Yea Though I Walk

by J. P. Sloan

  I kick Ripper up onto the main mine road. The way is so familiar to me now. I recall the night I drove up with Scarlow’s men. The night I awakened Odell within my head. I was brash, full of scorn and pride.

  Tonight I suffer neither weakness. This is my task, my service to the people of Gold Vein who have lived alternately in friendship and fear of me. Perhaps both, perhaps neither. More like confusion and pity. Still, I’ve put them through enough, and with my last valiant blustering, I’ve marshaled them against these Wendigo abominations. I am not running headlong into battle.

  I am baiting them into a trap.

  I proceed carefully, eyes open and moving from treetop to treetop. I spot shadows sliding along with me. The orphans. At least two. They’ve saved me before, in town, as I locked horns with the Parson. They sacrificed their lives for me, most likely at Kate’s behest. Perhaps they’re doing so once more.

  Perhaps they do, in fact, believe in Richterman. I can’t expect that they’d believe in me.

  Ripper grunts and backs away from a suspicious dip in the path. I ease him away and cock an ear.

  Footsteps in the brush.

  I give a loud whistle between my fingers and shout, “Magner! You still hungry?”

  The stumbling in the brush intensifies, and I pivot Ripper back down the path, retreating a little before I swivel for another jab.

  “You boys done chewing on your own tongues? You want a piece of real flesh?”

  I spot three, no four, of those things climbing over a boulder and around tree trunks. Two of them look human, probably natives from the other side of the ridge recently turned. The other two look… hideous.

  “You boys, you go tell Magner I’m ready for his damned corpse! Tell him to come find me in town. We’re through staring at each other.”

  With that, I kick Ripper at a run down the hill.

  I don’t hold up until we reach the flat of the grass again. I turn to find a glow in the western sky. This glow is no sunset. It’s Kate’s fire. The smell of smoke is full and rich. She was right. This wind is pushing like a bellows against our forge.

  I don’t know how fast these things are at a full run, so I go ahead and run us on up into town. I spot Eli on the feed store rooftop, and he waves me closer.

  “They’re coming!” I shout.

  “This is happening?” he responds.

  “It is. Now keep your head down and remember, only fire on the ones running out. Not the ones running in!”

  He nods and tucks down behind the store façade.

  I move on into town and dismount in front of Holcomb’s. Ripper’s breathing hard already. I’ve run him more tonight than he’s seen for a while. I get him some water and pull off the saddle. As I hang it up in Holcomb’s shed, I take a good long think on the fight ahead. Those things are coming. They’re coming everywhere. Even here.

  Once again, I consider the possibility that Ripper isn’t likely to survive this.

  “We should give him a chance,” I whisper to Odell, standing beside his old chestnut.

  He opens his mouth to reply, but as his hand trembles on Ripper’s haunch midstroke, I recognize he’s not likely to raise any argument.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I offer.

  He nods once before stepping to Ripper’s front, resting a hand on his nose.

  I rush across the street to the residence of, oh Hell. Who lives here? Something like Bishop? When I shove the door open, I reach out and block a wild swing of a thin aspen stake. The one wielding the stake, Bichon… that’s right… gives me a panicked glare.

  “It’s all right,” I offer. “It’s Folger.”

  He and the two other men standing in the shadows hold their breath.

  “Listen, gentlemen. I’ve been confused. For a long while, now, I’ve been turned around in my own head. I’ll apologize to some adequate degree later, but for now I need to see who’s in your cellar.”

  Bichon leads me to the stairs leading to his root cellar and stands at a good distance. I step down a few planks until I spot several faces staring back at me. The women huddle the children between them.

  “Any of you girls ride?” I shout.

  No one responds.

  “It’s all right. I need a volunteer to ride my horse out of the valley. South. Away from this.”

  Three women exchange looks, and two girls are shoved forward.

  “I only need one,” I grumble before I catch the wilt in both the women’s faces. Of course they’d want their children free of this place. “All right, both of you.”

  They turn with tears to their mothers, who crouch down and mutter explanations into their ears. The children resist, and the mothers beg them to flee.

  “Ladies, they are on the way.”

  The two girls are effectively stampeded up the stairs. I hold out my hand to the closest, who recoils.

  “It’s all right. I’m your friend, now.”

  She wrinkles her nose and huddles with her partner.

  I lead the girls back out to Holcomb’s shelter. Ripper considers them with a quick nicker as I lift the two of them onto his back.

  “You girls alright to ride without saddle?”

  They nod.

  “All right, then. I want you to point yourselves east. Ride to the Grangerford property, then keep riding. Run south over the ridge and into the plain. There’s a river not sixteen miles south of the ridge. You hit that river, then point yourselves west. But not before. You understand?”

  The older of the two nods.

  “Good. That river will take you to North Platte rail station. You get to some good people there, and you sell this horse. You sell him and wait. Understand? I’ll send your parents after you.”

  They nod, the smaller of the two weeping openly.

  I round about to Ripper’s head and lay a hand on his white flame between his eyes.

  “So, you old cuss. This is it.”

  He blinks and sways a little.

  “You kept me upright, old boy. I wish I could see it through with you, but I need you to get to safety. Maybe save a couple girls in the process.”

  I lead him with a hand behind his jaw until he’s pointed east.

  “Take care, Rip,” I finally say before slapping his haunch and sending him and the two girls trotting.

  Hopefully, they’ll live.

  And with any luck at all, so will I.

  “How are you holding up?” I ask the space behind me.

  I turn to find Odell with his eyes on the horse slipping away down the hillside to the east. He ducks his hat down to cover his face and reaches up to wipe tears from the sides of his nose.

  With a tight throat, I turn back to see the last wisp of child’s hair slip between tall grass in the distance.

  “It’s better this way. We won’t be distracted.”

  Odell clears his throat. “Right. Enough whelping. Those beasts are on their way.” He steps up to my side and elbows my arm. “Best get to your station.”

  “You’ll be with me?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Good. Then I suppose I’m ready.”

  position myself on the back of Ingrid’s cart. The smell of smoke is thick, even in the middle of town. Cheevey keeps grinning at me from beside the mule he’s tethered to the cart. I try to stay cordial with the man, but his obsession with my presence puts me off my focus.

  “Cheevey?” I ask. “You want to load up a couple of those stakes?”

  He nods with a quick “Yessirs!” and pops two of the tree trunk stakes into the cart as if they were balsam. The man’s unnaturally strong. I’ll want him by my side with a good length of aspen when this goes down.

  I squint down to the assay office roof and find José waving a stiff arm at me.

  Odell mumbles over my shoulder, “He’s spotted them.”

  “Cheevey, get on up.”

  He hops up to the driving board. “Sirs?”

  “Haul us south of town, just behind the new buildings.”


  Cheevey gives me a dubious glance, but I nod to reassure him. With that nod, he reins the mule forward. It plods along, hauling the steel behemoth standing beneath my hands. We round the latest of his new houses, the intended receptacles of the good blood stock for the Strigoi. I still feel uneasy about this proposal, but with all the lives lost in this fight, I figure these creatures will have earned a clean drink or two.

  Cheevey pulls us along the backside, and I point to a gap between buildings that offers a clear view up the main road.

  “That’s good here.”

  I hear howls and snaps in the distance. These things are well and truly enraged. I suppose I’ve managed to channel enough of Richterman’s venom to incite at least a minor army’s worth, if not the whole lot. The fire storming in the hills surely is incentive enough for the rest.

  Cheevey looks up at me with nervous energy.

  “Hold on there,” I mutter. “We have to give them a chance to step inside one or two of―”

  Through the darkness and distance, I spot the first of the Wendigo sprinting into the main lane just in front of the burned-out church. It pauses and sniffs the air before giving a wave north of town. I hold my breath, hoping Eli doesn’t pop off a shot or two prematurely. To his credit, he keeps his position quiet.

  More Wendigo stumble into town. Human-sized at first. Then a couple taller than average, about the Parson’s size. These are thin, angry creatures, hungry not just for food, but for war. The first two saunter into the middle of town, searching for someone or something to set their teeth into. They end up scurrying into one of the old shops next to the church. I’m not sure if there’s anyone holed up in there, but I don’t hear screaming.

  The taller calls behind the lane, and another six to ten flood into the street. I recognize a couple faces, townsfolk who must have wandered too close to the hills in the past week. They filter down the street, poking at doors. A lean woman smashes open the door to Toomey’s store just before three others barge into the assay office.

  The tall one reaches out and snatches a porch post, snapping it off the assay office like deadwood. The corner of the porch roof collapses.

  I crank back the mechanism of my bolt thrower and crouch down, pivoting the axis along its base with several good tugs. I remember this thing fired higher than I’d expected. I have no time to work out the windage, though.

  The large creature lifts the porch post and takes a swing at the corner of the assay office. Oddly brutal gesture. Won’t get any meat like that. Alas, they were sent for Richterman, and this tall beast must have taken that charge upon itself.

  With a quick adjustment lowering the stake, I hold my breath and slam my foot against the lever.

  The steel straps snap with a quick, sharp clatter. The sharpened length of aspen fires between the buildings and sails up the lane. I watch as it plunges into the creature’s side. It doubles over and writhes in the dust.

  “Cherry shot, there,” Odell says.

  “Go,” I grunt to Cheevey, who nudges the mule forward to conceal us again. I jump down and hoist one of the smaller stakes into Ingrid’s trough and start cranking the rope spring backward.

  I hear screaming. Not just the creature I’ve punctured. Hard howls spill from the town. They don’t sound human, so I assume one or two of the townsfolk have driven aspen into their targets. This is our moment, our best chance to take as many down as we can before they catch wise.

  I get the next stake loaded and nod to Cheevey, who drives us a little farther forward. I catch a glimpse of the street again. The tall one is still writhing around on the ground, reaching for the stake, but it’s lost most of its fight already. His smaller compatriots don’t appear to notice or care.

  A lean faces pops around the corner of our alleyway, snarling at me. He must have been the only one to have seen where the aspen trunk had flown from. He roars at me and sprints at us between the buildings.

  I aim low and fire. Close quarters. I strike his heart clean, and he drops instantly, only his fingertips twitching.

  Cheevey gives me a look.

  “Hold here,” I answer as I go to reload the mechanism.

  As I start cranking a new stake up the straps, I spot a house well north of town getting torn to pieces. The Wendigo are dismantling the building, ripping wood clear of the façade. One of the creatures drags a screaming man out from the building, already bloodied and missing an arm. Two more Wendigo set upon him, reaching into his midsection. Seems I may have been mistaken… not everyone taken by these creatures will end up intact enough to become a monster. Just dinner.

  Two gunshots sound, and the two Wendigo drop dead. Damn it, I told them to hold fire until they retreat!

  I spot a puff of smoke washing from the top of the assay office. It’s José.

  Odell grumbles, “He’ll run out of silver.”

  “I know.”

  A handful of the creatures turn instantly and rush the assay office, already torn open by the others.

  I manage to raise Ingrid’s nose and fire off another bolt up the lane which drops the last of the larger creatures, though the strike is anything but clean. It spirals off along the porch of the assay office, gripping at the wood jutting from its hip.

  I nod to Cheevey, and he gets the mule moving forward, then turning north parallel to the main street. This is our plan… strike as many as we can from a distance, then cover the southern escape.

  Ingrid cranks under my hand, and another bolt is ready by the time I catch sight of the lane again. A river of those things pours from the north. We’ve only seen the forward troops, it seems. The real army has just arrived.

  José pops off two more shots before a long pause. I wasn’t counting his shots. I can only hope he’s doesn’t run dry.

  Among the newly arrived cannibals, I spy another creature of the larger caste. Older, whatever is most accurate. This thing is nine feet tall, its arms like insect limbs. That’s my target. I take aim and fire, but one of the smaller creatures darts across its path and takes the shot, pulverizing its head.

  Several eyes fall on us.

  “Go!” I shout.

  Cheevey snaps the reins and barks at the mule. It lunges forward, but we get little speed. Those things are faster on foot than we are in this steel-laden cart. I get one more bolt loaded and fired. I spend no time aiming for the large one, instead just firing into the advancing rush to trip them up. I drop one, and two more stumble over its body. I’ll never get another bolt loaded.

  Odell grips my shoulder. “Time to go.”

  I grab a short stake and toss it across Cheevey’s lap before drawing my pistol and leaping from the cart. I take aim and snap off my first shot. Dead center chest of the first cannibal. The rest shriek in anger.

  Another shot, another kill.

  Third shot, the same. Seems the Good Lord continues to grace my aim.

  I spot Bichon’s house nearby and turn to Cheevey. “Come on!”

  But Cheevey isn’t moving. He’s standing over the cart with his aspen.

  “Cheevey! Move it!”

  Either he doesn’t hear me or he has no intention of leaving the cart.

  Odell shakes his head. “Stupid sumbitch is guarding the damn thing!”

  The pause has brought the creatures closer. I can’t hold any longer. I leave Cheevey to his final stand with Ingrid and rush for Bichon’s house. I spot two Wendigo at the door, pounding the wood. I fire off two shots and drop them at close range before giving the side of the house a couple knocks.

  “It’s me!”

  The door unlatches, and I slip inside, guarding against any errant swings of aspen. The men inside hold, nodding to me as I hop inside. They bar the door just as the first of the Wendigo slam into it.

  “Won’t last long,” I warn. “They’re tearing the town apart.”

  I take a quick mental count of my shots. Five so far. I have one bullet left in my pistol, and six more in my pocket. Then I’ll be empty.

 
Bichon glares at me from the center of the room. “What do we do?”

  “We drop as many as we can.”

  A thin gap splinters open between door planks as the creatures pound on it, clawing away strips of wood.

  I reach for one of their stakes and take a running start at the door, slamming it through the hole. A wheezing screech from the other side tells me I found a mark. I jerk the stake back and toss it back to its owner.

  “Stab and withdraw. Don’t lose your weapon.”

  The door splinters under a particularly heavy blow. The big one has arrived.

  Two cannibals shove their way through the ruins of the door and grin with lusty, slobbering maws.

  As if aping my motions, Bichon steps directly into the middle of the space and slams his aspen into the ribs of the first Wendigo, which drops quickly.

  The second backs away a step. I consider shooting, but think twice. Instead I flip the gun in my hand and smash the butt against the side of the second Wendigo’s head. It stumbles and snarls at me, just stunned enough for another stab of aspenwood.

  I brace myself and step toward the door. The large Wendigo has moved on along with its throng, probably assuming we’d be dead. I capture the attention of a couple more creatures, which storm the house. I withdraw, keeping their attention as we dive deeper into the darkened house.

  My two companions skewer them from behind.

  It’s working!

  Now, if only the rest of town had this particular strategy figured out.

  “You got this?” I shout.

  They give me feverish, wide-eyed nods.

  I poke my head out the front of the house. A herd of those cannibals has swarmed Cheevey’s cart, climbing overtop the mule. I see his hands pumping away with his stake, but his screams are clear enough. There’s nothing I can do.

  I turn and leave Cheevey to his fate. With luck, they’ll devour him quickly and won’t leave him suffering for long.

  The giant Wendigo lumbers along the lane with its back to me. I slip into the night and slide along the front of the building, keeping behind it. I make it to the next door and give it a quick knock.