Ted Kosmatka - Prophet of Bones

A voice called out from behind the vans: “Let’s take a moment here, shall we? A cease-fire.” There were a few seconds of silence. “Are we agreed?”

Paul slid his eye around the steel drum again. He could see the vans. One had a shattered side window, bullet holes perforating the side.

“Well, isn’t this an unexpected turn of events?” the voice continued. “So it appears the good professor not only has a gun but also knows how to shoot it.”

Gavin called out a response: “You’d do well to remember that.”

“Oh, we’ll remember. You seem to have shot my partner.”

Gavin gave Paul a questioning look. Paul shrugged. He couldn’t see anything.

Gavin called out, “Sorry to hear that. In that case, we accept your unconditional retreat.”

There was movement, then a muzzle flash from around the side of the bumper, and then thwack! Wood chips sprang from the table a couple of inches from Gavin’s head.

“You sonofabitch!” came a shout from a different voice.

A heated conversation followed from the other side of the vans. It was unintelligible for the most part, though Paul was able to discern the word “prick” spoken loudly in a strained voice, then, “Calm the fuck down.”

A moment later, in a casual tone, the first voice spoke again: “My apologies for that errant shot. It seems my wounded comrade here didn’t particularly like the sarcastic tenor of your last statement and he chose to express himself through less than friendly means. And that is unfortunate, because the fact of the matter is that we’ve got instructions to bring you in alive.”

Paul met Gavin’s eyes again, another questioning look.

“So you see the predicament we’re in,” the voice continued. “If we kill you, well, that’s less than ideal. On the other hand, you must know that we can’t let you drive out of here.”

“Looks like we’re at an impasse then.”

“Oh, I think that’s the wrong way to look at it. You see, if it’s an impasse, then we really are stuck. If it’s an impasse, then we’ve got no choice but to go to Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?”

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Try us,” Gavin called out.

“No, really now, I’m telling you. Plan B is a surprise. And you’ll just have to take my word for it—it’s not a good surprise.”

Paul scanned the woods behind the pavilion, wondering if the thick underbrush would work for or against them in a foot chase.

The voice continued: “So we need to reach an accommodation here. What do you say you come out with your hands up? No more gunfire. Nobody else gets hurt. We bring you in, no muss, no fuss.”

“Bring us in where?” Gavin called.

“You haven’t figured that out yet?” It was a new voice. A third man stepped into view from behind the van. He had blond hair and a short, red beard.

“Shit,” Gavin hissed under his breath.

“What?” Paul whispered to Gavin. “Where do they want to take us?”

“This is as good an offer as you’re going to get,” the red-bearded man said. “I suggest you take it, Gavin.”

Somewhere in the distance a bird chirped. Wind sighed through the trees. Beyond that, there was no sound. No answer. Gavin kept his head down, silent.

After thirty seconds had passed, the red-bearded man spoke again: “Gavin, there’s one more thing I feel compelled to mention, since you’re taking time to think things over. It was really only Paul that was mentioned in regard to being brought back alive. Seems the old man wants to meet him. We were willing to include you under that general umbrella, though. As a courtesy. But the orders regarding the rest of you really didn’t specify.”

Gavin made a hand gesture that caught Paul’s attention. When Paul looked, Gavin motioned toward the woods just beyond the pavilion. “Run,” Gavin whispered.

Paul shook his head. “We’re not leaving you.”

“You go first, and I’ll cover you. I’ll be right behind you.”

“No. All together or not at all.”

“Paul, that’s just not gonna work.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Paul repeated. “We stand a better chance together.”

“No, we don’t. We stand no chance, just sitting here. I can cover your retreat, and with any luck, I’ll pick another one or two of them off. You make it to a road, flag somebody down, and then get the hell out of here. Get to a police station. That’s our only hope now.”

Paul said nothing. Just stared at Gavin.

“Do it for her.” Gavin cocked his head toward Lilli.

Lilli still sat with her back to the wooden support beam. She was hunched as low to the ground as she could go, legs extended out in front of her in a straight line. Her dark hair clung wetly to her face.

“What do you think?” Paul asked Lilli.

“I think I want a gun,” she said.

“Sorry, lass,” Gavin said. “I’ve just got the one.”

“Then that reduces me to target practice.”

“So we run?” Paul said.

She nodded. “I’m game if you are.”

“Shit,” Paul mouthed softly to himself. “Okay, on the count of three.”

Paul took a deep breath and shifted his feet, ready to spring. “One. Two…” He chanced a look around the steel drum and didn’t see any guns pointed at them. “Three!”

He and Lilli bolted for the woods. Gavin stood and aimed.

Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop.

Gunshots rang out as Gavin covered their escape. The men fired back, the sound of shots blurring together as both sides exchanged fire.

Paul and Lilli sprinted into the woods, knocking aside branches and shouldering their way through the underbrush.

From behind them, the sound of shots changed, the closer shots going quiet. Paul knew that either Gavin’s gun had run out of bullets or he was dead.

He let Lilli pull ahead, and he slowed to look behind. He heard the sound of branches breaking, then Gavin’s voice say, “Shit!”

“This way!” Paul urged as Gavin came into view through the underbrush. Gavin was barely visible, fifty yards behind them, his legs pumping.

“For fuck’s sake, run!” Gavin shouted.

Paul turned and ran full out. He leapt over a fallen log and dodged a bramble prickly with thorns. Low branches scratched at his cheek. He’d gained on Lilli a little when he heard a different sound from behind him. The sound of crashing limbs suddenly louder, as if something enormous was barreling its way through the woods.

Paul turned back, and what he saw changed everything.

Two things.

Demon things.

Different from what he’d seen before.

Different from anything he’d ever imagined. Faces like something older. Things that were not human.

For a moment Paul faltered. He missed a step, and his foot came down on something soft, and suddenly he was rolling. He sprang to his feet, turning again to look behind him, and the things were closing in on Gavin. Gavin’s face was white; he’d seen what was chasing him.

The things closed in.

“Run!” Paul shouted helplessly. But Gavin was already running, still thirty yards back. He was too slow.

The creatures converged on Gavin and dragged him to the ground. The screaming started—screeching—as heavy clublike arms rose and fell. Paul froze, his gaze wide with horror. The things lunged in on Gavin, mouths gaping, teeth bared. Blood sprayed. It happened in an instant. Paul started to move toward Gavin, an instinct to help his friend, but a hand grabbed at his arm.

“No! Too late,” she said. She was right. In that moment, the screaming stopped.

The creatures pulled and ripped at Gavin’s flesh. Blood covered their inhuman faces. They were like the thing on the bridge, but they were different, too. Smaller, darker. More animal. One of them lifted its face and glared at Paul. It rose up, baring huge teeth, and screeched—an alien, almost-human sound. A gravelly howl of rage.