“Daddy!” he heard Bessie scream, just before bear and automobile collided.
The impact was devastating. Boyd saw the face of the grizzly fill the windshield, roaring thunderously, triumph in its huge red eyes. Then the safety glass shattered into a thousand silver cracks. The tortured shriek of mangled metal followed as the front end of the Lincoln folded inward like the bellows of an accordion. Boyd felt the seat belt tighten around his chest and waist, preventing him from being propelled forward. But still his head lurched forward. His nose smashed into the upper rim of the steering wheel, breaking in two places.
Screams and cries of alarm filled the interior of the car as the vehicle listed sharply to the right, rolling onto its side. Somewhere outside the bear roared loudly. Boyd felt the car settle on its side, then experienced another jolt of quaking impact as the bear slammed into the undercarriage, knocking the car completely over. Boyd looked over at Tammy and saw her suspended in her seat by the nylon straps of the belt. She didn’t seem to be injured, only scared half out of her wits.
As the car rolled two more times, the glass of the driver’s window imploded, showering Boyd with sharp slivers. He felt the Lincoln begin to slide. At first, he couldn’t understand what was happening. Then, through the open window, he caught a flash of sloped earth, treetops, and open darkness. He knew what was taking place now. The bear had rammed them over the far edge of the road and over a steep embankment.
The next thirty seconds were a confusing mixture of crumpling steel, spinning dizziness, and the dreadful expectation of sudden death. Then it was over. The car settled onto its roof, which was partly caved in. The vehicle rocked back and forth, then grew still.
Boyd took in a deep breath and felt a sharp, hot pain in his right side. Other than a broken nose and the possibility of a couple of cracked ribs, he seemed in pretty good shape. “Tammy?” he called out. He reached out toward the passenger seat and found her there. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think so,” said Tammy. “I lost my glasses, though.”
Boyd craned his head, trying to see into the backseat. “Paul, Bessie… are you all right?”
“We’re still in one piece, Dad,” Paul assured him. “I think Bessie hurt her arm, but I don’t think it’s broken.”
Boyd closed his eyes and thanked God. Then he heard a distant roar. It echoed from the edge of the embankment forty feet above them. It was the hellish black bear. Boyd heard the crackle of dislodged rocks as the beast’s weight shifted. A second later, the stones struck the belly of the Lincoln. Boyd could picture the bear easing itself over the embankment, its paws anchoring into the earth as it carefully made its way down the slope.
“Everybody out!” he yelled. “He’s coming for us!” He heard the metallic release of buckles and the thuds of Tammy, Paul, and Bessie dropping to the ceiling of the Lincoln. He watched as they crawled through the car’s broken windows. Tammy reached back inside and found the crossbow, as well as a couple of the wooden bolts that had fallen
from Boyd’s makeshift quiver. “I’ll meet you on the other side,” she said, then disappeared from view.
Boyd fought with his buckle, unable to open it at first. He shifted his body slightly, giving the nylon straps a little slack. With the pressure eased, the buckle disengaged easily. He reached out, and bracing himself with his arms, began to lower himself to the roof of the car. But abruptly his progress stopped and he felt pressure against his left leg. He found himself hanging upside down, his butt only three inches from the driver’s seat.
Frustrated, he tried to pull himself from that which held him, but his leg didn’t budge. He cursed and felt in the darkness, trying to locate the cause of the obstruction. A second later, he found it. The engine had been shoved against the firewall, buckling the floorboard upward toward the bottom of the dashboard. The steering column had been broken and the wheel had dropped several inches lower than its normal position. The bottom of the steering wheel pressed uncomfortably against the top of Boyd’s thigh. The combination of the two had pinned him in.
He grabbed hold of the wheel and tried to move it, but it failed to budge. He wiggled his leg, but found no leeway there. His thigh was wedged tightly between the steering wheel and the damaged firewall.
He was trapped, and no amount of struggling seemed to do any good at securing his freedom.
Tammy ignored a sharp pain in her lower back. She scrambled around the car and met the two children at the other side. The tires of the Lincoln still spun, looking slightly off kilter. She smelled oil and gasoline but could see no sign of fire. That caused her to breathe a little easier, but not much. She looked toward the top of the sloping embankment and saw the blurry form of the grizzly sliding toward them. She could see its eyes glowing in the twilight and hear the coarse huffing of its breath.
She laid the crossbow on the ground, then crouched next to the driver’s window of the big Lincoln. She saw that Boyd still hung upside down and wondered why he hadn’t released himself. “We’ve got to hurry,” she said, reaching out and taking hold of his arms. “That thing will be down here at any moment.”