by Hill, Bear
“Oh,“ Farnsworth said, fear dawning on his face. “Pardon me.“
The reverend shook his head and released Farnsworth’s arm. “Anyway, Santa Anna must have been readying for another try at Mexico that never came. Somehow, this place must have been forgotten about.“
“Or abandoned in great haste,“ Maxine said.
Wilson grinned. “Well, yea for El Presidente!“ He came to a large, dust-covered tarp and yanked it from its resting place. “Holy shit. Look at this.“
The tarp had been covering a large, six-barreled gun mounted on wagon wheels.
Private Sanchez joined Wilson. “It’s a fucking Gatling gun.“ His eyes moved to the box-shaped hump the tarp had made when coming to rest. He walked over to the tarp and drew it back. A crate full of loaded hoppers met his eyes. “And we’ve got ammo.“ Suddenly, the delight drained out of Sanchez’s face. He dropped the tarp, doubled over, and grimaced in pain.
“Hey,“ Wilson asked. “You all right?“
“Yeah,“ Sanchez said as he regained his composure. “Just a bellyache. I’ll be fine.“
The bounty hunter joined them and looked the scene over. “Can you operate this thing, Private?“
“You bet your ass I can.“ Sanchez said. Whatever pain had seized him seemed to have passed.
“Good. Let’s get those planks beneath it positioned at the trapdoor and pull this thing upstairs.“
“What the hell for?“ Wilson asked. “The door’s barred. Those things can’t get in. The gun wouldn’t do us any good up there.“
“It sure as hell won’t do us any good sitting down here, gathering dust,“ the bounty hunter said. “Look, the private said there ain’t gonna be a sunrise. Sooner or later, we’re going to have to make a break for it. And who knows what we’re going to need. This thing could mean the difference in us getting out alive or ending up as dinner.“
Wilson nodded and then grabbed for one of several boards resting beneath the gun. In no time, they were heaving the Gatling gun up the makeshift ramp using ropes they’d found. They’d just finished rolling the gun out of the hole when the screams began.
“Hell, boy,“ Hank said. “Told you we’d make out like bandits.“ Robby and Hank sat shoulder-to-shoulder beneath a starry New Mexico sky. They passed a jug of whiskey as beans cooked over their campfire. “Did you see that stupid Yankee hand over his money for that bogus claim?“
“I saw him, Hank,“ Robby said. “I saw his dumb ass—“ Robby paused as sick surged up his throat into his mouth. He could smell the stink of whiskey and half-digested beef fill his nostrils from the inside-out. He steadied himself and swallowed. “I saw his dumb ass sign the paper and throw down them greenbacks.“
“You’re goddamn right you saw him.“ Hank handed Robby the whiskey jug. “Here, have another drink. That’s right, drink up.“
Robby took a long pull and the world before him wavered. “We going to spend it in town, Hank? We going to buy us some whores?“
Hank belched and the stench of alcohol filled the air. “All the whores and whiskey two sonsabitches like us could want, Robby.“
Robby hooted in approval as he handed the jug back to Hank. “I ain’t never had it as good since I done hooked up with you, Hank.“
“You’re damn right you ain’t never had it so good. Ol’ Hank will take you places, Robby. You just watch and see if he don’t.“
“Can I have my share of the money, Hank?“
Hank paused in mid-drink and lowered the bottle from his face. “What the hell for? I told you I was keeping it safe for you. Criminetly, don’t you trust me?“
“Course I trust you, Hank. I just wanted—“
“What, you going to run off and leave ol’ Hank? You going to take your share and run?“
“Gosh no, Hank. Hell no! I just wanted to feel of it for a bit.“
“And then your sorry drunk ass goes stumbling off in the middle of the night to take a piss and then wakes up the next morning with the money gone, lying God knows where out in the wild.
“You sure you’re not just wanting to let out on ol’ Hank?“
“No Hank,“ Robby said. “I told you, I ain’t never had it so good. I don’t never want to leave you. Never! I…I love you, Hank.“
Hank wiped his mustachioed mouth and looked Robby in the eye. “You do, huh?“
“Gosh, you know it, Hank.“
Robby watched in silence as Hank unbuttoned his trousers and leaned back.
“Then show me.“
As the armory was being discovered, Robby sat in the main room, teary-eyed and sniffling as he stared at the inverted cross branded onto the end of his arm.
This never would have happened if you’d been here, Hank. It’s no good without you. I didn’t mean to lose you. Honest I didn’t. I just got scared…got lost in the fog. I…I…God, I need a drink. Just a little something to set me right. Just a swig. That’s all. Oh, Hank.
Robby buried his face in his good hand and began to sob. “What am I going to do, Hank? What am I going to do?“
Robby straightened as three loud knocks echoed from the church doors. “What the fuck?“ Robby whispered. He looked to Pablo. The boy sat against the eastern wall, opposite the stacked pews. “Did you hear that?“ Pablo gave no answer.
Robby craned his head to stare at the curtain concealing the rectory. He was considering calling to the others when three more knocks sounded from outside. He started, his gaze locking on the door once again. His heart began to race. Sweat beaded on his skin like dew. “Is,“ Robby stammered, “is somebody out there?“
Robby.
The word came through the door, low and drawn out, spoken as if by someone trying to remember how to use their voice.
“Oh shit,“ Robby whimpered. “Ohshitohshitohshit.“ He glanced at Pablo. “You had to hear that…?“ Pablo sat mumbling to himself, oblivious.
Robby.
“Hey,“ Robby called to the reverend’s study. “Something’s going on out here.“ He could hear movement and muffled voices on the other side of the rectory curtain, but no one answered his call.
Let me in, Robby.
Icy spiders of terror crawled the length of Robby’s spine. He began to shake and stuffed he charred stump in his mouth to stop his teeth from chattering.
Let me in, Robby. I’m all alone out here.
“Goddamnit, who’s there?“
Help me, Robby. I need you.
Robby stopped shaking and rose into a crouch, a stupefied expression on his face. “Hank…? Is that you, Hank?“
Let me in, Robby.
Robby got to his feet. He glanced back at the rectory curtain, considering what he should do.
Please, Robby. Hurry. They’re coming.
Robby heard the howls of the skinwalkers begin to rise once again in the distance, and his decision was made for him. Hank will know what to do, he thought. Get him in here so he can tell that nigger to go to hell and then he’ll sort things out.
“I’m coming, Hank.“ Robby ran to the door. “Hold on, Hank. I’m coming.“
Robby tried sliding the large wooden post out from the iron brackets holding it in place, but it wouldn’t budge.
Hurry, Robby. Hurry.
“Hold on Hank. I’m working on it.“
Robby went over to the post’s right side and grasped it with his stump and good hand. He leaned in, pushing against the post’s end with all his weight. “I’m,“ Robby strained, “coming, Hank.“ The post slipped one inch, then two. “Hold on, Hank.“ The post’s length slipped out of the nearest bracket. “I’m coming.“ Robby strained and pushed. Just as the post cleared the crease separating the two doors, they burst open, throwing Robby to the floor.
Robby looked up, and the smell of shit filled the room as his bowels released. The ancient’s dead eyes hovered in the fog outside the door, magnified a hundred times their actual size. Below them, four skinwalkers crouched, growling, their lips curled back to reveal giant, yellow canines. As the s
kinwalkers pounced, Robby left this world with Hank’s name as a scream on his lips.
“Take cover!“
The bounty hunter—then a soldier in the 54th Massachusetts Infantry—dived for the beach. The ground shook, erupting into a geyser of sand, smoke and flame beside him. Unable to see through the haze of dust, he patted down his body, his hands moving quickly over his sand-encrusted uniform. He sighed in relief to find he was okay.
The soldier scooped up his musket and got to his feet. He scrambled through the sand to rejoin his company where they hid behind a large dune.
“Charge!“ a voice commanded. The soldier recognized it. It was Colonel Shaw. The infantrymen around him leapt from their hiding place and crested the dune. After a moment of hesitation, the soldier ran after them.
In the distance, rows of silent gun blasts twinkled along their objective, the sand-mountain that was Fort Wagner. The lines of men in front of him convulsed and fell over, mowed down by Confederate bullets. The soldier had just enough time to scream in outrage before something scalding hot crashed into his hip and sent him hurtling backward over the dune.
He looked up and his outrage was replaced by horror as the dead, bullet-riddled corpses of his squad came rolling down the hill of sand to pile on top of him.
The bounty hunter entered the sanctuary, revolvers drawn. The smell of blood and shit hung in the air, but it was what he saw that made his gorge rise. Three skinwalkers sat hunched over Robby’s mutilated corpse, feasting on his guts. Pablo sat against the wall rocking back and forth, his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. Another skinwalker crouched over the boy. He sniffed him, confused by his lack of fear.
“Pablo!“ Maxine rushed past the bounty hunter into the sanctuary. Wilson entered on her heels and caught her.
The bounty hunter fired at the skinwalker near Pablo. The monster ducked its head, the bullet merely grazing its ear. The skinwalker whirled and bared its teeth.
“For Christ’s sake!“ Wilson said. “Shoot it!“
Got to be sure this time, the bounty hunter thought as he took aim. Didn’t get to reload.
At that moment, one of the skinwalkers eating Robby took notice of them and charged. The bounty hunter fired. The bullet caught the creature beneath its jaw and exited out the top its head, a rope of brain and gore trailing behind it.
Maxine screamed as the skinwalker beside Pablo scooped up her son in a long, furry arm and scampered out the door into the fog-enshrouded night. The bounty hunter picked off the last two skinwalkers eating Robby’s corpse just as several more bounded in through the church doors.
Little Joe’s voice boomed from the rectory. “Get down!“ The bounty hunter dropped to the floor. Maxine and Wilson dived right. The sound of rapid gunfire erupted behind them. Bullets came in waves through the rectory curtain, shredding it to pieces before sending the skinwalkers to their deaths.
The Gatling gun came rolling into the sanctuary, still singing its song of death and leaving a trail of spent cartridges in its wake. Little Joe and Farnsworth emerged behind it. They rolled the mounted gun forward on its wagon wheels as Sanchez turned the crank.
Skinwalkers entered the church in a berserker rage only to yowl and drop dead a few feet inside the door. Finally, the tide halted, the howls once again receding into the distance.
The Gatling gun quieted.
“Cover me!“ the bounty hunter charged for the doors. Little Joe followed suit. They leaped over the skinwalker corpses and wedged themselves behind the doors. Each man began shoving a door closed. It wasn’t any easier for them this time around. “Professor!“ the bounty hunter shouted as continued backing his door closed. “The crosspiece! Get the crosspiece!“
Farnsworth’s eyes fell upon the wooden post dangling from the door before the bounty hunter. The writer surged forward, the severed chain at his ankle clanking, and thrust his shoulder against the post’s hanging end. Wilson joined him and minutes later, the doors were secured.
They moved away from the doors, clearing a path for the Gatling gun should its repulsing force prove necessary. When, after several minutes, no pounding sounded from outside, the men relaxed.
The bounty hunter turned and approached Maxine. The reverend held her in his arms as she cried. The bounty hunter nodded to Phillips and he released her. Maxine looked up, fury in her wet eyes. She slapped the bounty hunter and began to beat his chest with her fists.
“You let them take him, you bastard!“ she yelled. “You let them take my son! You were supposed to protect us! You were supposed to keep us safe!“ After some time, Maxine quieted and her punches stopped. She collapsed into the bounty hunter’s arms. He pulled her close and cradled her so she that she cried into his chest.
Each of them could hear the ancient’s mocking laughter as it echoed with supernatural volume in the night.
From Skinwalkers, a screenplay by Bear Hill…
ACT 6: THE CHASE
CUT TO:
EXTERIOR: CANYON IN NEW MEXICO DESERT – NIGHT LANDSCAPE ENSHROUDED BY GREEN FOG
Still shot of SWIRLING FOG. After several seconds, MOVING IN SLOW MOTION, SEVERAL FLEEING 1ST NMVC SOLDIERS APPEAR out of the FOG RIDING on HORSEBACK. At last, PRIVATE SANCHEZ EMERGES from the fog.
CLOSE UP: Still in SLO-MO, Sanchez TURNS in his saddle, a terrified look on his face, and gazes back into the fog.
CAMERA POV CHANGES to that of Sanchez. SLO-MO speed continues as a few LOPING SHAPES of SKINWALKERS APPEAR within the fog. They increase in number until they are a black tide of approaching monsters.
CAMERA CHANGES POV to show Sanchez TURNING back around in his saddle and SPURRING HIS MOUNT ONWARD. CAMERA PANS OUT to REVEAL TWO RIDERS immediately FOLLOWING Sanchez. We hear the drawn out ROARS of the skinwalkers as several of them POUNCE as a single wave onto the riders following Sanchez, TAKING DOWN both HORSES and RIDERS.
CLOSE UP: of Sanchez.
CAMERA CHANGES to SANCHEZ’S POV. CLOSE UP. TIME suddenly CATAPULTS FORWARD as the dark shape of a HOWLING skinwalker LEAPS UP out of the fog at Sanchez.
CAMERA CHANGES POV, PANNING OUT to SHOW Sanchez REER his HORSE UP ON ITS HINDLEGS. The horse WHINNIES and KICKS the skinwalker AWAY with its FORELEGS.
Sanchez quickly STEADIES his horse and SPURS it back into a RUN. As Sanchez GALLOPS FORWARD through the RANKS OF HIS FELLOW SOLDIERS, we can now HEAR the incessant ROARS OF THE SKINWALKERS and both SEE AND HEAR FLASHES OF GUNFIRE as they ERUPT throughout the fog. The soldiers have RUN into an AMBUSH.
CLOSE UP of Sanchez. Sanchez LOOKS upward as he HEARS the ROAR of an attacking skinwalker.
CAMERA CHANGES TO SANCHEZ’S POV to SHOW a skinwalker LEAPING DOWN THROUGH the fog from the CANYON WALL to ATTACK Sanchez.
CAMERA changes POV, PANNING BACK TO SHOW the skinwalker TACKLING Sanchez from his horse.
They HIT the mist enshrouded GROUND, with Sanchez PINNED BENEATH the skinwalker. The Skinwalker RAISES a bloody clawed HAND and then BRINGS it SLASHING DOWNWARD TO OPEN SANCHEZ’S BELLY.
EXTREME CLOSE UP. Sanchez’s GUTS EMERGE from his belly, LOOKING LIKE A PACK OF GIANT BLOODY WORMS BURSTING FROM A ROTTED MELON.
EXTREME CLOSE UP. Sanchez SCREAMS.
CLOSE UP. The skinwalker THROWS BACK its HEAD and ROARS in triumph.
EXTREME CLOSE UP. The END OF A BAYONET SPRINGS OUT of the skinwalker’s THROAT IN A GUSH OF BLOOD, KILLING IT INSTANTLY.
CAMERA PANS BACK to REVEAL CORPORAL MARTINEZ STANDING behind the skinwalker he has just KILLED. He retracts his bayonet and the skinwalker FALLS OFF of Sanchez and OVER ONTO ITS SIDE.
Martinez TRIES TO HELP Sanchez to his feet as the Private SCREAMS AND TRIES TO HOLD IN HIS OWN GUTS.
MARTINEZ (YELLING)
Come on, Hector! Come on!
SANCHEZ (SCREAMING)
Oh God! Oh God! Oh Jesus!
Martinez SUCCEEDS in GETTING SANCHEZ TO HIS FEET AND MOUNTED ATOP his horse.
Martinez MOUNTS his horse behind Sanchez and SPURS it into a run …
Chapter
8
THE TRANSFORMATION
“The boy?“ Garrett asked. “The boy’s simple. I got no use for him. No deal.“
Maxine gently pushed Pablo aside and sashayed the two steps separating her from Garrett. She encircled his neck with her arms and pressed her face to his cheek so she could whisper softly into his ear. “Oh, but, Mr. Garrett. I’m well worth it.“ She reached down and rubbed his crotch as she licked his earlobe. “In fact, you could have ten little ones running around your saloon and never notice it with me there to keep you and the rest of the men in town occupied.“
Garrett’s face went lax as he stiffened in her hand. Little Joe looked over his boss’s shoulder and watched, his expression indifferent.
“You really that good, lady?“ Garrett asked.
Max lifted her hand and then pushed it inside the front of Garrett’s trousers. “Take me upstairs and let me show you just how good I can really be. On the house, of course. Call it a free sample.“
“Me first. Then the Indian.“
“Of course. At the same time, if you like.“ Maxine removed her hand from Garrett’s trousers and began to lead the men inside the saloon. “Stay here, Pablo.“ Maxine commanded. “Behave.“
Pablo paid her no notice. He was totally consumed in counting the grains of wood lining the planks of the porch. So much so, he failed to notice when three large boys came to stand in front of him.
“What are you looking at?“ The biggest of the three, obviously their leader, asked. Pablo didn’t answer. He stood with his head bowed, counting to himself.
The leader jabbed his thumb at one of the grinning boys behind him. “Larry here says he seen you yesterday mumbling nonsense to yourself. He thinks you’re a dunce.“