Skinwalkers (23 page)

The
skinwalker
bucked and twisted, trying to dislodge Little Joe. Little Joe locked his arm around the
skinwalker’s
throat and continued making a pin cushion out of its back. Finally, the monster threw itself against the church wall, crushing Little Joe’s body with its own. Little Joe released his hold and the monster broke away.

Before Little Joe could recover, the
skinwalker
pounced. Little Joe screamed as the creature sank its jaws into the spot where his neck and shoulder met. Black roses bloomed around Little Joe’s field of vision. Memories of the dog closing its fanged mouth over his face galloped through his mind. Then the
skinwalker’s
teeth sank deeper
and
all he saw in his mind’s eye was blinding white pain.

The sensation brought him to his senses. Little Joe was once again able to feel the weight of the knife locked in his grip. He turned the knife over in his hand and then thrust it upward.
Hard
. The blade plunged into the
skinwalker’s
ear, slicing open the canal leading to its brain. Little Joe yelled and summoned the last of his strength as he gave the knife
a final
push. Through the knife’s handle, he felt
momentary
resistance
,
then the giving
way
of brain matter.

The
skinwalker
bit down harder for a moment. Then
its jaws fell away and
it
uttered
its death rattle. The
beast
went
limp
. Little Joe rolled the dead monster off of him, heaving
through
pain and exhaustion.

“Damn you
…
brother
.“
Little
Joe’s
words
came
hard between gasps. “Again you have left me
…
alive to walk in this accursed world
…
yet another day.“

R
everend Phillips knew Little Joe had taken leave of his senses when he saw the native leap into the waiting claws of the
skinwalker
. He watched transfixed as both man and beast collided in an ultra-violent struggle of life and death.
But which is the man and which is the beast?
He was no longer sure. Reverend Phillips saw nothing of the person he’d known as Little Joe broadcasting from the native’s eyes. Like the
skinwalker
Little Joe battled, fury and hate and the desire to kill had taken up residence in the twin windows to the native’s soul.

To hell with both of them
.

The reverend rose into a crouch
, placing himself in the gap between the mission doors. He
felt a dull sensation wanting to be pain radiating throughout his body. But
for
the moment, his adrenaline
had
compacted
it
into a manageable form.

He
glanced back and saw Little Joe lying on his side, staring at him
—
or rather, beyond him
—
as the native struggled to get back on his feet.

It was the pure rage in Little Joe’s eyes that sent the reverend scrambling
on
through the gap. No matter what awaited him out here, it
couldn’t
be as bad as the horror transpiring inside the
mission
. Only death
lay
there. If not from the
skinwalker
, then from the beast that had once been Little Joe, should it survive the fray with its fury intact.

The reverend rose to his feet and
ran
in the direction he thought town lay. It wasn’t long before Reverend Phillips realized he was lost. He changed direction numerous times, trying to find a familiar landmark that would lead him to shelter. But the sea of pale green mist yielded no safe harbor for him to hone in on.

The fog mocked the reverend as he charged through it. Phillips saw faces form within the mist’s depths
—
evil, cackling visages of bygone friends and parishioners he’d wronged during his lie of a career as a man of God.

They called to him, shouting aloud his sins for the entire world to hear.

You said you loved me!
the pleading, mist-constructed face of a young girl said.
I gave myself to you because you promised you’d marry me!

“I’m
—
I’m sorry,“ the reverend stuttered. “I didn’t mean
—!“

The face of a grimacing,
mustachioed
man formed within the fog.
Thief! Liar! You took it all! Every last bit of our church’s savings!

“No, stop,“ the reverend said. “Please.“

The
mustachioed
man’s face was replaced by that of disheveled old woman’s. Her sunken, blind eyes were wet with tears of despair.
You let left me, Raymond. You’re all I had, and you left me, knowing I couldn’t make it without you. Why, Raymond? Why did you leave me?

“Mama
—?“

The reverend’s pace slowed. He was no longer running so much as staggering through the fog, the burden of his guilt taking on physical weight that pulled at him body and soul.

The fog
boiled, shifting
so that Gertrude’s accusing face, as tall and large as the reverend himself, appeared within its depths.
You gave me to them! You threw me to them so that you could get away
!

“No,“ the reverend stuttered, “No
…
I
…
please. I didn’t mean
…
No more!“

You killed me
! Gertrude said
with lips of pale green mist. Her
words now
came
like thunderclaps.
Killed me! Killed! Kill! Kill
!

Reverend Phillips shut his eyes, threw his hands over his ears, and screamed. But it did no good, for all the
voices
in the mist had now joined
Gertrude’s
.
Kill! Kill! Kill
!

The reverend’s eyes shot open as pain exploded in his belly. The faces in the mist had vanished, but an even worse sight met the reverend’s
gaze
. The ancient stood before him, a smile across his wrinkled face that fell short of his
milky
eyes.
Agony
gripped the reverend once again and he looked down to see the ancient twisting a bone-handled knife in his gut.

Phillips
slid off of the knife and fell to the ground.
An icy fist enclosed around
the
reverend’s heart as the sound of
low
growling reached his ears.

Two
skinwalkers
stalked out
from behind their
blind
master.

“Dear God,“ the reverend whispered.

The ancient’s smile twisted into
a
rictus
of
rotted
teeth. “
Not God.
Coyote
.“

The reverend’s screams pierced the night as the
skinwalkers
pounced.

M
axine
sprinted into the
rectory and scrambled down the boards leading into the pit. Maxine had to rely on the sparse light cascading in from
above
to see by.
Leaving a lantern burning in the armory would’ve been too risky.

“Goddamn it!“
Maxine’s
hands moved over the crates in search of the pistols she’d loaded earlier in the night. “Where are they
—?“
Her right hand closed over the barrel of a six-gun.
Second later, its twin was gripped
in her left
. Something
howled
in the mission above—
Maxine was uncertain if it was the
skinwalker
or Little Joe
—
and the pistols slipped out of her trembling hands.

Maxine cursed and then resumed her search. She found one of the weapons where she’d dropped it on top of the crate. However, its
sibling
seemed to have disappeared.
Maxine
dropped to her knees and began to feel around the edge of the crate. She froze as new roars echoed from the sanctuary.
When a
skinwalker
failed to drop into the pit, she continued to fumble around in the dark for
the missing
weapon.

After what seemed like an eternity, she found it
. She snatched it from the ground and rose to her feet.

Guns in hand, she ran to the trapdoor
, wanting the best light possible to see by
. She
recognized
the pistols
in her hands from when
she’d loaded
them
earlier, but checked their chambers just to be
sure
. Seeing both guns held full loads, Maxine
clambered
up the boards and out of the armory. A breath later, she was in the sanctuary, guns aimed to kill. However, it appeared she was too late. The battle was over.

Little Joe stood in the room’s center, battered and bloodied, his chest heaving.
Maxine’s gaze bounced from
the
native to the dead
skinwalker
lying at his feet and back
again
.

“Little Joe
—?“

Little Joe tensed. All semblance of humanity
was gone from
his eyes. His brow furrowed and his lips began to curl into a snarl. He
stalked
forward
, stepping over the corpse at his feet
.

“Little Joe
.“
Maxine cocked the pistols with her thumbs
.
“Don’t. It’s me. Maxine.“

For a moment, it appeared the animal inside Little Joe was going to attack, even if it cost the native’s life. But then Little
Joe
relaxed, his shoulders slouching with exhaustion. His face was haggard and bloody, but the light of
awareness
shown in his eyes once more, if only dimly.

“Christ almighty, Little Joe!“ Maxine lowered her guns. Her eyes were once more on the dead
skinwalker
. “You killed it! With your bare fucking hands, you killed it!“

For the first time since Maxine had entered the room, Little Joe noticed the
slain
monster.

“Where’s the reverend?“ Maxine asked. “Did it get him?“

“Phillips,“ Little Joe said. “He went out the
—“

Maxine
shrieked
as
five
skinwalkers
burst in through the still
-
open church doors. They fell upon Little Joe before he could finish his sentence. The native went down screaming as
five
different sets of fangs latched onto him and twice as many
claws
ripped him open.

Maxine did not bother firing her guns. She turned and sprinted into the rectory, bypassing the boards to leap through the
trapdoor
. Maxine started to kick the boards away from the entrance,
but
realized it would do her no good
. She
had no way of closing the trapdoor.

She turned and ran to the
pit’s
far corner, her small height allowing her to move without crouching to miss the church
subfloor
. She slipped behind a stack of barrels just as the first of the
skinwalkers
dropped
into
the
pit
. Maxine registered the smell of
gunpowder
and realized firing her weapons from her hiding place would prove disastrous.

A
low growl
issued
in the back of
the
skinwalker’s
throat
. It began
to sniff the air.

It’s hunting me.

Maxine heard
more
skinwalkers
drop
into the armory, the noise of their impact eerily soft considering their size and weight.
She listened as still more sniffed and growled
above her as they searched the mission.

Can’t be more than
five
of them altogether
.

But they might as well be a hundred
, Max argued, her alter ego piping up again now that Dewayne was gone and danger imminent.
We’re not Dewayne. I can count the number of times we’ve fired a gun on one hand
.
 

There must be a way out of here
,
Maxine thought.
You’re supposed to be the resourceful one. Think of something
!

Behind her, Maxine heard the
skinwalkers
growling as they tore away the lids of crates in search of her.

The way I see it
, Max thought,
we might as well put the barrel of one of those pistols in our mouth and pull the trigger. Or better yet, shoot one of the barrels we’re hiding behind. Blow us to hell and take as many of them with us as we can.

Max, I guess
—
Maxine felt a breeze on her face. She squinted her eyes, taking a closer look at the crate positioned against the pit wall in front of her. Taking care to make as little noise as possible,
Max
leaned forward and felt along the edge where the crate met the wall. Without a doubt, there was a draft coming through.
Max, I guess you may be half-right after all
.