by Hill, Bear
The dog’s barking increased to a fever-pitch. Martinez looked up. A boiling green fog bank steamrolled down the main thoroughfare, eclipsing the town from view.
Martinez jumped, startled by the dog as it shot off the porch to charge headlong into the fog. For a moment the animal’s enraged barks continued. Then there was a high yelp and all fell silent.
Martinez shook himself. He pivoted on his heels and began barking orders.
“We need cover. Get these tables on their sides! Two men behind each.“ The soldiers obeyed and flipped over the saloon’s tables.
“Just what the hell do you think—?“ Garrett began.
“Not now!“ Martinez warned him.
“What about the captain?“ one of the soldiers restraining Arrington asked.
Martinez surveyed the captain. Arrington look back with wildness in his gaze, a long trail of drool dangling from his grin.
“Let him go,“ Martinez said. “We’re going to need every—“ Martinez’s words were drowned out as the din of creaking timber echoed throughout the saloon. All looked up to see the ceiling joists overhead twisting and stretching of their own accord. Planks of wood along the walls curled in on themselves, dismounting sets of antlers, tin types, and carved signs and slinging them to the floor. Behind the bar, bottles of liquor swelled like inflating balloons to explode in a crashes of glass and liquid. The spindles along the stair rail began to spin, the smell of wood trying to burn adding to that of spilled whiskey. The piano banged out the notes to Camp Town Races of its own accord, playing it louder and faster than any living being would’ve been capable of.
Martinez gasped as two gigantic, cataract-veiled eyes—eyes Farnsworth would’ve recognized as the ancient’s eyes—shimmered into existence above them. The hate-filled gaze was accompanied by a nether-worldly groan that seemed to emanate from the entire saloon. The reverend fell to his knees, praying with mad abandon as his bladder released into the crotch of his pants. Gertrude and Lacey screamed and clutched at each other, their voices supplementing the chorus of shrieks already issuing from Private Sanchez and his fellow soldiers.
Then, all at once, the eyes vanished and the commotion ended, leaving the screaming voices to pierce the night all on their own. Wilson and Jimbo grabbed the girls, cradling them in their arms. After a few moments, they were able to hush them and all became silent.
The saloon’s patrons hid behind the overturned tables and chairs. Heads careened upward and panned the room, scanning for the reappearance of the ancient’s death gaze.
Martinez shivered when he saw the unnatural fog bank creeping across the view beyond the saloon’s bat-winged doors. The fog slid silently inside the saloon. It ran its silent fingers over the walls, conforming to the shape of the building’s interior, enshrouding it in a thick blanket of pale green mist.
“Jesus fucking Christ!“ Garrett came out from behind the bar to stand among the soldiers. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit!“ Garrett spat a generous wad of tobacco juice onto the floor. “Fucking come into my joint! Tear it up! Order me around! Scare the bejesus out of everybody—!
“I want some fucking answers and I want them right god damn now!“
“Sir,“ Martinez said. “Now’s not the—“
“The fuck it ain’t the time!“ Garrett fumed. “You’re on my property, you federal, wetback son of a bitch! And it’s fucking time if I say it’s fucking time! And it’s fucking time, goddamn it!“
Garrett snarled, hitched up his pants, and began addressing all the soldiers.
“Now, this is my fucking joint! Just one more of you cocksuckers—just one more—wants to try to throw his weight around in here, I’m going to have Little Joe—“
The boards beneath Garrett’s feet exploded and he sank into the floor to his knees. He groaned and scanned the crowd, looking for an explanation. Then torrents of blood spurted from the crevice and Garrett screamed the high-pitched wail of a young girl as he sank farther below the surface. The saloon’s patron’s joined his cries with their own.
“It’s eating him!“ Sanchez screamed. “The floor’s eating him!“
The soldiers unloaded their weapons into the floor. Several stray bullets hit Garrett, but the effects were indiscernible. He was already covered in blood, his body jerking and flailing. A new geyser of blood erupted from the floor and Garrett fell deeper beneath the planks.
“Oh Jesus fucking Christ!“ Garrett bawled. “Somebody, help me! Somebody, please—!“
The bounty hunter raised his rifle and fired. The bullet struck home between Garrett’s eyes, answering his prayers.
Two enormous shadows crashed through the windows bookending the saloon’s entrance to fall upon the soldiers standing guard. Corporal Martinez heard the growling of rabid dogs over the sound of screams, crunching bone, and rending flesh. Though Martinez couldn’t see exactly what was happening through the fog, he knew the men were finished.
Little Joe screamed something in his native tongue and emptied both barrels of his shotgun into the fog. The soldiers joined him, their rifles coming to life with eruptions of orange flame.
The shadows released their hold on the guards as the soldier’s bullets found them. The intruders fell to the floor, jerking and twitching as they yowled in pain. The remaining soldiers were given no reprieve, however.
Lupine shadows by the dozen bounded in on all fours through the saloon entrance. Many others leaped in through the windows, almost cat-like in their agility. They pounced one after the other into the mass of screaming soldiers. Flashes of gunfire illuminated the carnage that was transpiring. Soldier after soldier fell as sprays of crimson blood cut through the mist.
Martinez fired wildly into the fray. Tears began to leak from his eyes as the monsters (Yes, monsters, Martinez thought. Call them what they are.) flung the bloody, severed remains of his men through the air.
Somewhere in the depths of his mind, the tiny voice of reason left to him cried for Martinez to call a retreat. But then Martinez saw a set of huge, yellow fangs glistening with blood close over his face and he knew it was too late.
From Black Bob’s Doom; or The Hounds of Perdition, a dime novel by J.T. Farnsworth…
The noble gunslinger caught the snapping black whip of the French outlaw known as La Femme La Lash and, with his superior strength of arm, tugged on its end so that the whip’s owner was reeled most gracefully into his arms.
“Forgive me, Madame,“ Deadshot Dan said apologetically. “Normally, I would never lay one of my stout hands upon any member of the weaker sex in such a manner. But considering your desire to wreak harm upon my mortal coil, I’m left with little recourse.“ Dan quickly worked the ends of the whip already wound about the lady, using the skills he’d acquired in his years as a rancher, to hog-tie the woman with her own weapon’s black leather.
Scarcely before Dan could finish the triple square knot which had thrice won him the grand goose at the Big Grit Fall Festival, he noticed a foot clad in black canvas flying toward him through the air. “Black Bob, you coward!“ Dan shouted angrily as he ducked beneath the appendage heralding toward him. “Why must you continue to send your underlings in offense of my person when it is you and I who must ultimately barter in lead?“ The foot and the China-man it belonged to landed nosily on Dan’s opposite side and then began to advance upon the noble gunslinger with a whirlwind series of kicks and punches. Nere had Dan seen such a display of fisticuffs, and at first, it appeared the Oriental would prove his better. But when, in a misplaced kick, the Oriental wedged his foot betwixt the boards of a card table, it was little work for Dan to dispatch the China-man into deep slumber with a most tremendous right cross to the jaw.
The noble gunslinger escaped that peril only for a new and more vexing villain to careen into his path. For at the moment, Red Joe, the giant Indian, burst from behind the saloon’s bar and wrapped Dan up in his grizzly-sized arms. “A curse upon you, Black Bob!“ Deadshot Dan said defiantly as he struggled in Red Joe’s g
rip and gasped for air. “Send all the galoots and brigands against me that you will, for it only adds to the severity of the ultimate punishment I shall inflict upon your person!“ At that moment, Red Joe made a fatal mistake, for he brought the noble gunslinger within a few feet of the saloon wall. Using the acrobatic talents he’d acquired during his days of traveling with the Flying Zezpuchees, Dan ran up the wall with his feet, twisting himself free of Red Joe’s clutches so that he was able to summersault over the Indian’s shoulder and place himself on the brute’s hindquarters. Knowing any attempt to battle toe-to-toe with such a brute would prove a futile one, Dan drew Doom from his gun belt and whacked the Indian across the back of his head with the pistol’s butt. Red Joe sank to his knees and then fell to the floor where he began to snore in a most clamorous manner.
“Enough!“ Dan shouted furiously as he drew his guns up to port arms. “I have faced ere ruffian and outlaw who you have thrown at me, Black Bob, and each time, proved their better! Now, I demand you face me and receive justice by verdict of Death and Doom!“
The noble gunslinger whirled as Black Bob’s menacing cackle echoed through the room. A thousand thanks to God in heaven that Dan was able to stay his guns, for when he turned, he found the sight of his beloved Anna shielding the nefarious negro Black Bob from sentencing by Death and Doom.
“Once again,“ Black Bob said in a most mocking manner, “Deadshot Dan, I am the victor in a contest of wills as I do not suffer from that weakness that constantly proves your failing!“
“What is this weakness you speak of, you black-hearted rogue?“ Dan said contemptuously.
“Why your conscience, of course, my dear boy!“ Black Bob said haughtily. “That tiny angel’s voice in your noggin that makes you afraid and unwilling to do what it takes to seize true power over men! Look, even now, your mercy proves your undoing, for my band of outlaws awakens to surround you!“ Dan shifted his gaze and saw Black Bob’s words to be true. The arch-outlaw’s band of foreign scoundrels were taking up positions on three of his four quarters.
“Do what you will with me, brigand,“ Dan said unselfishly, “but if you have a single ounce of honor within your dark soul, you will release the girl!“
Black Bob guffawed in a most uncivilized manner. “That, my dear boy, is exactly to the heart of the matter of which I would instruct you,“ Black Bob said coyly. “For you see, honor is not an affliction from which I suffer. I—!“
At that very moment, the loud baying of hounds re-sounded outside the saloon’s exterior. La Femme La Lash rushed to the saloon’s bat-winged doors and peered cautiously outside. She returned her attention to Black Bob and uttered something to his person in the heathen language of the French. “Curses!“ Black Bob shouted angrily. “The demon dogs have returned! Even upon the horizon of victory, I am thwarted by forces from beyond!“
“Black Bob,“ Deadshot Dan said most decidedly, “surely you can see the benefit of having Death and Doom on your side against monsters such as these. If these be hell’s hounds at our door, then I say let us put aside differences for the time being and face them together as comrades in arms. Agreed?“
Black Bob grimaced as he turned the noble gunslinger’s words over in his mind. At last, he released the lovely Anna and nodded. “Agreed!“
Chapter 5
THE ESCAPE
The bounty hunter—then only a young boy—raced through the woods on his calloused bare feet, tears leaking from his eyes as the sound of the baying hounds grew in his ears. He thought about the dog’s sharp teeth and the flesh-rending whips belonging to white men who ran behind them and quickened his pace. He leapt over deadfall and dodged low-hanging tree branches as he ran. It was summer and the night’s dew had made the forest floor soft and green. The boy was thankful for the giving earth. It would save his bare feet from agony. But he also knew it meant he’d leave tracks pointing the men and their dogs directly toward him.
The boy changed course for a nearby creek bed. Within moments, he was splashing in its waters, swimming where he could, staggering across its sand and water-smoothed stones where he couldn’t. The uneven terrain slowed his progress and it wasn’t long before he heard the hounds closing in on him.
A putrid stink filled the boy’s nostrils. He turned to see a dead cow lying on the creek bank, half in the water. The moon’s light revealed that the portion of the beast’s body not submerged was covered in buzzing flies. The boy turned away just as he wretched.
He had to get to the other side of the creek. Maybe the dogs would be able to pick up his scent on the opposite shore, maybe not. He decided he’d take his chances. Anything to get away from the dead cow and its rank smell.
The boy took a step and had to stifle a yell as the rock beneath his foot gave way, causing his ankle to buckle under. He dropped to the ground, one hand over his mouth, the other at his ankle. Through the din of pain, he heard the dogs’ barking. They were close. Within fifty yards, probably. The boy cursed. What was he to do? He couldn’t run, but there was no way in hell he was going back to the cotton fields. Better to smash his head open with a rock from the creek bed. The boy picked up a stone, wondering if he could strike quick enough and hard enough to end himself with one blow.
The boy caught the stench of the dead cow again and gagged. What a way to die, he thought. Next to a fly-eaten cow carcass. Then an idea seized him, one he found repulsive. But if he had to choose between it, the cotton fields, or certain death, it was really no choice at all.
The boy dropped the stone and crawled up to the corpse. He turned his head but felt bile rise into his throat as he lifted the dead cow’s ample belly from the shore. Soaked with water, it felt like a bag of rocks. But he was strong, and right now his adrenaline made him all but Herculean. The boy strained and pushed as maggots dropped from the cow’s bulk to squirm in the sand. When he’d lifted its belly as far off shore as possible, he turned his back into the fur-covered fat and wriggled beneath it. The cow’s rotten blubber covered him like a blanket, but his own body had caused a slight gap to open between the dead cow’s belly and the ground. Through it, he saw the settling waters of the creek and heard the baying of the fast-approaching hounds.
In no time, the dogs were scrambling down the slope leading to the creek bank. He felt them fall upon the cow carcass. Two of the dogs splashed into the creek bed to root at the cow’s belly. The dogs wormed their muzzles into the gap. But much to the boy’s relief, they could press in no farther. Stuck beneath cow’s blubber, the dogs couldn’t open their jaws to bark or bite, so they stood there snarling at the smell of him. The boy whimpered as he felt the dog’s hot, fetid breath wash over him.
“What are you doing there?“ one of the approaching white men called. “Get on out of there!“
The boy felt things that squirmed and wriggled climb onto his body. He clasped his hand over his mouth to keep from screaming.
“That dead cow ain’t fit to eat, you stupid mutt,“ another man said. The boy heard the men enter the creek bed. Seconds later, the dogs’ muzzles disappeared from beneath the cow, yanked away by their masters. “Come on! We got to find us that runaway nigger.“
After what seemed like an eternity, the men and their dogs left, heading on down the creek to continue their search in vain. But the sound of the dogs’ barking and the sight of the yellowed fangs within their snarling, wrinkled muzzles would stay with the boy for the rest of his life.
The bounty hunter shook himself. He was no longer a boy trapped beneath a dead cow. But the white men’s dogs were trying to kill him again. But that wasn’t true either. The fur-covered creatures invading the saloon weren’t the white men’s dogs. They looked and acted like coyotes—and men—and yet they were neither. Regardless, people were dying and if he didn’t act quickly, he’d join them.
The bounty hunter’s Henry rifle boomed into action, dispatching beast after beast as they spilled through the saloon’s bat-wing doors. He was pleased to see a bullet ended them almost as easily as
it did a human. On the trail of that thought, came another: What an abominable horror that would be—if they didn’t die like regular folk, but needed something special—like some magic charm or ore—to kill them.
The creatures continued to attack. Some galloped straight for the soldiers while others scampered up the walls with impossible speed and agility to drop onto their prey.
From the corner of his eye, the bounty hunter saw the townspeople follow his lead and take up arms against the attackers for both good and ill. Jimbo and Wilson successfully unloaded their pistols into several of the coyote creatures, sending them yowling and twitching back to whatever hell they came from. Hank was not so lucky. He reached for his gun and it fired while still in its holster. The bullet struck the toe of his boot and he dropped to the floor. He grabbed his foot and yelled in pain while Robby struggled to protect them both with cover fire. The bounty hunter halted firing when the captain burst from the fog to sprint by him, bloodied and screaming.
Seeming to perceive the damage the bounty hunter was doing, one monster left the carcass it was feeding on and charged, its lupine form closing the distance between them in two massive leaps. The coyote-thing’s muzzle opened impossibly wide to reveal massive, razor-sharp teeth. They closed over the end of the bounty hunter’s rifle and the head attached to the jaws disappeared as the gun unloaded. Each of the creature’s yellow, serpentine eyes flew across the room in opposite directions, ropes of bloody nerves trailing behind.
Two more beasts advanced to replace their fallen brother. The bounty hunter fired. His heart sank as he heard not the ear-numbing boom of his Henry rifle, but the metallic, mocking click of an empty bullet chamber.