An Occurrence in Crazy Bear Valley (8 page)

“Or hungry,” Clara added, her eyes wide.

Parker readied his rifle. “Well, let’s see how they like the taste of a second round of lead, then.”

He seemed almost disappointed when the creatures failed to attack again or throw another volley of stones. They did not reappear in the moonlight. The group could smell and hear them close by, but the beasts remained safely hidden in the shadows of the forest. Parker fingered his trigger but Gunderson stopped him before he could fire a shot.

“Don’t,” the mountain man told him. “Ain’t no sense wasting all our ammunition. Wait until you can see them. Then choose your shots wisely.”

Parker nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

They huddled close to one another, Parker and Gunderson at the window, Johnson and Morgan just behind them, and Clara, Crystal and Stephens standing next to the nervous horse. Outside, the sounds of siege continued. The crazy bears roared their disapproval of the cabin’s inhabitants, but still did not show themselves. The stench grew stronger, and the night colder.

“Maybe they’ll give up,” Stephens said. “Maybe they’ll figure we ain’t worth the bother and they’ll just go away.”

Morgan turned to Crystal. “That ever happen before?”

“They never attacked us like this before,” she said. “They never even came close enough that we could see them clearly. Like I told you earlier, I’ve only smelled and heard them. It was never like this. I think you folks must have made them mad.”

Morgan’s expression darkened for a moment, and Crystal flinched. But instead of striking her, he merely turned back to the window.

Suddenly, the horses—which had been tethered outside—began bellowing in a wild, frenzied mixture of terror and pain. These weren’t the frightened equine nays the group was familiar with. It almost sounded as if the horses were screaming. Then, as abruptly as the sounds had started, the terrified animals’ cries ceased—followed by the sounds of several heavy bodies falling to the ground. The bunkhouse shook, sending dirt drifting down from the rafters..

“What the hell?” Parker leaned forward and stuck his head and shoulders out the window, so that he could look to the side and see what had befallen their mounts.

“They killed the horses,” Johnson shouted. “Goddamn it!”

Gunderson spat tobacco juice. “They must have snuck around from the back and hugged the wall, so we wouldn’t see them. Damn things are smart. I’ll give them that.”

“They killed our horses,” Johnson repeated. “How the hell are we going to ride out of here now?”

“Shut up,” Morgan snapped. “Gunderson, get Parker back inside.”

“Parker?” Gunderson reached for the gunman, who still had his head out the window. “Get in here, you fool.”

Instead of answering, Parker’s body went stiff—his muscles taught as steel. The rifle slipped from his hands and he began to scream. His legs jittered and thrashed, kicking the floor. He was jerked forward. Gunderson and Johnson grabbed his feet to keep him from being dragged into the darkness.

“Pull him in,” Morgan yelled, standing over them with pistol in hand. “For God’s sake, pull him back in here.”

Gunderson and Johnson struggled with the thrashing man. Parker’s screams turned into one long, high-pitched wail, and then became distorted and muffled. His body was like quivering stone beneath their hands. Grunting, Gunderson and Johnson tugged harder, placing their feet against the wall for support.

“Come on,” Johnson hollered. “Come on, you son of a bitch!”

Gunderson glanced back at the group, and shouted, “Help us, y’all! Goddamn your eyes, lend us a—”

Parker’s body suddenly went limp. His cries turned into a wet, hissing gurgle. They yanked him back into the cabin and when he raised his head to look at them, Johnson shrieked. Stunned, Gunderson released the injured man and backed away, his expression distorted with shock and fear. Parker reached for him, arms flailing.

“Oh, Jesus,” Stephens moaned. “Oh sweet Jesus, look what they did to Parker. Look what they’ve done to him!”

Parker slid to the floor and raised one hand, silently begging for help. Half his face was missing. Something had torn off his lower jaw, an ear, and one of his cheeks. A portion of his tongue was missing, too. The red, spurting stump lolled around his mouth, flicking against shattered, broken teeth. There were deep claw marks on his throat and forehead, and part of his scalp had been flayed open. A flap of skin and hair hung down the back of his head. Blood soaked his clothing. Parker tried to speak, but all that came out of the ruined hole in his face was a pitiful mewling noise.

“Just hang on, buddy.” Johnson knelt by his side and grabbed Parker’s hand, squeezing. “You just hang on, now. We’ll ride on out of here and find you a sawbones and get you taken care of quick. You hear me, Parker? Just hang on. You’ll see. Get you all fixed up.”

Morgan pushed past Gunderson and nudged Johnson with the toe of his boot. Johnson and Parker both gazed up at him. Johnson’s cheeks were wet.

“Step aside.” Morgan motioned with his pistol.

Johnson gasped. “Oh, boss. You can’t be thinking—”

“I said step aside, Johnson. You mind me now. Look at Parker. He knows I’m right.”

Parker nodded his head emphatically as his blood turned his shirt red. Biting his lower lip, Johnson gave his friend’s hand a final squeeze. Then he stood up and moved aside. Clara rushed to him, pulling him close. Johnson shuddered against her.

Parker closed his eyes. Morgan placed his gun barrel against Parker’s bloodied forehead. He didn’t apologize. Didn’t offer a prayer. His trigger finger said it all.

The gunshot was almost lost beneath the sudden cacophony of howls and growling from outside.

Morgan stepped over Parker’s body. Smoke still curled from his pistol. He glanced out the window and fired another shot.

“They’re rushing us,” he shouted. “Everybody get ready! We’ll have to—”

The barrage drowned out the rest of his command. Thunderous, savage blows shook the cabin. The creatures hammered at the door and the walls, trying their best to break inside. They surged toward the open window, and were held back only by the steady roar of the guns. Morgan and Gunderson fired until empty. As they reloaded, Clara and Johnson took their place. The four worked in tandem—one pair replacing the other with speed and efficiency. Their guns weren’t silent for even a second.

Stephens’ horse suddenly reared up, knocking the table over with its hooves. The table crashed to the floor. Stephens and Crystal narrowly avoided being kicked as the frightened animal danced around the shack, snorting and whinnying in terror, its teeth bared and ready to snap at anything in its way.

“Get that goddamned thing under control,” Morgan hollered without bothering to turn around.

Stephens fumbled with the bridle, trying to calm his frantic mount. He tugged, whispering soothing words, but the horse pulled away from him and kicked the wall. The cabin shook. More roars echoed from outside. Stephens glanced over his shoulder and hollered at Crystal to give him a hand.

Clouds of gun smoke filled the bunkhouse as the others fired volley after volley. The clearing was littered with furry bodies, but for each creature they killed, two more sprang forth to take its place. Between the rapid gunfire, the cries of the horse, the relentless blows hammering the shack, and the roars of the crazy bears, speaking soon became an impossibility. The group resorted to hand signals and instinct.

The door trembled and shook, and then began to splinter. Clara waved at Crystal to see to the barricade, but Crystal merely shook her head. Cursing, Clara dashed across the room and reached the door just as it stopped shaking. She turned to the others and grinned.

“Bastards can’t get through,” she yelled. “I guess we showed them, huh?”

The wall next to the door imploded. Clara instinctively threw her arms up to protect her head as the wall collapsed inward, showering her with rocks, shattered timbers and hunks of sod.

Groaning, the ceiling sagged. Clara stumbled backward as two hulking beasts leaped through the opening. They were so tall, their heads brushed against the ceiling. Their stench was incredible, seeming to roll off their hairy bodies in noxious waves. The creatures lumbered through the wreckage and quickly glanced around the room. Roaring, one of them charged toward Stephens and Crystal, while the other seized Clara’s arm and pulled her into its embrace.

“Clara!” Johnson shoved past Morgan and Gunderson, weapon in hand. Then he stumbled to a halt, aghast.

Despite every thing they had seen and done together, each of them paused momentarily, horrified. Each of them had witnessed—and in some cases participated in—numerous atrocities. Morgan and Gunderson had both seen men butchered during the war; they’d seen amputated limbs stacked like firewood and men blown in half by cannonballs. Stephens had experienced the horrors of Fort Grant during the Apache uprising, and had seen terrible things on both sides. Johnson had once stumbled across the remains of a man who’d been tied behind a horse and dragged across twenty miles of desert and sagebrush. All of them were hardened, but none of them were prepared for what happened next.

Shrieking, Clara beat at the creature as it spun her around and crushed her to its chest. She stamped on the beast’s huge feet, but the monster didn’t loosen its grip. As Clara opened her mouth to scream again, the crazy bear thrust one hairy hand into her mouth, stifling her cries. The helpless woman’s eyes went wide as the monster made a fist inside of her mouth. Then, Clara’s eyes rolled up, flashing whites, as her attacker yanked her tongue out by the roots. Blood gushed from between her lips. Grinning, the creature tossed the gruesome morsel aside and grabbed her jaws with both hands. Then, it began to pry her mouth open.

Clara’s tortured screams became a muffled gurgle, fading to a sigh as the thing ripped her jaws apart. There was a grating crunch, followed by a sickening pop, audible even over the gun-fire and the screams of the rest of the group. Then Clara’s lower jaw came off in its hand. The beast threw the jawbone at the wall.

Enraged, Johnson fired two shots at the killer. The first shot hit Clara instead, right above her breast. She sank to the floor, her eyes still showing white. The second shot slammed into the beast’s neck. Arterial blood sprayed all over its fur, Clara’s unmoving form, and the surrounding walls. Johnson started to shoot again, but Morgan pushed his weapon aside and pulled him close, hollering in his ear.

“Help Stephens and the girl! Ain’t nothing you can do for Clara or Parker now.”

“Morgan,” Gunderson shouted from behind them. “I need someone on this window. They’re rushing us!”

Morgan spun around and ran back to him, already firing. Johnson glanced between the window and the others. Stephens and the girl circled around their horse, keeping it between them and the enraged crazy bear. The creature eyed them warily, not approaching any further, but not backing down either. It seemed cowed by its partner’s death.

“Don’t just stand there,” Stephens yelled over the explosions. “Shoot the goddamn thing!”

Nodding, Johnson blinked sweat from his eyes and raised his gun. Before he could draw a bead on the attacker, a boulder crashed through the roof, smashing the table to splinters. Crockery and playing cards flew across the room. At the same time, the door burst open, and two more beasts charged into the shanty.

The creature menacing Stephens and Crystal glanced toward its brothers. As it did, Stephens saw an opening, raised the shot-gun, and blasted it in the head. His horse grew frenzied, spinning in a circle and lashing out at anything within reach of its hooves. It kicked both the crazy bear and Stephens. Both fell to the floor, Crystal narrowly sidestepped a kick and shot one of the new intruders. A second later, Johnson’s gun roared in accompaniment.

“It’s getting a might crowded in here,” Stephens shouted. “We need to do something, boss!”

Hairy corpses littered the ground outside the window, but with only Gunderson and Morgan to cover it, the creatures were gaining ground. As both men stopped to reload, the beasts rushed them again, racing forward with a collective howl.

“Shit.” Morgan hurried to reload. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…”

“Get back, boss.” Gunderson jumped to his feet and pulled Morgan away from the open window, spitting tobacco juice as he did. Then he picked up the splintered remains of the table and shoved it against the hole. He glanced around hurriedly. “Find me something to hold it up with.”

Nodding, Morgan clambered to his feet, not even bothering to comment on the fact that Gunderson was now giving orders.

More creatures rushed through the open door and the hole in the wall. Another bounded down through the space in the roof. Johnson and Crystal held them at bay while Gunderson and Morgan barricaded the window. Five more crazy bears fell dead. The panicked horse neighed and kicked. Stephens lay in the corner, unmoving. The shotgun lay by his side.

“I reckon Stephens was right,” Gunderson said. “It is getting crowded in here.”

“I’m empty,” Johnson hollered. “Somebody give me some more bullets.”

Crystal backed away, moving toward the center of the room. “I’m empty, too.”

“Form a circle,” Morgan commanded. “Everybody stand back to back.”

The bunkhouse began to tremble and shake as more of the creatures converged on it from every side. Sod and stones tumbled from the ceiling. The walls buckled. The crazy bears poured into the shack, leering and hooting with glee. Gunderson, Morgan, Crystal and Johnson formed a circle and faced them down.