Beyond the Pale -Part 134
Jan. 14th, 2009 05:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
secret_historyHola, dear readers!
We are back and almost on track with the new writing schedule. Because your beloved (if somewhat flaky) narrator is working night shift this week, you'll be getting your updates in the wee hours of the morning, most likely. My apologies for this inconvenience, and rest assured that next week we'll be back in business when I resume working during the day.
With that, I present to you the latest installment of BTP!
*****
The herd of cattle thundered onto the platform and straight at them with the speed of a runaway freight train.
“Run!”
Monroe grabbed her by the arm and hauled her halfway off her feet as the herd threatened to trample them underfoot. They twisted out of the way barely in time to avoid the stampeding cattle, which rushed past them amidst screams of terror from the other passers-by, cutting them off from Stone and Blanton, who had taken off running in the other direction. Buffetted by the wind as the cattle went by, Vicky found herself knocked sprawling to the ground, and managed painfully to break her fall with her outstretched hands. She landed, winded, and twisted around to try to see what was going on over her head, struggling to catch her breath. From what felt like only a few inches away she heard a terrible snorting sound, and the air filled with the unmistakable smell of sulfur.
She scrambled to her feet and then stood, transfixed, watching the terrible creatures before her. The two bulls leading the herd looked somewhat like Texas longhorns, but for the fact that they were monstrous in size, standing well over twenty-five hands high, with broad, deep chests and high, muscled backs. Their hide was black and gleamed blue-black in the dim gas lighting, and after a moment she realized that it wasn’t hair she was seeing, but scales the colour of ebony. One of the bulls turned to face her directly, snorting and pawing at the ground with a massive hoof that struck sparks from the cobbles. Gigantic horns sprouted from its skull, spreading threateningly the ends sharp and tinted with what might have been dried blood. Tendrils of smoke curled from its nostrils and dissipated into the air above, and its eyes glowed with unnatural red flame. They stood for what seemed an eternity, the gunslinger and the bull, staring into each others eyes, locked in a silent contest of wills. A voice came to her in her mind that she recognized from her dreams.
“The hour of the Four is nigh! You have opposed their coming: now you pay with your life. Somos Los Diablos: we are messengers of the Four, and you are my sworn enemy. Now you die, and join the herd. Submit to the will of the Four!”
She wrenched her gaze away, her hand reflexively going for the Peacemaker on her right hip.
“Never!” she shouted out loud at the silent challenge. “You want me, you’ll have to come get me!”
“So be it.”
The herd had long since passed her by, and she stood alone, facing the bull. A scream from further away caught her attention, and she glanced aside in time to see Elijah Blanton collapse into a heap on the ground. Out of nowhere Monroe sprinted across to him, grabbed him by the collar, and began dragging him toward the station building, out of harm’s way, before the panicked cattle could trample him underfoot. Behind him, the second gigantic bull was lowering its head and pawing the ground, sending up even more sparks in the smoky air.
“Monroe, look out!”
She didn’t have time to do anything more than shout a warning when the Diablo that had tried to stare her down now charged at her at blinding speed. She barely had the time to throw herself out of harms way, feeling the great beast’s steaming breath against her skin. She tumbled several feet, then twisted away again desperately as a gigantic hoof came down inches away from where her head had been a moment before. From a prone position she pulled one of her Peacemakers from its holster and emptied it at the Diablo. To her dismay, the bullets did little more than ricochet off the bull’s scaly hide. Only one of them cut a shallow groove in the scales, and a few drops of scarlet blood ran down the bull’s flank, smoking as they came into contact with the air.
Her Bullard Express had clattered to the ground, and lay a few yards away. She sized up the distance with a glance, then abandoned her pistol on the ground and threw herself toward the rifle as fast as she could run. The Diablo was faster, and charged her again, narrowly missing gouging her with one of its huge horns. She fell heavily to the ground, the shock jarring her so hard that her teeth rattled. She scrabbled for purchase against the cobblestones, reaching for her rifle, but the great bull came around again, and it was all she could do to roll away in order to avoid having her chest crushed under its hooves. Its voice echoed in her head once more.
“There is no escape. Surrender to the will of the Four!”
There had to be a way out. Her mind raced even as she struggled to avoid being trampled. She caught sight of a huge pile of baggage waiting to be claimed, leaning against a small shed near the station wall; jumping to her feet she sprinted toward it, scrambling up as high as she could manage to get away from the terrifying monster breathing sulfrous fumes down the back of her neck. From there she pulled herself onto a low-hanging section of roof, where the bull couldn’t reach her. The Diablo bellowed in frustration, and began systematically destroying the baggage, trunks and bags exploding under its fury, their contents strewn along the platform like so much flotsam. Then it began
Vicky crouched on the roof, breathing hard, her heart hammering painfully against her ribcage, clinging to it so hard that her fingers turned white. The herd was still milling about in a panic beneath her, although even the cattle appeared to be steering clear of the great bull bellowing its rage at her feet. She couldn’t stay where she was: there were the others to think of, and the cattle must be brought under control. As she tried to catch her breath, she saw Monroe facing down the other bull, his Paterson propped on one arm as he fanned it at the beast, treating the rifle almost like a pistol. The bullets from the rifle did more damage to the bull than her pistol had done, she was relieved to see, but even so they didn’t appear to do much more than inconvenience it: Monroe, undoubtedly as rattled as she was by the nightmare come to life, wasn’t taking the time to place his shots, instead relying on the sheer size of his bullets to do the work for him.
“Monroe!” she shouted, but if he heard her he gave no indication.
A flurry of motion on the platform by the train caught her attention. It was Stone, his black duster flapping around his thin frame. He sprinted directly toward the bull threatening to tear down her already-shaky refuge, then at the last moment ducked behind a pile of overturned baggage and aimed his gatling pistol at the bull. The shots rang out with the characteristic pop-pop-pop! sound to which she was getting strangely accustomed to hearing during gunfights, but to her dismay she saw that the bullets from the gun went right through the bull as though they were made of nothing but smoke.
“There is no help for you. You are mine, and mine alone!”
Stone fired several more shots at the bull, but it ignored him as though he was of no consequence and charged the small structure again, tearing at it with its massive horns. She felt the wood splinter and begin to crumple beneath her.
“Shit!”
Balancing precariously for a moment, she jumped just as the shed collapsed beneath her feet. She landed awkwardly, twisting her ankle under her as she fell her length on the ground. The Diablo bellowed behind her, its roar making the very ground shake. She spotted her Bullard Express only a few feet away near the train tracks, and crawled toward it, barely feeling her fingertips tearing against the rough ground. She heard Stone’s gatling pistol fire again, pop-pop-pop!, followed by a curse as he realized just how ineffective his weapon was against this creature. Her fingers brushed against the rifle’s stock, and a moment later she had it in her grasp. She scrambled to a crouch, one knee on the ground, the train to her back, and braced the rifle against her shoulder, sighting down the barrel.
The bull stood before her, smouldering and terrible. It snorted, apparently hesitating, or perhaps bracing itself for the kill, and pawed the ground. She forced herself to breathe evenly. Pause, breathe, aim, she told herself, feeling her blood rushing in her ears. The rifle had a harder kick than she’d expected, but the bullet hit home, thumping into the Diablo’s chest, and its scaly hide now glistened with smouldering red blood. It bellowed in pain, then lowered its head and charged.
She tried to twist out of the way once more, but was slowed down by her injured leg, and this time the bull caught her directly in the chest, crushing her against the train car behind her.
*****
We are back and almost on track with the new writing schedule. Because your beloved (if somewhat flaky) narrator is working night shift this week, you'll be getting your updates in the wee hours of the morning, most likely. My apologies for this inconvenience, and rest assured that next week we'll be back in business when I resume working during the day.
With that, I present to you the latest installment of BTP!
The herd of cattle thundered onto the platform and straight at them with the speed of a runaway freight train.
“Run!”
Monroe grabbed her by the arm and hauled her halfway off her feet as the herd threatened to trample them underfoot. They twisted out of the way barely in time to avoid the stampeding cattle, which rushed past them amidst screams of terror from the other passers-by, cutting them off from Stone and Blanton, who had taken off running in the other direction. Buffetted by the wind as the cattle went by, Vicky found herself knocked sprawling to the ground, and managed painfully to break her fall with her outstretched hands. She landed, winded, and twisted around to try to see what was going on over her head, struggling to catch her breath. From what felt like only a few inches away she heard a terrible snorting sound, and the air filled with the unmistakable smell of sulfur.
She scrambled to her feet and then stood, transfixed, watching the terrible creatures before her. The two bulls leading the herd looked somewhat like Texas longhorns, but for the fact that they were monstrous in size, standing well over twenty-five hands high, with broad, deep chests and high, muscled backs. Their hide was black and gleamed blue-black in the dim gas lighting, and after a moment she realized that it wasn’t hair she was seeing, but scales the colour of ebony. One of the bulls turned to face her directly, snorting and pawing at the ground with a massive hoof that struck sparks from the cobbles. Gigantic horns sprouted from its skull, spreading threateningly the ends sharp and tinted with what might have been dried blood. Tendrils of smoke curled from its nostrils and dissipated into the air above, and its eyes glowed with unnatural red flame. They stood for what seemed an eternity, the gunslinger and the bull, staring into each others eyes, locked in a silent contest of wills. A voice came to her in her mind that she recognized from her dreams.
“The hour of the Four is nigh! You have opposed their coming: now you pay with your life. Somos Los Diablos: we are messengers of the Four, and you are my sworn enemy. Now you die, and join the herd. Submit to the will of the Four!”
She wrenched her gaze away, her hand reflexively going for the Peacemaker on her right hip.
“Never!” she shouted out loud at the silent challenge. “You want me, you’ll have to come get me!”
“So be it.”
The herd had long since passed her by, and she stood alone, facing the bull. A scream from further away caught her attention, and she glanced aside in time to see Elijah Blanton collapse into a heap on the ground. Out of nowhere Monroe sprinted across to him, grabbed him by the collar, and began dragging him toward the station building, out of harm’s way, before the panicked cattle could trample him underfoot. Behind him, the second gigantic bull was lowering its head and pawing the ground, sending up even more sparks in the smoky air.
“Monroe, look out!”
She didn’t have time to do anything more than shout a warning when the Diablo that had tried to stare her down now charged at her at blinding speed. She barely had the time to throw herself out of harms way, feeling the great beast’s steaming breath against her skin. She tumbled several feet, then twisted away again desperately as a gigantic hoof came down inches away from where her head had been a moment before. From a prone position she pulled one of her Peacemakers from its holster and emptied it at the Diablo. To her dismay, the bullets did little more than ricochet off the bull’s scaly hide. Only one of them cut a shallow groove in the scales, and a few drops of scarlet blood ran down the bull’s flank, smoking as they came into contact with the air.
Her Bullard Express had clattered to the ground, and lay a few yards away. She sized up the distance with a glance, then abandoned her pistol on the ground and threw herself toward the rifle as fast as she could run. The Diablo was faster, and charged her again, narrowly missing gouging her with one of its huge horns. She fell heavily to the ground, the shock jarring her so hard that her teeth rattled. She scrabbled for purchase against the cobblestones, reaching for her rifle, but the great bull came around again, and it was all she could do to roll away in order to avoid having her chest crushed under its hooves. Its voice echoed in her head once more.
“There is no escape. Surrender to the will of the Four!”
There had to be a way out. Her mind raced even as she struggled to avoid being trampled. She caught sight of a huge pile of baggage waiting to be claimed, leaning against a small shed near the station wall; jumping to her feet she sprinted toward it, scrambling up as high as she could manage to get away from the terrifying monster breathing sulfrous fumes down the back of her neck. From there she pulled herself onto a low-hanging section of roof, where the bull couldn’t reach her. The Diablo bellowed in frustration, and began systematically destroying the baggage, trunks and bags exploding under its fury, their contents strewn along the platform like so much flotsam. Then it began
Vicky crouched on the roof, breathing hard, her heart hammering painfully against her ribcage, clinging to it so hard that her fingers turned white. The herd was still milling about in a panic beneath her, although even the cattle appeared to be steering clear of the great bull bellowing its rage at her feet. She couldn’t stay where she was: there were the others to think of, and the cattle must be brought under control. As she tried to catch her breath, she saw Monroe facing down the other bull, his Paterson propped on one arm as he fanned it at the beast, treating the rifle almost like a pistol. The bullets from the rifle did more damage to the bull than her pistol had done, she was relieved to see, but even so they didn’t appear to do much more than inconvenience it: Monroe, undoubtedly as rattled as she was by the nightmare come to life, wasn’t taking the time to place his shots, instead relying on the sheer size of his bullets to do the work for him.
“Monroe!” she shouted, but if he heard her he gave no indication.
A flurry of motion on the platform by the train caught her attention. It was Stone, his black duster flapping around his thin frame. He sprinted directly toward the bull threatening to tear down her already-shaky refuge, then at the last moment ducked behind a pile of overturned baggage and aimed his gatling pistol at the bull. The shots rang out with the characteristic pop-pop-pop! sound to which she was getting strangely accustomed to hearing during gunfights, but to her dismay she saw that the bullets from the gun went right through the bull as though they were made of nothing but smoke.
“There is no help for you. You are mine, and mine alone!”
Stone fired several more shots at the bull, but it ignored him as though he was of no consequence and charged the small structure again, tearing at it with its massive horns. She felt the wood splinter and begin to crumple beneath her.
“Shit!”
Balancing precariously for a moment, she jumped just as the shed collapsed beneath her feet. She landed awkwardly, twisting her ankle under her as she fell her length on the ground. The Diablo bellowed behind her, its roar making the very ground shake. She spotted her Bullard Express only a few feet away near the train tracks, and crawled toward it, barely feeling her fingertips tearing against the rough ground. She heard Stone’s gatling pistol fire again, pop-pop-pop!, followed by a curse as he realized just how ineffective his weapon was against this creature. Her fingers brushed against the rifle’s stock, and a moment later she had it in her grasp. She scrambled to a crouch, one knee on the ground, the train to her back, and braced the rifle against her shoulder, sighting down the barrel.
The bull stood before her, smouldering and terrible. It snorted, apparently hesitating, or perhaps bracing itself for the kill, and pawed the ground. She forced herself to breathe evenly. Pause, breathe, aim, she told herself, feeling her blood rushing in her ears. The rifle had a harder kick than she’d expected, but the bullet hit home, thumping into the Diablo’s chest, and its scaly hide now glistened with smouldering red blood. It bellowed in pain, then lowered its head and charged.
She tried to twist out of the way once more, but was slowed down by her injured leg, and this time the bull caught her directly in the chest, crushing her against the train car behind her.
