On Tenterhooks

by Greever Williams

  As his stomach settled, he wiped his face and scrambled to their supplies on the back wall, taking a long drag from a water bottle. He moved close to Veronica.

  “You okay?” she whispered, eyes remaining on the window frame.

  “Yeah, thanks. See anything?”

  “No, just that thing’s arm,” she replied, gesturing with the gun. “I think it’s dead, but I’m not taking any chances.”

  “Good—one down. See anything else out there?”

  “No, not since that first one hit the kitchen wall. He’s still close by though, I can still feel it—that panicky feeling I get when he’s around.”

  “Okay, stay close to the window, not too close though. I need to check on Martin. He looks pretty bad.”

  Veronica nodded. Steve turned and crouched down next to the couch.

  “Abby?”

  Her dirty hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he could see the trails of tears etched in her sun-kissed face. Her deep and beautiful blue eyes were tired and huge. “I think he’s passed out from the pain or the shock. He lost some blood, but that thing’s claws somehow burned him, too. It looks like it helped seal up the wound.”

  “Cauterized,” Steve said.

  Abby nodded, “I think he’ll be okay, if we. . .,”

  “If we get out of here soon,” finished Steve.

  Abby turned to face him and whispered, “Steve, we have to get out of here! I have to get out of here! I need my mom. I don’t want to die here, Steve. Please!”

  As she pleaded, her tears came again. She collapsed into Steve’s arms, and he held her, rubbing her back. She laid her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her as she convulsed with sobbing.

  “You won’t die here, Abby,” he said, praying for a confident voice. He whispered into her ear, “I know it looks bad right now, but Biker knew we could do it, or else he wouldn’t have sent us here. We’ve just got to hold it together, stick together. We’ve got to have faith.”

  “I know, I know,” she sobbed into Steve’s shirt. “I have faith. But, those creatures, his whip, it, it’s so much. Did you see how evil he is? Just his eyes—so bottomless, so unforgiving.”

  She sobbed again and put her face back down into Steve’s shoulder.

  “Shhh.” He rubbed the back of her head gently. “Yes, I saw them. But I also see you. I see how, despite your fear, you’ve still got that knife in your hand. I see how you’re tending to Martin. And did you see how Deadeye behind me there killed one of those things when it got too close to us?”

  He felt Abby’s nodding head rub up and down beneath his chin.

  “That means it can be done. You’ve got to believe—in us, in yourself, in God. We’ll get there. I promise.”

  She sniffed. “Okay.” She broke the embrace and looked at Steve. She sniffed again and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Sorry I lost it.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Abby. We’re all scared.”

  “Well,” she smiled, “I think I just snotted on your shoulder a bit.”

  He looked down at his shirt and saw the spot where she’d been crying. “Yeah, well, I just barfed on myself a minute ago, so I think I can handle a little snot.”

  She laughed. Steve leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

  “Keep an eye on Martin. I’ve got some ibuprofen in the side pocket of my bag. He might have some stronger stuff in his. Just stay with him. I am getting us out of this room.”

  Abby nodded and turned back toward the couch.

  Chapter 46

  Steve surveyed the room. There were three ways out – the front door, the door to the hallway and the kitchen. The kitchen wasn’t an option; there was still an ursataur somewhere back there, close by. The two doors were heavily barricaded. They could exit through one of them, but it wouldn’t be quick, especially without Martin’s help moving the furniture. If Preacher was anywhere nearby, he would know where they planned to go, long before they got there. That left one other way out. Steve padded toward the window opening.

  “Steve!” hissed Veronica from behind him.

  He held a finger to his lips, asking for silence. As he returned to the window, he was fascinated and repulsed by the scene. The demon’s blood surrounded the frame with wayward splatters from its thrashing. Gobbets of its flesh and skin still stuck to the few remaining bits of glass in the window frame. More shards of glass were protruding from a dozen streaming gashes in its paw and arm. Its mottled fur was shaven to the elbow. The tattooed symbols of bizarre shapes had been gouged deep into the skin beneath. He could smell the creature. It was a powerful, pungent scent of musk and rot.

  Staying out of reach, he nudged the creature’s arm with the head of his rusty axe. It lolled in the window frame. He pushed harder and it fell out, landing with a dull thud on the floor planks of the wooden porch. Nothing happened. He turned and looked back. Abby and Veronica watched him fearfully. Veronica shook her head. He stared back and nodded.

  “Don’t worry,” he said in a fierce whisper, “it’s dead.”

  He crept forward again and extended the head of the axe out of the window, ready to let go and jump back. Nothing happened. He waved it around, banging against the sides of the window frame. Nothing happened—no ursataurs, no Preacher, no sound aside from his rapid breathing and the blood pounding in his ears. He moved closer still, and stepped to the side of the window, looking toward the corner of the house. Nothing visible. He jumped to the other side, looking toward the rest of the lawn. Still nothing. The porch and the front yard were empty.

  He stood in the window straining eyes and ears for anything beyond, any clue of their assailants’ whereabouts. He heard nothing. The noises of the forest were beginning to return, as if someone were adjusting the volume on a surround sound movie. Taking one last long look around, he backed away from the window and rejoined to the group.

  “I can’t see anything out there. No sign of Preacher or any more of those things,” he jerked his head toward the dead demon. “But I’d say that one is definitely dead.”

  Veronica shook her head. “Yeah well, by my count, there are at least two more of them out there with him. And I’ve only got four bullets left, Steve.”

  “I know. And we’ve got to make them count.”

  Martin, still lying on the couch, opened his eyes slowly.

  “Only two of them left?” he said, shifting to look up at them with a groan. “Damn hell, our odds are getting better!”

  He smiled weakly. Abby had applied a makeshift bandage to his back using one of the bed sheets. It appeared to have stopped the bleeding.

  Veronica smiled and knelt down beside him.

  Martin smiled back.

  “Martin,” Steve said, “can you move?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “No,” said Abby. “He can’t. I think he’s stopped bleeding, but if he moves, it’ll probably just get worse.”

  “Abby dear, trust me when I say this. If I don’t move, it will definitely get worse. . . for all of us.”

  “He’s right, Abby,” said Veronica. “We have to move.”

  Steve didn’t wait for Abby to argue. “Okay,” he said. “I am going first. I am gonna crawl through the window. When I give the signal, Abby, I want you to follow me, and bring your knife.”

  “What?” said Veronica. “Are you crazy Steve? Let me go first! I’ve got the gun!”

  “Exactly! And that’s why you need to be in here until we are sure it is clear. I need you to have some cover. We can’t afford to lose that dead aim of yours Veronica.”

  “Steve—”

  “Veronica,” said Martin. “He’s right. You know he’s right.”

  Abby helped Martin sit up on the couch. Then she grabbed her discarded hunting knife, walked to Steve, squared her shoulders and nodded her head. He was proud, seeing her fear so blatant, yet she was just as determined as he was to see this through—they all were.

  “When Abby and I say it’s clear, Martin, you�
�ll have to make it through the window. You think you can do it?”

  Martin was exhausted, but he gave Steve a wan smile. “No problem.” Then he turned to Veronica. “And you ma’am, do not even think of putting down that sidearm to help me out.”

  Veronica turned back to Steve. “This sucks. You know that, right?”

  “Yep.”

  He stared at her. She stared back. She looked to Abby and then Martin, trying to find an ally for her argument. “Fine,” she said, eyes brimming with hot tears. “Fine! Go! Go! Let’s get this thing done then!”

  “Thanks, Veronica,” said Steve, squeezing her shoulder.

  “Blah, blah, blah. Just go!”

  Steve turned to Abby. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” she replied, with a slow smile.

  They crossed the small room again, and Steve once more checked the window from both sides. Seeing no change, he put one foot up on the window ledge, pulled himself up with his free hand and squeezed himself into the small opening. With a quick jump, he disappeared from sight.

  Chapter 47

  For a moment, he was gone, and then they could see him, back to the window.

  “It’s clear as far as I can tell,” he whispered over his shoulder. He kept his eyes toward the lawn, scanning left and right for a danger he knew was imminent.

  Abby was next. She jumped onto the window ledge, her tiny frame easily fitting into the space. She paused, looking first over Steve’s shoulder at the lawn beyond and then down at the dead demon below her. Her nose filled with its beastly smell. She dropped down onto the porch with a near silent landing, and then turned back toward the room. “C’mon Martin. We’ll give you a hand.”

  Martin nodded at her from the couch. “Roger that,” he replied, gritting his teeth. Shaking off Veronica’s attempts at help, he pushed himself up off the couch. “Don’t worry about me girl,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Just a scratch.”

  Veronica moved to the side of the window frame, trying to see as much as possible of the yard beyond. Martin shuffled to the window, as Steve and Abby kept a close eye on the surrounding landscape. The bottom of the window frame was lower than his waist, but he knew he couldn’t even move that much with his back so tender.

  Veronica saw it, too. “Wait Martin,” she said, surveying the room. Martin obeyed.

  “Here,” she said, placing a wooden rack of musty magazines against the wall beneath the window frame. “This’ll help.”

  “You’re a doll.”

  He put one foot up on the rack and tested the stability. It groaned, but held. He breathed deep, grabbed the frame with both hands and stepped up on the rack. More groaning, but the rack held together. He lifted his right foot up to the frame of the window and without warning, the rack collapsed. Martin fell forward into the window frame, screaming once again in agony, as his wounds tore open on impact. Steve saw Martin’s pocketwatch slip from his pocket and bounce once as it shattered on the floorboards of the porch, next to the dead ursataur. Veronica dropped her gun and tried to get his foot out of the ruined magazine rack, and at the same time, Steve leaned in to lift him back up.

  “Steve!” screamed Abby.

  Steve turned toward her and followed her gaze to the end of the porch. On the corner, he saw one of Preacher’s ursataurs. It was bleeding from the shoulder, but as its nostrils flared with rage, there was no other sign that Veronica’s bullets had even slowed it down. Its massive eyes surveyed them with absolute malevolence. It looked down and saw one of its fallen brethren at their feet. They heard the deep thunder of its growl, and Steve knew that their immediate situation had just gone from dire to deadly.

  “Sorry, Martin!” he said, as he yanked his injured friend through the window onto the porch. Martin howled and collapsed in a heap with Steve on top of the dead ursataur’s body. Steve scrambled to his feet, keeping eyes on the beast at the end of the porch.

  “Steve!” screamed Abby again, clutching his arm. Her nails dug into his flesh with a terrified grip.

  He turned and looked toward the other end of the porch as another of the ursataurs rounded the corner, massive eyes filled with the same burning hatred. Despite his pain, Martin saw the beast, too, and did his best to stifle his own cries. Veronica was silent in the house, and Steve could not see her. Both of the beasts stamped the deck planks and pawed again, raging bulls ready to strike. They raised their heads in unison to the sky.

  “SCREE!”

  “Martin! Play dead! They might not be very smart!” Martin didn’t answer, but he found his broken pocketwatch and clutched it close to his body, closing his eyes.

  “SCRUM!”

  Steve knew they had no time left. As both of the demons launched at them, he grabbed Abby’s arm and jumped with her off the front porch. The fall was short, and they both rolled. Two shots rang out above them as Steve turned, prepared to fight. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the shaggy beasts crumple near its dead companion underneath the window. Veronica’s shot had once again found its mark.

  WUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

  The end of Preacher’s whip rocketed toward Abby and wrapped around her head. She gasped. He stood on the roof above the porch, smiling gleefully.

  “NO!” screamed Steve. He dropped his axe and launched himself, trying to grab the length of the whip, but Preacher was ready for it. He yanked his arm back, uncoiling the whip from around Abby’s face. Its momentum set her spinning like a top-heavy child’s toy, screaming in pain as the barbs of the whip raked her face. She spun down to the ground, and Steve fell awkwardly over her, trying to regain his balance and keep an eye on the scene above.

  On the porch, a single ursataur stood at the broken railing staring down, only feet from Steve on the ground below. Steve stood over Abby. She was sobbing at his feet, face down in the grass, hands covering her face. He was defenseless. He had dropped his axe, and he knew there was no way he could get to it. The ursataur could pounce on him before he took his second step. Preacher had the advantage of high ground and the length of his whip. Steve couldn’t see Abby’s knife anywhere around him.

  Preacher hovered over them all, near the lip of the porch roof. He smiled, shaking his head. The midday sun gleamed on the roof and showed through his pale yellow skin, exposing the soft pink hue beneath, which only served to heighten his skeletal appearance. As he coiled the massive whip, the barbs screeched and clacked across the tin roof. When he reached the end of the whip, he examined the barbs. Abby’s blood was a fresh stain. He raised the whip to his nose and inhaled before he opened his mouth and flicked his tongue over the barbs, like a reptile hunting its prey. His rancorous laugh filled Steve with a greater hate than he had ever know before.

  Rut rut rut rut rut rut

  “The lifeblood of this hatchling runs sweet. It shall be a delicious treat for my Lord and Master.”

  Abby sobbed at Steve’s feet, and he knew she could hear what was going on, even without being able to see it for herself. He was defenseless, yet he vowed to remain defiant until the end, however soon it might be.

  He had no words to counteract Preacher’s taunts. His throat was dry, and his muscles were beginning to strain under the extended state of excitement. His adrenaline and blood pumped, but he couldn’t see a way out. Martin and Veronica were dead for all he knew. Abby was blinded at his feet. He had no plan and weapons except for his fists. It had been fight or flight, and they had chosen to stand their ground. Now Steve saw the full folly of their decision and his leadership. Preacher had picked them clean, and he now stood alone against a powerful foe and one of his demonic ursataurs.

  Preacher continued to smile down at him from the rooftop. Steve wanted to break his gaze, to scan the area for a possible way out—a weapon, a diversion, an escape route, anything that would forego an ending like this. The demon beast continued to breathe heavily, growling from the edge of the porch. Steve could see its shaggy head and glistening antlers out of the corner of his eye.

  “And so,
my misguided son, in which manner would you care to be dispatched from your mortal coil?”

  From behind Preacher, Steve saw a window open slowly. Veronica appeared gun first, trying to climb out of the window onto the roof. Steve knew he had to keep Preacher distracted.

  I hope she’s worked it out.

  Biker had drilled it into each of them that they would not be able to kill Preacher by any traditional means. Perhaps Veronica had worked it out, and she had a plan. Any idea was better than what Steve was coming up with, so he played the part of the distraction as best he could.