Heart of Ice (Deadman Series Book 6)
Page 11
Matthew studied her face and, as if reading her thoughts, said, “You are not to blame for this, Marta. You realize that, right?”
Looking down at the empty water cup in her hand, she nodded. She knew he was correct but still could not shake the feelings of shame and blame overwhelming her senses.
Gesturing to Trevance and Jacob, Matthew asked, “Will you follow me?”
The men nodded, knowing Matthew needed to talk but didn’t want the woman and children to overhear their conversation; they followed him toward the front of the cave and watched as the bigger man peered outside to the right and left trying to see if the monsters were lurking close by.
Apparently satisfied, Matthew came back and murmured, “I hate to say it—or even think it—but Mr. Stewart did us a huge favor. At least he bought us some time. I’m sure that reinforcements will arrive soon. Maybe now that we have a little water and the creatures are preoccupied, we stand a chance of surviving this.”
His expression was bleak as he stated the facts and Jacob realized all over again that Matthew Wilcox had fought many battles in his life as a lawman, learning over the years to be pragmatic in the face of extreme peril.
“My only concern now,” Matthew continued, “is whether I should stay here with you folks or try to escape while the monsters are busy and serve as back-up to the rescue party.”
The private nodded thoughtfully but Jacob’s mouth fell open in shock. It had not occurred to him that Matthew might leave them but now, whether he liked it or not, he realized that the man was right. His guns were needed out on open ground rather than in this silver-lined cave that the monsters were loath to enter.
Still, his heart was filled with fear at being left alone to safeguard his family. He often used his shotgun and rifle to hunt but he was a slow and indifferent shooter… one missed shot and the monsters would tear into him and his family with impunity.
The big man was looking into his eyes, understanding his reaction and waiting for an answer. Knowing he had little choice, Jacob reluctantly said, “Yes, of course you should help if you can. But only if the beasts are gone.”
Matthew nodded. “I will leave this with you but, as long as you stay in this cave, I think you and your family will be safe from harm.” He fumbled in his large coat and produced the silver candelabra from the inside pocket.
Handing it over, Matthew said, “Keep this with you. If the monsters do make it inside, they will stop short if they see you have this.”
“But don’t you need it?” the private asked.
“I wish now I had two of these but there was no time. Besides, I honestly didn’t think it would work; now I know better.”
Although Jacob tried to return the candelabra, Matthew shook his head and shook the men’s hands instead. He said, “I’ll be back soon but, if not, try not to worry. My son is on the way, I am sure of it.”
“Okay, Matthew. God be with you.” Jacob said. Private Trevance nodded in agreement and Matthew stepped outside.
*
Senses on high alert, Matthew winced as the sunlight dazzled his eyes. Feeling terribly vulnerable as his vision adjusted to the bright light of day, he gazed about and—seeing nothing—took off towards the small waterfall by the side of the pond. He made it under the running water and out to the other side leading up the side of the hill toward the Lindsay’s home.
His skin crawled with anxiety; he knew at any moment the monsters could be upon him, tearing him apart. But he ran up the path, avoiding the bodies of the two dead men and made his way through the opening in the cliff wall to the river below.
Once again, the sound of the rushing water filled his ears and he grimaced in frustration. All senses were needed in a confrontation like this… sight, smell and sound. Maybe sound most of all and the swift waters were robbing him of that advantage.
He sped across the new bridge and made it to the pathway on the other side of the river. At that point, the path moved naturally away from the rushing water and the forest’s quiet hush became almost audible; he moved as quickly as possible through the tall trees hearing chipmunks, squirrels, birds, and crickets.
Matthew had walked about a half mile from the cave when he saw a flash of red in his peripheral vision. Heart slamming in his chest, he ducked behind a huge cedar tree. Peering through the thicket of wild rose, huckleberry bushes, and new growth pines on the forest floor, Matthew watched for another flash of that tell-tale, hideous red light.
He heard a branch crack loudly behind where he stood and cocked the lever of his double-barreled shotgun. Then, as anticipated, the forest lit up red and he knew the monsters had tracked him.
Taking a deep breath, Matthew readied himself to shoot when he heard the sound of hoof beats and the tinkling clank of gear. He hoped help had arrived but the monsters were right here, right now, and he realized that Chance and whomever he had brought to save the day were in extreme peril. Putting two fingers in his mouth, Matthew whistled as loudly as he could, a whistle of alarm he had taught his son long ago to signal danger. Suddenly, the red light grew brighter and he heard men shouting in alarm.
Running out from behind the tree, Matthew saw his son and almost all of his oldest friends on the trail about fifty feet ahead of where he stood. They were in big trouble, too. Their horses were panicking; spinning around in circles and whinnying in fear as two huge and terrifying two-legged beasts darted here and there, plucking at the men and pinching the animals with long bony claws.
The horses squealed in pain and the men tried to shoot but, in a blink, two of them were seized in the monsters’ grip and dragged down off their horses. Matthew heard them scream in fear and agony as the air filled with the red spray of blood.
Matthew couldn’t see who the men were but he thought he had seen Granville’s veterinarian, Harold Waggoner, in the group and now he was gone. Shouting out, Matthew dropped his shotgun for a moment and aimed his pistol at the nearest of the two creatures.
Pulling the trigger, he shot one of the beasts in the back and heard it scream in pain. But it shook off that pain like it was nothing more than a bee sting and grabbed Chance off his horse.
“No!” Matthew cried and shot the monster again. But, instead of going down, it tucked his son under its slimy arm and ran away into the woods.
The other monster - who seemed to be faring much worse because of the barrage of bullets from the posse - saw its fellow creature flee; let out a roar of fury and followed.
Chapter Twenty
The Memory Tree
Matthew ran toward his friends and saw them bending over the bodies of Harold Waggoner and Dave Spence, the middle-aged bachelor farmer who lived and worked on a small spread next to the Imes’ ranch and had been friends with Matthew since he was just a boy.
To his surprise and dismay, Matthew saw his daughter-in-law crouched over Dave’s body. He felt a flash of anger… what on earth had Chance been thinking bringing this whip of a girl along on such a dangerous mission?
She had torn a piece of her shirt away to act as a compress for the bloody throat wound on Dave’s body but her efforts were too little and too late. His old friend’s faded blue eyes were fixed and staring at nothing.
Harold Waggoner was struggling weakly, chattering about demons from hell and clutching at Abner who was trying to put a makeshift bandage and tourniquet on his broken and bloodied left arm. Sighing with relief that Harry was only wounded rather than dead, he touched the man’s shoulder in comfort and said, “I have to go after my boy. Can you three take Davey and Harold back home?”
Abner started to answer ‘yes’ but Hannah interrupted. “I’m coming with you!”
“No, you’re not, daughter.” Matthew snapped. “You will fetch these men back home to Granville along with Abner and Sam.”
“That’s not fair!” she cried out. Matthew was in full command of this posse now and she knew it. Still, she couldn’t believe he was sending her packing when it was her husband who had been snatched.
Tears leaking from her eyes, she nodded and looked to her brother-in-law for help in loading Dave’s body onto his horse. Sam was not a lawman; he knew he had never had the grit for it. He was having a hard enough time accepting the fact that, within minutes of arriving at Hannah’s family home, one man he had known since childhood was lying dead at his feet and another old friend was seriously injured.
Although his sense of love and masculinity demanded he go with his stepfather to find his half-brother Chance, his common sense said he would do better following Matthew’s orders. Nodding obediently, he tried to lift Spence’s body onto the back of his horse. He struggled for a moment and Abner stepped up. “Here, let me help you with that.”
Matthew had climbed onto Waggoner’s horse and was staring into the woods where he had seen his son disappear in the arms of a monster. Turning to Abner, he asked, “Will you accompany my son and daughter back to Wallace? Those creatures could circle around and come back onto the road. All of your guns will be necessary if that happens.”
The huge man nodded and replied, “Yes, sir.” As far as Abner was concerned, Matthew - whether he was in charge or not - would always be his boss.
Looking at Roy and Dicky, Matthew said, “I assume you two want to ride along with me?”
“Of course!” Roy exclaimed. “Don’t even think about sending me back home.” He loved Matthew but he would not be ordered about; at sixty-two years old and sheriff of Granville for over fifteen years, he took orders from no man—even his best and oldest friend.
“Y-y-yes sir!” Dicky stuttered. As always, when nerves shook his confidence, his childhood affliction showed itself. But he would no sooner leave young Chance in those monster’s clutches than jump off a cliff.
Matthew nodded. “Well, we better hurry up before their trail gets cold.” Gazing at Sam, Abner and Hannah, he said, “Take care you three. Keep your guns handy and skedaddle.”
The men took off as swiftly as possible within the heart of the forest and the rest of the posse went in the opposite direction…up the road and back to Wallace with their sad and bloody baggage.
*
Matthew was pleased to find out that all of the posse’s bullets were tipped with silver. Good job, Chance! he thought, gloomily. For all he knew, his son was already dead at the strong, slimy hands of the hideous monster that had grabbed him. Right now, though, he knew he could not let fear for his son’s life compromise his own will to fight.
Dicky was riding at the rear, unloading the bullets from Matthew’s guns and refilling them with the silvered bullets.
“What are those things, sir?” he asked softly. “One minute, I saw them as clear as day. Then the next, they seemed to disappear. Are my eyes going soft on me?”
Matthew shook his head and took the pistol Dicky handed to him. “No. It’s just like Chance said although, frankly, I thought he was off his rocker.” Shaking his head in self-disgust, he added, “They are huge, right? But when they turn profile to you, they fade from sight. They are not human or animal… they’re something different. Something straight out of hell.”
Roy, who rode at the front of the column, pointed to a small tree on the right and said, “There! More blood…or whatever it is. See?”
Matthew rode up to where Roy pointed and peered down at the young cedar tree. He nodded as he studied the substance coating the soft green furls. It was a gray smear that glittered like quicksilver; yet even as he watched, the liquid cooled and turned to ash.
Gingerly, Matthew touched his fingers to the stuff which was starting to flake away in the cool autumn breeze and sniffed. It smelled rotten, like sulfur and slightly metallic. Looking ahead, he saw more of the monster’s blood on a series of bushes. Digging his heels into his borrowed horse’s flanks, he said, “Let’s go!”
The men followed the signs and trotted through the woods, up and over a few ravines until they came to a stop at the top of a low ridge that ringed a wide valley. Gazing down into the clearing, they saw a huge leafless deciduous tree in the falling dusk; it was a strange-looking tree with numerous globe-like protrusions nestled within its many bare branches.
“What in the hell…” Dicky muttered. “What kind of tree is that?”
Not knowing either, Matthew replied, “The blood, or whatever it is, leads down there. I guess we’ll see when we get closer. Come on.”
Matthew took the lead, his horse expressing its displeasure with the rough and rocky pathway in a series of snorts and quivers. His friends followed and the three men stared into the distance trying to see what was in that ominous-looking tree.
At first, Matthew thought he was looking at a wild apple tree although he quickly decided that no apple grew that large. Peaches could get pretty big but… Matthew heard Roy gasp and pulled iron as he saw what had taken the old sheriff’s breath away.
Heads! Twenty—maybe thirty—heads hung like bizarre Christmas ornaments from the boughs and branches. Some of them were nothing but skulls and their blackened eyeholes stared down at the trio of humans like leering jack-o-lanterns.
Others seemed to be fairly fresh although it was clear that the birds had been at them; even now a flock of ravens screeched and snapped at the men’s approach. Dicky leaned over the side of his horse and retched as the smell of decaying body parts washed over them.
Peering closer, Matthew saw that heads were not the only things hanging from the tree branches. There were arms and legs, too…and feet as well, some bare with toes missing and others still with their boots on. One figure hung in the uppermost branches: that of a little girl judging by the dress on her skeletal body and the long tresses lifting slightly in the wind.
The men didn’t know how or why this grizzly masterpiece had come into existence; they only knew that they were sickened and horrified. Matthew’s heart turned over in his chest at the thought of finding his son’s head perched on one of those branches like a newly acquired trophy and he slid off his mount in weak-kneed anxiety.
“I don’t see him, Mattie,” Roy murmured.
Like his deputy, Dick McNulty, Roy usually only called Matthew “Mattie” during times of great stress. In all his many years of being a lawman, Roy Smithers had seen a lot of bad things but this took the cake. He climbed down off his horse and walked with Matthew toward the tree’s trunk. Peering up into the horrible branches, neither of them saw Chance’s long reddish-blonde hair.
Letting out a shuddering gasp of relief, Matthew bent over with his hands on his knees, willing his heart to stop pounding in his chest. He felt a hand on his bent back and heard Dicky mutter, “It’s okay, sir. He isn’t here. Calm down, sir.”
Matthew hadn’t wept since he’d found his first wife Iris murdered in her own kitchen. But now the tears ran freely down his cheeks at the soft words of the man he had once hired long ago for another posse.
Standing up tall, his eyes searched the valley floor and the tall trees of the surrounding hills. He took a deep breath. Chance was still in terrible danger but, at least for now, he and his men had a prayer of saving him from the torment of being hung in this tree like a dead deer.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Culling
The Wendigo once known as Lenny the Spoon paused in its headlong rush through the forest and howled its triumph. Birds burst from the trees and all the small, woodland animals that lived in the vicinity crouched low to the ground, frozen in fear.
The monster that followed screamed in response but its voice was much weaker. For the first time in its long existence, the old Wendigo’s body was betrayed. The projectiles that had pierced its impervious hide seemed to be alive and on fire, and the silver in its massive body was worming paths of hell-flame through its skin, muscles, veins and bones.
As it stumbled
and whined in hurt confusion, the other beast clutched its living prize in glee although its prey’s body remained limp like a broken doll. The beast looked down on the still, white features of the human in concern; the man had fought so hard and wriggled so fiercely, the monster had given it a light tap to keep it from getting away.
It had also plucked the nasty black pistol from his hand and thrown it into the bushes. But staring down at the man’s body, it wondered if perhaps the tap was too hard and now it was dead? Growling in alarm, the beast shook the man and, to its delight, saw his eyes open slightly and heard a low moan escape his throat.
Picking up speed again, the monster flew through the thick undergrowth. It had been horrified to see three human beings milling about under its memory tree, a shrine it had built to honor some of its kills. It did not know why the compulsions to keep certain trophies rose up in its soul from time to time but some long-forgotten affection, or hatred, took control and it felt the need to remember.
The other Wendigo hated it and could not understand why its companion insisted upon saving the carcasses of its victims. They had frequently fought over the shrine but not this time; its wounds were too severe and, when its only friend ran away from the memory tree and up into these wild woods, it had followed in need and desperation.
The second monster was also growing weaker by the minute. Its ashy, gray blood ran out through the holes in its body like mercury and it was fast losing the strength it had been blessed with more than a century earlier. It called out in alarm, the siren shrill echoing through the tall trees but the beast formerly known as Lenny ignored its cries and ran up the side of a cliff and into a vast cave.