The Valley

by William Meikle

  In the back of his mind he kept seeing the glistening scorpion eggs on the walls of the newly opened cavern. He knew he’d have to deal with that, sometime.

  Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves here. One thing at a time.

  The next time he stoked the fire Pat woke up.

  “Take a spell yourself Frank,” Pat said as he stood. “I ain’t going back to sleep anytime soon, and, pardon my French, but you look like shit.”

  So much for feeling better.

  But Frank didn’t argue. He lay down by the fire. He made sure the pistol was near his hand, put his head on his shoulder bag, and was asleep in seconds.

  He was too tired to dream.

  Some time later he came up out of sleep to feel hot breath at his cheek. At first he thought he must have rolled over too near the fire again. Then he heard the breathing, hot and heavy.

  It smelled of raw meat.

  He opened his eyes and looked up at the yellow stare and drooling muzzle of the large wolf. It stood over him, sniffing at the wound on his shoulder.

  It has smelled the blood.

  Out of the side of his eye he saw that the fire had gone out.

  Where’s Pat?

  Slowly, so as not to panic the beast, he inched his hand towards the pistol. The wolf started to paw at the bandages on his shoulder. The pain went up a notch, then flared in a searing heat as the wound split and began to bleed again.

  The wolf lowered its head and started to lick roughly at the blood oozing through the bandage.

  Frank got his hand on the butt of the pistol.

  Is it loaded?

  He couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter. Either it was loaded, in which case he had a chance, or the wolf was about to make a meal out of his arm.

  The wolf’s drool dripped in ropy strands and he had to twist his face aside to avoid getting it in his mouth. The animal growled from deep in its throat. It opened its jaws and lunged…just as Frank brought the pistol up and put a shot in its left ear from right up close.

  The noise rang in his head as he pushed the wolf off and rolled away. Pat woke up and yelled loudly in fright. Another beast left the cave fast. Frank only saw its tail as it fled.

  Frank raised the pistol again and pointed it at the wolf. It didn’t move. When he stood over it he saw why. Although there was only a small powder burn at the left ear, the whole right hand side of its head was blown out; brain and bone scattered against the cave wall.

  Pat came over and looked down at the body.

  “Can we eat this one Frank? Can we?”

  28

  The Pastor woke Jake in the morning.

  “Jake!” he said, insistently. “Jake!”

  Jake’s first thought was that he’d missed breakfast, and that George would need some help out in the fields. Then he remembered where he was, and the despair hit him like a hammer.

  “I done heard you Pastor,” he replied. “Ain’t no need to shout.”

  “It is raining again,” the Pastor said softly.

  “Well ain’t that a good reason to wake me up,” Jake said. “I was having a fine dream about pancakes and maple syrup.”

  “Save some for me,” the Squire said behind him. “And a pot of Rosy-Lee would go down a treat.”

  The Pastor looked at both of them as if they were mad.

  “It never does any good to make light of a situation,” he said.

  The Squire laughed.

  “In my experience, it never does any good not to.”

  “I thought I heard a shot in the night,” the Pastor went on. “I was only half-awake, and it only came once. But it was another shot, I’m sure of it.”

  “Then chin up old man,” the Squire said. “Today we’ll have our freedom once more.”

  The Pastor looked glum.

  “I have a shadow on my soul this morning,” he said. “A chill that no amount of praying will shift. I hope you are right. But I fear you are wrong.”

  The Squire was already back working on his bonds. More blood dripped steadily from his wrists and his hands looked pale and swollen like ripe fruit. But still he smiled.

  “Bear up Pastor. I am almost there. Another hour and we’ll be out in the sunshine. That will lift your chill soon enough.”

  They were not given the hour.

  A rustling came from the main cave. The little people thronged at the entrance of the alcove seconds later, all of them carrying the short stone spears, holding them out in front of their bodies as if expecting an attack.

  “I would try to use charm on them,” the Squire said laughing. “But I’m having a hard time distinguishing which are the women-folk.”

  The small people came forward warily.

  The Pastor looked straight at them, and spoke, his voice resonating and booming.

  Comfort those who sit in darkness, mourning 'neath their sorrow's load. For the glory of the Lord now o'er earth is shed abroad; and all flesh shall see the token that His word is never broken.

  “Amen Pastor,” the Squire said softly.

  After much high chattering the small people started to poke and prod at the Pastor, urging him to his feet.

  “Take me,” the Squire shouted. “Take me.”

  But the small people had made their choice. They seemed excited, eager almost as they poked their spears into the Pastor’s ribs. The man in black continued to stare at them as they began to push him up from the floor of the cave.

  “It seems it is my turn to stand up and be counted,” he said.

  Jake thrashed and cursed, but his bonds held tight.

  “Quiet lad,” the Pastor said as he stood upright. “You made your brother a promise. Now make me the same one. You will save these children.”

  Jake spat.

  “These are no children,” he said. “They will stand by and watch you get fed to yon scorpions, then come back here and laugh about it.”

  “Nevertheless, you will save them,” the man in black said as they led him away. He shouted back, having to raise his voice to be heard. “The only way to save yourself is to save them.”

  “What the hell does that mean,” Jake shouted, but the Pastor had already been led off out of the cave.

  “Work faster,” Jake said at the Squire. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  The Englishman’s face was white with pain and blood ran freely to pool on the floor beneath his hands.

  “Righty-ho Gaffer,” he said, and tried to smile. “I’ll be right with you.”

  Outside, the drums started to beat.

  29

  Frank heard the drums start as they skirted the carcasses of the shaggy beasts.

  For the first time since the original cat attack he felt almost human.

  Last night Pat had butchered the wolf like an expert and then slow cooked it in stages over the fire.

  “You done this before big man?” Frank had asked.

  “Only with jackrabbits,” Pat replied. “But a wolf ain’t much more than a big jackrabbit with teeth anyhow.”

  It took some time for Pat to prepare and cook the wolf. Frank slipped in and out of a fitful sleep while Pat turned the makeshift spit. At some point later Pat announced it was ready.

  “Well, as ready as it’s every gonna be.”

  It had been surprisingly easy to eat. The meat seemed to give Frank renewed strength and vigor. They had taken turns on watch through the remainder of the night but there were no more visits by the pack. Just before dawn Frank heard their high ethereal howling in the hills away to the west, and guessed a new pack leader was being chosen. The howls went on for many minutes, hanging, almost tangible, over the otherwise silent valley. The cloud cover had lifted and the stars sparkled like diamonds in the crisp night air.

  A man could get to like this place… if he could just live long enough to enjoy it.

  Frank had a smoke as the sun came up, then he woke Pat.

  “Come on big man. Let’s go and find our friends.”

  “You fe
eling well enough Frank?” Pat asked.

  Frank had nodded.

  Better than them at any rate I suspect.

  They got as much of the remaining meat as they could carry into Pat’s back-pack and tossed the rest of the remains into the trees. Frank loaded the pistol and slung the holster at his waist… his shoulder wouldn’t take the pressure.

  Big Pat had refused to let go of the large axe.

  “I’ll hold onto this,” he said. “Just in case there’s any more surprises.”

  Ten yards inside the trees they found what was left of the big cat; a small, almost neat, pile of skin and bone with only scraps of flesh left on either. Wolf tracks led away north and upwards. Frank led Pat down towards the valley floor.

  They had headed down the hill just as a rain shower swept through the valley. Within a minute they were soaked through most of the layers of their clothing and the ground underfoot got treacherous and slushy..

  Next time I want to find solitude, I think I’ll try California.

  As the terrain leveled out near the foot of the slope the going got easier, but Frank got steadily weaker.

  “I knew there was a reason to bring that chopper Pat. Do me a favor and cut me a walking stick?”

  He lit a smoke and kept his eyes on the trees while Pat searched for an appropriate sapling. There had been no sound since they left the ledge, but that meant nothing. Wolves could move as silent as shadows, even ones as big as these.

  “Keep in sight Pat,” he shouted

  The big man cut Frank a sapling that was near six feet tall and almost as thick as Frank’s wrist. He leaned his weight on it and it didn’t crack or bend.

  And it’ll also come in handy as a club… if I have the strength to wield it.

  After that walking got easier.

  But I can’t go far.

  Hopefully, just far enough.

  When they reached the valley floor Pat’s eyes went wide. Frank saw he was looking at the carcasses strewn on the lakeshore.

  “What were these Frank? Big cows?”

  He was about to move closer when Frank pulled him back.

  “Yeah. Big cows. And near as daft as you big man. Stay as far from the water as you can,” he said. “And if you see any of those scorpion things, holler and start running.”

  “There’s beasties here?” Pat said, raising the axe.

  Frank had been about to agree when the drums started up. It was the same beat he had heard yesterday.

  First the drums, then the screaming.

  Frank started walking faster, giving the carcasses a wide berth.

  “What’s them drums for Frank?” Pat asked. Frank had a good idea, but wasn’t about to tell the big man.

  “I think Jake, or one of the others, is in trouble. Come on Pat, let’s hurry.”

  The drums got louder as they rounded the top end of the lake. About a mile away they saw figures emerge from a cave mouth. There were many small figures, and one larger one, dressed all in black and immediately recognizable, even at a distance.

  “Pastor!” Pat shouted, and broke into a run.

  Frank struggled along behind, but Pat got further ahead with every step.

  They were still several hundred yards short when the Pastor started to sing, his voice carrying high and clear above the drums.

  Then let our songs abound, and every tear be dry,

  We're marching through Immanuel's ground, to fairer worlds on high.

  Out on the lake the water started to surge and boil, as if many creatures struggled to make their way to shore. Several tall tails breached the surface, barbed tips twitching.

  We’re not going to make it in time.

  Pat was nearly fifty yards ahead now. Frank saw the small people tie the Pastor to four posts on the ground near the shore.

  “Leave him be,” Pat screamed, and ran faster, getting even further ahead of Frank.

  Frank fired a shot into the air, hoping to get the attention of the little people long enough to distract them, but there was no response. They finished tying up the Pastor and stood back as scorpions started to emerge from the water.

  The Pastor could obviously see them, but he kept singing, his voice never faltering, even as twenty scorpions broke onto the shore. They came forward slowly, claws raised in the air setting up a cacophony of clacking.

  The little people started to sing, their chant counter-pointing that of the Pastor. They were so intent on watching the scorpions they did not see Pat rush up behind them.

  “Pastor!” the big man shouted. He had almost reached the back of the group of small people.

  He was ten yards too late as the first scorpion clamped a claw on the Pastor’s left leg and snipped.

  30

  Jake heard the shot.

  They’re closer. Much closer.

  The Pastor’s singing echoed around them, even deep in the cave.

  We're marching to Zion, beautiful, beautiful Zion.

  We're marching upward to Zion, the beautiful city of God.

  The sound of clacking echoed alongside.

  “Hurry!” Jake shouted to the Squire.

  “Whatever you say gaffer,” the Squire responded.

  He pushed down, hard, with his hands. Blood spurted in a fountain, spraying the cave wall. But the Squire was free. He shuffled over to Jake, pulling out the saber. More blood gushed down the blade where it cut through Jake’s bonds.

  “Get going man,” the Squire whispered, whipping of his belt and starting to set a tourniquet on his left arm. “I’ll be right behind you. This is just a scratch.”

  Jake left the alcove at a run.

  He found their weapons just at the entrance to the main cave. He lifted the Pastor’s pistol belt and bandoleer and, peering against the sudden glare, headed for the lake. He was just in time to see blood spray in the air as the scorpion snipped off the Pastor’s lower leg.

  “Pastor!”

  Jake saw Big Pat run into the crowd of small people, scattering them like skittles. The big man leapt over the Pastor’s body and began hacking at the leading scorpion, trying to keep its claws from doing any more damage to the Pastor.

  Remarkably, the Pastor was still singing, even as blood sprayed from the stump.

  A scorpion’s tail rose high in the air over Pat’s head. The big man was too intent on chopping at the first to notice. Jake tried not to hurry as he stopped and raised the pistol. His first shot missed, but the second blew the barbed tip apart. The tail came down and the stump hit Pat harmlessly on the shoulder.

  Another shot rang in Jake’s ears. Frank Collins staggered up to stand beside him. The man looked gray; eyes sunk deep into their sockets. Blood seeped at his left shoulder, but the pistol in his right hand was held steady and firm.

  At the sound of the shots the small people scattered.

  “Pat,” Jake shouted. “Get the Pastor and get out of there. We’ll cover you.”

  More of the Scorpions, drawn by the noise and the blood, tried to crowd around the Pastor. Pat was pressed hard to keep them at bay, and although Jake and Frank shot round after round into them it barely slowed them.

  The Pastor still sang, but his voice was noticeably weaker, barely audible above the excited clacking of the mandibles.

  “We’ve got to get away from the water,” Frank shouted as he reloaded his pistol. “They don’t move far from the water.”

  “Pat,” Jake shouted. “I done told you. Get the hell outa there.”

  “I ain’t goin’ nowhere without the Pastor,” Pat replied. He swung the axe and split a scorpion from head to tail. The acrid smell tickled Jake’s nostrils even at this distance.

  Jake and Frank moved closer and put shots in the creatures closest to the big man, buying him enough time to chop away the ropes covering the Pastor. They kept up the covering fire as Pat began to drag the man away from the scorpions. As if sensing that their prey would elude them they surged forward.

  “Pat!” Jake shouted. A scorpion loomed over him
, claws wide, ready to snip.

  A rapid volley of rifle fire from behind them blew the front of its head into fragments of shell and gore. The Squire ran towards them, laying down more fire.

  The armed men shot bullet after bullet into the advancing scorpions. The stink of burnt powder and scorpion gore assaulted Jake’s nostrils. Pat had one hand dragging the Pastor, the other trying to hold off the scorpions with the axe.

  Jake ran out of ammo, just as a claw reached for him. He dodged to one side and drew his saber. He slashed at the claw. The shock ran up his arm as if he’d hit stone. The claw clacked right in front of his face. He fended it off with the saber. The sword slid down the serrated edge of the mandible and lodged in the big joint at the elbow. The scorpion pulled back suddenly, as if in pain.

  They have a weak spot.

  Jake targeted his swings after that, chopping at the joints of any beast that came close. Soon he had a small pile of claws at his feet while beasts scuttled around waving oozing stumps in the air. A barbed tail swung towards him, but the Squire had been watching Jake. The Englishman had his own saber drawn. He cleaved the tail in two with one stroke.

  Pat reached the defenders, still dragging the Pastor behind him.

  “Pat,” Frank said softly. “You can let go. He’s gone.”

  Jake looked down.

  The Pastor stared up at him from dead eyes.

  “I ain’t leaving him here for those things to eat him,” Pat shouted through tears. “I just ain’t.”

  Jake patted the big man’s shoulder.

  “Nobody’s getting left,” he said. “Get him away Pat. We’ll cover you.”

  They backed away slowly allowing Pat to drag the Pastor’s body off. They got nearly fifty yards from the lake before they realized the scorpions were no longer following. The beasts clacked their claws in the air, but came no further.

  They almost sound disappointed.

  As one the scorpions turned and, in a scuttling run, headed back to the water.

  Jake almost allowed himself to breathe… just as the first stone spear flew from the cave mouth and landed at his feet.

  Jake looked around. The Pastor was dead, Pat had a gash on his right arm that he hadn’t noticed but was leaking blood, the Squire looked as white as a sheet, and Frank Collins was about ready to keel over.