Somewhere behind them Denver growled.
Quinn brought himself up high enough to look out into the night.
“Oh my God,” he said.
Chapter 23
The Cellar
A stilt loomed over the truck and shoved its hand further through the driver’s window it had just smashed.
It was wreathed in shadow and only truly discernable when it moved, separating itself from the dark. Behind it, a quarter mile away, a herd milled in the field. Quinn couldn’t tell how many there were, but most of the open ground was covered by slender forms, long arms swinging as they walked.
“Go get Ty and go out the back door,” Quinn said. “Get into the trees and keep going. Don’t stop.”
“You’re coming,” Alice said, snagging his arm as she sidled away from the window. The stilt bumped the truck’s horn, and they both jumped. The monster jerked also then slammed a fist through the rear driver’s side window and continued to rummage inside.
They slipped into the living room, and Alice roused Ty, speaking so low Quinn couldn’t hear what she said. Denver continued to growl, a low and menacing sound in the middle of his chest.
“Shh,” Quinn said, stroking the Shepherd’s ears. “Quiet now.” The dog nosed Ty’s shoulder as Alice helped him to his feet. Quinn grasped the first aid kit, and they started for the back door when Alice halted.
“Wait. I don’t hear it anymore,” she breathed. Quinn listened.
Silence.
They could be walking outside into its waiting arms and teeth.
He leaned in to Alice, putting his mouth against her ear.
“I’ll check the front. Be ready to run.”
He moved back through the simple house, the front entry dark and unfamiliar. He gripped the revolver.
Five shots.
Edging close to the window, he peeked outside, one eye around the window frame.
The stilt was gone, but the herd was still there, undulating like a single entity. Maybe it had gone back to rejoin them after finding nothing in the truck. What were they doing out there? So many. The group was at least twice the size of the herd in Ferry. Maybe three times, the night belied their numbers. He squinted and tried to search the areas to either side of the window.
The stilt stepped out of the darkness two paces away from the house, bowing low, its eyes finding him framed in the window.
It roared.
Quinn raised the handgun, mortaring everything inside him to keep still and aim. He couldn’t miss.
He fired as it came through the glass. Its long head rocked backward, a chunk of skull vaporizing. The gunshot resounded across the field, and the surrounding area lit up in a dazzling blast of flame that shot from the barrel. Ringing filled his ears, and then something else.
Deep croaking.
They were coming.
He turned, yelling through the length of the house. “Go!” The back door opened, and they were gone before he could even make out their shapes. In the field, tall forms loped forward, long shadows beneath the starless sky. He had to buy them time somehow, give them a head start. He had four rounds left, along with his body to sacrifice if necessary. How long would his corpse slow them down? Long enough for Alice and Ty to get away? He tried to steady his hands as the stilt’s footsteps and thrumming calls came closer, tried to make out his first target. It was so dark.
Dark.
Quinn tucked the revolver in its holster and ripped the first aid kit open, fingers fumbling with the orange flare pistol. He yanked it free and found one of the three tubular flares. By feel, he loaded the pistol and cocked the hammer back before standing.
Cool night air drifted in through the broken window. The herd was thirty yards away and closing. He aimed at the center of their numbers and fired.