Scraps & Chum

by Ryan C. Thomas

  Then, it was a Regular who saw movement in the trees past the Rebels. Something dark and low lurking just out of view. So they want to fight dirty and sneak up on us, the man thought. With a flex of his finger, he fired at the figure in the trees, his shaking hands causing the bullet to veer at an angle and strike one of the rebel’s instead.

  Lead pellets cut the air and men began to fall.

  ***

  Paul and William jerked at the noise. Not far away, the Battle of Lexington Green had begun. How many men will die today, Paul wondered. And do they realize what they are dying for? And a final thought: I am terrified. “You three, get the trunk to John and Sam. William,—”

  “We have work yet to do. I know. Let’s hurry.”

  Mounting Brown Beauty once more, Paul sympathized with the mare’s obvious fatigue. But he was in desperate need of her agility. Should the men on the field fall to the Regulars, the next stop would be Concord, where the munitions cache lay in hiding.

  The two horses pounded over the frozen ground, racing with an urgency they could not understand. The woods closed in on them as the trails narrowed and became a few single paths northward. The chill air was warming ever so slightly, but the remaining fog was still cold.

  “They arrived faster than I thought,” William said over the rapid hoof beats.

  “Lexington will hold them for a few,” Paul replied, “but they will be close behind.”

  “Should we find a blockade, I stand at your side. You know that.”

  “No, should we be blocked one of us must draw all attention so that the other can ride on. Promise me!”

  Both men agreed.

  It was then a horse carrying a lanky man came barreling around a curve in the trail, narrowly missing the riders. Both men reared and up and nearly fell off their steeds. “What the hell!” shouted Paul.

  The new man diverted his horse into the woods and rode behind the trees, pulling his weapon. Paul and William drew their guns and aimed but the thick lattice work of birch and maple branches offered only slivers of the man.

  “There he is!” shouted William.

  “Show yourself!”

  “I can’t get a shot.”

  “There!”

  From out of the trees, the man suddenly appeared with his rifle aimed at Paul. All three men bared their teeth, flexed their stomach muscles. It was Paul who shouted.

  “Nobody shoot!”

  Everyone held their weapons out, nobody daring to move. The man on the horse broke the silence.

  “Dr. Samuel Prescott,” he said, “and you are?”

  Paul nodded. “Paul Revere. This here is William Dawes.”

  “Ah. I’ve heard of you, Mr. Revere.”

  “Have you now?”

  “Of course. I too am a patriot. Your name gets around.”

  “You damn near killed us there.”

  “Many apologies. I did not expect to see anyone on the road.”

  “You’re aware the Regulars are right now fighting in Lexington. Why are you riding about?”

  “I was…visiting…a friend. Something came up. It was better for me to leave.”

  “Ha!” exclaimed William. “I’m not dense, you know. You and your lady friend were caught with your pants down? By her husband, I assume.”

  The three men laughed. In the distance there was a low explosion. The horses became uneasy and walked in circles and the laughter died on the spot.

  “Time for jokes later,” Paul said. “We’re off to Concord. I’ll not have these Regular scum taking our stores.”

  “Concord, huh?” Prescott rubbed his chin. “Well I’m not welcome in Lexington, that’s for sure. But I’m headed to Concord myself.”

  “What for?”

  “Hell, I live there. And I can tell you now, the site of you two riding into town covered in mud and smoke would scare the devil. You’re likely to get shot like that. They know me there. Let me come with you.”

  “You might want to rethink—”

  “Rethink what? Because you are wanted men? I told you, I’m a patriot too. This is revolution and I offer my services for it.”

  William reined in his horse, kicked its side. “You do take risks, don’t you, doctor?”

  The three men headed north through the woods.

  ***

  The beast ran at full tilt, the warm morning air renewing its strength. It knew the man in red on the battlefield had tried to shoot it, and so it was best to get away quickly. Its chest was slowly beginning to heal, but it was getting hungry again. There were hoofprints on the ground, fresh ones, leading to the north. Its prey was riding with companions. No matter, it would take them all out, shred their skin and feast on their viscera. It had been promised rewards, possibly even more human flesh, possibly the chance to remain in this world for good. Its master was harsh, a man with a soul blacker than the beast’s gums, but he was fair.

  The creature found a reserve of energy and bounded forward.

  ***

  A small house sat on the side of a hill, not far from Lincoln. There was no light inside it, and no sign of life save for a small cat sleeping near the door.

  The three riders approached it. They were about to descend their horses and knock on the door to warn the remote inhabitant of the coming threat, when a voice rang out behind them.

  “Halt!”

  The men spun around.

  A small group of Regulars on horseback were aiming their guns at them. They must have been watching us the whole while, Paul thought. They snuck up on us.

  “Ride through!” Paul shouted.

  The group of Regulars rode directly at Paul and his companions. Both parties crashed into each other, the horrific scream of injured horses and terrified men echoing through the dew-covered woods.

  Fists flew, a gun was fired, a horse toppled. Swinging the butt of his rifle, Samuel clipped one of the enemy on the chin and knocked him off his horse. William was engaged in a headlock fight. A bayonet flashed and tore at Paul’s jacket, tearing off a hole above where he’d lost the other piece back in December.

  Both sides bit and punched and kicked.

  Samuel got off another swing and freed William from his captor. The two men fought to get to Paul, who was wrestling a bayonet-tipped rifle away from one of the Regulars. But they were pushed back.

  “Forget it, Samuel! Let’s go!”

  “But Paul—”

  “Will be angry if we don’t leave. Come on!”

  William grabbed Samuel’s horse and yanked it away from the struggle. The two men bounded through the forest, with two Regulars in pursuit.

  ***

  It was over in minutes. Paul sat on the ground, his hands splayed out to his sides, a gun at his head. “Where are you headed?” the British captain asked him.

  Paul answered, “To rouse your demise. Go on and kill me, it’ll serve you no good. I’ve already awakened half the land and warned them.”

  “Have you now? Well, I dare say that your efforts have been in vain.”

  “We have a militia twice the size of your army. You’d do well to return to your cages overseas.”

  A smaller soldier smacked Paul across the back of the head. “Let’s just be done with him now.”

  “I’m not finished,” the captain said. Then to Paul: “Where is the munitions cache? We know it’s in Concord. Tell me where.”

  “Ride to Concord and find it yourself,” Paul spit, “if you can get through our men.”

  The two soldiers who had raced after William and Samuel on horseback returned. One of them was pulling William’s horse behind his own. “They got away, split up. But one is on foot so I don’t think he’ll be a problem.”

  “The other?” The captain asked.

  “Over a rock wall, through the thickets. We couldn’t keep up. Must be a local, he knew exactly where to go. We lost him in the trees.”

  The captain removed his gun from Paul’s head, took a moment to look around, walked to the soldier holding William
’s horse. The morning fog was all but gone, the insects now showing signs of life. The birds were signing joyously, ignorant of the coming bloodshed. Brown Beauty, being held by yet another soldier, sniffed the grass.

  The men began conversing in whispers. Paul could only hear bits and pieces: “If it’s true we’re in trouble…half the countryside… miles to Concord….they might be waiting for us…but we have a weapon…it’s not a rumor, I heard from a confidant…witchcraft they say…found him in Dorchester in a cave…very powerful they say…I’ll take my chances…”

  The captain returned, bent down and looked in Paul’s face. Behind him the horses became unruly, Brown Beauty tugging at her reins. The birds stopped singing.

  “Your tales of a militia may be true, but we have powerful weapons too. Strange, yet powerful ones. So, if you’re not going to tell us where the munitions cache is, then I have no further use for you.”

  He placed his gun against Paul’s head. Before he could pull the trigger something growled and his arm fell in a bloody heap to the ground.

  ***

  It was salivating. This was its prey. It was so overcome with hunger and joy it didn’t care if the red humans were off limits or not. It inched slowly through the tall grass, watching the horses and men. It wanted its kill, and this other human was interfering. Taking its prey from it. With lighting reflexes, it lashed out with its razor sharp claws and took the interfering human’s arm off.

  There were screams, there was blood, it was hungry, this was its prey.

  Now it would feast.

  ***

  “…the bloody hell is that!”

  The soldiers fired, but in their terrified state completely missed the beast. It leapt up and sliced the senior soldier’s head off. Bounding off the torso onto the nearby horse, it bit the ribcage out of the man holding the rein. It turned and bared its teeth, let everyone see its red eyes and horns, wiry hair and brown scales and salamander body, let them know it was from another world.

  “The devil!” somebody screamed. The remaining Regulars took off running and screaming.

  Paul was up in a flash, on top of Brown Beauty. His gun was a ways off. No time to get it. He kicked the horse and rode away.

  ***

  The beast watched him go, taking an extra moment to bite the lower jaw off the last horseman. For good measure, it tore the horses’ throats with a quick swipe of its claws. Then it headed after Paul.

  ***

  “Ride, girl, ride!” Paul shouted. What the devil was that beast? It was certainly no animal. It was something else. It had horns, it had blood red eyes, its claws were sharper than swords.

  The beast’s heavy breath grew louder and louder behind him. It was chasing him and gaining!

  Paul spun around in the saddle and caught sight of the beast speeding down the trail toward him. It was so fast! It darted into the trees and leapt over logs and rocks with the agility of a deer, puffing through remaining patches of morning fog. Within seconds it was running alongside him.

  Paul yanked Brown Beauty to the side. The horse slammed into a tree and spun around like a tornado, let out a guttural wail, and landed on its side in the dirt. Paul went flying into the brush, rolled himself up to his feet as white-hot pain blazed up his side. He snapped a sabre-length limb off the nearest tree. Something wet ran down his side but he dared not look.

  The beast was on the horse before Paul was fully upright, tearing the animal’s insides out and jamming its face down into the newly-opened hole. When it lifted its head, the horse’s heart was in its teeth.

  Standing motionless, Paul watched the beast drop the heart, as if it had more pressing business. It cocked its head and stared at him, bared its blood-stained teeth. Was that recognition in its eyes? Did it know who Paul was?

  Paul hefted the limb.

  The beast leapt.

  With all his might, Paul swung the branch and caught the monster in mid air. The limb broke in two and the beast landed on top of him, snapping at his neck. Without hesitation, Paul rammed the remaining piece of limb into its mouth, driving it straight down its throat until there was a sickening crunch.

  The beast leapt back with the limb sticking out of its mouth, frantically shook its head to dislodge it, finally trying to yank it out with its claws. But it was stuck fast and the beast rolled on the ground in pain and discomfort, choking and gagging.

  “What the hell are you?”

  Paul didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed his side and ran through the woods, back toward the house in the field. As he ran, the creature’s coughs and growls rang through the woods, a pained howling unlike anything from this earth.

  It took several minutes to get back to the house where dead Regulars lay in various states of mutilation on the brown grass. Paul found his gun, along with the Regulars’ weapons, snatched them up and pounded on the door of the house. Still nobody answered, so he kicked it open

  No sooner did he shut it than the beast was charging at the door, the limb free of its mouth. Blood streaked its cheek like war paint. It slammed against the door, knocking dirt loose from the ceiling. Paul threw his back to it to keep it shut and the impact nearly knocked him to the ground. The house was mostly bare, full of dust and cobwebs. Each wall contained a window through which the morning sun shined, dust motes dancing in the rays. It could come through any of the windows, Paul thought.

  “What do you want with me!”

  It continued to crash against the door, shaking the house, but then as quickly as it came, it stopped.

  There was so much adrenaline coursing through Paul he could not breathe slow enough to move without coughing. Where was the damned creature? He spun frantically from window to window but could not see it, though he heard birds taking flight outside.

  The momentary silence that followed was elongated by the thumping sounds of his own heart. Secret weapon, he thought, remembering the words the Regular had used. Is this their secret weapon?

  It crashed through the window next to the door, glass shards shooting through the air. Paul swung the gun in his right hand and fired. It was empty! The beast landed awkwardly and stumbled, was on its side on the floor, attempting to right itself, slipping on the shards.

  He fired the gun in his left, his own gun, but the beast was already in the air and the bullet struck the far wall. He only had a moment to take in the salamander-like head before both beast and man rolled on the floor, into the open fireplace. An old vase, cracked and gray with dust, fell off the mantle and shattered. Paul grabbed the nearest shard, drove it into the beast’s eye and screamed. Razor teeth tore at his arm, sank in near the elbow as he punched the beast in the other eye, momentarily blinding it.

  Scrambling out from under it, Paul found the gun and stabbed the bayonet into the creature’s back. The creature shook to dislodge the knife and the glass shard, lashed out with its claw, missed Paul and tore a chunk out of the wall.

  Paul fell back, landed on his rear with a thud. Blood ran freely from his arm and his side, and his adrenaline was wearing off. Moving pained every part of his body. “All right then, have at me. I’ve done my job, I am prepared!”

  The creature moved forward, a bit slower than before. Its wounds were obvious, but it was still strong. A smell like wet leaves emanated from it, a gooey yellow mucus ran down from its eyes. Its throat was swollen, its chest was torn. It radiated heat, and it was determined to have its meal. With a final roar, it charged at Paul.

  “Our father, who art—”

  A shot rang out; a bullet shattered the far window. Slick blood sprayed into Paul’s face as the beast slammed into him, dragging him across the floor underneath its body, before coming to rest against the wall. Its face lay on Paul’s own, its red eyes staring through him, the bullet hole in its head gushing blood. Slowly, its tongue fell out and flopped on Paul’s neck, dribbled saliva down his shoulder.

  On the verge of tears, Paul fought to control his mind. Whatever it was, it had meant to kill him, and only him,
as if he were the choicest cut of meat in the land. There was recognition in its eyes even now. He couldn’t speak, and his heart began to ache from beating so fast. How does it know me, he wondered. What have I done?

  As he watched, the creature’s eyes drained of color, moving from red to pink to gray. And he saw they were not demon eyes, they were human eyes. “What are you?” Paul asked again.

  Then slowly, the eyes glazed over and all was still, except the sound of someone running toward the house.

  “Paul! Paul are you all right?”

  Tired, sapped of all energy, and in blistering pain, Paul rolled the beast off of him. The door opened, and a man entered, a rifle in his hand. “Paul. Thank goodness I found you. I’m not such a good shot but I think the Lord saw fit to extend a hand this time.”

  Paul smiled as his friend the sexton entered the home, his head covered in sweat and his face lacerated. “How did you know?” Paul asked.

  Pointing to his own face, the man said, “You don’t think I did this myself, do you?”

  The old man helped Paul to his feet, and together they stared at the creature. “It tried to kill me,” the old man said, “but then it left. I followed it to warn people, found a dead man in Medford, some dead chickens, I knew it was heading north. It didn’t make much sense at first, until I remembered what you said, that the Regulars would have us afraid.”

  “You think this…thing…belongs to them?” Secret Weapon, thought Paul.

  “I’m not sure, but it’s odd that it should appear on this night and head north after you did. Some of the Regulars who fell at Lexington talked about secret weapons, dark magic, before they died.”

  “The Regulars? They fell?”

  “They did.” The old man smiled. “They retreated. It was your ride that prepared our militias. Others have already headed north, to await further battle. Paul, you have saved us. You were right, victory will be ours.”

  “Look!’ Paul shouted, and pointed at the beast.

  The creature was melting away before their eyes. Its hair dried up and became dust, its bones shrank into tiny tree branches, its blood ran across the wooden floor and evaporated, fat and viscera bubbled and burned away, its eyes popped and smoked. When it was done, only a black spot remained on the floor.