The Valley

by William Meikle

Big brother is back.

  “You have to Jake. You’ve got folks coming for you. You have to hope they get here. Like you came for me.”

  Jake started to cry. He let the tears come.

  “I came to save you George. And did a piss poor job of it too.”

  “You can’t save everybody Jake,” George said. “I told you that once afore.”

  Jake remembered. Dying squaws, executed braves and murdered children lying naked in the mud; that was the legacy of his army years. He’d spoken up against it, and been court-martialed for his trouble.

  You can’t save everybody Jake

  George had said that when Jake finally got let out of the penitentiary, just before they set out for Montana. Jake was lost in memory and only George starting another coughing fit brought him back.

  “I done need another promise from you Jake,” he said after a while. “These small folk here…I’ll be wanting you to promise to try to save them.”

  “Save them? After they done killed all my friends?”

  “What we did killed more of them than they have killed of us,” George replied. “We let those scorpion things out of the cave. Ain’t you got it yet Jake? Everything that’s happened here ain’t because of the little people. We did it.”

  “You didn’t know any better,” Jake started.

  “That ain’t no kind of excuse a man should be making, and you know it little brother,” George said softly. “Do I have your promise?”

  “You have it…for what it’s worth. I ain’t getting out of these ropes any time soon. “

  “Have faith little brother,” George said. “Mother always said the Lord will provide when times are at their darkest.”

  The Pastor spoke from beside Jake.

  “I’ve been telling him that for weeks, but he ain’t listening.”

  “Is you really a Pastor?” George asked.

  “I was, once,” the man in black said, almost wistfully. “A long time ago.”

  “Do you still know the words?” George said plaintively. “I’m in sore need of some words Pastor.”

  The Pastor nodded.

  “You’re on a hard path son,” he said. “But the Lord is walking beside you every step of the way.”

  The Pastor started to talk to George. Jake left him to it. What he’d seen done in God’s name in the Army had left him with no stomach for bible thumping. Not for himself anyway, although he was glad of the comfort George would take from it.

  Jake was surprised to notice he could see George’s face clearly.

  Daylight came in from outside. It looked soft and diffuse, and Jake soon realized why. Rain pattered on the stone at the entrance to the cave.

  Every rainy day after that they fed another of us to the beasts.

  A cold shiver ran up Jake’s spine that had nothing to do with the damp of the cave.

  19

  Frank came out of a dream of warm sunshine to feel heat on his face. His eyelids were gummed together with sleep. He tried to raise his left hand to rub them clear, but his hand refused to respond to the command. He rolled over slightly, towards the warmth, wiping his eyes on his right forearm. He lay next to the fire that had warmed the right side of his body. The left side felt as cold as a slab of stone.

  And damned near as inflexible.

  He tried to sit up. It took three attempts, the third taking all the strength he had in his right arm. The left hung uselessly at his side sending drumming pain all through him when he tried to move it. He groaned as he pushed himself upright.

  Pat was by his side in seconds. The big man helped him sit up.

  “How you feeling Frank?”

  Terrible. I ache all over, my arm feels like it’s going to fall off, I’m weak, light headed and I might upchuck at any second.

  “Better,” he said to Pat, and managed a smile. The big man smiled back. He went to the back of the alcove and came back with the water skins and some hard tack.

  “We got us some jerky too,” Pat said. “But I figured we better save something. We might be here for a while, what with waiting for you getting better an’ all?”

  Frank nodded, too weak to speak. He noticed that Pat carried the pistol in his right hand.

  “Trouble?” he said, pointing at the gun.

  Pat shook his head.

  “Nothin’ special. The big cat ain’t deaded though. I done heard him a-roaring and a-mewling most of the night. And there’s some big cows out there somewhere too.”

  It was only then that Frank noticed it was daylight. He pushed himself to the edge of the cliff and looked out over the valley.

  “Any sign of Jake and the others?” he asked.

  Pat shook his head.

  “Do you think they’re okay Frank?”

  Frank tried to keep it light.

  “They’ll be back at the Creek having breakfast and wondering where we’re at,” he said. “And then they’ll come looking for us.”

  Pat didn’t look convinced.

  “Do you think?” he said quietly.

  Now that Frank was fully awake he saw that Pat’s eyes had sunk inwards, black bags underneath showing that the big man was dog-tired.

  “Did you stay up all night big man?”

  Pat nodded.

  “I had to keep watch. Just in case. Ain’t gonna let that big cat nowhere near you again.”

  Frank nodded.

  “Thanks big man. Now it’s my turn. Get my pipe and give me the gun. I’ll keep watch for a stretch.”

  He knew just how tired the big man was when he got no argument back. Pat lay down.

  “There’s plenty of wood,” he said. “Ain’t no need to go looking for more. Just keep stoking the fire.”

  And with that he was asleep.

  Frank got the smoke going before scanning the valley.

  It was still early morning. A watery sun tried to poke through thin cloud far away to the East. A fine mist hung over the valley floor and a thin rain fell softly all around.

  A bellow came from his right.

  Pat’s big cows?

  But these were no cows. The herd came into view through the mist. In the lead was a large bull, tusks bent in a huge arc in front of it, sweeping aside the snow to reach the grass underneath. Frank had seen something close once before, many years ago, at a circus in Augusta. There they had called it a Pachyderm. It had been a sad looking gray thing the size of two horses and as tame as an old dog. What he saw now was no tame beast.

  It was hard to judge size from his elevated position, but as far as he could tell the bull stood near ten feet high at the shoulder. It was covered head to tail in thick matted fur that looked black in the dim dawn light. The beast raised a long trunk and bellowed again. Behind him the herd joined in. Thirty or more of them had now appeared from the mist. The noise echoed around the valley as they headed for the lake.

  Watering time.

  The big bull snorted as it got close to the water, and slowed down. The herd slowed to a stop behind it. The bull used its trunk to sniff the air cautiously. It stomped the ground with a noise that once more echoed around the cliffs. Behind it the herd bellowed.

  They look skittish. Like cattle that know a cougar is around.

  The bull stood there for some time. It swayed from side to side, stomping the ground again and again. Eventually it moved towards the water.

  Either it has decided it is safe…or they are so thirsty, they have to take the risk.

  Frank soon saw that it was indeed too risky. Long gray shapes showed in the lake, creeping just under the water.

  Scorpions.

  He could see them from on high, but the bull, being down at water level, would have no idea of the danger.

  The herd moved forward as one, bellowing as they came, suddenly excited.

  The ones at the front didn’t stand a chance.

  The scorpions came out of the water like trout jumping for a fly, latching themselves onto the beasts at trunk, legs and necks. Tails whipped, sending barbs deep
into flesh through the hair.

  Three of the shaggy brutes staggered, their legs going weak.

  The big bull went berserk. The long tusks tossed from side to side. Scorpions flew in the air, some splashing in the lake only to come scuttling back again, others landing on their backs in the slush only to swivel and turn upright in one smooth move.

  The bull stomped one of the scorpions into a pulp but two others latched claws onto his trunk. He bellowed in pain and swung the trunk violently from side to side. The scorpions hung on. A barbed tail sunk deep into the beast’s shoulder. He buckled, then bellowed his fury. A massive foot squished another scorpion, but the bull was weakening fast. Another barbed tail hit him, just beneath the eye. This time he fell, with a thud that Frank heard even on the cliff above.

  The scorpions swarmed over him like ants to sugar.

  Three other shaggy beasts had also fallen the same way. Four mounds of the scorpions writhed, claws clacking. The water of the lake flowed red as they stripped meat from bone as effectively as any Augusta butcher could.

  Away from the shoreline the remainder of the shaggy herd bellowed mournfully.

  But none approached the water.

  Some of the scorpions carried chunks of bloody flesh in their claws, some pieces near as big as the scorpions themselves. They soon formed a long straggling line along the near shore of the lake as they headed back to the stream.

  Suddenly Frank remembered the small waterfall and the gory remains on the shelf.

  They’re headed back to the cave. Back to their larder.

  They’re storing food for their young.

  A chill ran down his spine that no amount of stoking the fire would shift.

  He lit up another pipe and watched the beasts that were left finish stripping the shaggy bull.

  Suddenly a drumbeat started up on the far side of the valley.

  The scorpions stopped working on the shaggy beasts. Claws lifted in the air, as if tasting the sound.

  The drum beat got louder. It seemed to be coming from the same area where Frank had seen the smoke the day before. The scorpions slid back into the lake and, moving like gray shadows, they headed straight for the source of the noise.

  20

  George’s head jerked up when the drumbeat started.

  “They’ll be coming for me soon,” he said. “Remember your promises Jake. I ain’t wanting no fuss. I done made my peace with God and the Pastor here.”

  Jake could hardly speak.

  “I ain’t gonna just let you die George. You can’t ask me to do that.”

  George spoke softly.

  “Little brother, I’m ready. Better a quick death than rotting in this cave. I want to see the sky and feel the air on my face, just once more afore I go. Let me go.”

  Jake couldn’t think of a single thing to say, but George wasn’t finished.

  “There’s one more thing I done remembered. When we first got here, they fed us better. We had fish, and meat that tasted like coney and deer. But after a week or two that all stopped. You see what that means, don’t you?”

  Jake couldn’t get his brain to focus, but the Squire was paying attention.

  “Something is eating the small prey? And stopping these people from getting their share?”

  George nodded. He coughed, and more blood ran down his chest. Jake saw with increasing horror that there seemed to be solid lumps of tissue among the blood.

  “And we know what that something is. Judging by some of the noises I’ve been hearing, they’ve been making a start on bigger beasts. But that ain’t the main problem. The main problem is what happens when they finish with chowing down on everything in this valley and move out to Ruby Creek.”

  Irish Jim saw kelpies in the lake. And we killed one that was going after the horses.

  They’ve already started.

  There was a noise at the front of the cave. The drumming got louder, and a soft rustling told them that a group of the small people was approaching.

  “George,” Jake whispered. “Don’t go.”

  George started to cough again, and fought to speak through bloody lips.

  “Remember Jake,” he whispered. “No fussing.”

  Jake sat quietly with tears rolling down his cheeks as the small people, almost reverentially, got George to his feet and herded him out of the alcove. They didn’t need to use their spears. George didn’t show any signs of putting up a fight.

  He looked back just once.

  “Remember your promises little brother,” he said. “And tell Maureen I thought of her every night.”

  Then George was gone.

  The drumbeat speeded up, and got louder. A soft chanting joined it. It sounded almost like church music, almost peaceful.

  But peaceful was the last thing Jake felt. He started to struggle against his bonds.

  “George,” he shouted. “George!”

  He thrashed from side to side until the ropes tore at his skin. But he was tied too tight.

  “George!” he shouted again.

  “Hush lad,” the Pastor said quietly. “Remember your promise.”

  “Fuck the promise,” Jake said, struggling harder against the ropes.

  The Pastor spoke softly but his voice had a hard edge to it.

  “If I could get out if these bonds I’d smack you on the head until you went quiet. Do you want the last thing he hears to be you breaking your word? You need to be better than that.”

  Jake slowly calmed as the Pastor’s words sank in.

  “That’s better,” the Pastor said. “Now pray with me.”

  “I done told you, I don’t go for no churching.”

  “But your brother did. So do it for him.”

  The Pastor started to pray. Jake had been expecting something about the Vale of Death or walking in the Shadow of Evil, but the older man surprised him.

  Come let us praise the Lord with joy: let us joyfully sing to God our saviour.

  Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving; and make a joyful noise to him with psalms.

  For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all gods.

  For in his hand are all the ends of the earth: and the heights of the mountains are his.

  The Pastor stopped, but the drumbeats went on. “We are all God’s children,” he said. “We three here, your brother, and the people who, in their fear, have taken him. All of us are God’s children, and he will watch over us.”

  Somewhere outside George began to scream.

  21

  There are people over there. A lot of them.

  Frank guessed it might be a native tribe. Many of the natives had moved north and west ahead of the ever-growing push of settlers, and it was logical that some would end up in the mountains.

  The drums got louder, and were soon joined by singing. Frank could no longer see the dark shapes of the scorpions, but he had no doubt they were still moving towards the sound.

  The screams, when they came, jolted him to the core.

  Is that Jake? Or the Squire?

  Frank looked round hastily. Pat still slept, for which Frank was grateful.

  That ain’t a noise the big man needs to hear.

  The screams got louder still, loud enough to overwhelm the drumming and singing. Mercifully they did not last long. They cut off abruptly. The drums and singing also stopped and silence descended on the valley.

  In some ways, this is worse. I need to do something.

  Frank tried to push his body upright, but he was still as weak as a baby. Lifting the pistol proved almost too much effort for him. He got the gun as far as his lap and nestled it there, cocked and ready should it be needed.

  He knew that if those drums started up again he would have to move, but for now rest was all he could do; rest, and try to have enough strength ready for when it was needed.

  The fire crackled loudly. He threw two more logs on it. Sometime soon he’d have to wake Pat and send the man off to look for more firewood. But Pat slept
the sleep of the just, thumb in his mouth, smile on his face and a snore on his lips.

  I’ll give him a while longer yet.

  Frank turned back to the scene in the valley.

  The scorpions below made quick work of the shaggy beasts. Soon there was little left but bone and tattered skin. One by one the scorpions joined the end of the line departing off towards the stream until only the gory remains were left behind.

  The remainder of the pachyderm herd set up a mournful bellow. They stood, heads swaying, trunks dragging on the grass, moving to a rhythm that only they understood. But they came no closer to the water. Seconds later they turned and moved off -- soon to be lost in the mist and fog.

  Then something large and black swooped down from above. At first Frank took it for a crow, then his sense of perspective kicked in. It was the first of many eagles to descend to pick over the bones.

  Once more the valley fell deathly quiet, the only sound the crackling of the fire behind him and the steady drip of rainwater onto the rock beyond the overhang.

  Well, you wanted solitude Frank. Looks like you’ve got it.

  He smoked another pipe. He was getting through his tobacco fast, but the way things were, he might not be around long enough to get to the bottom of the pouch. His shoulder ached, alternating hot and cold. He’d rolled over onto it while he slept, and the pressure had caused blood to seep through Pat’s bandages. He touched the cloth and his fingers came away tacky.

  He was also trying not to think of where Pat had got the cloth. It felt suspiciously like the material of an undershirt, and if that was the case, he knew for a fact that Pat hadn’t changed it for weeks.

  Blood loss now, or gangrene later. Smoke them while you’ve got them.

  There was no more movement from the far side of the valley. The figures he’d seen earlier had all gone back into the cave. The only sign of life was the eagles. They worked frantically on the carcasses, tearing away at the scraps of meat the scorpions had left behind.

  Suddenly a roar echoed around the valley. The eagles took flight, black wings flapping furiously until they got high enough to glide into a thermal. A long orange body came into view below.

  The cat. It’s still alive.