I mean, here I was with an enigmatic warning from a creature I couldn’t trust any farther than I could throw him. Except… the spells hadn’t tripped. I should have zapped the hell out of him when we touched, pun intended, but nothing happened. What did that mean?
I quickly dismantled my marker and stowed it in my pack, suddenly preferring to leave my hands free for my sword if need be. I found my way back to the trail through a few yards of intervening scrub brush, then set out at a determined jog. I had to find my friends, and fast.
7
The cabin was a wonderful sight, when I finally burst from the trees into the large clearing. Now, let me explain that when I say cabin, I don’t mean some little shack in the woods. It was a two-story bungalow with porches in both front and back, running water, a fully stocked bar, and a generator-driven fridge. The second floor was mostly a loft where we could spread our sleeping bags and crash, and downstairs we could sprawl out in front of the fireplace and play cards or shoot the breeze, or whatever.
Oscar Quinn was stacking firewood on the front porch, laughing and chatting to my friends who had all beaten me there, to a man. “Oh, and there’s the last one. Hey, Jesse!” Oscar was in his midfifties, if I had to guess, but lean and wiry as only an outdoorsman can be. His skin was dark and weathered, and his hair was whiter than it had been, last I’d seen him, but the smile was the same. It made his eyes crinkle.
As I trotted across the open area, I did a mental head count, relaxing a little when I realized everyone had arrived safely, if paint-splattered. If anyone noticed that I had my sword in my hand instead of my paintball gun, they didn’t comment.
By the time I got inside, everyone was claiming a chunk of floor in the loft or jostling over the kitchen sink as they tried to wash the paint out of… everywhere. I tried to get Cole’s attention, to get him away from the others, but he was either intentionally ignoring me, or I wasn’t putting enough effort into it. “Cole. Cole! Hey, dumbass!” Nada.
It would wait, I told myself. Axel had said to get off the mountain, so surely that meant I had time to do so. Right? Right?? Besides, the sun would be down in the next half hour. Traipsing down the trail in the dead of night was just asking for an accident.
To convince myself, I walked to the window where I could see the glory of the Colorado wilderness spread out before me. Night was falling, the sky already deep purple to the east, and the color of day-old nacho cheese in the west. Things looked peaceful. They looked normal. It looked totally alien to me, I realized. When normal looks weird, your life is pretty messed up.
“Martin, check the refrigerator, make sure it’s on.” Oscar frowned and wrinkled his nose as he came in the door. “Smells like the eggs have spoiled. Would be just our luck, yet another thing going wrong.”
A quick check established that the fridge was working, but I quit paying attention to what was going on behind me sometime after that. I could smell it too, the distinct odor of rotten eggs, very faint on the mountain air. The scent of sulfur.
I craned my neck to peer out the window, searching the tree line for… what? I didn’t know, but the goose bumps were suddenly marching up and down my back, keeping time with my heart as it sped up. Was it just me, or was there something out there, watching us?
Someone moved at my elbow, and I glanced long enough to see that it was Cameron. He looked out the window with the same dark frown I knew I was wearing. There was something rotten in Denmark, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t the eggs.
“Oscar? Where’s Zane?”
Oscar looked up from his discussion of generator mechanics. “I sent him out to get more firewood. He should be back any minute; he’s been gone awhile.”
Any minute wasn’t soon enough. I walked out the door, taking my sword with me. I felt the guys’ eyes on me, all of them wondering what was up. Cole said, “Jess?” but I ignored him. I didn’t have an answer yet anyway.
Cameron joined me on the porch, and I swear he raised his head to sniff the air, which might have been odd if I hadn’t just done the same thing. The faint scent was gone… no, wait. I breathed deep again, and caught just the hint of it. Sulfur on the fitful breeze. The icy prickles across my arms were painful, and I drew my katana free of its scabbard, flexing my fingers on the hilt.
It could be Axel. I already knew he was in the area. But it didn’t feel like Axel. Maybe it made me an idiot, but Axel didn’t strike this deep chord of terror that I felt coiling around in my guts. He had never triggered my “danger sense,” not like this.
I strained my eyes at the tree line, as if I could make Zane Quinn materialize by sheer force of will. “Come on… get back here.. .”
His voice preceded him, sounding garish and out of place in the suddenly silent wood. As he broke the tree line, I could see the boy’s head bobbing as he sang off-key to whatever music was playing on his player. His arms were loaded with chopped wood, high enough that he could barely see over the top.
Far to our west, over the mountains that blocked our view, into an ocean we couldn’t even see from here, the sun set.
“Behind him…” I saw the movement even as Cam breathed the words. Something was moving in the trees behind Zane. Something dark, coming on fast in odd leaps and bounds from branch to trunk to forest floor.
“Zane! RUN!” I was off the porch and running before I realized it, and the teenager blinked at me in surprise instead of obeying. The hesitation cost him instantly.
In those first horrifying seconds, I couldn’t tell you how many there were, or even what they were. They were shapes, lean, lithe, springing across the open area in inhuman leaps. I demanded more speed from my feet, but it wasn’t going to do any good. I was only human, and I knew those things weren’t. I’d never reach him in time.
Two of them burst from the brush to my right and bowled into Zane. The firewood went flying. The copper tang of blood burst into the unnaturally still air, and the boy screamed in pain. Four more pounced down out of the overhanging branches, landing on their fellows, on Zane, without thought for safety. After that, I lost count, but there were more. So many more.
Without breaking stride, I waded in with my sword, feeling the resistance as it met solid forms, sliced yielding flesh. I had to clear them fast, before hitting the kid became too great a risk. There was no beauty to it. I hacked and slashed where I could, my momentum carrying me through them and out the far side. I figured at least a few would pursue me, but not a single one did. Like sharks in a frenzy, they swarmed to that blood scent.
“Here! On me!” I yelled. I stabbed, I sliced, and it was like kicking at the Rock of Gibraltar. I didn’t have what they wanted, so I didn’t exist.
The one on top of Zane reared up and I thrust through its shoulder, my blade appearing a good three inches out the back. The creature’s face drew up in a rictus of pain, but it made no sound, even as I kicked it off my sword. Its face was smeared almost black with fresh blood, what remained of its rotten teeth coated and sticky with it. And worst of all, it looked almost human. Whatever it was, it seemed to suddenly understand fear and pain because another slash from my sword had it hopping backward, moving on all fours at times, and on two legs at others.
Things got tricky after that. The kid was in there somewhere, thrashing and screaming, and the things on him were getting in their own way more than not. It was like sorting through the football huddle from Hell.
Finally, I caught a glimpse of bright fabric and made a wild grab with my free hand. It was the collar of Zane’s jacket, and I bodily dragged him out from under the writhing pile. There was no time to get him on his feet, and I didn’t wait to see if he even could. Getting a good grip, I started dragging, taking swipes at the creatures that got too close. There were more than I’d thought, swarming out of the trees, massing at the dark pools of Zane’s blood that gathered in the grass. Those that couldn’t get near those delectable morsels were flanking me, intent on retrieving the meal I’d just stolen from them.
Zane was still functional enough to kick with his legs, either in defense or scrabbling desperately to put distance between himself and his attackers. His heel connected with a shrunken, skeletal nose, the bone crunching wetly.
