bite…not like what’s after us.”
“What IS after us, sheriff?” The boy’s eyes were huge as he sat down his rifle and hustled over to the corpse. His face bled from where a branch must have slashed him in their race down the hill. “What is that thing?”
Carl looked back up into the blackness of Deerhunter Hill and winced as another unearthly howl rent the night. It sounded like all the wolves in the world, wrapped up in the mother of all bears.
“That,” he rasped, “was Luther Cole.”
“Luther Cole! But Luther Cole is dead! Are you saying that’s his ghost?”
“I’m saying,” Carl grunted as he leaned the corpse up, then put it in a bearhug to pull it to its feet, “that thing up there is what this place twisted Luther into before he died. He was already eating people. Hell, he was eating them raw!”
“You already said the man was crazy.” The deputy bent over and let Carl lean the body over his shoulder.
“I said he was a kook. But he was still a human being before he built his shack up there. But while he’s been up here, something got in to him. It got in to him deep. I think it messed with his…spirit…or soul…and slowly turned him into that thing inside. Now he’s dead and that’s what’s left. C’mon, lift!”
Pete stood up with the body over his shoulder, then looked helplessly over at his rifle leaning against the tree.
A second later the lantern sputtered, waned, then starting burning a sickly blue.
“Forget it!” Carl barked. He pushed Pete’s flashlight into the kids free hand, then ratcheted the lever on his own rifle, “Get to the boat and untie it! Don’t start the motor, just paddle your way out. I’ll be right behind you!”
“But sheriff…”
“Go! Do what I told you! That’s an order!”
The deputy stared at the sheriff for a second, clearly not liking the command. Carl could tell he suspected something, but at the moment he didn’t care. Pete’s jaw worked, but he chose to keep whatever he wanted to say to himself. Instead he turned away and did as ordered.
The sheriff watched him disappear into the woods, then turned back in the direction of their pursuer.
***
Satisfied the deputy had left, Carl snatched the lantern up and raced to place it in the middle of the small clearing. He untwisted the cap to the reservoir and sloshed kerosene out onto a patch of ground before setting the lantern in the middle of it. A heavy grunt sounded from the nearby trees and he back pedaled furiously, making sure to angle away from the direction Pete had taken.
He was exhausted, and knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the kid despite Pete’s burden. His legs were just too old, and his middle to o thick. To continue to attempt it would only make him the slowest deer in the herd…and nature had a firm way of dealing with those. Even worse, the young deputy might slow down in an effort to help him keep up and that would just get them both killed.
Carl wanted at least one of them to get out of this alive. He just hoped Pete would have the sense to lie about what happened here if things turned out that way.
But at the same time he refused to just lay down and die without trying to get back home to Martha. She wouldn’t take kindly to that. Besides, he didn’t know who won the Cotton Bowl, and he had bet twenty dollars on Rice. And there still remained the matter of a plate of deviled eggs waiting on him as well. He might be old, but he hadn’t gotten all these gray hairs by giving up when things were grim.
Still, sooner or later the odds were due to catch up with him, and what he was about to try was a long shot.
“C’mon, let this work, let this work, letthisworklethiswork…” he breathed as he hid behind a tree trunk, and raised his rifle.
His wait ended mere seconds later.
The thing that had once been Luther Cole stalked out into the clearing and thudded to a stop in front of the lantern. A deep bass growl, almost too low to hear,
“What IS after us, sheriff?” The boy’s eyes were huge as he sat down his rifle and hustled over to the corpse. His face bled from where a branch must have slashed him in their race down the hill. “What is that thing?”
Carl looked back up into the blackness of Deerhunter Hill and winced as another unearthly howl rent the night. It sounded like all the wolves in the world, wrapped up in the mother of all bears.
“That,” he rasped, “was Luther Cole.”
“Luther Cole! But Luther Cole is dead! Are you saying that’s his ghost?”
“I’m saying,” Carl grunted as he leaned the corpse up, then put it in a bearhug to pull it to its feet, “that thing up there is what this place twisted Luther into before he died. He was already eating people. Hell, he was eating them raw!”
“You already said the man was crazy.” The deputy bent over and let Carl lean the body over his shoulder.
“I said he was a kook. But he was still a human being before he built his shack up there. But while he’s been up here, something got in to him. It got in to him deep. I think it messed with his…spirit…or soul…and slowly turned him into that thing inside. Now he’s dead and that’s what’s left. C’mon, lift!”
Pete stood up with the body over his shoulder, then looked helplessly over at his rifle leaning against the tree.
A second later the lantern sputtered, waned, then starting burning a sickly blue.
“Forget it!” Carl barked. He pushed Pete’s flashlight into the kids free hand, then ratcheted the lever on his own rifle, “Get to the boat and untie it! Don’t start the motor, just paddle your way out. I’ll be right behind you!”
“But sheriff…”
“Go! Do what I told you! That’s an order!”
The deputy stared at the sheriff for a second, clearly not liking the command. Carl could tell he suspected something, but at the moment he didn’t care. Pete’s jaw worked, but he chose to keep whatever he wanted to say to himself. Instead he turned away and did as ordered.
The sheriff watched him disappear into the woods, then turned back in the direction of their pursuer.
***
Satisfied the deputy had left, Carl snatched the lantern up and raced to place it in the middle of the small clearing. He untwisted the cap to the reservoir and sloshed kerosene out onto a patch of ground before setting the lantern in the middle of it. A heavy grunt sounded from the nearby trees and he back pedaled furiously, making sure to angle away from the direction Pete had taken.
He was exhausted, and knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the kid despite Pete’s burden. His legs were just too old, and his middle to o thick. To continue to attempt it would only make him the slowest deer in the herd…and nature had a firm way of dealing with those. Even worse, the young deputy might slow down in an effort to help him keep up and that would just get them both killed.
Carl wanted at least one of them to get out of this alive. He just hoped Pete would have the sense to lie about what happened here if things turned out that way.
But at the same time he refused to just lay down and die without trying to get back home to Martha. She wouldn’t take kindly to that. Besides, he didn’t know who won the Cotton Bowl, and he had bet twenty dollars on Rice. And there still remained the matter of a plate of deviled eggs waiting on him as well. He might be old, but he hadn’t gotten all these gray hairs by giving up when things were grim.
Still, sooner or later the odds were due to catch up with him, and what he was about to try was a long shot.
“C’mon, let this work, let this work, letthisworklethiswork…” he breathed as he hid behind a tree trunk, and raised his rifle.
His wait ended mere seconds later.
The thing that had once been Luther Cole stalked out into the clearing and thudded to a stop in front of the lantern. A deep bass growl, almost too low to hear,
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