Sentinels (29 page)

Clement ran shoulder-first and tackled the distracted thing, landing on top of it and a pile of fiery hay. Clement pinned the creature's arms beneath his knees and mercilessly punched its head while tendrils of flame ensnared the writhing thing. The heat became too much for Clement. His only option was to charge and shoot at Noah's position while fleeing the barn. Noah spun and targeted Clement as he launched himself off the creature to run for sunlight and fresh air. A single shot rocked Clement onto his back, and his shoes almost made contact with the black-booted feet of the burning creature opposite him. His stomach throbbed and he tasted his own blood. He tried standing but couldn't bend his legs. He tilted his head forward to see a fully engulfed spectre of fire rise like a vampire from its coffin at dusk. It crawled forward and smothered Clement's body, wrapping its arms around the sheriff's sides, allowing the fire to consume itself and the screaming man as one.

Lyle felt relief as the creature's body disintegrated into itself—the sheriff's pain be damned.

Way to take one for the team, Clement. Now I just gotta worry about Chandler and the smoke.

It was black and billowing as the fire spread. Lyle surmised Noah was good with the rifle and would pick him off, so the ladder was out of the question. Lyle spotted a rope and pulley near where the first creature had yanked off the loft's exterior door.

Jenkins must've used it to lift hay up here.

He saw what he believed to be enough rope, and the intensifying heat prodded him to run. He holstered his gun and hugged the wall to hide from Noah's view. He jumped and grabbed the rope with both hands, and his body fast descended to the ground, but at a safe-enough speed.

Noah whirled from the barn's side and aimed into the loft. The pulley's squeal caused him to look up and see the soles of Lyle's boots bearing down on him. Noah forward rolled
into
the barn to avoid Lyle, who landed on both feet and drew his gun, firing it into the haze, hoping Noah would die within.

Noah hid behind a support beam and covered his mouth with his shirtsleeve. He looked to the daylight and saw Lyle running—first to the still-burning fire pit, where he snagged another log, and then toward Toby's home.

Lyle in one fluid motion grabbed the front door knob, turned it and slid inside as two of Noah's bullets burrowed into the door as he closed it.

Noah coughed as he fled the barn to take refuge behind its side opposite the farmhouse. The fire continued devouring the building's guts and it would soon crumble. He loaded the last bullets from his bandolier into his Winchester and did likewise to his Colt. The fact that he had six bullets in the revolver and only one left on his gun belt did not go unnoticed.

He did some quick math in his head.
Unless they're already dead, Diggs is inside with two railroad men and Lyle.
The sheriff and his flunkies are gone—well, 'cept for Preston.

Preston.

Noah thought of the name over and over, not knowing why, until it seemed to be echoing in his head. Deputy Drew Preston. Waiting to pounce in Henderson.

At that moment the farmhouse's front door opened and out shambled a skinny abomination of bones and muscle—the individual fibers visible through a brown membrane that served as the thing's skin. It wore overalls, a floppy field hat and nothing else, and it made its way along the path to the road. It carried a single hand scythe instead of the massive two-handled job that Deputy Hughes had seen it wield up close.

Preston.

The thing made eye contact with Noah from where he stood by the barn and walked toward him.

Preston.

Noah couldn't prevent the name from appearing before his eyes—he even saw the letters that spelled it scrolling through his mind to the point where it consumed his vision. He shook his head to clear it and saw the creature standing five feet in front of him.

Noah kept the rifle pointed at the ground. He slowly crouched to lay it at his feet and then rose with his hands raised.

The thing's eyes reminded Noah of a blind man's—glaring straight ahead seeing nothing. Only Noah knew this horror
could
see with the red eyes that flickered in the dark pits of its skull. It flashed yellowed teeth and moved its jaws, as if chewing or trying to speak, unleashing the pungency of decay. Noah caught sight of a black moldy stump in the back of its throat—where its tongue had gone missing.

Noah didn't think to plead for his life. He didn't attempt to explain he'd helped rescue Sarah and Isaac Jenkins. One word passed through his lips. “Preston.”

The creature nodded and sprinted toward the road. It passed the sentry standing guard by the farm's entrance and ran in the direction of downtown Henderson, keeping off the main road, letting nature conceal it.

Noah followed its shadowy form flitting through the trees until it disappeared. He looked back at the entrance and saw the scarecrow there regarding him—deciding on something, Noah guessed. It made up its mind and pointed at Noah, who froze, nervously looking around to see if it could possibly want somebody else. The guard nodded affirmatively and repeatedly jabbed at Noah. It then withdrew its finger and pointed at itself, and then exaggeratedly to the ground it guarded. Scythe in hand, it pursued its comrade through the forest toward Henderson.

“Goodbye, Preston.”

Noah, realizing the thing tasked him with ensuring nobody escaped the premises, grabbed his rifle, and approached the farmhouse and its chaotic sounds.

He gripped the front doorknob.

Should I just walk in or sneak in?

He had no idea how many of those things invaded the house. Based on the gunfire and sounds of furniture and glassware breaking, Noah reckoned at least two of them must be in there with the four men. Maybe Diggs's goons found a way to defeat them. Lyle figured out how, but Noah took solace in knowing that creating a fast fire would be difficult—unless they found some matches.

“I found some matches!” Lyle screamed from the ground level.

Dammit.

Noah crept to the open window to his left, stepping around Deputy Arnold's body sprawled beneath it. Noah spied the staircase and figured one of the railroad men, based on the lack of an English accent and closeness of his voice, was downstairs with Lyle—and that the things were upstairs with Diggs and the other guy.

“Find me a broom handle, something! And some rags,” Lyle continued.

Be ready. Just be ready.

Noah levered his rifle when slapdash sounds of jury rigging came from the kitchen.

“Here, take the log,” Lyle shouted. “I'll use this. Stick it to them good. Now, where are they?”

“First room on the right, follow me.”

Peter dashed through the sitting room and made it up the first two stairs before Noah fired and hit his side. Peter dropped the log, quick-drew and fired. Lyle, trailing Peter and holding a table-legged torch aflame with hand towels, fired his LeMat at the window. Noah returned two shots before ducking under the sill, and then angled the rifle into the house, firing blindly. Lyle pushed Peter up the stairs in retreat. Noah made sure the room was empty and swung his legs over the sill, gaining entry. He grabbed the smoldering log Peter had dropped on the staircase and tossed it outside, well away from the home.

Noah aimed upstairs, preparing to climb, when he heard what sounded like a sharp crack of timber followed by shattered glass. A body crashed outside of the window where Brendan had drifted to sleep. Noah rushed to see Peter facedown on the ground—save for his head, which was twisted one-hundred-and-eighty degrees so that his eyes fried in the sun.

Another body soon joined Peter's. A scarecrow, its torso ablaze, landed on the dead man but sprang up and ran to the front of the house. What struck Noah as odd—beyond the fact that a mob of scarecrows had gained life and now wielded farm tools of righteousness—was that this one wore a black executioner's hood and what appeared to be formal black church clothes, almost like a preacher's. Noah followed its journey, which ended abruptly when it jumped into the water well. Noah heard no splash, only footsteps in the stairwell. He hid behind the sofa as Lyle, Diggs and the final railroad thug named Red thundered downstairs—so fast that Noah fired two bullets without the luxury of aiming, missing them—and out the front door.

A gangly scarecrow wearing a black Stetson and a black bandana tied bank-robber style around its mouth and nose pursued them out the door, dragging two long axes that scraped along the floorboards and Oriental rug. It stopped in the doorframe and hurled an ax. Noah, from his sheltered view by the window, saw only the ax's rainbow arch, and not its intended target. But he heard the sound it made upon splitting into its mark.

“Head toward the barn, it won't go near it!” Lyle screamed.

Shit, he's right.

Noah scrambled to watch through the front door the scarecrow clutching its ax and facing down Diggs and Lyle, both of whom stood before the fully consumed barn. Sprawled in between was Red. An ax cleaved the back of his head—the handle jutting skyward. The creature lurched to the corpse, grabbed the handle and wrenched the blade free.

The heat pushed the two men outward, closer to their pursuer, but they felt emboldened, knowing they'd found its weakness.

“What now?” Diggs screamed over the inferno.

“Dunno, just be ready!” Lyle still held the glowing torch and swiped it sideways. “Right now this is all that's keeping it back!”

The thing waited—whether it was for the barn to implode or Lyle's torch to burn itself out, Noah didn't know. But it seemed content to see how Diggs and Lyle would react to the mounting heat. Noah aimed his rifle—
Lyle first, then Diggs
, he thought. He had clear shots at each despite the creature. The two men had no idea Noah was moving the rifle to and fro, from one man's head to the next, planning to literally execute two wicked bastards.

Click.

Shit!

Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.

He ran his fingers over his empty bandolier.

Shouldn't have fired when they came running down the stairs.

Noah propped the useless rifle next to the book case and knew he had no other choice. He ran upstairs.

“Come on, come get it!” Lyle taunted the creature, which inched forward, wanting to take the bait but understanding the peril if it did. Diggs stood behind Lyle so that a thrown ax would hopefully strike Lyle first.

Lyle sprang forward, whipping the torch back and forth, backing up the thing. Diggs tried to be useful and found a burning plank of wood to wield. This concerned the creature—although it was patently obvious it feared Lyle and regarded the scrawny Englishman as more of a nuisance. It shrugged its shoulders, not certain of how to conclude the stare-down.

Lyle held the torch up high, waiting to club the thing if it charged.

Several bullets whizzed by Lyle, who froze. He counted five shots and not one of them hit. He looked to the house's second-floor window facing the barn and saw Noah—Colt in one hand, pounding the sill with the other—venting frustration over how awful a shot he was with a revolver.

“You suck, boy! Come down here and face me like a man!” Lyle screamed. Even the scarecrow watched the window, and Noah lining up another shot.

“Lyle, he's aiming at you,” Diggs hissed. “Move.”

“I see him.” Lyle remained rigid but saw Noah was way off. “Christ, it's like he's not aiming at me.” He chuckled.

Noah fired the final bullet from his Colt and hit his mark. The burning torch head exploded, leaving Lyle with a smoldering handle.

The scarecrow sprinted forward.

“Gimme your board!” Lyle screamed at Diggs, who fumbled and dropped the piece of burning wood before wetting himself.

Lyle drew his LeMat and fired at the creature's kneecaps, hoping to cripple it. The bullets slowed—but didn't stop—its progress.

The sound of stampeding horses joined the din of crackling wood. It came from the back cornfield and surprised everyone. Noah's rig, still steered by Brendan, burst through the stalks near Toby Jenkins's grave and caught the scarecrow by surprise. The horses and wagon wheels crushed the creature, eventually ripping it in half, sending straw everywhere.

The rig continued its path of destruction up the trail toward the road, only Brendan, tilting sideways, finally succumbed to his injury and fell out of the driver's seat, landing in a fetal position, clutching the handle of the sickle deep in his chest, covered by dirt left in the fleeing horses' wake.

Lyle snatched the plank of burning wood by Diggs's feet and meticulously set ablaze the scarecrow's remains, keeping an eye on the second floor window.

“You empty, Chandler? Because I'm not!”

Noah felt all the way around his gun belt and found one remaining bullet for his Colt.

“God, help me out here.” It would be his only shot with the revolver and he walked downstairs to meet his fate.

“Come on out, Chandler!” Lyle mocked. “I won't shoot you like you did Ellison, like a goddamn coward! He wasn't even looking!”

Noah hid out of sight behind the front door.

“I mean it, Chandler. Take a look, I'm holstered.” Lyle stood amid the burning hay with his arms outstretched to emphasize the point.

Noah exited, also with his gun holstered.

Diggs stood off to Lyle's side, and when he realized the men would settle scores with a quick-draw—and just how dreadful a shot Noah was—he skulked behind the closest tree that could provide cover.

“I'm gonna make it fair for both of us too. Give you—and me—a clear shot.” Lyle watched to make sure Noah wouldn't cheat and kicked aside the smoldering scarecrow carcass to create a relatively clear lane for the two men.