12 Days of Fiction 2018, Day Seven
Trouble Found
A loud screech that seemed to come from a thousand throats at the same time pierced the air right then.
It came from the abandoned mine.
In one movement, Crow spun, drew his revolver and pointed at the decrepit building. The gun shone a violent green.
“What.. what was that?” Nathaniel Horner, the young werewolf, asked.
“It cannot be,” Crow said. “Not this far south. Impossible.”
“Crow?” Albie Carlson said. “What is it?”
“Mr Crow…?” Nathaniel insisted. Crow’s brow was so furrowed it looked like an accordion.
“Nathaniel, you stay here. Albie, change again. We’re going in.”
Albie nodded, and in a swift motion, took her golden-red coyote shape. Somehow through it all, she wound around her neck the scarf that had been covering her. She let out a faint yelp.
“You take left, I take right. Be extremely careful, you hear me? If this is what I think it is, we… we are in trouble. Do not attack alone. Wait for me. And use your magic, don’t bite.”
Albie’s fox eyes glinted, but she nodded, and left silently. Crow moved into the bush to the right, his movements barely a whisper. Nathaniel stayed behind.
Crow was almost at the nearest mine corridor when the smell hit him. A decaying stench, like that of a dead carcass left in the open, filled his nostrils. The funk of death. He pulled his handkerchief over his nose. Not that it helped much, but it was better than nothing. Albie must have sniffed it as well.
The stink confirmed his suspicions. Damn. He should have told her what they were up against. She was young and reckless, and often overestimated the dangers of their job.
Crow summoned the sight again. The pull of evil he felt guided him, while the small dot that was Nathaniel was already fading in the background, Crow’s senses already classifying him as not threatening. But the other spot…
It had to be. Such a presence, such power.
Another shrill cry, closer, closer.
It was climbing from the depth of the mine. A stronger wave of decomposing air hit him, followed by yet another sensation: hunger, insatiable hunger.
And a sound halfway between a yip and a bark.
Albie!
Crow leaped ahead, jumping over a broken wooden beam. He didn’t need to let the the sight guide him; now he could hear Albie’s grunts and bays and growls, and the cacophony of the creature’s yells. He took the dark tunnel directly in front of him, the green radiance from his revolver guiding him.
Ahead of him the tunnel opened into a larger hall, and there Albie was fighting the creature.
For a second, Crow stood there, immobile. The feeble illumination from his gun let him see a figure, larger than a human, gaunt and pale like a skeleton with taut skin clinging to its bones. Its eyes were so deep in its sockets that they almost seemed not to be there at all. It had charred lips and Crow didn’t need to know which monster this was to realize that blood had left the stains in that mouth. The stink of death emanating from the creature filled the mine corridor.
The beast was bawling and wiping the air with long, bony arms ended in terrifying claws, as it tried to ensnare the furry brownish shape that scurried under its legs, now leaping, now somersaulting, now sidestepping, and always staying just out of range of the monster.
Crow took it all in that second, and reacted.
“Albie! It’s a wendigo! Don’t let it bite you! And don’t you bite it!” Crow screamed. Albie ran against a wall, leaped in the air, bounced, and used her impulse to shove the beast. It stumbled backwards. And then Crow started shooting.
Green bullet after green bullet smashed against the creature’s hide. One, two, three, four, five and six shells impacted it, and six times it recoiled, six times it howled in pain.
The wendigo fell.
Albie took a step forward, sniffing the air before her.
“No!” Crow hollered, even as he started reloading his silver revolver with new, shiny green rounds.
A clawed arm lurched forward. To her credit, Albie sprang back.
But too late.
Crow saw blood splash against the mine wall.
Time stopped for Crow, as he saw the coyote-shaped girl fall and stay limp. He screamed, but he couldn’t hear himself. He dropped the bullets and dived forward, grabbing his knife. The wendigo was already rising, its sharp teeth glinting malevolently.
Right then, Crow knew. He wasn’t fast enough. Perhaps ten years ago, he would have been. But not today. Not any longer.
A grey shape overtook him with blinding speed and hurtled forward, smashing itself against the monster.
This story uses some old characters of mine. You can meet them in my stories The Gun of Crow, Meeting Crow, and Looking For Trouble. You will also find out that this story follows immediately after Looking For Trouble, which was unfinished at the time.
12 Days of Fiction 2018, Day Seven: Trouble Found
12 Days of Fiction 2018, Day Eight: Double Trouble
12 Days of Fiction 2018, Day Nine: Interlude
12 Days of Fiction 2018, Day Ten: Troubled Endings
