Dead of Winter (6 page)

  The hands were the first to emerge from the smoke, grasping at the cabin's floor with black fingers. Long white arms followed. When the creature's body lurched into view, a shaft of sunlight caught its ribs, outlining them in hideous detail.

  Yellow eyes turned toward her. Cora fired, the bullet punching a smoking hole in the creature's cheek. It wailed in anger, mouth yawning open far wider than seemed possible. Cora unloaded her remaining three shots. Her bullets struck it in the neck and chest, sizzling through icy flesh. It cried out at each impact, but the silver rounds didn't seem to slow it down.

  By now, she could see the entire creature. Its head and torso were man-sized, but the limbs were long and grotesque. The cabin's low ceiling forced it to crouch like a giant, four-legged spider. Its wounds seeped a thick black fluid that pooled in the ragged beard and ran between its ribs like tar. It was injured but far from dead, and her revolver was empty.

  With a sinking feeling, she realized that she'd let it get between her and the cabin's door. No way out but through the creature now staring at her with demon eyes. She returned its gaze in the dim light, listening to the clacking of its teeth as she gripped her saber. Then a flash of recognition washed over her, and the air left her lungs in a rush.

  The monster had the face of Jules Bartlett.

  A pale arm shot toward her, black fingers outstretched. Cora slashed with her saber, carving a deep gash across the creature's palm. The force of her blow knocked the hand away, and it smashed into the cabin's wall. Picks and shovels rattled on their hooks. Her saber flashed in a beam of sunlight as she brought it down on the creature's forearm. The blade bit through the thin flesh but stopped cold at the bone, the jolt sending a spike of pain through her arm. The sword fell to the floor with a clatter.

  Cora jumped backward as the black fingers came for her again. Her boots landed on a fallen mining pick. She stumbled for a moment, lost her balance, and fell heavily on her back. Knowing those fingers were closing in, she flailed her arms in a panic. Her hand found what felt like a metal handle. Thinking it was her saber, she swung it with all her might at the ghastly face as the monster bore down on her.

  To Cora's surprise, the monster recoiled as the lantern shattered against its face, spilling flame onto the cold skin. Taking advantage of its distraction, she grabbed the pick near her boots and came up swinging. The crunch shook her bones as the pick buried itself in the creature's skull. A wail of anger filled the small cabin as the creature stumbled under the impact, and Cora saw her chance. Leaping over a flailing leg, she rolled across the floor and made for the open door.

  Once outside, she sprinted for Our Lady, who was pulling at her reins in a panic. Laying a hand on the mare's neck, Cora whispered a few words in her ear before drawing the Winchester from its saddle holster. She chambered a round and swung the rifle back toward the cabin. The hideous face gnashed its teeth at her through the open door. It seemed hesitant to follow her into the sunlight, which suited her just fine. The rifle butt kicked against her shoulder as she fired, and another wail of pain erupted from the cabin's interior.

  Cora pumped the action and prepared to fire again, but when the smoke cleared, the creature was nowhere in sight. Keeping the gun raised, she approached the cabin. Mindful of the reach of those pale arms, she kept her distance from the open door and strafed back and forth, peering into the dark building.

  Nothing.

  Cora crept back through the cabin's door, rifle at the ready. The room was empty except for a trail of dark sludge leading back to the trap door. Cora allowed herself a small smile of victory. Whatever Jules Bartlett had become, she had driven it back into the cold darkness of the mines.

  She recovered her saber and revolver from where they lay and emerged back into the sunlight. Her frightened mare was still fighting with the hitching post. Cora kept an eye on the cabin's door as she stroked Our Lady's neck, quieting her. She slid the rifle into the saddle sheath, untied the reins, and swung herself across the horse's back.

  The mare needed no prompting to turn away from the cabin. Cora kept a steady hand on the reins to keep her from breaking into a gallop. Looking back over her shoulder, she thought she could make out a dark shape looming in the doorway. Her cold fingers pulled fresh rounds from her belt, ready to reload her revolver in the blink of an eye, but the shadow did not follow her into the mountain air.

  When the cabin disappeared from sight, the chill started leaving her body, and Cora gave Our Lady more slack. The mare picked her way down the mountain as the hunter began kicking herself. She should have figured out that something was wrong long before the chill started digging into her bones. None of the lanterns in the cabin or the mine had been lit. None of her calls out to what she thought was an injured miner were answered. She had been so irritated by the thought of saving Jules from his own stupidity that she had nearly fallen victim to her own.

  Our Lady descended further into the trees. Cora gave the mare's sides a soft punch with her heels, urging her to hurry back to town. She was sure she could hear the sounds of a warm fire and a bottle of whiskey calling her name.

 
 

 
 
 

Ben Oglesby found his wife planted at a table in front of the Pioneer's big stone fireplace, her fingers wrapped around a near-empty bottle. Cora looked up as he approached, her face flushed from the liquor. In the firelight, he could see the thin scars running down her left cheek, white stripes on red. Her brown eyes squinted at him for a moment, then she broke into a lopsided grin.

  "Well, ain't you a sight for sore eyes."

  He sat in the chair next to her. "I hope I'm a sight better looking than old Jules."

  To his surprise, she burst out laughing. "Time ain't made him no prettier, that's for damn sure."

  A group of miners at a nearby table glanced their way. Ben offered them a small smile, then turned back to her. "So you saw him?"

  "You could say that," she replied, then laughed again. "Saw him, shot at him, nearly got ate by him. We had ourselves a grand old time."

  Ben stood and reached for her hand, a cautious smile beneath his mustache. "Let's get you back to the hotel."

  "Ain't no fire there."

  "We'll make one, then," Ben said. "Now come on."

  She struggled to her feet, still clutching the bottle. "We got a fireplace in our room?"

  "Yes," he lied.

  "All right, then, let's go." She took a few steps, then paused for a swig from the bottle. When Ben offered her his hand, she slapped it away. "I can help my own self, thank you kindly. I ain't as drunk as all that yet."

  Behind them, Boots looked over from where he was wiping down the bar. "You OK, Cora?"

  "Yes, I am," she declared in a loud voice, her braid whipping around as she turned to face the bartender. "What is it with all you men thinking I'm too weak to find my way back to my own damn room?"

  "Well, I just thought–"

  "You thought nothing," she said. "I'll have you know I went all the way up to the Bartlett place and came faceto-face with something or other in the mountains today, and that thing wanted to eat me, but I shot it up and made it run back into its tunnel. What'd you do today, Boots? Huh? Can you top that?"

  The bartender's round face flushed as he looked down at the rag he was holding. "No, but you've had quite a bit from that bottle tonight, and maybe you'd want–"

  "What I want is to go back to my room and have myself a good sleep," she said. "I can't get that with you all pestering me about whether I'm fit to do it."

  "Just take care of yourself." Boots found some bottles behind the bar that needed straightening and turned his back to them.

  "Just thank your lucky stars that I ain't got that Mart Duggan's temper," Cora said, more to herself than Boots. Her own boots started making a crooked line for the door. "That mick's got a short fuse on him. Why, he'd probably shoot you in the mouth just for saying howdy if you happened to catch him in a bad way."

  "Glad I ain't had the pleasure yet," Ben said. He moved to open the saloon's door for her, but she crashed into it before he could. Bouncing back from the impact, she stared at it in confusion for a moment. A stream of curses flowed from beneath the wide brim of her hat as she reached a shaking hand toward the doorknob.

  The knob pulled away just as her hand reached it. She fell face-first on the wooden floor, the bottle spilling from her hands. Ben heard an exclamation of surprise from the other side of the door. Looking up from his fallen wife, he saw two men standing in the doorway, their boots inches from Cora's head.

  "Well now, ain't this a sorry sight." Mart Duggan crouched down, his wrists resting on his knees. Recognizing Cora's braid, he tossed Jack Evans a look. "Not even quitting time at the mines yet and here we got us a drunken disorderly."

  "I ain't disorderly," Cora said, pushing herself up on her hands and knees. The floor seemed to pitch and heave under her. "And who's asking, anyway?" She raised her head and squinted at the marshal. "Why, speaking of Mr Satan himself. Look here, Ben, it's the marshal."

  Duggan kept his attention on her, a scowl knitting his red eyebrows together. "I don't take too kindly to drunkenness in my deputies, Mrs Oglesby."

  "Good thing we ain't your deputies, then." She tried to roll back onto her heels, went too far, and fell into a sitting position. "I never did take to wearing no badge, anyhow."

  "Can't say that's a shame," Duggan replied. "The way I see it, no law outfit would benefit from having you with them. I'm ashamed to be working with you myself."

  Cora laughed. "That's what they call gratitude here in Leadville?" Her boots scuffed across the floor as she tried to pull them under her. After a few attempts, she managed to rise to her feet. A wave of nausea rolled through her, but she swallowed it down. "Maybe we should just leave you to get ate by that monster out there."

  "Can't do us much good from inside a jail cell," Duggan said. "I've more than half a mind to take you there right now."

  Jack spoke up. "Maybe she just needs to be walked back to her room, marshal."

  "By God, I will shoot the next man who says that," Cora said, pushing her way past the two lawmen. Her breath puffed out in white clouds beneath the evening sky. "The hotel is just down the street here. I can find my own way."

  "All the same, I think Jack here will walk you back," the marshal said. "I'd hate for you to fall and not be able to find your feet." With that, Duggan turned and disappeared into the saloon, leaving Jack standing next to her, looking awkward. Ben waited for the marshal to pass, then slipped through the door and went to stand by his swaying wife.

  "It's for your own good, Mrs Oglesby," Jack said, his voice hopeful. "We don't want no trouble."

  "You boys already got more trouble than you can handle." She gave the deputy a smile that revealed the gap between her teeth. "I seen what's up there that killed those wolfers, and it ain't a pretty sight."

  Her words brought Jack's thoughts back to that clearing, and the sinking dread returned. He ran his tongue over his lips. "You've seen it?"

  "Sure as Satan's hooves," she replied, then beckoned him with a lazy sweep of her arm. "Come on, boy. Since you're walking us back anyhow, I might as well let you in on it, too."

  They walked her back, one man on each side, as she told them about her encounter in the cabin and the mine below. Ben remained silent, his face thoughtful, but the fear became plain on Jack Evans's face as she gave them a detailed description of the monster. The deputy had joined up with Mart Duggan as a way of making peace with himself for running out on his family back East. He figured that the good Lord would look more kindly on him on Judgment Day if he did his part to keep some of the world's troublemakers under control.

  What this woman described wasn't just another troublemaker, though. He wanted to write the whole thing off as a drunken fantasy, but he'd seen that clearing and what was left of those men. If the creature had managed to escape from her, who claimed to have fought things like it before, what chance did he have against it? He hadn't joined a law outfit to fight monsters, and he doubted that even Mart Duggan would know how to fight one. By the time Cora Oglesby staggered into the Northern Hotel, he was already on his way back to the Pioneer in search of his own bottle.

  "Well, I'd say you scared him nice and good," Ben said after the deputy left. "Wonder if he'll skip town."

  "Oh, he'll pull through," Cora replied. The mattress crackled as she collapsed on the bed. "That sprout has got some guts in him, I think. He needs them to work for a man like Duggan."

  Ben sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots. "Not really our concern, anyway. We need to work out how we're going to stop that thing you saw."

  Cora sighed. The bed felt far more comfortable than she'd expected. The whiskey began pulling at her eyelids, and she gave in after a brief struggle. "I think it can wait while I catch a few winks."

  "Looks like it's going to, at any rate," Ben said. He settled himself at the table and stared out the window. Down the street, he could just make out the shutters covering some of the Pioneer's second-story windows. Snow covered the gables crowning the saloon, reflecting the evening sunlight in a sheet of tiny sparkles. Soon, soft snores began coming from the bed.

 

Cora opened her eyes, then immediately squeezed them shut again. The morning sunlight glared through the open shutters, flooding her head with pulsing pain. She rolled over and pulled the sheet over her face with a moan. After a few seconds, the pain subsided enough for her to remember where she was.