Lone Star 04 (7 page)

Jessie froze. A ragged, unearthly scream shattered the night. “Lord God, what was that!”

“Not a wolf,” Ki said sharply. “There—that way!” He pointed to the south, where the dark clump of trees lined the creek. Jessie sprinted after him, ankle-high grass brushing her boots. The land sloped down gradually from the settlement, then flattened again. A figure stood against the dark trees, just above the creek. Ki held up a hand and Jessie stopped.

“Gustolf?” Ki took a step forward.

“I am too late,” Gustolf said dully. “He has struck already.” The old man didn't turn. His gaze was fixed on the patch of ground before him. Ki moved up and looked. Jessie took a step and peered around him.

“Oh, no!” Her stomach drew up in a knot and she brought a hand to her breast. The day was fading quickly into night, but there was more than enough light to see the grisly thing sprawled in the grass at Gustolf's feet. It was a man, or what was left of him. He lay on his back, his mouth still open in a terrible, silent scream, eyes staring up at the dark. His throat had been completely ripped away, and the ground around him was black with his own blood. Jessie pulled her gaze from the sight. Whatever had attacked the man had been fast, and incredibly strong.

“It is young Michael Antonescu,” Gustolf said soberly. “I will have to tell his wife. They have a child who is my godson.” He bent to close the man's eyes, and for the first time seemed to notice that Jessie was there. “This is not a thing for a woman to see.”

“I don't guess it's a thing for anyone to see,” said Jessie. “I've seen some things about as bad as this, Gustolf. And I'm sorry about your friend.” Jessie saw a match flare and turned to see Ki squatting down a few yards past the body. She walked to him quickly and peered over his shoulder at the tracks he was examining. A low whistle escaped her lips. “Now
that's
a big wolf. Good God, Ki!”

“It went up past the creek,” said Ki. “Toward the wheatfields, I imagine.”

“Gustolf,” Jessie said, “if you can get some men together pretty quick, we might still track him. How many rifles do you have in the village?”

Gustolf pulled himself erect and stared. “You do not understand, do you? Guns are no good against the thing out there. It is not an ordinary wolf that did this to Michael Antonescu. It is a man-wolf, a werewolf.”

“A
what!”
Jessica shrank back from the old man. “Gustolf, you can't believe that. Werewolves are...just something in stories!”

“Stories, is it?” Gustolf looked woodenly at the mangled body at his feet. “I will tell this to the boy's wife and their son. I will tell them the American lady says their Michael was killed by something in a story.”

“Please,” sighed Jessie, “I'm sorry the man is dead.” She moved around until she was between Gustolf and the body. “Look. The thing that killed Michael is just as real as you are.”

“Oh, yes. It is real. I believe that.”

“I do not think we are going to solve anything by talking out here,” Ki said quietly.

“There is nothing to talk about,” Gustolf said darkly. “Talking does not bring back the dead, and words will not stop the thing that is out there.” He shook the black walking stick in his fist. “This! This is the only thing that soulless creature understands!”

“A cane?” Ki peered curiously at the thing. The handle was curved to fit the hand, and seemed to be made of some brightly polished metal. “I think I have read of this. The head is silver, is it not?”

“Of course it is.” Gustolf gave him a withering look. “What else would it be but silver?”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” asked Jessie.

“Silver is purity. The werewolf is an impure thing.”

“And?”

“And only silver can stop it, Miss Jessica. A blade, a bullet molded of the finest pure metal.”

“And you believe that? Gustolf, I don't mean any disrespect—”

“I
don't
think it is a good idea to stand out here,” Ki repeated firmly. He grabbed Jessie's arm. “If we are to talk, we can talk inside. There is nothing more to be done.”

Ki turned as a voice called down from atop the hill and a bright torch flickered over the path. Feodor called again and ran toward them, the dark-haired girl close on his heels.

“Sonia!” Gustolf went rigid and moved quickly to block his daughter's path.

“Father, you are all right?” She saw his face and looked puzzled. “What—what's back there? There's something, isn't there?”

“Nothing you need to see,” he told her tightly. Gripping the girl's shoulders, he shot a furious glance at Feodor. “You bring her out here in the dark? Are you out of your mind?”

Feodor stood his ground. “I didn't bring her. She brought herself.” He glanced past the old man's shoulder. “Who is it, Gustolf?”

“Michael. Michael Antonescu.”

“Oh,
God!”
Sonia buried her face in her father's shoulder. Feodor touched her gently. “I will get her back to the house.”

“An excellent idea,” Gustolf said acidly. “One you should have thought of in the first place.”

“It is not his fault,” Sonia told him through her sobs. “It was my idea and—”

“I am not interested,” sniffed Gustolf. “Get back now, and bar the door behind you this time.”

Sonia looked up, startled. “You're not staying out here!”

“Of course I am,” Gustolf said calmly. “I am the elder.” He clutched the silver-headed cane. “The creature is still out there. It is my duty, and no other's.”

“Then I am coming with you,” Feodor said bluntly.

“You are taking Sonia back,” Gustolf told him. “Do not cross me, boy!”

“There is nothing that says you have to go alone, Gustolf.”

“Yes. There is.
I
say so.”

Ki looked at Jessie, then turned to the old man. “You have no way of knowing whether the wolf is still out there. It might be best to try and pick up the trail in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Gustolf looked at Ki as if he were a child. “In the
morning,
this creature will not be a wolf. He will be a man again.”

“Yes, of course,” Ki said evenly. “I forgot.” He took a deep breath and turned back to Jessie. “I've got a pistol in my saddlebag at the house. Even if it won't harm this ... werewolf, I would feel more comfortable to have it.”

Gustolf scowled. “I did not ask you to come along. I do not need you or want you. You will be useless, and you'll get yourself killed!”

“I think it's a good idea,” said Jessie.

“Pah!” Gustolf gave them all a withering stare and stalked off in the dark toward the wheatfields. “You do not understand. You know nothing of this!”

Jessie raised a thoughtful brow at Ki. “Be careful. All right?”

“You have no idea how careful I will be,” Ki said soberly.

 

 

He stood perfectly still, letting his breath come in slow, even measures, feeling the tension flow out of his body. One part of his mind told him his old master, Hirata, would be proud of him; it is not an easy thing to achieve a state of calm when one is stalking a beast that has just tasted blood. The other, more Western side of his mind said he was an idiot. Following the old man into the fields was one of the dumbest things he'd ever done in his life. Ki was greatly inclined to agree with the latter. A samurai was supposed to have courage—but the other side of that coin was the wisdom to know when and how to use the arts at his disposal.

Now, he had already decided, was not one of those times. Gustolf was wandering about somewhere to his left. The stubborn old man had refused to let Ki anywhere near him. He was stomping around out there alone, confident in his belief that the silver-headed cane would protect him from evil. Ki couldn't share the man's faith. At the moment, he didn't feel protected at all. He felt naked, alone, and quite vulnerable. He had brought all of his samurai training to bear, but at the moment that training seemed next to useless. Being alert to sound and movement was no help at all. There was sound and movement all around him. A light breeze swept down the valley and whispered through the wheat. A million stalks and leaves rattled and brushed against their brothers. The field rippled and swayed like the waves of the sea. To Ki, though, it looked more like the bristling fur on the back of some ponderous beast...

He quickly swept the image aside, and brought all his senses to bear. A trained samurai could reach into a clamor of sound and movement and gingerly pluck out the ones that concerned him, those that presented a danger or told him something he needed to know. Now, though, that very ability seemed to be working against him. There was too much sound, too much motion. He wished his prey were a man instead of a beast. If it were—

Suddenly it struck him, and Ki nearly laughed out loud in spite of his danger. The ghost of his old teacher seemed to wag an admonishing finger in his face. It was foolish to blame the animal for not being a man. The samurai adapted himself to his enemy, learned to think like that enemy, learned to fight him on his own terms, with his own weapons.

Instantly, Ki dropped to the ground, let his hands and knees feel the still-warm soil of the wheatfield. The sounds and smells were entirely different here. He was part of the wolf's world now. He was a beast on four legs in a dark forest of slender and brittle trees.

He knelt in silence for a long moment, moved cautiously ahead, then stopped again to listen and sniff the air. There was the smell of the earth, and the dry, musty odor of wheat. And, gradually playing upon his senses, something else ...

Ki came suddenly alert. The smell was stronger now—dark, musky, and alien. He moved again, then stopped and listened. It was still there. The thing was close. Too close! He went to his belly and swept his eyes in a wide half-circle, straining to find his enemy in the dark. He could sense it, but couldn't pin it down. It was fast, as elusive as smoke—ahead of him now, moving steadily to the left. He could almost hear it, padding swiftly through the thick rows of wheat, not twenty yards away.

Faster, then faster still. It had abandoned all efforts at caution, and with a sudden chill, Ki understood why.
It no longer needed to stalk its prey ... it knew exactly where it was!

And in that instant, Ki knew the creature's path was all wrong—he had assumed the thing was stalking him, and this was not true at all ...

“Gustolf—look out!” Ki sprang to his feet, and saw the old man far off to the left—fifty, sixty yards away. Gustolf saw the beast too, and froze in his tracks. The creature was a quick gray blur, bounding straight for him like the wind. The high wheat parted and went flat in its path. Ki set his legs, stretched the Colt in both hands. He squeezed off three quick shots, then broke into a run, knowing he'd never get there in time. The wolf would take Gustolf, tear out his throat as if he were a man made of straw ...

The beast leaped, came clear out of the field with a snarl in its throat. Ki fired again and knew he'd missed. Gustolf screamed and went down. Ki jumped into the flattened clearing, pistol at the ready. The wolf saw him, raised its dark muzzle from Gustolf's chest, bared its teeth, and sprang straight for him. Ki jerked his body aside. Terrible jaws snapped at the air past his shoulder, and Ki felt the thing's breath on his cheek ...

Then the creature was gone—only a crushed tangle of wheat showed where it had disappeared into the night. Ki came to his feet, crouching above Gustolf. He listened a moment, then turned quickly to the old man. His clothes were shredded, and his chest and arms were slick with blood. It was too dark to tell how badly he was hurt, and Ki had no intention of inspecting the wounds there in the middle of the field.

When he lifted Gustolf in his arms, the old man groaned, opened his eyes wide, and stared up at Ki. “You ... see, I told you. The bullets do not work ... the thing cannot be killed that way ... it is ... no ordinary animal!”

“Don't talk,” said Ki. “We will discuss the business of wolves at a later time.”

“It is ... true,” Gustolf went on. “You can see that, can't you?”

“Old man, shut up!” Ki said sharply. “What I can see is that we are not yet out of this field. That thing is still out there, and at the moment it does not greatly matter what it might be. All right?”

Gustolf's eyes went dim, and he relaxed in Ki's arms. Ki quickened his steps, ignoring the man's considerable weight. He could feel the thing behind him, and didn't give a damn whether it was Oriental senses or Western imagination at work. All he wanted now was to put that dark sea of wheat at his back, and shut a stout wooden door behind him.

“Aaaaaaah!” Gustolf came suddenly awake. His eyes went wide and he clutched frantically at Ki, nearly spilling him to the ground. “Stop,” he yelled hoarsely, “you must go back. Now!”

“Damn it,” snapped Ki, “leave me alone, old man. I am doing the best I can!”

“No!” Gustolf shook his head wildly. “You ... don't understand! The cane. It... it is still out there. I must have it. Without that... we are lost, all of us!”

Ki's arms were like lead. Gustolf pounded at him and kicked the air and cursed him in a tongue that seemed perfectly designed for that purpose. Ki walked stolidly on, praying he would reach the dark cottages before the wolf turned about and came at him, or the old man beat him to a pulp ...