Shadow Falls: Badlands (24 page)

“Let's go!” he shouted. Clenching her jaw, she nodded. Galen burst with whatever energy he had left as he began running with Nena in tow.

“What should we do?” called out the pockmarked man.

“Hold him off me as long as possible!” she shouted back.

Yeah, good luck with that,
thought Galen. He couldn't have nominated a better guy for the suicide mission.

Gathering the men and summoning others to bring as many guns as they could muster, the pockmarked man prepared them the way bees defend their queen. As Galen and Nena made it up the hill toward her cabin he turned to her. “They will all most likely be killed, you know.”

“They are the Magus. They have been preparing for this day,” she answered.

“And what day is that?”

“The beginning of the end,” she told him, meaning to avoid all confusion.

But Galen when looked back at her, he was unsure of what she meant—though he could not shake the feeling that the dominoes had begun to fall.

“We're going to need a way out of here,” he shouted at her, noting the woods surrounding the enclave.

At the cabin, Galen pulled Nena behind the small wooden house and peered around to the clearing. The entire Magus had assembled, carrying guns, knives, and clubs. To Galen, they looked like some kind of ragtag militia—average men and boys, some just out of their teens. The pockmarked man ordered those dozen or so with guns into a firing line, their inexperience and nervousness showing. Those remaining did not to know what to do with themselves, milling about on the fringe until receiving instructions.

Galen had seen many soldiers like that in the war—men who seemed unsure why they were there, or even which end of the gun to point at the enemy. Rarely did a single one live to see sunset on the day of battle—their only purpose to serve as fodder for the cannon.

Nena clutched his hand as she continued to peek around the side of the cabin. All but the nearest end of the road was visible, and though they couldn't see him, the sense of their brother's presence was unmistakable. Even after more than a century and a half, their sibling bond had not diminished—though any trust they shared in each other had definitely vanished.

The young man who had brought Galen buckets of food and water while he had been pilloried kept watch on the dirt road. He tracked a single figure followed by a cloud of dust, advancing.

The figure was that of a young boy.

The growing cloud of dust in his wake was rising to the sky, created by dozens of four legged creatures that padded obediently behind him, their yellow eyes reflecting the sunlight.

Their open mouths full of sharp teeth.

“Keep an eye on your ammo. You load while the man next to you shoots!” barked the pockmarked man as the bucket boy came running past, his face completely pale with fear.

“Where the hell are you going?” shouted the leader. It was one of the others who pointed first.

“Sweet Christ,” he said, his hand shaking with ghastly tremors.

They were visible now—no more than a hundred yards away. Miles Lawton led a pack of coyotes—creatures coiled and ready to strike at the boy’s command.

“Miles,” uttered Galen, the name spilling out of his mouth. As if a vault had opened in his brain, a flood of memories rushed through his mind.

He blinked. His brother looked exactly the same as the last time he had laid eyes on him—back in a previous century, when they had crossed to this country aboard the Majestyk.

Nena’s jaw dropped. Even from this distance she could see his blank eyes, the same ones that stared down at her at the bottom of the well. Her entire body seethed with anger at the sight of Miles; there had been plenty of time for her to understand what it was her brother had become.

“No, don’t,” she said to Galen as he stepped out from behind the cabin, pulling away from her. His gaze attempted to transfix Miles. This was the younger brother he had known as a baby—the best and closest friend he’d had growing up. He and Miles had shared everything, and the pull toward his sibling was like the clutch of a giant claw drawing him near.

And now, for the only time he could remember—in this lifetime—he felt something that he could only imagine was the sense of family.

But it was coupled with something else that Galen could only identify as underlying evil.

He stepped forward, toward Miles, overcome with a need to be close to the boy—a sense to somehow protect his younger brother from the demons that shadowed him in the darkness. Inside his heart, he felt his sibling crying out to him for help. And though Nena tried to hold him back, Galen continued toward his brother.

His movement caught Miles’ eye and, when he looked up to see Galen, a smile crossed his face. The two he had come looking for were both here.

And soon, he thought, one of them would die again.

They stopped behind Miles—these four-footed creatures of darkness, just visible through the dust—horrid, misshapen beasts obedient to their master, lining as if a regiment. The ground rumbled with their guttural sounds—wet, bloodthirsty snarls intoned with the soulless quality of murder.

The boy sized up the ragtag bunch in front of him, convinced their defiance was worth the respect he gave by letting them continue to live these past few seconds.

“Loose!” he cried. The snarling beasts descended upon the Magus, as if all Hell itself had been unleashed.

*****

CHAPTER 24

T
he repeated thunderclap of the first salvo of bullets roared as the line of gunmen opened up on the hoard. Most of the shots, misaimed by trembling hands, missed their mark. Few found their targets, but those that did found fur and flesh and bone—crushing skulls, legs, and jaws.

The second line of rifles came to bear, the men's shaking hands desperately searching for accuracy. The bullets, fired in haste, did nothing more than did the first volley.

Massive paws beat against the dirt; the coyotes charged down the men who dared to stand their ground. Those who had not dropped their weapons to flee weren’t given a second chance. From a dozen feet away, the beasts launched themselves into the air at their prey, their great bodies enough to crush the Magus soldiers.

The men in the circle had only moments to glance up from their muzzleloaders to witness their gruesome fate. Claws and teeth.

The first wave of beasts hit the ground with a crash, grasping their prey in their jaws or pinning the helpless before clawing them to shreds. Cries of unspeakable agony drowned in blood. In moments, the ranks of the Magus were halved.

Not everyone gave up without a fight. One man, a hardened veteran of the war, spun his empty rifle and crushed the skull of a beast. He never felt the sharp claws tear into his back, severing his spine. Helpless, he lay as the coyotes bit into his body, pulling him away before taking his legs.

The pockmarked man dodged the first beast and picked up a fallen axe from the ground after tossing his empty pistol aside. He buried the heavy blade into the neck of one coyote, then spun to split open the head of another. But the first animal's blood sprayed onto his face—into his open eyes—blinding him. And as he went to wipe it, strong jaws clamped onto his left arm,. He felt the beast's sharp teeth sink all the way to the bone, and from his mouth came a horrible shriek. Gritting his teeth, he uttered the phrase Nena had taught him—the summoning curse that only be used once.

His voice croaked, and the words came forth.

But the clouds did not open, did not release the peril that he had deeply believed would happen for him. A second coyote locked onto his right arm. The two beasts pulled on him like dogs fighting for a bone, tearing his living body in half.

Nena dropped to her knees and clutched her head as she watched the horror unfold at the base of the hill. The beasts that had made it past the first—and only—resistance of the Magus charged toward her and her brother, picking off the stragglers and deserters one by one. The bucket boy had found his end when the massive coyote pounced on his back, breaking his neck as he fell; he would never know the agony of being eaten alive, like the others.

Miles turned his gaze upward—toward the hill—and Galen could see clearly the eyes of his brother. Even from this distance, Galen could sense there was something very wrong. The sudden longing to go to Miles, who before he could only sense as his brother, snapped, and what filled Galen as he watched the four-legged killers rushing toward him was the overwhelming urge to flee.

He turned and grabbed Nena’s shoulder. She was gripping her hair in both hands. He pulled her to her feet.

“How do we get out of here?” he asked.

The first coyote to reached the top of the hill. With a single arm extended, Nena used her hand to beast stopped in its tracks. With her eyes, she caught the coyote’s gaze. When she broke the stare, the beast turned and launched itself at the coyote following it, clawing at the eyes of its former mate.

“That will buy us some time. Let’s go!” she yelled, rushing toward the woods.

“How did you do that?” Galen called out as he ran after her.

Miles waded through the bodies lying on the grass, marveling at this outdoor slaughterhouse—his creation. Once the coyotes had finished, what was left of the Magus was barely recognizable as human.

And there on the ground, he saw it and stopped. It was the eye of his father, the one he had given to Alyson all those years ago. Its surface was pitted and aged, but there was no mistaking this petrified relic that he had last seen almost 150 years ago.

His fingers closed around the orb and he slipped it into his pocket, avoiding any chance of staring into it; not now—there would be time later. He would enjoy this moment. Miles noticed a number of horses and animals corralled nearby. He wandered over, beckoning a single old burro with his outstretched hand. Miles stroked Blue’s muzzle. He shook his head in disgust at the animal’s sunken back and filmy cataracts. With a single finger, he pressed into Blue’s forehead and, as if shot, the animal fell dead to the ground.

Up the hill, he heard a commotion followed by a yelp. To his surprise, two of his beasts were locked in combat with each other, one having just snapped the neck of its brethren.

Miles stalked through the bodies, kicking aside those laying in his way. The traitor had taken down another coyote, and was preventing others from passing. Pushing aside his beasts, Miles faced the rebel animal, grinning while it snarled at him, his master. He approached and the traitor snapped at him, its jaws striking like lightning. But as fast as the beast was, Miles was faster, moving almost as a blur. With a single blow, he drove his palm into the bridge of the coyote's nose with fatal force. The boy turned to his regiment, eyeing them with a burning anger.

Miles hissed, running his fingers across his throat, causing the beasts to break ranks and dash up the hill toward the two figures disappearing into the woods.

Galen pulled Nena further into the forest. Ahead the woods grew thick to the point of darkness. Crossing his mind was the memory of his wagon ride down into the valley when he had tried to find help for Maria. There had been things in these woods, things not seen, but heard.

“Do you know what is out there?” Nena asked, her voice full of utter terror.

“If you have a better idea, I'm all ears!” Galen shouted, continuing his pace.

“The river!” she yelled.

From a perch high above, he watched them disappear deeper into the forest, away from the light of open ground and straight toward the ghosts hiding in its shadows. Cyril knew they were there because, coming from the opposite direction, he had seen them: beings hidden on the edge of light and darkness; spirits straddling this mortal plane and the next. These woods were full of them.

Cyril had no intention of following the pair—at least not yet. He wanted to guarantee his one chance at surprise.

***

As the coyotes entered the woods, they slowed from a gallop to a crawl, carefully sniffing the air. They could sense there was need to be cautious.

Also in the air was the scent of the man and woman they were hunting, and it was in that direction which they stalked, keeping low to the ground.

Miles came up the hill into the woods behind them and, once he saw the dogs’ wariness, his own guard went up as well. Never had the beasts he’d come to control ever showed reluctance. Though they were moving slowly, he would give them a head start.

Let them clear the path ahead,
he thought. It was only so far that his brother and sister could run. Soon their mortal bodies would tire, and the coyotes would—

The thought broke off. He needed only to look at his feet to see what he was about muse.

Miles realized: she obviously let these people—her people—die.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the petrified eye of his father. In his mind he sensed…

…something…

Cyril had seen the boy enter the woods, and, as luck would have it, Miles slowly drifted fifteen feet underneath the perch he had taken in wait. Silently, Cyril drew his dagger and held it, blade down, timing his leap.

Miles looked up just in time to catch the heel of Cyril’s boot on his chin. The force of the blow drove Miles backwards onto the ground, his mouth bloodied. The hard landing had twisted Cyril’s ankle, but the pain didn’t register. Miles was prone, and here was his chance.