Coyote (8 page)

She looked behind her, to check what the Mule thought. He was, slack-jawed, watching what transpired in the driveway. He had never truly believed the tales that others told of monsters and carnage. Now, faced with this, she wondered how he would react. He glanced her way, briefly.

“Shit,” was all he had to say.

Then he looked back, eyes still wide, mouth still slightly open.

She turned back to watch the man run. She was confident he could see what the heads of the creatures looked like, and he didn’t like what he saw. He broke his stride as they crashed out of the greenhouse and looked back, then gave a strangled yelp and resumed his run. This time, his panic gave him new speed.

In just a few steps, his driving legs and arms almost became a blur. It reminded her of the athletes she’d seen running sprints in the Olympics. It was good that he was able to hold up to his boasting, because he would need every bit of his speed to keep away from the things pursuing him.

He kept going straight up the driveway, then curved around the barn, taking the corners as tightly as he could without losing traction. The things pursued him, skidding as they rounded the corner and allowing him to gain a few steps. Soon they were all out of sight behind the barn.

She realized that she had crouched there behind the wall, frozen, acting the spectator, when there were things that she should be doing. She rose up a bit, resting her rifle on the wall before her and looking to the back of the barn, where she expected the trio to appear. A few anxious moments passed, and she had cause to wonder what might have gone wrong. Then the man appeared again, rounding the barn, still hotly pursued by the two forms.

The man turned back onto the driveway, now heading in her direction. She lowered her eye to the scope of the rifle. The first thing that came up in her sights was the man, and she could see the desperate look on his face. She could tell he wanted to scream but couldn’t waste the breath to do so.

She swung the rifle down and back a little, focusing in on the forms that pursued him. Through the scope she could see them better. They most closely resembled panthers, or some other jungle cat, but they had no fur. Instead they seemed shiny and smooth, their pumping legs and stretching torsos like fast-moving engines. Their heads had four shiny orbs in a line that must be eyes, and led to oversized jaws shaped almost like beaks. Those silvery jaws looked nasty, ending in a confusion of jagged, tooth-like points that were surely meant for ripping and tearing.

Even as one part of her mind had been cataloguing these details, another part had been carefully aiming at the center mass of one of the beasts, and slowly squeezing the trigger, just as she had been taught the two times she had gone hunting. The rifle went off, jerking her sights, and she reflexively pulled her head back as her arm slapped the bolt up and back, then forward and down, seating a new bullet in the chamber. She had missed.

Both creatures still pursued the man, oblivious to her actions, or perhaps distracted by the prey they pursued. She sighted in again, carefully aiming a little forward of the running form this time. She fired again, and one of the beasts went down, tripping and rolling in a tumble of limbs and black gore that did not get back up.

She ratcheted the bolt back again, desperately trying to get in another shot, but the man and the remaining beast were too close. She drove the bolt home just as the man flew by her position at the wall, then pulled the gun down, no time to aim, and fired in the direction of the remaining beast—only about ten feet away and closing. Her desperate shot missed as the beast took another lunging stride.

She was beginning the reloading process again, wondering if she could shoot the beast from behind without shooting the man in front of it, when she saw the Mule move. Holding his stout tree branch, he stepped sideways, out from behind his concealment, swinging the branch in a two-handed arc, arms straight and shoulders low, driving the branch around and forward. He looked for all the world like a major-leaguer trying to hit a low curve.

The second beast never reacted to the swing, either not noticing or not caring until the branch connected with its face. There was a cracking, squishing noise, and she could see the shock of the connection run up the Mule’s arms and rock him backward. The beast itself fared much worse. The speed of the branch and the beast’s own velocity combined to virtually obliterate it. The branch tore all the way through its head, and continued part-way into the torso. Finally it lodged there for a moment, before being ripped out as what remained of the beast tumbled past the Mule, skidding along the driveway for several feet where it quivered and twitched for a moment before lying still.

Behind her, she could hear the man’s footsteps slow and then stop as he realized he was no longer being pursued. She looked at the two beasts lying in the driveway, both still and no longer a threat. Then she looked across the driveway at the Mule, still holding his gore-spattered branch and staring at the beast he had slain. He looked up at her, taking deep breaths. She could see gore from the beast spattered up his arms, and even a bit on his face. He was wide-eyed and tense, almost quivering, feeling the leftover adrenalin coursing through his body. She smiled at him. She felt the same. Alive.

The other man came jogging back to them, winded and exhausted. He stopped at the body of the beast and bent over, planting his hands on his knees and panting for breath.

He looked between the two of them. Even gasping for breath, he was unable to stay silent.

“Fuck!” he yelled, pausing for a few breaths before he could speak again. “What the fuck…” another few breaths, “are those?”

The Mule turned, giving him a smile.

“Welcome back, Bait.”

---

No one had an answer to Bait’s question so, after a moment more spent staring at the carcasses, they moved on. They walked up the drive, and onto the property. They felt fairly confident that anything dangerous would have chased Bait, as the beasts had, but still they were tense. In this new world, there was no way of knowing.

They stopped when they got to the barn. When they tested the large double doors at the front, they turned out to be locked. She stood, staring at the door for a full minute. Bait, as usual, was the first one to speak up.

“Well, come on then. It’s locked. But there’s the house right over there. Let’s go see what’s there.”

“No,” she said. “This barn is better. We’ll sleep in here tonight.”

“So how you gonna get in, huh?” asked Bait.

She took a few steps back and was just craning her neck upward to gauge the height of the second story windows over the barn doors when a rattling came from inside. She brought her rifle off her shoulder, aiming it at the doors, and Mule brought the gore-splattered branch he was still holding up, ready to swing at whatever was inside. The dog stood at her other side, tense and growling again, and Bait shuffled back and forth on his feet, looking unsure about what he was going to do.

The rattling soon coalesced into the scraping of something heavy being dragged back from inside the door, and then the latch on the front turned. The door was being opened from the inside.

Her finger rested tensely on the trigger, and Mule’s grip tightened on his branch until his knuckles turned white. Slowly the door opened a crack, but nothing but darkness could be seen inside. Then came a voice.

“Um, hello out there?”

Mule let out a breath, the tension visibly dropping from his shoulders as he lowered his branch. She did not relax her stance, but merely held still. She was not so trusting.

Bait, of course, was the one to speak for the group.

“Hey, hello there. We’re, uh, well we didn’t know anyone was in there. You all OK?”

“Are those things gone?”

“Oh yeah,” replied Bait with a chuckle. “Very gone.”

“Listen, that’s great, but I don’t have anything man, and I’m no threat to you, I promise.”

“What?” replied Bait, looking a little puzzled. Then he noticed that she still stood tensely, pointing her rifle into the open doorway.

“Hey come on,” said Bait looking at her, “It’s just some dude, hiding in the barn. No more monsters in there.”

She looked at him, and then at the door, considering. Grudgingly, she lowered the rifle, taking a few steps back. She did not put it back over her shoulder, though, preferring to stay ready.

The door opened a little further to show a slender, grubby man, with short black hair beginning to go gray and several days’ worth of unshaved stubble on his cheeks and neck. The man took half a step out of the barn door, revealing himself to be average height, and lean but not wiry. He wore khaki pants that had seen much better days and a button-down dress shirt that was, if anything, worse off than the pants. Dressed as he was, he was obviously no farmer.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“Hiding is what I’m doing,” he said, “and I’m damned glad to see you. I’ve been hiding from those things in here since yesterday and was, quite frankly, running out of hope. Looks like you’ve taken care of that problem for me, eh? My thanks for that.”

He stepped out a bit further, holding out his hand to her, but she made no move to take it. Bait and the Mule had moved behind her, making it clear, whether it was a conscious decision or not, that she was the leader of their little group.

After a tense moment or two, he tried again. “So, I heard you talking about spending the night here. You’re welcome to do so.”

“We will,” she responded, walking quickly past him and into the doorway, making him skip out of the way. Once inside, she saw a blur of motion to her left and quickly raised her rifle again. The shape resolved itself into a person as it gave a high squeal and dove behind a rusted-looking tractor.

“Come out! Now!” she yelled, rifle raised. “Show yourself!”

“Hey, wait! No, no! No need for that!” The man came rushing into the barn, hands up in a placating gesture. She swung the barrel toward him making him skid to a stop, beginning to back-pedal.

“No! Don’t shoot! It’s just us, just the two of us! Just her and I, and neither of us mean any harm.”

She swung the barrel of her rifle back to the tractor. “Come out then.” She said, in the direction of the tractor.

A woman’s voice responded. “And get shot? I don’t think so.”

Pausing for a moment, she saw the woman’s logic. Slowly, she lowered the barrel of her rifle.  “You will not be shot. Now come out.”

Slowly a woman emerged from behind the tractor. She was tall for a woman, and very skinny. Narrow hips and small breasts—a runner’s body. She wore blue scrubs that were torn and dirty, with a long-sleeved shirt underneath that had probably been white before all this started. She had red hair tied back in a ponytail, though she didn’t seem as pale as most redheads. She had probably been attractive before all this started. Now she was as grubby and disheveled as the rest of them.

She came out a few steps, but not too far, with her hands held out to her sides, palms towards the group, showing that she was unarmed. All could see that the woman was tense, ready to jump back behind the tractor if the rifle came up again. Only her eyes didn’t show the fear one might have expected. Her eyes were determined. This one would survive, maybe.

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot here,” said the man who had opened the barn door, “and there’s really no need for it. We’re just a couple of people trying to stay alive, and unless I miss my guess, you three are in the same situation yourselves.”

“Come on now,” he continued, “There’s really no need for a standoff like this. We’re unarmed, and not about to harm anyone.”

“Shit,” piped up Bait with a laugh. “Yer doin’ better so far than the last guy we met. Last guy, she beat the crap out of him before he could convince her he meant no harm.”

“It’s true,” said the Mule—his only contribution to the conversation so far.

The man gave Bait and the Mule a nervous look, and then turned back to her. As the only one with a gun, he judged her to be the biggest threat. He was correct.

“Let’s just calm down here, OK? I know this world’s gotten us all on edge, but we don’t need to fight each other. There are plenty of things out there to be scared of, but nothing here.”

She lowered her rifle further, and the woman dropped her hands accordingly.

“That’s better,” said the man, lowering his own hands and starting to look a little more relaxed. “Now, how about some proper introductions? I’m Mike, and this young lady is Leanne. I’m, well I guess I was, an electrical engineer. I taught at Portland State University. I really don’t know Leanne’s story. I met her two days ago, about a half hour before we were chased in here by those things you killed, thank you again, and since then we’ve mostly been concerned with staying alive.”

She frowned at the two. The last thing she wanted was to become enmeshed with more people, but even here, at the end of the world, social conventions had a power over them all. She pointed behind her.

“This one is Bait. This one we call the Mule.” As an afterthought, she pointed to the dog. “And that is Dog.”

The stranger looked at them all, obviously trying to suppress a smile and stay polite. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter what people call themselves nowadays, right?” Then he looked to her. “And you?”