Bloodstained Oz Read online

  As soon as Hank could see the dark silhouettes of the second farm, he and Elisa turned off the road. Out in the open, they were too visible, but at least there was room to fight if it came to that. Now, though, it was about speed. Half a dozen steps onto the dusty fields of that farm, and he began to jog. Elisa understood instinctively and followed suit. The shotgun jostled in her hands as she hurried across the rutted, blasted landscape, but he could see she was careful not to lose her footing.

  His chest began to burn and he knew he needed to stop to catch his breath, but Hank kept going. The house and barn were dark, but all that mattered was the horses. If the animals were dead, he and Elisa would hurry back to the wagon. The other barn was half-collapsed, any animals inside either long since fled or been crushed. Oh, it might be worth a look, but otherwise, they had nowhere else to go except back to the wagon.

  He felt like a fool. What were the odds that these things, these hunters, had left anything alive tonight? He told himself that it was possible, but only if the vampires hadn’t reached the farm yet.

  In his whole life, he’d never been that lucky. But maybe tonight was the night.

  Elisa paused at the edge of a small, pitiful corn field. Hank ran right past her. There was no pausing anymore. They would live or they would die. They were committed to their choice, whatever the outcome. Breath a ragged gasp, he ran between the rows, trying to make as little noise as possible. He might die tonight, but he didn’t feel like helping the monsters track him down. He could hear Elisa following him, her footfalls soft behind.

  Something crunched like glass beneath his boot.

  Hank staggered, nearly fell, but caught himself and came back to see what he had stepped on. Elisa had already reached the spot, and he found her staring down at the shattered remains of a porcelain doll.

  “There are others,” she whispered, pointing at several of the things scattered on the ground all around, amongst the cornstalks.

  Something about the expressions painted on the faces of the dolls made his skin crawl.

  “Keep moving,” Hank told her.

  A dark shape darted across the sky just at the edge of his vision. He turned to see it speed toward the barn, whose roof was visible even from the midst of the meager corn field.

  For just a moment he was tempted to turn back. Then Elisa touched his shoulder with a gentle hand.

  “We have to hurry,” she said.

  He nodded, and they started off again together, taking even great care to be quiet this time. Moments later they reached the edge of the corn crop and Hank crouched within the stalks, taking what cover he could. Elisa knelt beside him, stroking one of the many crucifixes around her neck with her left hand, and clutching the shotgun in her right.

  Small, hideous figures capered in the air around the barn, a dozen things with wings and tails that swarmed like bees, alighting on the roof and tearing at its shingles, then taking flight again. Impossibly, he saw that Elisa was right. They were some kind of winged monkeys. The idea had seemed ridiculous, but the moment he saw them he realized there was no amusement to be had in their absurdity. They were vicious animals, twisted, evil things that only had the appearance of ordinary creatures. Vampires. Some kind of bizarre breed now poisoned by cruel darkness.

  The barn doors were shut and somehow they must have been barred from within, for several of the monkeys began to screech and throw themselves against the door in a fury. Their voices were a mad chittering that made Hank want to claw at his ears. One of the monkeys hurled itself against the barn door with such rage and abandon that the wood splintered, but it left a smear of dark blood behind. They would destroy themselves to get into that barn.

  “Horses,” Elisa whispered.

  Hank nodded. The only reason the creatures would try so desperately to get into the barn was if there was something alive in there for them to kill, hot blood for them to slake their devilish thirst.

  There came a loud noise from the roof, the crack of wood, and he saw that several of the creatures had managed to tear a section of shingling away, creating a hole.

  “No,” he said. “God damn it, no.”

  Those horses were their only chance.

  He gripped the shovel in both hands, and burst from the corn. Hank let out a cry of fury and terror and ran across the hard ground toward the barn.

  The little demons heard him, and their excited chatter grew even louder and more shrill. The one who’d bloodied itself and perhaps shattered its bones continued to hurl itself against the door, and two of those on the roof disappeared into the hole, but the others took flight, ragged, torn wings beating the air as they charged. Hank heard himself screaming. His fingers gripped the shovel so tightly that they hurt. The night had become even colder, as though the world itself was dying.

  As the fastest of them reached him, he swung the shovel. Its blade whickered through the air. It struck the little beast with a terrible sound, cutting deep into its side beneath one arm and crashing it to the ground. He stomped on its neck as it writhed beneath the shovel, picked up the blade, and drove it right into the monkey’s face, shattering its skull and spilling gray matter out onto the ground. Its brains were writhing red maggots that began to blister and melt upon exposure to the air.

  His guts churned and bile burned up the back of his throat. Hank might have vomited, but the others were on him then. Two of the monkeys collided with him, knocking him to the ground, wings beating the air. But almost the same moment that the three of them landed in a tangle of limbs and gnashing teeth and the clang of the shovel upon the ground, the monkeys screamed. He smelled their fur and flesh burning and they sprang off of him, hopping away, cross-shapes seared into them where they had come into contact with the crucifixes he wore.

  A few feet away, the shotgun thundered. The shot echoed across the farm. Another of the little bloodsuckers had been flying at him, and as Elisa fired, its head exploded in a mist of blood and bone and decaying maggots.

  Hank got to his feet and Elisa ran up beside him, racking another round into the shotgun’s chamber.

  “We’ve got to save the horses,” she said.

  Several of the monkeys had begun to retreat, seeing what had happened to the others. Hank thought it was more the crosses than the weapons, but he didn’t mind if it was a combination of the two. He plucked the hatchet from his belt and went over to where his shovel had fallen. One of the monkeys, braver than the others, lunged for his face. He swung the hatchet at the beast’s chest and it fell from the sky, wings jerking and twitching. It rolled over and over on the ground, trying to pull the hatchet out of its chest, where the blade had lodged in bone.

  Elisa went to shoot it, but Hank waved her off, wanting her to conserve ammunition. He picked up the shovel and drove it down on the thing’s neck, popping the head off.

  Only the wings were still twitching as they walked off, leaving it to die.

  “Faith,” Elisa whispered.

  When Hank looked at her, he saw that she had begun to weep.

  He let out another scream and started after the vicious little beasts. The monkeys flew up toward the hole in the roof of the barn. Hank swore and they ran toward the doors. That one, mad little monster was still crashing into the door, though its head hung strangely on its shoulders and its face was caved in.

  Shuddering with revulsion, Hank batted it with the blade of the shovel and then when it was down he swung the shovel down again and again and again.

  Elisa aimed the shotgun at the place where the doors to the barn were joined and pulled the trigger. Bits of wood exploded from the doors and whatever had barred them was gone. They swung loose.

  Hank grabbed the edge of one door and hauled it open.

  Three horses whinnied and kicked at their stalls. One was down, torn open, and two of the vampires were feasting.

  But the others were already dead.

  “What in Hell?” Hank muttered.

  A roar shook the rafters. A lion had one of the flying m
onkeys in its jaws and shook it back and forth like a rabid dog with a rag doll. The lion held it down with one paw and with the other, tore its head off.

  There were four or five other monkeys that were already dead.

  Now the lion went for the two survivors, the ones that were feasting on the fallen horse. Elisa raised the barrel of her shotgun.

  “No,” said a tiny voice from the shadows beside the door, where the moonlight could not reach. “He’s a friend.”

  Hank spun, shovel at the ready. But then the speaker stepped from the shadows, a little blond girl, her hair dirty and tangled but her eyes wide with innocence and sadness.

  Together, the three of them watched as the lion tore apart the last of the vampires. When it was through, the massive jungle beast sat on its haunches and tried to wipe its paws as best it could on the hay scattered about.

  “You’ve come for the horses,” the lion said, its growl of a voice laden with wisdom.

  Hank could only stare, unable to accept, even after all he had seen, that the lion could speak.

  “Yes,” Elisa said. And then she told him about the wagon.

  The lion raised its enormous head, mane streaked with blood and gore, and gazed at them with golden eyes. “And you will take the girl?”

  Hank heard the crack in Elisa’s voice when she replied. “Of course.”

  “Then we shall all go.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gayle led the horses, who were skittish as they left the barn. Her lower lip quivered a little but she pressed her mouth closed, angry with herself. Tomorrow she could cry. After the sun was up. But not tonight.

  The man with the shovel—dressed up in clothes from the prison—led the way with the pretty lady with the olive skin. Elisa carried the shotgun like it was her baby, and Gayle wondered if she knew it, and if she had a baby, where it was. The man’s name was Hank, which seemed a decent sort of name for a convict. Gayle was curious why he had been in prison and how he had gotten out, but like her tears, her questions would have to wait until morning.

  Right now, quiet seemed to be important.

  The little girl held the reins and the horses followed her. The woman, Elisa, had wanted them all to ride back to her wagon, but Hank had said they needed to go quietly and rest the horses until the wagon was hooked up. So they walked.

  The lion followed behind the horses, but he wasn’t the reason they were skittish. It was the strangest thing, but they weren’t afraid of him at all. Gayle understood. She wasn’t afraid of the lion, either. He made her feel safe.

  As they walked away from the farm, Gayle resisted the urge to look back. Her parents were dead, back there, somewhere. Yet a part of her could not imagine never seeing them again. How could that be possible? Never was an awfully long time.

  So she told herself that though her parents were gone, one day she would come home, and maybe all would be well. Maybe she would wake up in her bed, with them looking over her, brows furrowed in concern, and tell her she’d had a fever and it had all been a terrible nightmare.

  If she looked back, and saw the dark shapes of the barn and her house across the fields, she would know it was all just a little girl’s wishful heart. So she kept on, eyes straight ahead, and did not let herself consider that she might never go home again.

  They went around the corner and down the road. Gayle saw the little wagon on the side of the road and smiled. Her horses were strong and fast. They would be out of Hawley in no time, headed east toward the dawn. If Hank and Elisa were right, and the crosses kept the monsters away, they would be safe.

  But even as this thought went through her mind, Elisa glanced up into the night sky and pointed. Hank cussed nasty enough that it made Gayle flinch, then he turned to her.

  “Let’s go, little girl. We’ve been spotted. Whatever that was, there’ll be others.”

  They were at the wagon in another minute, and then Hank and Elisa hitched up the horses while the lion prowled in a circle around the wagon, watching for trouble. Gayle saw a body on the ground and tried not to look. She noticed that Elisa wouldn’t look at it either.

  “All right. Get in, Elisa. You and the girl.”

  “Gayle. My name’s Gayle.”

  Hank smiled, eyes softening, and he looked at her as though it was the first time he’d seen her. “Right. Gayle. Go on, sweet. Get in the wagon. You’ll be safe in there.”

  “I can drive the horses,” Elisa said. “If anything attacks us, someone ought to be fighting back. You can keep them off of me.”

  Hank took a breath.

  “We haven’t time for delicacy,” the lion said, sniffing at the air. “They’ll be on us soon.”

  “I don’t want to be in there alone,” Gayle said.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Elisa’s right. Let’s just get on.”

  Gayle swallowed hard, her throat hurting. She went to the wagon and climbed into the back. A single candle burned back there. She blew it out, knowing that they were going to be moving fast and the fire would be dangerous. It was dark in there except for the moonlight that came in through the open flaps at the rear of the wagon, and what little light came in through the small square window at the front, just behind the driver’s seat.

  Though she had seen the way Hank and Elisa relied upon the crosses they wore, always touching them, holding them close, she didn’t feel any safer inside the wagon with all of those crucifixes around. She just felt more alone.

  The lion stood on his hind legs and pushed his huge head into the back of the wagon. The heavy flaps draped against his mane.

  “You’ll be all right, Gayle. You only need a little courage.”

  She shook her head, blond hair falling across her eyes. Gayle could not prevent herself from pouting. “I don’t have any courage at all. Not at all.”

  The lion growled, soft and warm. “We all do. Down inside. You just have to look for it.”

  Then he withdrew.

  Up on the seat at the front of the wagon, Elisa clucked her tongue and urged the horses on with a flick of the reins. The wagon started to move, wheels rolling over the rutted road. Gayle went to the front and peered out the small window, just behind Hank and Elisa. That made her feel a little better, less alone.

  For more than an hour she knelt there, her muscles beginning to ache as she waited, tense, expecting something to happen. But none of the monsters came. She heard Elisa and Hank muttering to one another and their conversation was a comfortably familiar drone that reminded her of her parents.

  Gayle allowed herself to feel safe.

  Her eyelids grew heavy. Exhaustion and the rocking of the wagon lulled her and she became sleepy. Her head started to bob and she knew she ought to lie down in the back of the wagon, but could not bring herself to do it. Through the little window she peered between Elisa and Hank, watching the road ahead, and glanced at the dry, dead land that they passed on either side of the road. In the moonlight it was like the ghost of the living, beautiful landscape it must once have been. Even in her memory, it had been so much more alive.

  “They’re back,” Hank said, his voice cold with fear.

  Elisa yelled at the horses, snapped the reins, and they began to run. Things fell over in the back of the wagon. Gayle bumped her head and had to grab hold to keep from falling over.

  Hank had the shotgun in his hands. He swung the barrel to the right, tracking something in the sky, and then he pulled the trigger. The explosion deafened Gayle for a few seconds, but during that time—with the pressure against her eardrums driving spikes of pain into her head—she saw one of the flying monkeys tumbling out of the sky. One of its arms had been torn off by the shotgun blast and the wing on the same side was shredded.

  “It’s going to get up again,” she said, not even aware she was speaking out loud. “They get better unless you take off the head, or put wood through the heart. That’s what the lion says.”

  Elisa and Hank didn’t seem to hear her. Several more of the monsters came darti
ng down out of the night sky, moonlight gleaming on their black wings. They wouldn’t come too close, not with all the crosses the man and woman on the wagon’s seat wore. It was as though they were just trying to make Hank and Elisa angry.

  “What are they doing?” Elisa cried.

  Hank set the shotgun down behind him and stood in a crouch, shovel in his hands. Gayle cried out to him, afraid he would tumble overboard if the wagon hit a rut. But Hank slapped one of the monsters out of the air without losing his balance. He was strong and fast.

  “They won’t attack us, so what are they bothering for?” Elisa asked, whipping the reins upon the horses again.

  The horses surged forward, throwing Hank back into his seat. The shovel fell from his hands and clattered over the edge of the wagon.

  “They want to slow us down,” Hank said, his voice a rumble. He turned to Elisa. “Why would they—”

  All three of them heard the lion’s roar. It tore across the night sky. Gayle held her breath, terror gripping her. The lion had no crucifixes and no weapons other then his strength and his jaws. He had no safe wagon to ride within.

  “No!” she cried, and she scrambled to the back of the wagon.

  Careful not to put her hands or face outside, she pulled the flaps open so that she had a view of the road behind them. They were moving up a hill now and the horses were slowing a bit. The slope wasn’t much, but still there was an incline.

  The lion had fallen behind. There were vampire monkeys swarming around him, slowing him, keeping him from catching up with the wagon. He stood on his hind legs and began to tear at the monkeys, claws slashing them, stomping them into the dirt.

  Then he was free, for just a moment, and he lunged forward, barreling up the hill after them. Once more he roared, and there was such sadness in it that Gayle felt her own grief anew.