by Tim Curran
Claussen dragged himself forth now. He had an ax. With a single vicious swing, he buried it in the monster's spine. It went down face first, jerking with convulsions, a sickly mewing deep in its throat. It was beaten now and all knew this.
"Hack into pieces," Moonwind directed. "It can only die if its pulled apart."
Bowes, Longtree, Moonwind, and the two survivors from the posse went to work on the primal monster that would be a god. As Claussen looked on at his fallen idol, they each took the ax and chopped at the beast. Its hide was incredibly tough, but its assassins worked with an almost superhuman diligence. Soon its torso split. Its arms were severed free, it legs divorced from their thorny housings. Longtree cleaved the head free himself, kicking it away to the altar. To his amazement, the jaws still chattered, the legs still trembled. With a few more blows the skull collapsed, brains emptying at his feet.
"Not a god," Claussen mumbled. "Jesus help me."
Longtree looked down at the wreck of Skullhead with Moonwind by his side. It was a great butchered slab of meat now, bleeding black blood and yellow fluid. Its guts steamed with a foul odor. The altar was stained with bits of it and would have to be destroyed.
But Skullhead was dead.
27
Two days later, it was over.
The fire had been contained the same day the beast died. A heavy snowfall drowned the flames. Half of the town had been destroyed. The survivors quickly began rebuilding. Reverend Claussen died from his injuries that night and was given a Christian burial along with Perry, Lauters, and the other members of the posse. Herbert Crazytail was buried in the Blackfeet cemetery. Only Longtree, Moonwind, and a few others were present. The remains of the beast were assembled in sacks, tied shut, and buried in another part of the burial ground-the same grave they'd been originally interred in centuries before.
The church was burned to ashes.
"I don't know what I'm going to do about all this," Bowes said to Longtree as they sat and sipped coffee at the jailhouse. "How I'm going to explain this."
"There's nothing to explain. The beast is dead."
"But all the deaths…"
"People know what happened. Let it go. In a year, it'll be forgotten."
Bowes looked at him. "Do you really believe that?"
Longtree didn't answer. He stood and pulled on his coat and gloves. "I guess I'm done here," he said.
"Thanks for your…help," Bowes said.
Longtree nodded and walked out into the cool air, listening to the sounds of sawing and hammering as the town was put to right. People wouldn't forget what happened, he knew, but they probably wouldn't talk much about it. In time, the entire experience would take on the connotations of legend. A twice-told tale. A myth. Something to frighten children with on stormy nights. Nothing more. A dark bit of collective memory that would seem all the more unreal as the coming days of normalcy blotted out its darker elements into the stuff of nightmares.
Longtree rode out of town, hoping he'd never have to return. He would ride to Fort Ellis and put in his report. Tom Rivers wasn't going to like the truth about this matter, but the truth was the truth. On the way, he would meet Laughing Moonwind. They were bonded now, he knew, from these horrors. Parts of them were linked. He couldn't imagine being without her.
A cigar in his mouth, the wind at his back, Joseph Longtree rode away from Wolf Creek.
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