Rhett McLaughlin - The Lost Causes of Bleak Creek

Across the spring, Alicia and Leif were still retching. Rex and Ben removed their tanks, fins, and masks, preparing themselves to become a human blockade as Travis, Mary, Shackelford, and Dr. Bob stepped toward them.

“I hate that it turned out this way, y’all,” Travis said, placing his head in his hands. “I really do.”

“Shut up!” Mary said. “Just throw them back in!”

Travis took a reluctant step forward, followed by the less reluctant Leggett Shackelford.

Rex and Ben raised their hammers.

“Don’t do this, Travis,” Rex said, still out of breath.

“I’m sorry, bud,” Travis said. “You’ll thank me one day.”

He lunged at Rex, who immediately swung his hammer down. Travis caught his arm, and the two of them tumbled to the ground, Travis easily pinning Rex and prying the hammer away.

Ben was only slightly more successful; he struck Shackelford’s shoulder, but it barely slowed him. The huge man knocked the hammer from Ben’s hand and wrapped him in a bear hug. “Get it done,” he said to his fellow cult members.

Rex writhed in Travis’s grip as he watched Mary and Dr. Bob run to Alicia and Leif, their path clear.

—

WHEN SHERIFF LAWSON regained consciousness after his dance with the Horn-cart, he saw the brawl unfolding between the cult and the now-weaponized golf gang. He was astounded that the kids seemed to have the advantage over the adults, who cowered as the metal clubs whipped back and forth, some of the students loudly chanting “Don’t follow!” over and over again.

This ends now, he thought, reaching into his robe and pulling out his service revolver.

“Gun!” Janine shouted, seeing the sheriff’s six-shooter glinting in the torch light as he pointed it at them.

“Drop the clubs, kids,” Sheriff Lawson said before aiming his weapon at a terrified Hornhat. “You’re gonna regret driving that thing over me, you little punk. This’ll teach y—”

From behind the sheriff, a teenage girl with freckles swung her pitching wedge up into his hand.

The sheriff screamed, grabbing his stinging knuckles as the gun flew through the air and landed in the thick grass.

The girl with the freckles directed a second swing to the back of the sheriff’s head, the club catching his robe but still delivering a dazing blow.

Across the way, Shackelford locked Ben in his firm grasp.

“Ain’t gettin’ away this time,” he said, hoisting Ben over his shoulder and stepping off the bank into the shallow water.

Ben flailed his limbs madly, making himself a perfectly uncooperative payload. As Shackelford adjusted his grip to steady himself, Ben grabbed the hood of the man’s cumbersome robe and yanked it down over his face.

“You little bastard!” Shackelford slammed Ben down into the shallow water.

Mary and Dr. Bob had been struggling to lift the limp, barely conscious bodies of Alicia and Leif, but they’d each finally found a good hold and were starting to drag them the few steps to the water.

In his exhaustion, Rex had given up fighting against Travis, who still had him pinned, but seeing his best friends being carried back to the spirit’s lair gave him a second wind.

He twisted his body, retracting his legs beneath Travis and kicking out as hard as he could.

“Oof!” Travis said as he was knocked to the ground.

Thank you, scooter leg, Rex thought, scrambling to his feet and charging toward Mary and Dr. Bob. He made a mad leap, tackling their ankles just as they were about to drop Alicia and Leif back into the water, all five of them landing in a tangled heap.

Wayne Whitewood looked to both sides of the spring, years of careful plotting culminating in this utter fiasco—the inept pile-up happening on the far side of the spring, his usually subdued students ruthlessly attacking his followers on the near side. He needed just one more Lost Cause for the Keeper, or else he would never be reunited with his sweet Ruby. The real Ruby. In the flesh. Emptied of that terrible spring water and no longer in the menacing grip of a dark spirit.

If you wanted something done, sometimes you just had to do it yourself.

Whitewood pulled out his large ceremonial knife and walked toward the few students who remained tied up. He quickly assessed them, choosing a boy with a crew cut, who, even though he was shaking like a leaf, seemed to have a rebellious look in his eyes.

“Your time has come,” Whitewood said, cutting through the boy’s rope with a swift flick of his blade and bending down to lift him up. “The less you struggle, the easier this will—”

“Stop!” someone shouted from behind him.

Whitewood turned. Donna was about fifteen steps away, pointing the sheriff’s gun at him.

He stopped.

The entire cult did too, even those across the spring, all eyes on their Master.

Hornhat and the other students also stopped, their clubs frozen in the air.

“Okay now, little lady,” Whitewood said, slowly raising his gloved hands. “Why don’t you just put that thing down?”

“No,” Donna said, the gun trembling in her hands.

“All right.” Whitewood shifted his eyes from the gun to her face. “Hey, now, aren’t you…one of my first students?”

He took a step forward.

Donna said nothing, instead taking a shaky breath.

“Yes!” Whitewood said. “I know you! My very first Lost Cause. Well, I’ll be.” He smiled at her, as if this were a friendly run-in at the dry cleaner’s. “Except the One Below didn’t agree, did he? He knew the truth about you.”

He took another few steps toward Donna.

“He knew you weren’t really a rebel. You were a good little girl. A girl who does as she’s told.”

He was now only feet away from Donna, the gun bouncing in her quivering hands.

“You’ve hurt so many people,” she said, on the verge of tears.

“That’s not true,” Whitewood said, just a step or two away from being able to rip the pistol from her hands.

Donna cocked the gun.

“You’re just confused. And listen: This isn’t you. Pointing a gun at your old headmaster? Come on now. You’re still a good girl. A follower.”

“Follow this,” Donna said.

The barrel flashed like a firework.

Whitewood grabbed his chest, staring in shock as a bloodstain blossomed on his robe.

“No!” Mary Hattaway shrieked, madly dashing to Whitewood as he fell to his knees.

“But Ruby,” he said, looking toward the spring. “I was…just about to…finally…” He struggled to his feet, blood already dripping from his mouth. He reached the spring’s edge, barely able to keep himself upright, then stumbled in, tripping over his flowing robe and dropping on all fours in the shallow water. As the bloody fabric touched the water, the spring—which had been calm for minutes, only lightly glowing and bubbling—began to gleam brightly. Whitewood continued his labored crawl, eventually reaching deeper water and doggie-paddling toward the center.

“I’m coming, Ruby!” he strained, blood pooling around him, causing the spring to bubble even more fiercely, the surface of the water like a wind-whipped lake. He gurgled one last time before his face fell under the water. After a few weak strokes, he stopped struggling, his motionless body floating in place.

“We have to save him!” Mary said, running out into the spring, Travis and Dr. Bob right behind her.

They didn’t get far, though, before the water whisked up ferociously, waves splashing about, knocking the three followers down. On the far side of the spring in the shallows, even the massive Shackelford, somehow still holding Ben after all this, was blasted over by a wave. Ben was finally able to break free and began to shuffle his way back to the bank.