Where There's Smoke, There's Fire

The first shot, hurried and one-handed, went wild. The slug sailed high over the woman’s shoulder, smashing through one of the reinforced-glass windows. The boom of the shotgun was agonizing within the confines of the tiny tower, but the painful ringing in his ears would be the least of Gus’ concerns. The woman was upon him, except she wasn’t just some pretty woman any longer. In her place was a monster, a skeletal being with a hunched animal’s figure. Its grey, mottled skin was stretched taut over its protruding bones, patches of mangy fur scattered across its body. The head was little more than a skull, empty eye sockets staring at Gus as it slashed at him with its claws. The antlers crowning the skull may have resembled a deer’s, but the teeth were unmistakably carnivorous. When it howled again, the tower itself seemed to shake, almost as though the beast had called down the storm itself.

Gus’ second shot was luckier than the first. The heavy lead foster slug slammed into the beast’s shoulder, smashing through bone and flesh and sending the creature sprawling back. It got quickly to its feet, clutching at its shoulder wound as dark red blood splattered on the tower floor.

“You humans and your toys,” it growled. The voice was low and harsh, a far cry from the sweet woman’s voice it had been just moments earlier. “Fire and iron and lead. So cruel. So cowardly. I’ll be seeing you again, Guts. I’ll have your face!”

In an instant, the creature dove out the window, smashing through the glass and vanishing into the storm. A trail of blood could be seen leading off into the woods, but it would soon wash away in the rain.
 
Gus slowly lowered the gun, his eyes glued to the vanishing creature. He swallowed hard, fighting down the urge to vomit. The usual questions ran through his head, each screaming in shock more than an actual desire to be answered. "What was that thing? What just happened? How is this possible? Who and what was that? How did they do that? Is this real?" All reasonable questions that were not helpful at this moment, so he shut them down.

He looked down at his wrist and winced. His instructor had always warned him, with a powerful gun, always make certain you were set before you shot. Best case scenario, you looked like an idiot as the gun jumped out of your hands. Worst case scenario, you shot what you definitely shouldn't, and possibly broke a bone. He felt his wrist gingerly. It didn't feel completely shattered, otherwise, he wouldn't even be able to move his hand. Something was definitely broken or at least fractured, though, judging by the weakness and the swelling. Keeping the gun close, he dragged out the first aid box and dug around until he found the supportive bandages. This would help until he could get some real medical attention. He wrapped up his wrist as best he could and took a couple of pain killers, but not the max dose. A little pain was good.

The radio looked to be completely destroyed. If it could be salvaged, it was by someone with a much better grasp of electronics than himself. He turned off the power to lower the risk of getting electrocuted. Then he walked slowly around the tower room and checked the perimeter as best he could. He couldn't see anything in the dark storm, so he boarded up all of the windows as securely as he could manage, fumbling a bit with his weakened hand, then sat under the table on a pillow, gun and box of ammo sitting next to him. Okay. Position as secured as he could get it. No way to call out for help. Now what?

Then he remembered the plane. The radio in that thing might still be working, but was it worth leaving his fortified position for a dash into the unknown for a possible? Definitely not with this storm. He'd wait. Maybe. Maybe in the morning, the storm would pass and then he'd consider his options. For now, he couldn't do much more than sit tight, listen, and wait. If he'd been a praying man, that too, but it felt cheap to only turn to a God you only kind of sort of believed in when you wanted His help, so he bagged that idea. Listening and waiting.
 
Perhaps discretion really was the better part of valor, or maybe it was just Gus’ well-honed self-preservation instincts keeping him alive once again. Whatever it was that drove the fire lookout to stay in his shelter, it kept him safe. Gus would not see hide nor hair of the monster throughout the night. No more attacks, no skulls through the window, no creepy blonde women lurking in the woods.

Of course, even if Gus felt secure enough to close his eyes, he likely wouldn’t get much rest. The eerie howl would echo over the trees every now and then, sometimes a few times an hour. It was almost as though the creature were reminding him that it was still out there, still hunting. Didn’t people say that there were few things more dangerous than a wounded predator?

After a cold, tense night that seemed to last forever, the sun finally rose. With it came an end to the storm, with blue skies finally visible from Gus’ mountaintop perch. With the wind gone, the woods were once more oddly silent. There were no birds singing today except for the vultures, which looked to be out in force. There seemed to be hundreds of them, making lazy circles over the forest and occasionally descending down into the trees.
 
Gus unboarded the windows cautiously, keeping the gun close at hand. He wished he had a pistol for a fast draw in case the creature was close, but the shotgun would have a lot more power. Next time, he had to get her... it... the thing in the chest. The shoulder just made it mad, and that was not an opponent he wanted to make mad.

He watched the birds for a bit, studying their patterns. Black vultures, native to South Dakota, and they did not normally hunt in forested areas, preferring instead to hunt for carrion in open areas and save forested lands for nesting, but perhaps they were going after one of their other favorite diets: the young and eggs of other birds. Then again, storms like the one last night usually felled at least a few animals, so perhaps that was what they were after. Not to mention the plane wreck.

The plane wreck. His stomach squeezed queasily at the thought. Seeing the vultures out gave him pause to leaving the lookout post. Not to mention, what if that creature got between him and the post and cut him off from all hope of safety? He frowned, trying to think of a plan. He grabbed his binoculars and walked out onto the walkway surrounding the cabin and looked toward the area the plane had gone down in. He scanned the immediate surroundings one more time then lifted the binoculars, seeking any kind of information about the path to the plane, trying to catch sight of the plane, itself.
 
The plane wreck was nowhere to be seen, invisible in the sea of trees. Perhaps if it had been burning he would have been able to see some smoke, but the night’s rainfall had quenched any fires. The pond where it had crashed was a couple of miles away, but the little clearing was too small and too far away to be spotted.

As he watched the vultures, Gus would soon realize that there was a pattern to their flight. They weren’t circling randomly at all, but all seemed to be clustered at the edges of the forest around his tower. Small groups circled over their carrion, but the groups seemed to be spaced out at regular intervals in a larger circle around the tower. It was almost as though someone or something had left a ring of carcasses around the tower, carcasses which were currently being torn to shreds by what seemed like every vulture in the forest.

Another howl rang out, sending birds flying from the trees. Only the vultures seemed unaffected, continuing their lazy circles and smooth descents into the woods. The howl seemed to be a little ways off, but in the opposite direction of the plane wreck.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top