Dead of Winter (16 page)

  Ben sighed through his nose. "You got the extra rounds from Father Davidson?" he asked.

  "Right here," Cora said, patting her ammo belt with a gloved hand.

  "All right, then," he said, swinging himself off his horse. He tied the reins loosely so he could ride again at a moment's notice. "You come fetch me if you're close by when it shows."

  "You hear me start shooting, you come running," Cora said. She reached down inside her boot, produced a small silver knife, and tossed it to him. "Sleep with that on the stand. If it happens to come in through the window while I'm away, that ought to slow it down enough for you to light out."

  He nodded, sliding the knife into his belt. "God be with you, then."

  "And with you." She watched him go, then took a deep breath of cold air and blew it out over Our Lady's ears. She slapped the reins across the mare's neck, rode back into the street, and resumed her patrol.

  Snow gathered on her gloves and the horse's mane as she circled through the streets. The torch-bearing deputies became fewer and fewer as the night wore on, and lights began to wink out in the windows. Soon, the town of Leadville slipped into a deeper sleep, leaving her alone with the cold and the night. Only Jack Evans remained at his post by the brothel's front door, his chin on his chest, snoring softly.

  Finally, Cora judged a good hour had passed and turned Our Lady's head toward the Northern Hotel. Her fingers were stiff and cold inside her gloves. She holstered Duggan's gun and rubbed her hands together as Our Lady crunched along the street. Time for Ben to come back out into the cold for awhile. There were only a few hours before dawn, anyway, so he could patrol until then. If the damn thing still didn't show, they'd have no choice but to hunt it at the old Bartlett place. She muttered a curse as she rode through the snowflakes, promising the wendigo a few hours of suffering to make up for hers.

  Light streamed through the windows at the marshal's station as she rode by. At least Duggan was still awake. She considered stopping by for an update, then decided against it. The marshal wouldn't be pleased to see her, and the feeling would be mutual enough. Better to wait until morning.

  She was about to ride on when a small movement on the station's roof caught her eye. Squinting away the glow from the windows, she peered into the shadows above the building's false front. Something up there didn't look right. She drew the big Colt from its holster and nudged Our Lady's head around.

  There, just behind the upward curve of the shiplap wall. She thought she could make out a head peering down toward the station's upper windows. Her eyes stole to the base of the station. The building butted up right next to its neighbor, a general store, leaving no alley where she might take cover. Cursing silently, she remained where she was, praying that Our Lady wouldn't snort or do anything to make their presence known.

  The shadow remained where it was, the dark knob of the creature's head twisting slightly. After a few minutes, a long, sinewy arm flowed into the dim light of the street. Cora could see the black tips on the fingers as they probed the front of the station, finding purchase on the outer sill of an upper window. The second arm followed, its fingers coming to rest on the porch roof. Gray skin glimmered in the pale light as the wendigo lowered itself toward the window like a giant, misshapen spider.

  The monster paused in front of the window. Cora could make out the thin locks of hair still clinging to its scalp as she leveled her revolver. Scarcely daring to breathe, she pulled the hammer back. The wendigo's attention remained on the window, searching the interior of the station, oblivious to her presence, and she allowed herself a small smile. All kills should be this easy.

  At that moment, the door to the station burst open. The noise made her jump, and her finger squeezed the trigger. The shot went wide, slamming into the wall near the creature's torso as the Colt's thunder rolled through the silent streets. The wendigo's head snapped up, and its yellow eyes gleamed at her. A wailing moan escaped its black lips.

  "Goddammit, Sanchez!" Cora yelled. The deputy stood in the doorway, torch in hand, looking startled by the gunshot and her curse. Cora punched her heels into Our Lady's sides, spurring her into a sudden gallop as the dark shape leapt toward her. It crashed into the snow where she had been a moment ago. Looking over her shoulder, she could see the frostbitten fingers clawing at the snow as the wendigo righted itself and gave chase. She couldn't hope to hit it firing backward from the back of a galloping horse. Turning back around, she gave Our Lady another punch with her heels. The terrified mare pounded down the street, snow flying in chunks from beneath her hooves.

  A row of buildings loomed ahead of them, marking a street corner. Cora cursed, knowing they would have to slow down to make the turn. Stealing another glance over her shoulder, she realized they wouldn't make it that far. The wendigo was closing the distance. Keeping her eyes on the approaching monster, Cora clenched the Colt in her hand and thumbed the hammer back. It would be on them in a matter of seconds, and she might only get one shot. She prayed she would be fast enough. Her hands and feet throbbed from the cold.

  A shout echoed ahead of her. Turning her face into the stinging wind, she could see another rider charging toward them, a torch blazing in his hand. One of the marshal's deputies. Her heart lifted at the sight, and she glanced backward again. She could see the wendigo's teeth clacking together in savage hunger beneath those demonic eyes. Holding her breath, she bent down, bringing her face close to Our Lady's lathered neck. The oncoming rider swept past them, the torch passing just above her head as he swung it toward the monster's face. The wendigo let out a hiss and veered away from the flames. Cora turned her head as she sat upright in the saddle. The dark, spindly shadow was circling back toward the deputy. She pulled on the reins, slowing Our Lady as quickly as she dared. The mare kept her footing on the snow-packed road, rearing her head as Cora turned her back toward the monster.

  The wendigo circled the rider, lashing out at the torch with long arms. The deputy kept his saddle, fighting both monster and mount as his horse stamped in terror beneath him. A smaller flame flashed from the pistol in his other hand, the gunshots echoing down the street.

  Laying a hand on Our Lady's neck, Cora urged her into a trot. It wouldn't be long before the creature managed to knock the torch from the lawman's grip, but she was too far away to have a clean pistol shot. Our Lady fought against her reins, trying to turn away from the scene before them, but Cora guided her forward with a firm hand. The gunshots from the deputy fell silent.

  Then, just as the hunter and her mount rode into range, black fingers struck the deputy's upheld hand, and the torch flew out of his grasp. It sailed end-overend through the falling snow before landing in a nearby drift. The wendigo wailed in anger and lunged at the lawman, knocking him to the ground. Cora heard a terrified shout from beneath the sinewy body as man and monster wrestled. She brought Our Lady to a halt and raised the revolver. The man's cries rang in her ears, but she pushed them away. If she missed, those cries would be his last.

  The Colt leapt in her hands. A piercing shriek filled the air as emaciated limbs recoiled in pain. The monster wheeled around to face her, eyes blazing. Cora pulled back the hammer and fired again. The sacred bullet missed its mark as the wendigo leapt at her in a blind fury, mouth open, fingers grasping. Her third shot caught it in the shoulder, but the impact wasn't enough to stop it from crashing into her. Our Lady of Virginia screamed in terror as they fell beneath the monster's weight.

  Cora managed to get her boots clear of the stirrups before the mare went down. Our Lady let out another whinnying cry, righted herself, and bolted into the night. Coming to rest with her boots beneath her, Cora realized her hands were empty. The wound in the wendigo's shoulder belched a thick grey smoke into the winter air. It struggled to get the wounded arm beneath it, to put weight on it and attack her again, but the limb seemed useless. Air hissed between its teeth as it floundered in the snow.

  Taking advantage of the monster's pain and confusion, Cora searched frantically for her fallen revolver. Snow flew in her face from the wendigo's flailing limbs. She ducked under the sweep of a twisted arm, then jumped over a kicking leg. As she landed on her hands and knees, her fingers felt the butt of her Winchester. It must have fallen out of the saddle scabbard before Our Lady of Virginia ran off. Cora picked up the rifle and turned toward the wounded monster. The gunshots drowned out the eerie wailing pouring from the blackened lips. She pumped round after round into the living corpse, emptying her magazine. Once the rifle started clicking, she flipped it around, gripping the barrel in her gloved hands. She waited until the wendigo's yellow eyes turned toward her again, then swung with all her might.

  She heard the crunching of bone as the stock buried itself in the blackness where Jules Bartlett's nose had been. The wendigo jerked its head backward, wrenching the Winchester's barrel from her hands. Rising to its full height, the creature gripped the rifle with its good hand and pulled. After a few seconds, the wooden stock slid out of its face with the sound of grating bone. It tossed the rifle aside with a hiss of hatred, then dropped down onto its good arm. The wicked head lowered as it swept its yellow gaze across the snowy street, searching for the troublesome woman.

  The demon eyes came face-to-face with the big Colt.

  Cora squeezed the trigger. The revolver bucked in her hands as the consecrated bullet struck the wendigo just above the left eye and burrowed deep into the undead skull. Its wail sent gooseflesh rolling up her arms as it pitched backward, grotesque limbs flailing. Cora pulled the Colt's hammer back and circled around the fallen monster until she could see its face again. The evil eyes were pale, fading to the color of ash, but they still saw her. A faint hiss bubbled from between its teeth. The wound in its forehead trailed smoke like a dying fire.

  Cora raised the pistol and fired again. When the smoke cleared, the great beast was silent.

  Holstering the revolver, Cora took a deep breath. The wendigo lay dead at her feet, snowflakes gathering in the gray wisps of its hair and beard. Her saber rang faintly in the stillness. Gripping the hilt in both hands, she brought the blade down on its neck. There was no splashing of blood as the sword cut through the mottled flesh and frozen bones.

  Firelight flickered over the pale corpse. Looking up, Cora saw Marshal Duggan and Deputy Sanchez approaching on foot. Sanchez still had his torch, and the marshal held a rifle at the ready. She waved them over. Together, the three of them looked down at the lifeless head, its face still locked in a black-lipped snarl.

  "So it's dead?" Duggan asked.

  "I do believe," Cora said, poking at its cheek with the toe of her boot. Smoke still seeped from the holes in its forehead. "If it ain't, you'll need these." Cora pulled the remaining six rounds from her belt and held them out.

  Duggan passed his rifle to Sanchez and cupped his hand as she poured the silver bullets into it. He rolled them around on his palm, watching them shimmer in the torchlight. "That's it, then?"

  "Well, aside from the matter of our payment, yes," Cora said. She swung the Colt's cylinder open and dumped out the spent shells. They bounced off the wendigo's ribs in a series of clinks. She gave the revolver one more spin and handed it to the marshal.

  "I reckon my riding the torch into this thing's face warrants us a discount," Duggan said.

  "That was you, was it?" Cora asked. "Wish I'd known. I wouldn't have been so careful with my aim."

  The marshal ignored the comment. "You looking to settle right this minute?"

  "No, I reckon I've earned a little shut-eye," she said, stretching her arms toward the sky. "You could probably do with some yourself. How does tomorrow afternoon strike you?"

  Duggan nodded and slid the empty revolver into his belt. Still holding the silver bullets in his hand, he took the rifle back from Sanchez. Together, they turned toward the station. Cora watched them go for a moment, then crouched down and looked into the wendigo's lifeless eyes. Now empty of the demon animating it, the face looked like any other frozen corpse. Were it not for the grotesque limbs, anyone would have mistaken it for the body of an old miner who froze to death on a mountainside. And they wouldn't be wrong.

  Cora stood up and looked back at the two lawmen. "Hey!" she called out. They paused at the station door and turned back to her. "You should probably burn this thing before folks start waking up." Without waiting for a reply, she recovered her Winchester from the drift where the wendigo had thrown it and set off for the Northern Hotel.

  After a short walk, she rounded a corner and came into view of the hotel. Ben's horse still stood tied to the hitching rail, snow covering its mane. The sight of the nameless creature made her realize that she was on foot. Cursing, she stopped in her tracks. Snow layered the brim of her hat as she debated with herself. She could almost feel the warmth of the big fire in the hotel's lobby and the bed in their room. Her bones ached from the cold, and she longed to warm them in a hot bath, but her horse was wandering through the cold streets somewhere, just waiting to be stolen.

  Her sigh filled the air in front of her in a swirling cloud. She turned on her heel and started back the way she had come. A few lights gleamed in windows above her head, illuminating the shadows of worried citizens as they peered out into the night. They could all rest easy now. Tomorrow afternoon, she and Ben would board an eastbound train, stop by to thank Father Baez in Denver, and go wherever the mood took them. She clenched her aching hands into fists. After this, she figured the mood would call for someplace warm.