Was this really love?
Did it matter anymore?
A rustling sound somewhere outside dragged his attention to the window, just above their bed. For a second, he thought he saw the blinds limned with pale blue, but total darkness quickly returned. A trick of his barely awake eyes? He sat up slowly, trying to avoid disturbing Debra, cocking his head to listen further. No new sound.
Hell, even if he had seen a light, it might have been a reflection from many miles away.
Something scraped the wooden wall, close to the window.
In all the time the wind had been blowing so hard, not a single tree branch had struck that part of the house.
Now he wished he had taken the time to rig some sort of trap or alarm downstairs in case an intruder managed to get inside. Unable to stop himself, he slid out of the sleeping bag, felt for his flashlight and Ruger until he found them, then crawled to the window. He lifted one slat of the blinds an inch or so and peered into the darkness, praying to see nothing. At first, that was all he saw.
Then, some distance below, a tiny blue speck appeared and began to drift slowly toward him, like a luminous bubble on a lazy current of air. A second bubble winked into existence a short distance from the first; the two jiggled oddly, then gradually expanded as they drew steadily nearer to his window. His finger tightened on the trigger of his gun, but he realized he was mesmerized, rooted to his spot by an expectant dread, wholly incapable of moving his hands or feet. As the pair of luminous globes came to rest on the other side of the glass, he thought he saw strange, swirling shapes within them, as if they were lenses that revealed a view of some other place: a world so dark and distant as to be beyond the view of any mortal eyes before his. An irresistible power had seized his soul and was dragging it from his body, and before he realized what was happening, the Ruger slipped from his fingers and thunked heavily to the floor.
The sound jolted him to his senses, and he tried to withdraw from the window, only half-succeeding; but in that moment, he found the strength to lift the flashlight, switch it on, and with shaking hands, aim its beam through the terrible gap in the blinds.
The light fell upon an almost human-looking skull, a yard wide, its tooth-studded jaw half-open in a sardonic grin, its eyes—the electric blue bulbs—nestled within a pair of deep, black cavities. At the touch of the beam, the pulsating, wormlike body began to glow like molten gold, revealing its immense size—easily bigger than a horse. It hovered on broad, moth-like wings that beat dizzyingly, its multitude of long, bony legs twitching erratically beneath the thick, tapered body. In moments, the thing had become a mass of living flame, so brilliant that Copeland’s eyes could barely withstand it. He fell backward onto his buttocks, one hand, by chance, coming to rest on the butt of his gun. He snapped it up and aimed it at the window.
Now Debra was sitting up, still half-draped in the sleeping bag, her face striped with golden light. “What the…”
He pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. The Venetian blinds danced and the windowpane exploded, and a shrill, ululating screech rang out, louder than the gunshots. The piercing cry quickly dwindled as the wounded horror fled, and soon, darkness once again filled the room, broken only by the quivering beam of the flashlight.
Debra was out of the bed in an instant, pulling on her jeans. “God, they’ve already found us. There’s no place we can hide.”
Copeland cautiously moved toward the window and swept the ruined blinds aside. No hint of light now marred the darkness, but he heard, in the far distance, the faint suggestion of an insect-like chirping.
“I don’t guess there’s any point anymore,” he said. “They know where we are. We know they’re coming. Maybe this is where it all ends.”
She was just fastening her pants when her hands froze; her eyes locked on his and began to blaze. “You’re proposing we go down fighting?”
He took a deep breath and nodded. “We go down fighting.”
She took a few steps toward him, reached out, and clasped his biceps. “Remember what you said. Whatever happens—they can’t take me alive. Please.”
With a sigh, he nodded. “I’m trying not to think about that. But if it comes down to it…I know what I have to do.”
She leaned close to him, and her lips found his, and his arms encircled her body tenderly, protectively. When she drew back, he saw that her eyes were glistening with tears. “We take out as many of them as we can, right?”
“As many as we can.”
He found his own clothes and quickly dressed. Knowing it wouldn’t matter, he lit the lanterns, then made sure all the guns were fully loaded, with extra ammo close at hand. A low breeze again began to whisper outside the window, and now he was certain he heard a distinctive click-click-clack, somewhere not very far away. He went to the window that faced the front of the house, opened the blinds, and tugged the sash up.
Through the trees, perhaps still miles away, a number of brilliant, glowing globes of various colors traced erratic, swirling patterns in the sky.
Incredibly beautiful, in their own way.
“They’re coming, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “They’re coming.”
“What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “4:50. Still a good hour to daylight.” As he looked at her, he realized he could see tiny, dancing reflections in her dark eyes. The enormity—the terror—of what they were about to face together suddenly nearly floored him. His feelings for her, the memory of the warmth they had shared, the unequaled fulfillment he had found with her, seized his body like a tidal surge. If, at the very end, they found themselves at the mercy of those creatures, would he be able to save her by committing the unthinkable?
Something downstairs thunked heavily.
“Russ,” she said, her face pale, shadowed with sadness. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
He nodded, barely able to find his voice. At last, he managed to whisper, “I love you.” But she did not hear him.
Click-click-clack…click-click-clack…
It was right outside the rear window. He didn’t see anything yet, but he could feel the nearby, unearthly presence like a frigid draft. More chattering, chirping sounds clambered in through the front window, and then a pale, golden light danced off the nearby tree trunks. He pressed himself against the wall, rifle at the ready, while Debra positioned herself between the rear window and the door to the downstairs. He had tucked the Ruger into his belt, and he touched its handle, finding it both reassuring and dreadful. She glanced at him, her eyes as defiant and determined as ever, and he knew that their assailants would pay dearly before the end came.
Another heavy bang thundered up from the downstairs; Copeland moved to the door and placed his ear against the wood to listen. At first, he heard nothing, but then—overhead—something clattered loudly like hail on shingles, and several streaks of light zoomed past the rear window.
CLICK-CLICK-CLACK!
With a sharp crash, the remaining glass in the rear window shattered and rained over the floor, and both Copeland and Debra swung their gun muzzles toward the dark abyss. He could see nothing, no movement at all, and he swore softly in frustration. Better the creatures should rush in and reveal themselves rather than toy with them.
Another crash, and something smashed the front window, ripping the Venetian blinds, leaving their tattered remains to dangle suggestively in front of the open portal. Now Copeland fired blindly into the darkness, the report hammering his eardrums in the enclosed space. A fiery orange light flickered mockingly on the trees for a few seconds, then all went dark again.
For a full minute, nothing happened. Not a single sound, not a glittering spark outside the house. The stillness grew steadily more burdensome, more taxing on his nerves, for he knew that relaxing his guard would likely spell instant death. The Lumeras were playing them, preying on their terror as sadistically as any depraved human.
Then, his internal alarm shrie
king in his brain, Copeland felt something hot on the back of his neck; spinning toward the rear window, he saw two glowing blue bubbles within their deep black sockets, and something red and frothing began dribbling over the windowsill. As the gooey substance streamed to the floor, smoke began to curl from the wooden planks. A scrabbling sound alerted him to something at the front window; he spun and saw two bony, clawed appendages grasping the sill. A moment later, a knobby, oversized skull began to push its way slowly through the tattered blinds. He called to Debra, “I’ve got the one at the front. Shoot the other one!”
The gunshots simultaneously ripped through room, the smoke from the muzzle briefly obscuring his view. He thought he heard a sudden metallic crash, but with the ringing in his ears, he could not be certain. Then, at the corner of his eye, through a veil of smoke, he saw a distinct movement; before he could swing the Remington around to meet it, something hit him solidly in the temple, and he staggered backward, watching in disbelief as the room began to whirl madly around him. He threw out an arm to catch himself, and after a few seconds, his vision began to clear; but as it did, his spirits immediately plummeted, for the door to the stairwell had burst open, and two figures were moving boldly, rapidly toward them.
Levi Barrow held a shotgun up before him, the butt of which he had used to club Copeland in the head. A second, hideously ugly figure was trying to wrest Debra’s rifle from her hands, using his weight to throw her off balance. With a single turn of his wrists, he ripped the gun away from her, and she sagged to her knees with a bitter sob. Joshua reached down quickly, plucked the .38 from Debra’s pocket, and tossed it across the room. Before Copeland could move a finger, he found himself facing the muzzle of Levi’s double-barreled 12-gauge.
A glance at the windows showed them vacant, as if the Lumeras had never existed.
“You the sumbitch that likes to come uninvited to where he don’t belong,” Levi growled, taking a menacing step forward, forcing Copeland back a step. “Lessee how you like it, what say? Now, how about you drop that rifle there. Don’t do nothing funny cause I’ll splatter your head on the wall there before you can move that barrel an inch.”
Copeland’s first impulse was to accept the challenge—to kill Levi where he stood or die in the attempt. But his preservation instincts won the brief struggle, and he slowly lowered the rifle to the floor, never taking his eyes off his aggressor.
“Okay. Now take that popgun outa your belt and drop it on the floor. You do that real slow. Or maybe I don’t just kill you. I let Joshua do what he wants to with the lil girl there. Whatcha think about that, mister?”
“I think you’re full of it. You haven’t gone through all of this just so your brother can have his way with her.”
Levi’s eyes narrowed, and he took another step forward, so that Copeland could smell the acrid odor of sweat and cigarette smoke. “You don’t know nothing about me, mister smart man. You think you understand someone like me? You don’t know nothing. It don’t matter to me what he does to that lil girl. Maybe I like her a little more…tame…before I take her my way. When Joshua’s done, they tame. They always tame.”
“You’re a sick bastard.”
With surprising quickness, Levi jabbed him in the cheek with the gun barrel, hard enough to snap his head back. He grimaced as pain shot through his skull and down his neck; but he felt a moment’s satisfaction that he had riled the man sufficiently to provoke a reaction. It was a small chance, but if he could incite the other to anger, he might be able to turn it to his advantage.
“You won’t face me without your weapons, will you? You’re nothing but chickenshit, you know that?”
Levi ignored him for the moment and turned briefly to his brother. “Joshua. Bag her.”
From behind his back, the ugly man drew a rolled length of material, which Copeland realized was a large burlap sack. Unceremoniously, Joshua placed it over her head, and when she raised her arms to resist, he smacked her solidly in the temple, stunning her long enough for him to tug the bag fully over her upper body. Like a magician, he produced a length of cord, which he deftly wrapped around the open end of the sack and tied tight, rendering her arms immobile.
“Get her up.”
One of his arms encircled Debra’s waist, and he heaved her bodily to her feet; then he shoved her against the wall, holding her upright with a hand upon her breast, which drove a blade of fury through Copeland’s skull. She exhaled sharply from the blow but then began to breathe deeply but steadily.
Without warning, Levi swung his shotgun around and, with its butt, caught Copeland squarely in the solar plexus. A brilliant starburst exploded before his eyes, his breath whooshed from his lungs as if suctioned by a vacuum, and he pitched heavily to the floor, struggling furiously to draw air into his lungs. The whirling lights slowed and dwindled, but when he could see relatively clearly again, he found that Levi and Joshua had switched places; Levi now pinned Debra against the wall while Joshua stood before him, nimbly twirling in his fingers a wicked-looking hunting knife with a serrated blade.
“Much better,” Levi said. He gripped Debra by the back of her neck and sent her lurching toward the door. “Joshua’s gonna fix you up real good. Me and Miz Harrington’ll say goodbye now.” With that, Levi dragged Debra through the door and out of sight. Copeland heard her whimper as she stumbled down the stairs, totally at the other’s mercy.
Then the front door slammed and they were gone, leaving Copeland on his knees, dazed and gaping at a murderous, knife-wielding thing with a leering, barely human face.
My God, she was really gone. The Barrow brothers had just walked in and taken her.
He had failed to keep his promise to her.
“You know,” he muttered hoarsely, “those creatures are going to kill you. Levi will probably be dead before he gets back home.”
Joshua made an odd creaking sound in his throat, which Copeland realized was a giggle. “You got imagination,” he cackled, his eyes shining beneath his brutish, bony brow. “But no damn sense. Stupid sumbitch.”
“Why don’t you enlighten me?”
Joshua lunged forward with his free hand, driving his fist into Copeland’s gut, knocking him to the floor, the blow again stealing his breath. A strong hand gripped his collar, and he felt himself being dragged toward the front window; Joshua re-sheathed his knife, then with both hands lifted Copeland off the floor. For a panicked moment, he thought the other was going to hurl him to his death, but then his back slammed against the wooden rocking chair, and the strong hands pulled his arms behind his back, agony arcing through his nearly dislocated shoulders. With no strength to resist, he could only docilely allow Joshua to bind his wrists with a rough length of cord.
“I’ll enlighten you, mister smart man, yep, yep. I’m gonna enlighten you for a long, long time.” Joshua again drew his knife from the leather sheath that hung from his belt.
Copeland tried to ignore the surge of fear spreading rapidly from his chest. “Joshua…what makes you think those things are any friends of yours? They’re not. They’re going to kill you…you and your whole family.”
The malformed face split into a snaggle-toothed grin. “Yeah? Whatever could give you such a notion?”
The cruel-looking blade gleamed before his eyes; then he felt icy metal touch his cheek, followed by a sudden, searing heat as it cut a deep gash from his cheekbone to his jaw. He cried out, more from shock than pain, but within seconds, the wound began to throb, and warm blood was streaming down his neck and over his collarbone.
“I said whatever gives you such a notion?”
Now Copeland kept his mouth shut, and Joshua leaned down close to his ear.
“I’m gonna do that again in just a minute, by the way. And again and again. Until there’s nothing left of you but little pieces that I’m gonna feed to our new friends. But they gonna have to wait a while. A long while. You got that?”
“It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” Copeland spat, strangely bolstered r
ather than overcome by the pain. “You can’t escape what’s going to happen to you. If I don’t live to see it, well…more’s the pity.”
“You not going to live to see anything but your blood spilling all over this floor.” To his alarm, Joshua moved behind him, out of his view; then he felt the cold steel touch the back of his neck and slowly glide toward his right ear, as if his tormentor were searching for the most sensitive area to cut. “What say we lose the ears next?” The pressure of the blade increased suddenly at the back of his ear.
“Wait,” Copeland hissed, terror now beginning to boil up inside him. “Wait. Let’s talk first. You want to know what I know about the Lumeras, right?”
“Well, I dunno,” Joshua said, as if he were speaking to a child. “I dunno how much we really got to talk about.”
“The Lumeras,” he said, trying vainly to swivel his head away from the blade. “It was Major Martin who told me about them. He knew a lot about them.”
The knife slipped away from his ear and came to rest on his shoulder. “Old Major Martin done a lot of good for us folks. But he weren’t everything he seemed to be. Turns out he was just a liar.” He stepped around into Copeland’s view again and leaned close to his face. “He’s always been a liar. He lied to you, too.”
“No. What he told me was no lie. The evidence is everywhere. All around us. They’re changing the land itself. You think it’s your grandfather doing that?”
“Yeah, yeah, Granddaddy done that. He’s making this place into something else. Just for us. Just for us, you got that?”
“Your granddaddy just started these events in motion. But they’re beyond him now. Or soon will be. And then…Joshua…those things are going to rip everyone apart. You, your brother, your granddaddy…everyone.”
“Old Major Martin never talked to ’em, did he?”
The Nightmare Frontier Page 19