She Returns From War (12 page)

Near the ladder lay a coil of rope she mistook at first for a snake. Rolling her eyes at herself, she walked over to the nearest hay bale. It seemed ordinary, and nothing hid behind it. The same was true of the others she inspected. With each non-discovery, her fears wilted a little more.

Coming around the last of the bales, she paused. There was something lying in the far corner. It was probably just a pile of rags, but it looked wrong somehow. Long and thin, like a person hiding beneath a blanket. It was too small to be either the blue-eyed man or his enslaved ghoul. Still, it was in the corner farthest from the window. It made her uneasy, but curiosity soon overcame her caution, and she moved to investigate.

The closer she came to it, the more the object resembled a sleeping person. Pausing a few feet away from it, she reassured herself that it was probably just a bundle of hay or farm tools wrapped in a burlap sheet. If it was a vampire, surely it would have attacked her by now. Nothing to fear.

Stepping up to the lump, she prodded it with the toe of her boot. It didn't move. More confident now, Victoria slid the crucifix into her belt and reached down. The burlap was rough on her fingers as she pulled it back.

The face of a young girl emerged.

Victoria cried out in surprise, jumping backward. She tripped over her own boots and fell onto the floorboards, her gun sliding off into the shadows. Scrambling on to her hands and knees, she turned for another look at the bundle, a mixture of terror and revulsion twisting her face.

"What is it?" Cora's voice drifted up from below, but Victoria barely heard. Her mouth had gone dry, like someone had stuffed her throat full of cotton. Shallow breaths escaped her lungs as she stared, transfixed by the creature under the burlap.

She had thought it was the face of a young girl, perhaps ten or eleven years old. Some parts still retained the girl's features: soft brown hair, delicate eyebrows, and a thin nose. The similarities ended there, however. A snarl of sharp teeth clustered like broken twigs in the girl's mouth. Some of them had skewered her lips as they grown, punching through her skin like knives through fabric. The skin itself was waxy and bloodless. The girl's eyes were closed, and her chest did not rise and fall with her breathing, yet Victoria was certain that the creature wasn't dead.

"Dammit, girl, what's happening up there?" Cora called.

The girl's eyes snapped open.

Victoria's breath caught in her throat as it looked at her. She could see the same need, the same feral hunger that the other ghoul had shown. Whatever that creature was, this was the same kind.

The girl let out a hiss as she rolled over onto her hands and knees. She mimicked Victoria's posture, crouched, ready to spring. At that moment, Victoria realized her hands were empty. She didn't dare take her eyes off the girl to search for her lost revolver. For all she knew, holding still was the only thing keeping the monster from attacking. Her mind raced. Cora was still hollering at her from the bottom of the ladder, but she didn't answer. She couldn't. If the creature sprang at her, she would be defenseless.

In a flash, she remembered the crucifix in her belt. Cora had said something about the creatures fearing it. Mustering her courage, she began moving her hand toward her waist. If she could just reach it, she might have a chance.

The girl hissed again, and Victoria froze. She waited for the spring, for the impact of that small body against hers and the scraping of those teeth on her flesh. Child-sized hands curled into claws, but the girl remained crouched. Victoria steeled her nerves and moved her hand again. She didn't have much time.

As her fingers curled around the wooden figure, a gunshot rolled up through the floorboards. Victoria flinched, and the girl lunged at her. Tiny fingers gouged her arms as the two rolled over in the dust. The creature came out on top, teeth snapping, eyes dark with hunger. Victoria squeezed the crucifix in a death grip and brought it up. The wood pressed into the cold skin on the girl's neck. Smoke billowed as the flesh sizzled, and the girl rolled away with a choked cry.

Victoria scrambled to her feet, eyes probing the swirling clouds for her foe. There, on the far side. The girl was crouched again, a wild cat in human form, filled with need. Victoria extended the cross toward her. Hissing in anger, the creature shied away, retreating into the shadows.

Cross held out, Victoria began moving toward where she remembered her gun had fallen. It was slow going. She paused after each step, squinting after the girl. The savage form still lurked in the darkness, moving opposite the raised crucifix. At times, it seemed to meld with the shadows, slipping out of her sight only to reappear seconds later.

Another gunshot from below. Victoria could hear the hunter's voice yelling something, but she couldn't make out the words. No matter. At least Cora was still alive. Once she took care of whatever she was fighting down there, she would come up to the loft and make short work of this abomination.

As if reading her thoughts, the girl suddenly leaped to one side, vanishing behind a bale of hay. Victoria froze. Her gaze jumped from one end of the bale to the other, watching, waiting for that thing to emerge. The shadows played tricks with her eyesight. They swam and swirled in clouds of purple and black. She tried to blink them away, but they persisted, invading her sight even when her eyes were closed.

"Vicky!"

Victoria glanced at the ladder. "Get up here!" she called.

"No time," Cora yelled back. "Got me a critter down here somewhere."

"I have one up here, too."

"Well, sort it out. I got my hands full."

Victoria growled in frustration, turning her attention back to the hay bale. If Cora couldn't help her, she would just have to help herself. Stealing a quick glance behind her, she thought she saw a faint gleam on the floor. Her gun. It was close.

The sound of scrambling hands on the boards brought her head back around. In the corner of her eye, she caught a dark shape charging toward her. She whirled the crucifix to face it, but the girl was already airborne. They collided and went down. A blast of cold breath poured over her face. It had no smell. Small hands grabbed her neck, squeezing until she thought her eyes would pop out of their sockets. She punched at the girl's torso with an empty fist, trying to knock her away. The crucifix was gone.

Victoria could feel herself slipping away. Her lungs screamed for air. Her vision swam. With one last burst of energy, she flailed her arms out in both directions, praying, hoping the crucifix was still within reach.

Her fingers bumped into something cold. She grabbed for it. Metal. Her gun. Thank God, it was her gun.

Wrapping her hand around the barrel, she shoved to one side with all her might. The girl was incredibly strong, but she still only weighed as much as a child. Her cold fingers remained clamped round Victoria's throat as they rolled over.

Now lying face-to-face on the floor like lovers, Victoria looked into the girl's eyes. They were alive with lust, even through the thin white film covering them. The girl's fingers moved, one hand slipping from Victoria's neck. Fangs parted. Victoria sucked in a desperate breath. Pain exploded through her neck as the girl's teeth sliced into her. She heard a faint slurping sound, and she knew she was dying.

Gritting her teeth, not knowing what would happen, she shoved the revolver's barrel into the girl's side and pulled the trigger.

The recoil threw the gun out of her grasp. At once blind and deaf, Victoria lay stunned. She could breathe again, but that was all she knew. Seconds passed. Her vision began to clear, the bright purple streak left by the barrel's flash fading into the shadows. Another breath, choked with gun smoke.

A fit of coughing took her, and she curled into a fetal position while her body expelled the smoke and the panic and the feeling of cold fingers around her throat. She tried to pull herself up. A hand, a knee, a push against the rough wood. Soon she was kneeling, leaning against a bale. Hay tickled her ear. A final spasm shook her small frame before releasing her.

As the ringing in her ears subsided, she could hear a faint, gurgling moan. Her eyes went wide, searching the loft for its source. Catching sight of her gun lying on the floor, she crawled toward it, her boots making hollow thumps against the boards.

With the revolver again in her hand, she rose to her feet. Her pulse pounded in her temples. She could feel a warm trickle of blood flowing down her neck. Dabbing at it with her hand made it sting, and her fingers came away sticky. She would need to tie it off, but not now. She had to find the source of the sound and silence it once and for all.

Following the moans, she soon came upon a ruined heap of flesh. The girl lay on her side, rocking back and forth. A dark liquid dripped from her teeth, blood mixed with something thicker. The bullet had torn a hole in her dress and into her chest. Smoke poured out of the wound, as if the girl's soul were leaking out of her and drifting up among the rafters. The eyes rolled toward Victoria, still full of hunger and rage.

Looking down on her broken foe, a sudden wave of pity washed over her. Despite its grotesque features, it still looked more like a young girl than a monster. The revolver shook in Victoria's hand. For a moment, she didn't see the girl's' fangs or her filmy eyes. Instead, she saw a dying child, weeping with what strength she had left, her body ripped apart by Victoria's gun.

Dropping the revolver, Victoria turned her head and retched.

When the feeling passed, she wiped her mouth and retrieved her gun. The girl reached for her, fingers like claws. A moan of rage bubbled out between jagged teeth. Victoria's mouth was a thin line, and her blue eyes were dark with purpose. She centered the revolver's barrel between the girl's milky eyes and pulled the hammer back. When the gun kicked, she was expecting it. The flash from the barrel lit the loft like a bolt of lightning, and the thunder shook dust down from the rafters. As her vision cleared, she saw the girl's lifeless eyes staring back at her.

Air left her lungs in a deep sigh. Victoria holstered her gun and tried to shake the sting from her hand. Turning from the dead girl at her feet, she made her way back to the ladder. The daylight had all but disappeared from the window. Peering outside, Victoria could see an angry mass of clouds churning overhead. Cora's words echoed in her mind; if they were going to finish their business before it rained, they needed to hurry.

"Cora," she called out when she reached the ladder. "Are you there?"

No answer. Victoria crouched by the opening and looked through. The barn appeared to be empty. "Cora?"

Silence.

Placing a boot on the ladder, Victoria began her descent. She glanced over her shoulders as she climbed, searching for any sign of the hunter or another one of those creatures. Aside from the rumbling of thunder above her head, the barn was still. All sorts of horrid thoughts flooded her mind. Cora had been killed by whatever she was fighting. The blue-eyed man had reappeared and killed her. Victoria would find nothing but the hunter's corpse. Still, she couldn't very well stay in the hayloft, waiting for the nightmares to find their way up to her.

As soon as Victoria reached the bottom of the ladder, she remembered the crucifix, still laying somewhere on the loft floor. Her shoulders slumped at her own stupidity. She gave the ladder a rueful look, not eager to make the climb again. It was necessary, though. The crucifix had saved her from the girl-creature, buying her enough time to reach her gun. For whatever reason, the little carving had power over these things. Sighing, she reached for the ladder again.

A shout from outside stopped her cold. It was Cora's voice. Victoria turned her head, listening intently. Another shout, followed by a gunshot. Something was wrong.

Before she could think, Victoria was already running. Her revolver appeared in her hand. A blast of warm wind welcomed her as she charged through the barn door. Skidding to a stop, she frantically searched the yard for the old hunter.

A shout rose up over the wind. It came from the direction of the house. Gun at the ready, Victoria ran toward the sound. As she approached, she could see the door hanging open, blowing this way and that in the wind. Her blisters rubbed painfully against her boots, but she kept running. Somewhere in her mind, the thought that this run across the yard was easier than her last brought a grim smile to her face. She'd nearly been eaten alive by a child, her crucifix was lost, and her companion may or may not still be alive, but at least she was appropriately dressed.

"Cora!" she yelled as she ran onto the porch. "Can you hear me?"

"That you, Vicky?"

"Yes! Where are you?"

"Upstairs. Get your skinny rump up here double quick!"

Victoria thundered into the house, guided by her blurry memories from before. Her mind was so focused on what she would do, what she might see when she made it up the stairs that she nearly tripped over a corpse in the living room.

Catching herself on a chair, she gave the body a quick glance over. It was a woman, her flower-print dress rolled back to her knees. The corpse lay face down on the floor. Keeping her gun trained on the woman's head, she pushed against the shoulder with the toe of her boot.

A wretched face rolled into view. The woman had once been pretty, perhaps, before her teeth grew too large for her mouth. Thick black fluid oozed across her face from a hole above her right eye.