Anthony DeCosmo - Disintegration

Stonewall said, "Mr. Tucker is an accomplished rider and a fair shot."

A big, middle-aged redheaded fellow said, "Boylen. Now get me a bigger gun."

An older brunette woman with fire in her eyes called her name; "Ames!"

Shepherd scratched his ear and told Jon, "That about sums it up."

Nine horses and two wagons lined the drive. Reverend Johnny loaded a last box aboard one cart. When he saw the stocks inside- including several large, tarp-covered objects-he said, "It appears we are bringing the All Mighty’s fury upon those godless bastards."

With Shep at his side, Jon Brewer tentatively approached a horse.

Shepherd asked, "Never, huh?"

"No. You?"

"Two years Philly mounted patrol," Shep beamed.

"I think I’ll stick to the wagon."

A "hey" from behind turned Jon around. Lori stood there, her hands wringing. She had that "see how strong I’m being" lie in her eyes.

"Hey," he echoed.

They looked at each other the way two people who have been together for a long time can look at each other and say a thousand words without a sound.

"I’ll be back."

"I knew you'd say that. Don't make it a lie."

"I love you, too."

She grabbed him with a hug; the strength of her grasp surprised him.

"I can be a real pain in your ass…" she started.

"I wouldn’t have it any other way," he finished and then boarded the lead wagon next to Boylen who held the reigns.

Tyr and Odin raced to the group and jumped onboard Jon's ride. They brought four Siberian Huskies with them and a couple of Rottweilers. Apparently, they were going regardless of what anyone else thought.

Spurs jingled and the clop-clop of horseshoes clattered on the drive as the train started off from the isolated estate toward the unknown wilderness of the new and deadly world.

The rescue party traveled in a southeasterly direction. The plan looked easy enough on the map: cut across the fields, forests, and hills of the "Back Mountain" and then cross the river. Eventually they would meet the Northeast Extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike. That would be their navigation point for the rest of the trip to Allentown.

It had looked easy enough…on the map.

Jon soon found himself surprised at the challenge in keeping the small group together. Horses threw riders, false alarms proved distracting, and the piss breaks never ended.

After crossing Follies Road in Jackson Township, the K9s onboard Jon's wagon broke into a fit of barking just as a putrid smell of acidic rot fell over the travelers. A moment later-as the horses and wagons moved across an open field-a fifteen-foot tall crawling mass of tendrils and squirming appendages spilling from a conical carapace slithered from an abandoned barn with the apparent aim of snatching a late breakfast.

Jon directed riders to circle the beast; one tendril slapped Shepherd off his mount. Woody "Bear" Ross intervened with a well-lobbed Molotov cocktail that splattered on the creature’s exposed feelers and burned.

Reverend Johnny fell the final blows in 12-gauge blasts from a Street Sweeper shotgun.

Jon's posse cheered as the dead monster burned. Their first victory.

Progress slowed as they climbed the mountains of the valley's southwestern perimeter via the Lackawanna State Forest. As they descended the eastern side around noontime, Jon and his team arrived at the Route 29 bridge spanning the Susquehanna River south of Plymouth.

They were half way across when beetles the size of cats crawled from beneath the span. Rifle fire and shotgun shells killed more than twenty of the oversized insects but they managed to injure two horses, one seriously enough for Shepherd to put down.

With the bridge and the bugs behind them, the convoy followed the elevated freeway east. They saw many different alien animals roaming the streets and fields to either side, most seemingly docile herbivores or scavengers.

In a case of serendipity, a group of six thin but alive survivors picking through a jack-knifed Sysco Foods trailer flagged down the convoy. Jon provided the extended family with directions to the estate but could not help them more; he had a mission to accomplish.

They turned onto Interstate 81 and climbed the eastern mountain wall of the valley, passing Lake Nuangola then cutting southeast through Wright Township on Route 437.

Late that afternoon, the convoy slowed for a break northwest of White Haven. Jon stopped his wagon along the berm and stared at creatures gathered in a field. Shepherd and Stonewall maneuvered their horses to his side.

There grazed a quartet of beasts each the size of a small elephant with big seal-like faces, soft fuzzy hides, and jagged backbones. They scooped dying grass into their round mouths and sifted through the bites, perhaps extracting nutrients or insects.

"It boggles the mind what has happened to our world," Stonewall remarked. "If a man were to pause and reflect on these events he would have to question the rhyme or reason."

Shepherd said, "Seems to me that whatever caused all this wasn’t lookin’ to just take the planet like Martians in those 50’s sci-fi flicks. No, someone was aimin’ to do a right bit more."

Jon thought aloud, "To erase our world."

The oversized fuzzy seal-beasts hurriedly closed ranks. A flock of Earthly birds fluttered away from the barren trees and bushes at the far end of the field.

Shep recognized the nervous state of prey animals and urged, "We need to get goin’."

Too late.

A pack of three predators pushed through the tree line to the east and sent a wave of sheer terror through the ranks. At first, Jon saw only teeth: a massive circular array of teeth dominating the entire front of the creatures; jaws easily the size of a tractor-trailer grill on bodies bigger than a full-size van. Patches of brown fur sprouted between plates of dull-gray armor covering their bodies and they walked on four muscular legs. Jon saw two black eyes set just above the monstrous maw completing the image of some warped cartoon wolf from a nightmarish Little Red Riding Hood myth.

The hunters circled the prey huddled in the field. As the attackers closed, one of the herd lost its nerve and bolted from formation.

One of the jaw-wolf things pursued, closed to a few yards, and opened its massive teeth like spreading fingers on an unclenching fist, revealing a matching set of smaller-but equally sharp-teeth within.

Jon watched it happen-they all saw-but it took him several seconds to comprehend.

The smaller set shot from the hunter's mouth on a red tendon, clamped into the escaping seal-beast, and bit it in two. As the tendon retracted, it hauled a chunk of meat and gore into the predator's mouth and the larger teeth folded in to help chew. The monster stood over the kill, its attention fully focused on dinner.

Predators, yes, but predators straight from the depths of Hell.

Stonewall prodded, "Mr. Brewer…?"

"Jesus Christ," Jon regained his senses. "Let’s get out of here before-"

The remaining two hungry jaw-wolves spotted the human contingent. They left behind the seal-beasts and approached slowly, splitting to flank as they closed.

Stonewall cried, "To arms I say!"

Reverend Johnny-riding in the other wagon- retrieved a weapon from the cargo area. Most of those on horseback dismounted along the road with rifles ready, a few remained in their saddles, perhaps contemplating flight.

"Fire at will!" Jon ordered.

A sheet of bullets rained upon the predators. The jaw-wolves cringed but did not retreat as the shots ricocheted off their armor plating and massive teeth.

Then they attacked from either side.

Reverend Johnny-a World War II era flamethrower strapped to his back-intercepted the one on the southern flank.