Such was life…and death.
Wynona had spent most of the morning at Sheriff Lauters' farm, sorting through the rain of flesh and bone, separating human from animal. The remains of Lauters' family had already been buried in the cemetery outside town in one mass grave. A headstone would be placed tomorrow. It took a team of five men, volunteers all, several hours to dig through the snow and frozen ground and hollow out the grave. Nasty business that. But Wynona was used to death and dying and nothing surprised her anymore. The money was good, but her heart was heavy. This town was cursed.
She covered Ryan's body with a sheet and settled into her chair, her head aching. She'd always considered herself something of an optimist. Her father had said that both optimists and pessimists were in truth fantasists; that a realist was someone tucked safely between. And maybe he was right. Her optimism told her, assured her, that this beast, this monster would be caught and killed. Pessimism told her it would never happen: the beast would kill everyone and then move on. And realism told her it would be killed but not before it slaughtered a great many others.
Realism was safe; it avoided the extremes.
Sitting there, thinking of Marion and her love for her, Wynona decided she would be a realist now. Under the circumstances, it was a safe thing to be. A cloak of pragmatism that could be donned and would safeguard against all circumstances.
But she forgot about fatalism.
Until she heard the door to the back room crash in, that was. And suddenly she knew some things were unavoidable. As she peered into the back room, her eyes trembling with awe on the blood-encrusted giant standing there, its massive head brushing the roof beams, she knew it was all at an end. She was dead. No weapons or locked doors would change that. The beast was here and the beast had business with her.
She'd flirted with death for years and now here it was, huge and pissed-off and smelling.
'My God,' she muttered.
And the beast advanced, teeth gnashing.
17
Lauters was awake when Longtree walked into Dr. Perry's surgery.
Longtree wasn't surprised; he expected this very thing. Perry had said he'd given the sheriff enough drugs to keep him unconscious most of the day, but somehow, Longtree figured, given the state of the sheriff's mind, he wouldn't be out for long.
'Sheriff,' Longtree said, staring down the barrel of his gun, 'there's no need for that.'
Lauters was a big man. Huge, really, bloated from alcoholism, but still a very large man in his own right. His eyes were red and puffy, presumably from crying, his face damp with perspiration.
'I've taken as much as I'm going to from you, Longtree,' he hissed, 'you've pushed me around for the last time. My family…oh, Jesus…'
Longtree felt pity for the man. But he also felt the gun on him.
'Put it away, Sheriff. Please.'
Lauters gaped at him through tear-filled eyes. His bandaged nose making him look all the more pathetic, pitiful.
Longtree swallowed. The sheriff had his Colt on him. Even if he drew and drew fast, Lauters would still shoot him and probably in the chest. Such a wound had a high mortality rate.
Longtree held his hands out before him, innocently. 'If you're gonna kill me, Sheriff, least you can do is hear me out first. That ain't asking too much, is it?'
Lauters stared at him. 'I'm listening.'
Longtree eased himself slowly in a chair. 'You killed that Carpenter girl, didn't you?'
'Yes.' Atrocity had brought honesty at last.
Longtree nodded. 'You were part of that ring, the Gang of Ten. You boys set up Red Elk with that murder because he knew about you, then the other gang members lynched him and you stepped aside. Am I right?'
'You are.'
'And now you're the only one left, the last of the gang.'
Lauters nodded. 'You're very good, Marshal. I always knew you were and that's why I didn't want you here. The beast is coming for me now…even the law can't change that. Your badge is useless, boy.'
Longtree licked his lips. 'What you did was wrong, Sheriff, and I think you know that more than any man could. But you've been punished beyond the limits of the law…I'm not going to arrest you.'
Lauters lowered his gun. 'Then why are you here?'
'Because I wanted to have this little talk with you.' Longtree slipped a cigar from his pocket and lit it up. 'You lost your family to this monster, Sheriff. You've suffered enough. Putting you on trial would be pointless, particularly given the fact that the witnesses and co-conspirators are all dead now.' Longtree let that sink in. 'What happened a year ago happened and we'd just better forget about it. The people in this town have a lot of respect for you and I've got no interest in dragging your name through the mud. Let 'em think you're a good lawman… because down deep, you probably are.'
Lauters said nothing to any of this. A single tear slid down his cheek.
'We've got us a real problem here, Sheriff. We've got a monster that's killed a lot of people and it'll keep on killing until it's stopped. I think it's up to you and me to stop it.'
'How?' Lauters asked.
'I don't rightly know,' Longtree admitted. 'But I do know that it'll be coming for you and I'm going to be there when it does.'
'All that'll do is get yourself killed.'
Longtree stood up. 'It's my job to die fighting this thing same as it's yours. So get dressed. It's time we go hunting.'
'You want me to help you?'
'Damn right. We're lawmen. Let's kill this thing or die trying.'
It was about this time they heard shooting in the distance.
18
The posse led by Deputy Bowes was made up of eight men. Bowes had gathered the best and bravest shooters from the mining camps and the various ranches outside Wolf Creek. They were tough men, Bowes decided, but more than that they were angry men. They were sick of the killings, sick of being able to do nothing. They lived hard, frustrating lives. They had a lot of aggression to spend and they had been given a target to spend it on.
'There!' someone cried. 'The undertaking parlor!'
Bowes turned his head and saw. It seemed impossible in that first second of realization that something this hideous could possibly walk, let alone in full daylight. It moved hunched-over, knees bent, arms crooked, hands dangling limply. Its great tail swung from side to side and when it stooped over (as it did coming through the door of the undertaker's), the tail rose up as if it were part of some fulcrum that balanced the beast. The beast staggered out into the streets, taking the door to Spence's place off its hinges in the process. It waltzed out and stood up to its full height.
The men dismounted their horses. The horses had to be immediately tethered: some vague racial memory had stirred in them and they remembered this thing, its kin, and what they were capable of. The horses whinnied and bucked, some throwing riders before they could hop off. Others ran off down the streets.
And Skullhead, Lord of the High Wood, advanced on his flock.
'All right, you men,' Bowes cried out, 'hold your fire! Spread out, goddammit! Spread out!'
