Nightwitch (34 page)

Coffee had a strong arm wrapped around the midsection of the hyena and he repeatedly jabbed the silver blade into its back and sides while the snarling animal fought to get its powerful jaws into the man, getting closer with each tumble, until it snapped onto Coffee’s right arm and once again the snapping, cracking sound of breaking bones bore into Arty’s soul.

“
Daddy!” Carolina screamed. She started to run toward her father, but Arty dropped the gun and tackled her.

“
Stop it,” he yelled, as she fought to get out from under him, and for once Arty was glad he weighed a lot, because she was a fighting whirlwind, struggling to get up.

“
I have to help,” she wailed.

“
No,” he screamed as loud as he could, his mouth touching an ear. She stopped struggling and Arty pushed himself off of her. “You stay back,” he commanded. Then he rolled away, grabbed the shotgun and climbed back onto his feet.

The hyena had Carolina’s father by an arm, and it jerked him off its back, sending the man flying like paper in a hurricane, and there was another loud crunch as Coffee’s collarbone cracked on impact. He was bent, broken, bleeding, still holding the knife, and trying to get up as the hyena came in for the kill.

“
Quick, Arty. It’s gonna get him.” The sound of her begging, pleading voice sent a jolt of white hot courage through him.

Arty brought the gun back to his shoulder and aimed. He’d loaded plenty of shells in his young life, however his father had never let him fire the gun. But he’d seen him shoot it often enough to know how, and to know that it had an awful kick. He hoped he could keep the gun pointed straight. He hoped the kick wouldn’t break his shoulder and land him on his ass, and he hoped the barrel wouldn’t blow up as soon as he pulled the trigger and take his face off.

“
I can’t shoot without hitting the man, too.”

“
That’s my father,” she wailed.

The hyena, damaged and bleeding, leapt at John Coffee as Arty pointed the shotgun and pulled the trigger, and was blessed with the luck of a first timer. The silver dimes scorched into the haunches of the animal, spinning it around, its rear end flying off the ground as Arty was propelled off his feet by the thunderous kick of the shotgun.

The hyena’s rear end landed where its front used to be and now it was facing Arty. He thought he saw its red eyes fade for an instant. Then it started toward him.

“
Get up Arty. It’s coming,” Carolina yelled. Arty scrambled up again, struggling to raise the shotgun.

The laughter ripped the night open again as a flash of lightning lit up the sky and they saw it. Big, black, baring its fangs, eyes glowing sharp red against the dark, black hair bristling. And it saw them. Arty knew they were done for. The monster would be on them, before he could get the gun up again.

A thunderclap tore through the moonlit night, and the hyena howled in pain as it went down. Arty and Carolina were frozen in place and another shot of thunder rang out and the hyena jerked. Then another, followed by still another and Arty realized it wasn’t only thunder booming through the early night as a second crack of lightning lit up the sky and he saw the angelic face of his all time favorite teacher, blasting away with the forty-five, pumping all eight rounds into the beast.

It should have gone down, and it should have stayed down, and it should have been dead, and it should have stayed dead. Instead the hyena’s hindquarters writhed and twitched. It lost its footing with the first shot, but its whirling legs quickly found the ground again and it was gaining purchase, when the second shot hit it in the chest, jerking it sideways. The third, fourth and fifth slapped its hindquarters, jerking the rear end of the beast up and off the ground like a giant puppet master was pulling on strings attached to its hind legs. The last three shots tore into its ribcage, ripping into its lungs, shoving the beast up onto its hind legs, a raging, laughing, red-eyed demon, spitting dark blood through its gleaming fangs.

And all through the sledgehammer beating it was taking from Sarah, it kept its eyes on Arty, and it kept trying to get at Arty, each jerking bullet blow only slowing it for a few seconds. Then it was back on track and the track led to Arty.

He looked into those eyes and he knew the animal was going to keep coming for him, because the bullets blazing from Miss Sadler’s gun, powerful as they were, were made of lead. They might be strong enough to slap it around, make it bleed and piss it off, but they weren’t mighty enough to kill it and Arty knew it.

And the hyena knew it.

Arty thought it was over. The giant animal, bloody and raging, came off its hind legs with a laughing, cackling, roar—jaws wide, fangs bared, steam flaring from its nostrils, eyes glaring and glowing like the fires of hell. Its front legs hit earth and it was flying across the clearing, a deadly arrow—Arty the target.

“
Stop, you,” Carolina screamed out, moving up beside Arty. She was holding the silver-knife cross in front of herself. And as if by magic, the beast dug in its hind legs and stopped its charge. The hits from the forty-five may have wounded it and slowed it, but it was the silver-knife cross that stopped it.

“
Now,” she said in a hushed whisper that sounded loud in the night. Arty pulled the trigger and the world turned into a blur as he went tumbling backwards a second time, landing on his back on the soft, wet earth, fighting to keep from losing the gun.

“
You got it! You hit it good!” Carolina screamed. The blast ripped into the face of the beast, stripping matted and bloody fur from its face and snout, like a summer storm strips the leaves from a strong tree. And like a leafless tree, the hyena was still standing, a bloody skull, strands of sticky flesh and fur hanging from white bone, laughing toward the heavens.

“
Quick, Arty!” she yelled and Arty scrambled over onto his stomach, bringing the shotgun up to his shoulder. He took aim and pulled the trigger again. He didn’t see the silver dimes tear into the grizzly skull because the kicking gun smashed into his shoulder. But he saw it a flash of a second later, as its red eyes dimmed to orange. It howled again, only this time there was no laughter in its wail. It was howling its pain into the night for all the world to hear.

“
Why won’t it die?” Arty wailed.

The beast turned toward Carolina, letting out a roar that sent shock waves shooting toward her like the blast from a hot air furnace. The oxygen was momentarily sucked out of her and she threw an arm in front of her face to block off the heat.

“
Carolina,” Arty yelled, but he was too late, because in her desperation to breathe and get away from the monstrous heat, she dropped the silver cross and the animal was charging before it hit the ground. Arty struggled to get up, but he knew he would never make it in time.

“
Over here,” Sarah screamed, trying to distract the animal away from the children, as she slammed the second clip into the forty-five. She started pulling the trigger the instant the clip clicked home. All her shots found the beast, thudding into it as it charged toward the children. But this time it ignored her, recovering from each jerking hit in an instant, and continued toward the kids.

However it couldn’t ignore the new thunder coming from the barrel of another forty-five. The shot whizzed over its head, but the animal instinctively knew this was ammunition of a different sort. It turned away from the children and charged toward Harry Lightfoot, moving with blurred speed.

And Harry stood firm, a wild Indian, long hair blazing in the wind, fringed buckskins flowing, and a lone feather stuck in a leather head band. The moon at his back covered him in a soft glow, his hair, whipping out from around the head band, picked up the moonglow, reflecting it away and forming a halo that surrounded his grinning face.

Harry fired a second silver bullet. He missed again and the animal kept coming. He stood his ground, grin intact, and fired a third time, and this time it was Harry’s laugh that filled the night as a trail of blazing flame and smoldering blood seared along the back of the beast, causing the animal to roar like no hyena had ever roared.

Then it was in the air as Harry fired again, hitting the monster in the chest, before its gaping jaw ripped into Harry’s own chest as it barreled into him, knocking him down and raking his face with a clawed front foot. He was wounded badly, but he still managed to stick the gun into the belly of the beast and jerk off two rounds, blasting the animal off of him.

The hyena backed away and Harry fired again, missed and the animal turned to flee. It started across the clearing toward the path, but Arty blocked its way, firing the shotgun again, missing by inches, but the silver dimes flying over its head were enough to turn the animal toward the cliffs at a full run. Harry put his last two shots into the beast, the last one hitting it in the rear as it shot into space, before it started its fall to the rocks below.

The night was quiet save for that lone cricket Arty had heard earlier. The air was cool and still. No rustling of leaves, no whispering of pines, no sounds from the city below. The clearing was an alien world, soundless except for that forlorn chirping. Arty watched, dazed, but unafraid as Sarah Sadler helped Carolina’s father up.

Arty and Harry walked and hobbled to the cliff’s edge and peered over. They could see the rocks below, but they couldn’t see where the hyena had landed, or even if it had landed.

“
Daddy,” Carolina said, rushing across the clearing. She hugged her arms around her father’s waist. He grimaced against the pain of broken bones as he ran his left hand through her hair, and he smiled a little, despite his hurt, when she squeezed even tighter.

“
I’m sorry,” was all he could say. He wrapped his left arm around her and hugged her into himself.

“
Is it over?” Sarah asked. She was holding the empty gun in one hand, trying to keep her windblown hair out of her eyes with the other.

“
No,” Harry Lightfoot said, clutching his bloody chest. They all turned to look at him. His hands were covered in blood and his grin was forced, but he looked like an avenging angel straight out of the Black Hills.

“
Not until we kill it,” John Coffee added.

“
After all that, and it’s not dead?” Sarah said. She tucked the warm gun into her pants and used both hands to hold her hair in place against the strong wind.

“
Low tide,” Harry said, bending down on one knee. It was easy to see he was hurting.

“
I don’t get it.” Sarah said, not understand his meaning.

“
He means,” John Coffee said, “that if the tide would have been in, the creature would have landed in salt water. End of story. It would have burned up. But the tide’s out, so it landed on the rocks. It’ll build its strength and come back, strong as ever, maybe stronger.

Arty dusted himself off and looked down again. The tide was beginning to roll in and splash among the rocks. He used to like to sit down there and watch the crabs scurry around and he hoped that the Nightwitch was smashed, and the little crabs were having a ball as they chewed into and ate up all the witch parts, but he’d heard the conversation and he wanted to be ready when it came back.

“
Carolina, I need the rest of the shells,” he said.

She eased herself out of her father’s embrace and opened her backpack. “Come on out girl,” she said. The ferret jumped onto her shoulder and nuzzled her ear. She handed Arty the backpack without a word, then pulled Sheila off her shoulder and hugged her to her chest.

John, Sarah and Harry Lightfoot watched as Arty fished the shells out of the bottom of the pack and started jacking them into the side of the shotgun, like he’d been doing it all his life. The gun was too big for the boy. The boy was too young for the job. But he was doing it just the same.

“
The locket is under the ferret’s nametag,” he said to the adults. “If the Nightwitch finds out, I think it’ll kill me and Carolina, but I’m not gonna let it.”

“
It’ll take more than silver dimes to kill it,” Harry said.

“
You knew I took the other rolls?”

“
I knew,” Harry said.

“
He’s right,” Carolina’s father said, and Arty saw the man screw his face up with pain. He was hurting and Harry Lightfoot was, too. Blood covered Harry’s chest and stomach and he had a bloody gash on the right side of his face. It didn’t look like he could open his right eye, and he wheezed when he talked. These men would not be able to help anymore. It was up to him now.

“
I know where the skin is,” he said, shoving the last shell home.

The adults didn’t get the time to appreciate what he’d said, because a giant shadow blocked the moon. Carolina, her father and Sarah had their backs to the cliff and didn’t see the giant vulture as it rose from below, riding up on the wind.

The mammoth bird carried a twenty foot wing span, had a head the size of a Volkswagen, blazing red eyes the size of tires, a five foot, black beak and its red eyes were fixed on Carolina.

“
No,” Harry screamed, jumping from his crouch. He shot forward, grabbed the knife out of John Coffee’s hand and dove over the cliff onto the great bird. He hugged the vulture around the neck, with his head under the beak and sliced the knife across the giant bird’s throat.

Arty’s hands tightened on the gun as they fell to the rocks below, with old Harry’s warrior scream mingled with the shrieking squawk of the vulture. Arty closed his eyes, but it didn’t help. He pictured Harry riding the bird to his diving death, silver hair blowing in the wind, gray eyes laughing, as he held on to the bird one handed, plunging the knife into its neck and head all the way till the rocky bottom.