Dead-Eyed God: A Pitchfork County Novel

by Sam Witt

  The spider-beast unleashed another of its ghastly laughs and filled the air with the rotting blood stink of its breath. “You’ll do nothing. You’ll die.”

  Joe grinned, a look that had stopped more than one supernatural monster in its tracks. “I’m telling you, you’re going to lose your chance to catch the last of the Blackbriars. I came here to bring them in myself, but you fucked that up for me. Right now, I reckon he’s probably getting his mama into the truck they’ve got hidden out back. Any second now, they’re gonna light out of here and be long gone. Something tells me if they get shut of your boss’s territory, she’s not gonna be real pleased with you.”

  The spider shifted uneasily on its back feet, and Joe could see its spinnerets pulsing at the tip of its abdomen as it tried to decide what to do. It wanted to kill him, he could see that plain as day, but it was also unsure what would happen if Frank did get away. It didn’t necessarily believe Joe, but it didn’t have enough sense of what humans were capable of to disbelieve him, either.

  “I think I can hear them moving around back there. Clock’s ticking,” Joe said. He didn’t need the thing to fall for his scheme and leave the house, he just needed a few seconds to concentrate and get himself free of these webs. After that, it’d be a stand-up fight, and Joe liked his odds in that case. “Fine, suit yourself. Let’s get rolling on this, and you can figure out what to tell your boss once they get away.”

  The spider decided to get the best of both worlds. It slammed the side of one of its claws against Joe’s temple hard enough to make his ears ring. Joe’s brain sloshed from side to side inside his skull, and the vertical hold on his vision went out of whack. The spider-beast darted away, disappearing back the way it’d come.

  Joe hoped the thing would spend a couple of minutes looking for Frank, but he knew he couldn’t count on having that much time. He tried to focus his attention on his badge, tried to push the power of his office into it. But, dazed as he was, he could manage little more than a flicker of light from the silver symbol.

  Worse, his feeble exertions seem to have attracted the attention of the Long Man. Joe could feel his boss pulling back on the power he had stolen, trying to rob him of any chance to escape. Joe fought back, hanging on to what he had taken, but through the haze of his concussion he realized he didn’t have to fight for what he needed. It was his by right.

  He’d been mulling over this problem ever since he discovered the link between the sheriff and the Long Man. Joe hadn’t broken his vows as the Night Marshal; he just wasn’t acting the way the Long Man would’ve preferred. But that didn’t mean his boss could just yank Joe’s privileges. Joe was still hunting monsters; he was still fighting the Left-Hand Path, which meant all of the advantages of being a Night Marshal were still his. The realization gave him the confidence to muscle through and take the power that he was owed.

  The Long Man screamed with frustration inside Joe’s head, but that just gave the Night Marshal the incentive to keep at it. The silver glow from the badge grew in power until the area around Joe lit up like high noon. He could feel the webs surrounding him become brittle and weak as the purifying silver light ate at their supernatural substance. One by one, the gossamer strands snapped free and floated into the air like drifting dandelion seeds. It wasn’t fast, but it was working.

  His left hand and arm were free when Frank began screaming. The man’s shrill cries were answered by a guttural roar. It didn’t sound like Frank had much time left.

  Joe turned the badge toward his other arm and watched as the webs sizzled and popped under its argent glare. He wrenched his arm free and channeled a trickle of power into the shotgun hanging from his shoulder. The runes along its barrel flashed red, and the last of the webs stuck to the weapon burnt away, leaving behind sulfurous wisps of black smoke.

  Joe heard Frank pound up the back stairs of the house, the monster in hot pursuit. Their footsteps thundered across the floor above, and Joe struggled to free his legs before it was too late. He didn’t like Frank, but if the beastie got to him before Joe did, that was a win for Itsike. Joe couldn’t afford that.

  He had his right leg cleared of the webs when Frank came screaming down the stairs behind him. The monster was so close that the sounds of their footsteps overlapped into a galloping rumble. Joe turned, trying to focus the badge’s light on his left leg while aiming the shotgun with his right hand. It was awkward, at best. Joe wasn’t sure whom would get shot when Frank and the spider-beast burst into view.

  Frank’s eyes lit up when he saw Joe. “You gotta help me!”

  The spider-beast’s spike-tipped front legs were scything through the air toward Frank’s back. Joe pulled the trigger, and a burning green cloud erupted from the shotgun’s twin barrels.

  Panic-stricken shrieks filled the air. Joe couldn’t see who’d taken the brunt of the attack. He’d aimed high, but things had happened awful fast.

  When the smoke cleared, Joe could see Frank on the floor clutching at his shoulder, a trickle of red blood oozing from between his fingers. It looked like Frank had caught the edge of the shotgun’s blast, which probably hurt like hell but wasn’t going to kill him.

  The spider-beast, on the other hand, had caught most of the shot in its chest and face. Three of its eyes were bloody craters, and most of the appendages on the left side of its mouth had been torn free, leaving behind twitching stumps that groped blindly at the air. Its upper left shoulder and chest were bloody hamburger meat, scorched well done by the shotgun’s flames. Joe cracked the shotgun open, dumped the shell casings from its barrel, and grabbed a pair of shells from the loops on his belt, hoping to end this before the thing could strike again.

  He rammed the shells home and snapped the shotgun closed. Before he could fire, the spider-beast escaped by flinging itself through a window. Joe rushed to the window, but the beast had scrambled up the side of the house and leapt into the trees before he could get a shot. “You motherfucker,” he snarled.

  Joe turned back to Frank and grabbed the man by the back of his collar. “You’re not going to die, at least not yet, but we need to get the fuck out of here before your little pal comes back with some friends. Where’s your mother?”

  Frank’s teeth were chattering, the adrenaline pumping through his system getting the best of him. “D-d-dead,” he stuttered.

  The whole trip had been a trap. Joe wanted to scream, but instead he unleashed his frustration by bouncing Frank’s face off the nearest wall. “You fucking asshole. When are you going to learn these monsters aren’t your friends?”

  Frank shook his head and wiped his bloody nose on the back of his hand. “No, I swear. I didn’t know that thing would be here. I was just trying to get away.”

  Joe gave Frank a shove toward the front door. He knew they had to get back to his house before the spider-beast had time to gather up some of its pals and take another swing.

  A they reached to the front door, he realized that was going to be a bigger trick, now. The spider-beast fell from the trees and landed on the pickup, crushing its roof and shattering the windshield. It howled its rage at Joe and jumped down onto the hood. Metal gave way with a tortured scream, and automotive fluids gushed onto the ground beneath the vehicle. The beast disappeared into the trees, leaving Joe to stare at the crippled truck and wonder how the hell he was going to get out of here.

  26

  The spiders were coming. Joe could see them gathering in the darkness, eyes flickering in the moonlight. He shook Frank by the collar. “You have a car stashed around here? We’re about to have some hungry company.”

  Frank nodded his head so fast Joe was afraid he was having a seizure. “There’s a guy I know, we can cut through the woods to get to his place. He’ll let us take his car.”

  It sounded like as good a plan as any, especially considering the swarm of fist-sized eyes Joe saw out in the darkness. There were some big-ass spiders coming their way, and Joe didn’t fancy his chances of fighting them all off. He had a few
shotgun shells left, but he hadn’t brought an arsenal. This wasn’t supposed to be a big fight; he’d just come out here to save Frank’s stupid ass and then go the fuck home. He vowed to never leave home again without enough weaponry to kill anything he might stumble across. “Lead the way, and don’t try anything stupid. You try to run away from me again, and I’m going to unload both barrels into the back of your head.”

  Frank took off, skirting around the edge of the house with Joe hot on his heels. He lunged into the woods and held his hands in front of him to ward off slapping branches and the grasping thorn bushes that had earned the Blackbriars their name.

  As Joe followed, he kept power flowing into his badge. It gave away their position, but the light was the only chance they had of getting through the dense forest without losing an eye to a sticker bush or snapping an ankle on a gnarled tree root. The light wasn’t a guarantee that neither of those things would happen, but it certainly evened the odds.

  A spider lunged from a tree to their left. Joe flipped his grip on the shotgun and wrapped both fists around its barrels. He swung the weapon like a club, smashing its stock into the spider’s head. Half of its eyes exploded in a spray of black ichor, and the screeching arachnid crashed to the forest floor. Joe stomped on it as he ran past, bursting its abdomen in a spray of gory green goo.

  Frank screamed as a web tangled across his face, but Joe shoved him through it. “Just a regular cobweb. Don’t stop running, or you’re going to have something to cry about.”

  The spiders were gaining on them. Their screeches punched through the night air, and the sound of their clicking legs scrabbling through the underbrush and tree limbs made Joe’s hair stand on end. Silver streaks of hunting webs shot through the air on either side of Joe and Frank, tangling in the trees and brush. The grotesque spiders were still too far away for their webs to hit home, but Joe knew that wouldn’t last. Where he and Frank had to dodge and duck around obstacles in their path, the spiders didn’t have that difficulty. They leapt through the trees like hellish monkeys and crossed gaps on webs they squirted ahead of them. He didn’t dare look back, but he knew they were getting close. If Frank’s friend didn’t live nearby, they were going to die.

  They were out of the woods almost before Joe knew it. The moon shone down on a broad empty lot. A rundown shack squatted a few hundred yards away.

  The two of them poured on a burst of speed, spurred by the sight of their goal. It was going to be tight, but Joe thought they could reach the house and get inside before the spiders caught them. He didn’t see a car parked out front, and the house didn’t have a garage, but Joe hoped it was parked out back. He might get out of this yet.

  Frank tripped going up the house’s crooked front steps and crashed into the door with his shoulder. He sagged back, screaming as he caught sight of the horde of spiders charging at him.

  Joe wasn’t sure what was going to be waiting inside for them, but he had to believe it was better than the mob of spiders rushing at his back. He grabbed Frank by the back of his jeans and hauled him to his feet, dragging the man alongside him as turned the door’s knob and threw it open.

  He tossed Frank ahead of them then reached back and grabbed the door’s handle to pull it closed behind them. The first of the spiders bounced off the thin wood. “Drag a couch or something over here; the door’s too weak to hold them for long.”

  Frank glanced back at Joe, but it was clear he was no longer taking orders from the Night Marshal. With Joe stuck holding the spiders back, Frank was free to run. Again.

  “Don’t you fucking do it, Frank!” But Blackbriar was already gone, disappearing into the filthy house. Joe wanted nothing more than to hunt down the piece of shit, but survival was his top priority. He’d deal with Frank after he’d chased off the spiders. And he’d make it hurt.

  The problem was, he didn’t know how to make the spiders give up their pursuit. They were slamming into the door one after another, an erratic rhythm of assaults that kept the door bumping against Joe’s chest. They weren’t strong individually, but their combined attacks made it difficult to hold the door against them. Joe leaned against it with his shoulder and felt along the frame, hoping to find a bolt he could close against them, but there was just the shitty lock set into the knob itself. Worse, he could hear the door cracking under the rain of blows. It wasn’t going to be long before the spiders knocked the barrier off its hinges. Joe needed a new plan, and he needed it fast.

  He turned and wedged himself against the door, digging his hobnailed boots into the ratty carpet. The room was dark, lit only by a thin sliver of moonlight that sneaked in through a fly-specked window. It was a living room, but it had seen much better days and it didn’t look like anyone had been living here for quite some time. The couch was old and moth eaten, the springs sagging so badly under the cushions it looked like a family of invisible fat people were sitting there. Even if he dared to let go of the door for the time it would take to drag the couch over to block the entry, it wouldn’t hold for any length of time.

  There was no other furniture, and all he could see in the dim lighting were some old newspapers and other assorted trash scattered across the floor. He stared at the dried detritus and realized it might be the answer that he needed. He gathered a pile of it using his foot, dragging it near while holding the door closed. It didn’t take long before he had a respectable mound of dry papers piled against the door. He stared down at the garbage underfoot and shook his head. “I need to start coming up with some safer plans.”

  Joe clenched his badge in his right hand and bent his concentration to it. He wasn’t sure this was going to work, but it was the only idea he could come up with while simultaneously trying to hold off a pack of giant spiders that wanted to eat his face. The badge grew warm in his hand then hot enough to sting his palm.

  A beam of white light sprang from the center of the badge’s star. It hit the trash piled up between his feet, and Joe prayed his plan was going to work.

  He held his breath for long seconds, afraid he’d accomplished nothing aside from creating a very bright, very small flashlight. Then a curled tendril of smoke rose up from a charred black spot on a corner of newspaper. A wisp of flame appeared and spread, greedily consuming the paper he’d gathered. Joe wasn’t an expert on spiders, but he knew they didn’t like fire. If this didn’t make them give up, he didn’t know what would.

  Joe held the door until the heat from his little fire became too intense for him to bear. Then he stepped away and let the flames do their work.

  The spiders battered at the door even as the fire chewed away at it. Seconds later, the weakened wood splintered under the attack, and the first spider burst through.

  The spider shrieked as the flames gnawed on its limbs and burnt the mangy hairs scattered across its body. It tried to throw itself back away from the fire but collided with the others that were trying to get into the house. They tangled in each other’s legs, and they lashed out at one another in shrieking, animal panic. Joe didn’t wait to see if they could figure out how to get through the door, instead deciding it was a good time to get the hell out of there.

  He followed his badge’s light toward the back of the house and hoped there’d be another door that he could escape through. “You spend a lot of time in burning houses, Hark,” he muttered to himself as he looked for a way out. “That might say something about your methods.”

  His first attempt at escape led him into an empty bedroom. There was no back door, but he was fine with that because there was a window. He whipped the shotgun off his shoulder and swung it by its barrels, smashing the stock through the glass. He punched out the rest of the shards with the weapon’s barrels then dove through the opening.

  The spiders hadn’t figured out they could go around or over the house rather than through it. Joe heard them still fighting at the front, burning as they pushed and shoved at one another. The spiders were big and dangerous and fast, but they were dumb as hell.

  F
rank had lied about a lot of things, but he wasn’t lying about the car. A rusty Ranchero squatted in the weeds not far from Joe. Frank was behind the wheel, struggling to get it started. Joe stepped up to the open driver’s side window and grabbed a handful of Frank’s hair. “Hey, I thought we were buddies. Why you trying to leave the party without me?”

  Frank’s eyes were wide with fear. “I fucked up. Please help me get this thing started; they’re coming.”

  Joe had to give it to the guy, he’d set traps within traps, and Joe had walked into them all. It was starting to piss him off. “The spiders are busy burning.”

  Frank shook his head, or tried to, but Joe’s grip on his hair let him do little more than wince for his trouble. “Not the spiders, they weren’t part of the plan. But we have to get on the road before they show up. They’ll kill us both.”

  Joe sighed. He was getting tired of all the monsters crawling out of the woodwork. “Who exactly is coming here? And what makes you think I’m going to let you leave before they arrive? Maybe it’d do you good to see some of your little buddies up close and personal.”

  “No, man. We gotta get out of here. You don’t know what they’re—”

  Joe interrupted Frank, bouncing his nose off the top of the Ranchero’s steering wheel. “Who the fuck is coming?”

  Sudden, brutal pain erupted across Joe’s shoulders, and both his arms went numb. He struggled to catch his breath, but his lungs refused to cooperate. He tried to get his gun up, but another blow smashed into his right arm, and the shotgun dropped out of his hand to dangle from its strap. Joe turned around to face his attacker, and his stomach turned over.

  “I think he’s talking about us,” said the girl who’d been pounding Joe with a yard-long iron pipe. She grinned around a mouthful of jagged teeth. Her ears were long and tapered to scalloped points that jutted through her greasy hair. Her nose was a convoluted mass of wrinkles and whorls that was upturned to reveal a pair of ruby red nostrils.