The Third Wave: Eidolon

by John O'Brien

  Unslinging his carbine, he handed Erin the reins of the pack horses and told her to stay put. With a nudge of his heels, he sent his horse forward, cradling the AR-15 across his lap. Approaching closer, he noted a corral on their side of the river. Inside, a horse stood near a closed gate, its head hanging low. Looking closer, Sam saw the dark object of a body lying among the parked vehicles. He paused and again pulled out the binoculars.

  The fields were covered with scrub, and the smell of juniper bushes was strong on the light breeze. Near the river, larger clumps of bushes and trees lined the banks, the steel girders of the bridge above them. The only movement was the soft swaying of branches. Lowering the binoculars and double-checking a round in the chamber, Sam started forward.

  Closing in, holding the reins in one hand and the carbine in the other, Sam picked up the sound of the river, the fast-flowing shallow current pouring over and around rocks. The corralled horse slowly lifted its head at his approach, giving a whinny in greeting, then lowered it back again, but kept an eye on him.

  “In a moment, buddy,” Sam muttered.

  With the rushing sound of the river growing louder, Sam looked closely at the shade below the larger bushes. In full view of the corral, he saw another corpse lying in the middle under a light covering of dust. The dirt around the head was darkly stained and the surrounding ground had been churned up. It was an indication that a struggle of some kind had taken place as opposed to the woman just keeling over. Sam gazed at the horse as if to verify his conclusion, but there was no response.

  “Very well, keep your secrets,” he mumbled.

  Passing the parking lot and lodgepole-fenced corral, Sam nudged the horse toward the bridge approach. The scrub brush plateau ended with trees, dense bushes, and an open grassy area that descended to the river. The rush of the river consumed all sound, the shadow from the girders waving across the rippled surface. The arid air and smell of the plains became more humid; Sam imagined he could actually feel the increased number of water molecules on his cheeks.

  The horses whinnied, both the one in the corral and the one under him. At the same moment, Sam caught a flash of movement in the shadows of the trees.

  Oh shit! he thought, trying to steady his horse.

  Hoping that the horse was gunshot trained, Sam quickly wrapped the reins around the saddle horn and shouldered his carbine. He aimed toward the moving shadow, squeezing off rounds. Branches, leaves, and bark flew into the air as the bullets struck the shadowy trunks and limbs, the sound of gunfire echoing up and down the river. The vague figure of a person continued racing up the slope in Sam’s direction, moving in and out of view, the trees obscuring a clear shot. A scream rolled out from within the shadows, an answering one coming from behind.

  “Motherfuck!” Sam exclaimed, mentally berating himself for not checking his six.

  Grabbing hold of the reins, he kicked at the horse shuffling nervously back and forth. The horse in the corral had taken to its heels, running to the back of the enclosure. Sam galloped back toward Erin, yanking on the reins and turning the animal around after several yards. Rolling one leg over the saddle, he hopped to the ground and brought his carbine up in one fluid motion, preferring to shoot from the ground. With his luck, the horse would raise its head or toss to the side at the wrong moment and he’d end up shooting the poor thing instead of his target. Patting the horse on the rump, Sam sent it away and held his position in the middle of the road where his view was unobstructed.

  The first reaper appeared, climbing onto the road from the river. The woman’s hair was a bird’s nest of twigs and tangles. As Sam sighted in on her, he noted with some interest that the apparition was cleaner, more made up than the woman’s actual appearance. There weren’t twigs or strands poking out in every direction, although the deep scratches across her face showed up on the wraith-like white shadow at her side. All of this processed through his brain at light speed, his actions not slowed by his thoughts.

  He centered the crosshair and squeezed the trigger, firing one semiautomatic round after another. The woman staggered as the first round impacted her upper chest just to the left of her sternum. She again stumbled with the second bullet hitting a touch higher; the third one ripped a chunk out of the side of her neck and sprayed blood. The fourth round hit her cheek, her head whipping around from the forceful impact.

  The apparition lunged forward, becoming a blurred opaque shape that streaked in Sam’s direction. Sam stepped backward, waiting for the body to fully form. The blurred streak of color rematerialized a few yards closer. Upon taking shape, the woman fell to the ground, Sam’s next shot sailing over her head. A dust cloud billowed outward from her fallen body. The apparition faded.

  A scream came from behind the cooling body, followed by a second tinny sounding one. Sam aligned his sight on the new target, firing round after round into the man’s body, each hitting with solid thumps. The reaper twitched from the impacts like a poorly coordinated marionette and the man was driven backward. With flailing arms, the man fell on his back and didn’t move, a misty shape evaporating above him.

  Sam paused, ejecting the partially empty mag for a fresh one. He scanned the area, his barrel moving rapidly from side to side. There weren’t any further screams, just the faint rush of the river, once again the only sound. Turning, Sam looked to see Erin sitting astride her horse in the distance. To his surprise, not only was she holding the pack horses, but had his own in tow. She had worked her way forward to retrieve his horse during the attack.

  Sam waited a few more minutes and then walked up the road toward the bridge. He covered the yards slowly, putting a round each into the head of the bodies. Although he had watched the misty figures rise and vanish, he wasn’t taking any chances about a Lazarus-like return. Cautiously, he approached the bridge, scanning the underbrush and shadows. No dark figures darted through the shadows, no screams rose on the morning air.

  Unlatching the corral, he gathered the reins of the horse and slowly led it down to the water, where it lowered its head and began drinking from the edge of the river, looking up between slurps. He then led the horse over and tied the reins off to the rear of his saddle before mounting. With Erin, they crossed over the Madison River, the girders casting shadows over the road and river below much like the apparitions that hovered beside the reapers.

  As the day wore on, they traveled across an endless plateau of junipers and scrub brush. A couple of times, Sam observed distant herds of antelope on the plain. Erin was alert to the animals they passed, spotting a rabbit hiding in a bush from a hawk that circled overhead. They paralleled a tall, forested ridgeline to their right, with more hills in front. The terrain slowly adopted a series of shallow ravines, the road winding through them with a gradual descent. Near a lake, they left the forest service road and climbed up a dirt track that crossed a plateau of grassland and scattered brush before steeply descending into a narrow valley. A creek ran through the bottom, thicker brush and grass along its length. The rest of the valley was covered in grass, the steep slopes on both sides dotted with trees. At points, steep ravines climbed out to overlooking prairies, the gulches densely forested.

  Sam rode along a dirt path following the stream, seeing older horse tracks along it. Horses meant people, and he was reminded of his encounter at the bridge. The tracks could have been from people parking there and riding through the plains, or it could indicate a ranch ahead. Given the number of antelope he’d seen, it could even be from hunters like the one they took the horses from. However, he was thankful that the tracks weren’t all that fresh, most looking days old if not weeks.

  As they rode, Sam analyzed the action at the bridge, pondering whether he should have just ridden away at the first indication that reapers were present. He came to the realization that he had become fixated on crossing the bridge. They could have crossed the river somewhere else—staying had put them in greater danger.

  Shaking his head and mentally berating himself, he wondered what
was happening to him. He felt different somehow, unable to make decisions, or making poor ones. His confidence was shaken. Before, he’d always been sure of himself, there had never been any hesitation. Now, he was so afraid of making the wrong choice that he couldn’t seem to make one at all. He was too afraid that he’d make a mistake and leave Erin alone in this fucked up world. He felt stuck.

  Sam pulled back on the reins as the valley widened and a couple of corrals come into view. Several horses stood inside the fenced area, and beyond those were two barn-like enclosures. One appeared to be a stable while the second could have been used to store fodder. Sam was surprised there wasn’t a cabin of some sort because it looked like the place might be used as a hunting camp. He surmised that perhaps it could be used as a guided horse tour location or something like that. One pickup was parked where a dirt road ended at the stables, a body lying on the ground by the front wheel.

  Watching for a moment, he didn’t see anyone moving in the valley or wooded slopes. Still, he remembered how he had thought the same thing at the bridge. Instead of heading through the camp, he angled across the valley to where a path climbed up a ravine to the flatlands above. He checked his compass to ensure they were more or less heading in the right direction; once they climbed to the plateau, he triangulated their position off the peaks in the distance.

  Taking a reading, he set off across the plain, leaving the corral behind, satisfied by the desolation. If they continued toward home, he hoped to feel their way across the country, keeping to remote areas and scavenging from the occasional homesteads.

  The sun climbed past its zenith into early afternoon as they passed a lake pressed up against a nearby range of mountains. Sitting atop his horse, Sam checked his map. Ahead, where the current plateau ended, there should be a long stretch of water named Elk Lake. From there, the current series of hills and plateaus they were crossing should descend in a wide valley that led to the interstate. There were several dirt roads through the valley, one running past the lake just ahead. Sam turned his horse and led the group at an angle down a steep ridge, the horses half walking and half sliding. At the bottom, he crossed a dry streambed and onto a dirt road with a thin line of grass and weeds growing in the middle.

  Sam wiped the sweat from his forehead, reminding himself for the hundredth time to wear a hat. Behind, Erin caught up, constantly adjusting her position in the saddle.

  “Getting a little sore?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah. I think my butt is bruised,” Erin answered.

  “Mine too,” Sam said. “Maybe we’ll stop by the lake for a while.”

  “Okay, Daddy. I’m getting kinda hungry, too.”

  “Well, then we’ll have a picnic and rest.”

  “I don’t think canned ravioli counts as a picnic, silly. We’d need sandwiches and watermelon and juice. Oh, and chips! We should’ve brought some chips,” Erin said.

  “Next time,” Sam responded.

  “Deal. Maybe sometime we can just take the horses out for a little while and have a picnic by the river.”

  “I think we can swing that,” Sam replied.

  “You know, except for the scary parts, this is a better vacation than we’d planned. We get to go horseback riding.”

  Erin’s optimism never ceased to amaze him. In the middle of a catastrophe, she found something positive.

  She got that from her mother.

  Moving on, Sam again reined the horse to a stop as he rounded a corner in the road. Nestled at the bottom of a ravine that climbed into the nearby hills, a large log house that looked much like a resort lodge sat in a little valley next to the lake. Spread across a large grassy area were seven cottages, all with pipes sticking above the roofs, an indication that each had its own woodstove. In addition, a stable sat astride a fenced corral. Several other barn-like buildings were scattered throughout the lodge pole fenced compound. At the edge of the lake, a small dock with four boats tied up to it extended into the water.

  Pulling up the binoculars, Sam scanned the small resort-like compound. Trees lined the banks of the lake, hiding everything beneath a thick covering of leaves. Focusing on each of the cabins, he didn’t see any smoke drifting out of the stoves, but that was to be expected in the middle of summer. It was the same with the larger lodge. Although a couple of vehicles were parked beside the main building, he didn’t see any sign of anyone moving about. He realized that didn’t mean anything.

  Forested slopes reached upward from the edges of the long, thin lake. And in the distance, a majestic line of mountains towered above the plain. Surveilling the surrounding terrain, he saw no other buildings. Pulling out his map, he studied the roads in the area, finding that the one they were currently on was the only one shown. That made it unlikely that there were any other residences for miles around.

  Examining the compound in more detail, he noted three huge propane tanks adjacent to the main lodge. There were also two large solar panels erected near the building, but he didn’t have much hope that they were still functional, given that everything else electrical didn’t seem to be working.

  The sun glistened off the smooth surface of the lake, the mirror-like surface broken with rings at intervals from fish surfacing. He was struck by how perfect the place seemed to be. They were in the absolute middle of nowhere, where even the sound of gunshots wouldn’t be heard. There was a corral and barn for the horses, and the entire grassy area was fenced in. Each cabin had its own woodstove to provide warmth during the winter months. The propane tanks would likely lead to a kitchen and also provide an internal heat source. And, as they didn’t require electricity to work, they’d be operational, depending on how much was in each tank. A lodge also meant a possible supply of food.

  A high-pitched scream carried across the summer heat, faint but distinct. In his magnified view, Sam witnessed a figure appear from behind the main lodge. Coming around the corner of the building, it ran into the middle of the grassy field, long red hair flowing behind.

  Of course it wouldn’t turn out to be perfect, Sam thought, hopping from the saddle and pulling the .300 magnum deer rifle from within the scabbard.

  “Wait here,” he commanded Erin, and walked forward about fifty yards.

  With only scrub brush dotting the plain, and knowing the trees near the lake would block the view, he knelt at the edge of the road and shouldered the rifle. The scope gave as good if not a better image, but with a more limited sight picture. The woman was standing in the middle of the field when the wraith vanished and she dropped to her knees, her head drooping and hair sweeping forward to cover her face.

  From the shaking of her body, he could tell that she was weeping with her hands covering her head. Sam looked on, trying to judge the distance. The range finders he’d found at the residences weren’t functioning, and he wasn’t a sniper. He had a pretty good idea of how to judge distances, but didn’t have particular bullet drop ballistics imprinted in his mind. Anything at range would be a guess at best.

  Reaching down to grab a pinch of the sandy soil, he raised it above his head and let it dribble from between his fingers. The sand fell straight down, indicating little to no wind.

  The heat will keep the bullet aloft longer. I know that. And shooting a little downhill will do the same, he thought, putting his eye back to the scope.

  Placing the crosshair back on the woman sitting on her heels, he knew there was a way to judge distance by the markings, but didn’t remember the formula. Some scopes required a certain zoom range for it to work, while others would change the size of the crosshair and markings with the zoom level.

  So many things that I don’t know.

  Sam centered the crosshair and raised it above the woman’s head. Even if the resort didn’t work out in the long run, they still had to traverse past the place. Taking in a breath, he slowly began his exhale while applying pressure to the trigger. The recoil slammed against his shoulder, the scope kicking back with the rifle and nicking the bridge of his nose. The sharp re
tort of the gunshot rang across the plain and over the water, a diminishing echo bouncing off the surrounding hills. A flock of birds took sudden flight from the dense line of trees near the lake, winging across the still waters.

  Settling the scope back, he saw the woman on her side, bright red showing on the torso of her light gray T-shirt.

  “Oh fuck! Gut shot,” he muttered, placing the crosshair higher than the last time.

  Although a threat to their existence, it was obvious that the reapers were also in great pain, and he’d just added to the woman’s. There was nothing worse than being shot in the gut—other than having your soul torn from you at an atomic level. It was a painful and lingering death.

  The woman screamed as the apparition reappeared. Sam took careful aim, cognizant of the tremendous recoil and anxious from causing the woman greater pain. As he was about to pull the trigger, he heard a second scream from the direction of the resort. Quickly pulling off target, he saw another reaper emerge from the tree line next to the lake.

  Wanting to take care of the woman first, he recentered the crosshair, adjusting a foot higher than his last attempt. The woman was still on her side, rocking back and forth, the wraith-like figure continuously lunging outward. Sam pulled the trigger, anticipating the recoil, and saw the bullet strike mid-chest. Dust flew behind the woman, the heavy-caliber round having passed through her. Her rocking motions ceased as she settled onto the ground and the apparition dissolved.

  Sliding back the bolt, Sam chambered another round and moved the crosshair to the man stumbling slowly across the field. Knowing he had one additional round before having to reload, Sam took a little lead on the figure and fired. His hope was to injure the man and stop him so that he could be surer of his next shot. Having a pretty good idea of where to place the sight picture, he fired.