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Entry tags:
"Chased By Skinwalkers"
"Chased By Skinwalkers"
7/6/1984
I.
"What are those damn things?" demanded one of the gunmen. "They're gaining on us!"
"On FOOT? That's impossible," the driver said. "I'm doing seventy-five now."
Wedged in the back seat between two killers, each of whom had a gun in a shoulder holster, Jeremy Bane could not keep a hint of satisfaction out of his voice. "I told you guys not to take this route. This is Skinwalker Highway. Truckers lose money because they won't drive here at night."
The bigger of the two thugs glared at the prisoner pressed between him and his partner. He had not thought the notorious Dire Wolf was too imposing in person. Still under thirty, six feet tall but no more than one hundred and seventy pounds, Bane looked like a swimmer or runner in good shape but certainly not the peak fighting machine that his reputation claimed. The all-black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and jacket didn't impress him either.
When the STIGMA team had taken him at the airport, Bane had surprisingly not resisted. They had confiscated the Smith & Wesson revolver at his left hip, patted him down and then got him situated between them in the back seat. They had taken Exit 19 from Phoenix at dusk. When the driver had turned onto Route 55 as the sun set, Bane had in fact told them they were making a big mistake.
Yanking his Glock from his armpit holster, the bigger man held it up in both hands to make sure the prisoner wouldn't make a desperate try at grabbing it. "Look at those things! They're horrible."
"Are they wolves? Running on their hind legs?" asked the other gunmen. "I never heard of such a thing."
"No. Not wolves, not even werewolves," Bane said, turning his head finally to get a look. "Those are something much worse, those are Skinwalkers."
"Can't you go any faster? Floor it, Mark!"
"I've got the pedal down flat now," came the answer from the front seat.
Bane continued, "You should know that bullets will only annoy those monsters, maybe knock them down, but regular bullets won't really hurt them. They will be climbing all over this car in a few minutes."
The other killer reached behind him for his own sidearm. "How can they run so fast? It doesn't seem possible."
Unnoticed by the two STIGMA men, Bane crossed his arms in front of him, fingertips resting on the opposite cuff. To those who knew the Dire Wolf and his ways, this was a danger signal that the mobsters didn't recognize. "You goons planned on burying me out on the desert tonight, right? Because I was getting too much information on your human trafficking. So I don't feel at all bad about what's going to happen now."
The implications of his final sentence started to sink in, the two men turned their attention to their prisoner in the final half-second they had to live. From their sheaths beneath his jacket sleeves, Bane drew a slim silver-bladed dagger in each hand and drove them hard into the left side of each man's chest. Neither could do more than wheeze as air left their lungs for the last time.
At the same time, the Dire Wolf drew his left knee up to his chest and kicked the driver in the back of the head so sharply that man's neck broke. Yanking his daggers free, Bane scrambled up over the front passenger seat. Luckily this was a long straight stretch of highway and the car would stay on the road for a few more seconds. He dropped his knives for the moment, managed to unbuckle the driver's seat belt and shove him bodily out the door. As the door slammed shut from the air rushing past, Bane slid in behind the steering wheel and stomped down on the gas pedal.
It was too much to hope that the Skinwalkers would stop the pursuit to feast on the driver, but as Bane glanced in the rear view mirror, he saw that one of them had indeed dropped down to begin gnawing on the body. He counted five still chasing the car. It seemed that eighty was the most this big old Chevy could do, and he didn't put much faith in its ability to navigate the loose dry dirt off the highway.
His silver daggers were within reach on the passenger seat. Potent as they were against creatures of the night, tackling five Skinwalkers at the same time was a bit beyond his abilities. Each was as fast and as strong as he was, and their savage bloodlust outweighed his martial training. He could fight one with a good chance of survival but five was out of the question.
The pack was almost within reach now, loping in silence, their red eyes reflecting the taillights of the car. Groping behind him with one hand, Bane got hold of the Glock one of the killers had dropped and placed it next to him. That would help. On an impulse, still keeping the car racing as fast as it was able, he yanked open the glove compartment and found his own weapon. The long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 was a welcome sight.
Then a thump on the rear of the car alerted him. The creature was climbing up onto the roof. Instantly, Bane blasted three shots up through the ceiling with the Smith & Wesson and glimpsed a dark gaunt shape dropping past the passenger window. But more the Skinwalkers were catching up, running alongside the car and leering in through the windows. Their long fanged muzzles grinned in anticipation.
The Dire Wolf sheathed his daggers without cleaning the blades, something that went against all his rules but which was unavoidable at the moment. He decided to slow the car slightly, hoping one of the monsters would position itself properly. It worked. A long figure like a half-starved coyote on two legs got ahead of him. Bane accelerated and hit the brakes as soon as he felt the shuddering impact. The creature was pinned under the front wheel. That ought to hold him, Bane thought grimly.
Diving out the driver's door, the Dire Wolf spun in a circle and emptied all nineteen shots into the creatures that were lunging at him. The bullets caught the Skinwalkers in midstride, off-balance enough that they were flung back off their feet but he knew they would not be seriously harmed by mundane weapons. Even as they fell, Bane sprinted off down the highway.
II.
Bane had never clocked his top running speed. He had been born with reflexes and fast twitch muscles geared slightly more than twice as fast as a normal Human, and years of rigorous Kumundu training had honed his body to optimum. From what he had seen of the Skinwalkers, he figured he could at least hold his own against them.
Of course, he was wearing the heavy boots with steel-capped toes rather than track shoes, but he trained in his street clothes anyway. After a pause of maybe twenty seconds, the Dire Wolf heard the grumbling and growling behind him stop and the rapid padding of paws on the asphalt. He was already giving his pace everything he had.
A mile passed quickly. Bane risked turning his head and was glad to see his hope granted. These Skinwalkers used a technique common to many pack hunters, one of them following the prey closely while the others held back to save their strength. When the lead hunter started to tire, he would fall back and be replaced by one who was still fresh. It wouldn't take long to wear the victim down and then the pack could all feast.
Bane hadn't known that Skinwalkers hunted this way, but he grinned wickedly at seeing it being used. Three of the monsters had dropped back a good twenty yards to follow as an easy lope. The lead individual was right behind him. Fine. The Dire Wolf whipped out his daggers, their narrow blades still wet with the STIGMA agents' blood and spun on his heel to pounce on the completely surprised Skinwalker.
The knives flashed left and right to gut the creature completely open, spilling hot intestestines out in a gush. Before the body hit the highway, Bane had spun and running away again at top speed. Behind him, he heard outraged from a stationary source that meant the Skinewalkers had come to a halt at seeing their pack member slain. That gave him an edge as they waited at least ten seconds before starting after him again.
That odds had improved from five to three. Fear and doubt never entered Bane's mind, he saw himself as the real apex predator here. Another mile sped by beneath his feet. He was still breathing easily and deeply, there was no pain or feeling of strain yet. The Dire Wolf stole a rearward glance and saw the Skinwalks closing in on him in a tight cluster. They had abandoned their usual strategy.
Time to try a different attack, Bane thought. He swung around and planted his feet far apart, shifting both daggers to his right hand. His left swung up with his Smith & Wesson and he snapped off four shots that caught the lean furry shapes right in center mass. All three tumbled and rolled on the highway, yelping in pain. Bane knew he only had a few seconds. He shoved the pistol into his waistband and crouched over the nearest stunned creature to slice its throat deeply from one side to the other. Then, knowing the others would soon be recovering, he wheeled around and raced off again.
Only two of the unnatural creatures left. He knew he couldn't fight both at once without being chewed up beyond s
urvival. Bane had sublime confidence in his abilities but he also was realistic about his limits. In a few seconds, he could hear panting right behind him.
More than a mile ahead, two headlights came up over a rise. Bane immediately weighed a dozen different options without slacking his speed. He was only now beginning to feel the hint of effort in maintaining this pace and felt he was good for several miles yet. Was it his imagination or could he feel hot breath on the back of his neck? He shifted the silver daggers to heft one in each hand. If these monsters seized him, maybe they'd be able to kill him but they sure wouldn't survive to gloat about it.
The headlights were getting closer too. In his all-black outfit, neither Bane nor the dark hairy forms behind him were easy to see. The Dire Wolf ran directly at the front of the oncoming vehicle and at the last possible instant dove flat to the asphalt. The roar of the engine and the stink of the exhaust rushed over him, but to his immense relief he remained untouched. Two dull thumps sounded and the truck skidded to a halt.
III.
Despite his heart still pounding after that expeerience, Bane hopped up and hurtled over to where the twitching Skinwalkers were sprawled in the middle of the highway. He slashed open their throats without hesitation and hauled the bodies off into the dirt. Only then did he fall to a seated position on the ground without trying to catch himself. His hands were trembling so badly he had trouble cleaning the blades with handfuls of dirt before sheathing them.
It hadn't been the chase or excuting the Skinwalkers or even killing the STIGMA agents back in the car that was unsettling him. It had been diving flat and letting a strange truck drive right over him. He had never tried that stunt before and had no desire to ever try it again. Taking deep steadying breaths, he got back up on his feet as the truck driver trotted over toward him.
A stout middle-aged man with a flat-brimmed hat, the driver gestured for Bane to come with him. "Say nothing, my friend. Not a word. More than your life depends on it." The cadence of his words sounded familiar. Navajo.
More grateful than he had expected, the Dire Wolf followed and swung up into the big Chevrolet Silverado. Before he had buckled his seat belt, the driver had made a three point turn and was roaring back in the direction he had been coming from.
"I warn you, say nothing right now. Do not speak. There are names that are better left unsaid to avoid retribution." The man was older than he had seemed at first. In the light from the dash, his face was deeply lined and weathered. "I am going back to town. If you like, I will drop you off at the local motel. In the morning, the buses start to run and you could lease a car if you like."
Complying with the orders to be silent, Bane merely nodded. He felt suddenly exhausted as his adrenalin levels dropped to normal and his calves were getting stiff. The possibility of nodding off occured as a possibility.
After a few miles had been put behind them, the driver said, "I think it is safe to speak now but please, choose your words carefully. Say nothing of what happened."
"I understand," the Dire Wolf said. "Thank you. This would have been a long walk indeed."
"My name is Dennis Harrison. I work at a garage fixing motors. Let me ask about two items you carry. Are they silver?"
"Yes. Very old, too. They were made so long ago there is no name for that era."
"Ah. It is a good thing you carry them. Silver is pure and clean. It is the ice water of metals."
"They have been a great comfort to me," Bane admitted. "So, this is a Silverado, very nice. You keep its interior spotless. Do you happen to know its ground clearance?"
"I do. Eight and a half inches, useful for going offroad."
Bane let out a weary sigh and settled back in the seat. "I'm glad you weren't driving a snappy little sports car that hugs the ground, Dennis."
6/8/2021
7/6/1984
I.
"What are those damn things?" demanded one of the gunmen. "They're gaining on us!"
"On FOOT? That's impossible," the driver said. "I'm doing seventy-five now."
Wedged in the back seat between two killers, each of whom had a gun in a shoulder holster, Jeremy Bane could not keep a hint of satisfaction out of his voice. "I told you guys not to take this route. This is Skinwalker Highway. Truckers lose money because they won't drive here at night."
The bigger of the two thugs glared at the prisoner pressed between him and his partner. He had not thought the notorious Dire Wolf was too imposing in person. Still under thirty, six feet tall but no more than one hundred and seventy pounds, Bane looked like a swimmer or runner in good shape but certainly not the peak fighting machine that his reputation claimed. The all-black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and jacket didn't impress him either.
When the STIGMA team had taken him at the airport, Bane had surprisingly not resisted. They had confiscated the Smith & Wesson revolver at his left hip, patted him down and then got him situated between them in the back seat. They had taken Exit 19 from Phoenix at dusk. When the driver had turned onto Route 55 as the sun set, Bane had in fact told them they were making a big mistake.
Yanking his Glock from his armpit holster, the bigger man held it up in both hands to make sure the prisoner wouldn't make a desperate try at grabbing it. "Look at those things! They're horrible."
"Are they wolves? Running on their hind legs?" asked the other gunmen. "I never heard of such a thing."
"No. Not wolves, not even werewolves," Bane said, turning his head finally to get a look. "Those are something much worse, those are Skinwalkers."
"Can't you go any faster? Floor it, Mark!"
"I've got the pedal down flat now," came the answer from the front seat.
Bane continued, "You should know that bullets will only annoy those monsters, maybe knock them down, but regular bullets won't really hurt them. They will be climbing all over this car in a few minutes."
The other killer reached behind him for his own sidearm. "How can they run so fast? It doesn't seem possible."
Unnoticed by the two STIGMA men, Bane crossed his arms in front of him, fingertips resting on the opposite cuff. To those who knew the Dire Wolf and his ways, this was a danger signal that the mobsters didn't recognize. "You goons planned on burying me out on the desert tonight, right? Because I was getting too much information on your human trafficking. So I don't feel at all bad about what's going to happen now."
The implications of his final sentence started to sink in, the two men turned their attention to their prisoner in the final half-second they had to live. From their sheaths beneath his jacket sleeves, Bane drew a slim silver-bladed dagger in each hand and drove them hard into the left side of each man's chest. Neither could do more than wheeze as air left their lungs for the last time.
At the same time, the Dire Wolf drew his left knee up to his chest and kicked the driver in the back of the head so sharply that man's neck broke. Yanking his daggers free, Bane scrambled up over the front passenger seat. Luckily this was a long straight stretch of highway and the car would stay on the road for a few more seconds. He dropped his knives for the moment, managed to unbuckle the driver's seat belt and shove him bodily out the door. As the door slammed shut from the air rushing past, Bane slid in behind the steering wheel and stomped down on the gas pedal.
It was too much to hope that the Skinwalkers would stop the pursuit to feast on the driver, but as Bane glanced in the rear view mirror, he saw that one of them had indeed dropped down to begin gnawing on the body. He counted five still chasing the car. It seemed that eighty was the most this big old Chevy could do, and he didn't put much faith in its ability to navigate the loose dry dirt off the highway.
His silver daggers were within reach on the passenger seat. Potent as they were against creatures of the night, tackling five Skinwalkers at the same time was a bit beyond his abilities. Each was as fast and as strong as he was, and their savage bloodlust outweighed his martial training. He could fight one with a good chance of survival but five was out of the question.
The pack was almost within reach now, loping in silence, their red eyes reflecting the taillights of the car. Groping behind him with one hand, Bane got hold of the Glock one of the killers had dropped and placed it next to him. That would help. On an impulse, still keeping the car racing as fast as it was able, he yanked open the glove compartment and found his own weapon. The long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 was a welcome sight.
Then a thump on the rear of the car alerted him. The creature was climbing up onto the roof. Instantly, Bane blasted three shots up through the ceiling with the Smith & Wesson and glimpsed a dark gaunt shape dropping past the passenger window. But more the Skinwalkers were catching up, running alongside the car and leering in through the windows. Their long fanged muzzles grinned in anticipation.
The Dire Wolf sheathed his daggers without cleaning the blades, something that went against all his rules but which was unavoidable at the moment. He decided to slow the car slightly, hoping one of the monsters would position itself properly. It worked. A long figure like a half-starved coyote on two legs got ahead of him. Bane accelerated and hit the brakes as soon as he felt the shuddering impact. The creature was pinned under the front wheel. That ought to hold him, Bane thought grimly.
Diving out the driver's door, the Dire Wolf spun in a circle and emptied all nineteen shots into the creatures that were lunging at him. The bullets caught the Skinwalkers in midstride, off-balance enough that they were flung back off their feet but he knew they would not be seriously harmed by mundane weapons. Even as they fell, Bane sprinted off down the highway.
II.
Bane had never clocked his top running speed. He had been born with reflexes and fast twitch muscles geared slightly more than twice as fast as a normal Human, and years of rigorous Kumundu training had honed his body to optimum. From what he had seen of the Skinwalkers, he figured he could at least hold his own against them.
Of course, he was wearing the heavy boots with steel-capped toes rather than track shoes, but he trained in his street clothes anyway. After a pause of maybe twenty seconds, the Dire Wolf heard the grumbling and growling behind him stop and the rapid padding of paws on the asphalt. He was already giving his pace everything he had.
A mile passed quickly. Bane risked turning his head and was glad to see his hope granted. These Skinwalkers used a technique common to many pack hunters, one of them following the prey closely while the others held back to save their strength. When the lead hunter started to tire, he would fall back and be replaced by one who was still fresh. It wouldn't take long to wear the victim down and then the pack could all feast.
Bane hadn't known that Skinwalkers hunted this way, but he grinned wickedly at seeing it being used. Three of the monsters had dropped back a good twenty yards to follow as an easy lope. The lead individual was right behind him. Fine. The Dire Wolf whipped out his daggers, their narrow blades still wet with the STIGMA agents' blood and spun on his heel to pounce on the completely surprised Skinwalker.
The knives flashed left and right to gut the creature completely open, spilling hot intestestines out in a gush. Before the body hit the highway, Bane had spun and running away again at top speed. Behind him, he heard outraged from a stationary source that meant the Skinewalkers had come to a halt at seeing their pack member slain. That gave him an edge as they waited at least ten seconds before starting after him again.
That odds had improved from five to three. Fear and doubt never entered Bane's mind, he saw himself as the real apex predator here. Another mile sped by beneath his feet. He was still breathing easily and deeply, there was no pain or feeling of strain yet. The Dire Wolf stole a rearward glance and saw the Skinwalks closing in on him in a tight cluster. They had abandoned their usual strategy.
Time to try a different attack, Bane thought. He swung around and planted his feet far apart, shifting both daggers to his right hand. His left swung up with his Smith & Wesson and he snapped off four shots that caught the lean furry shapes right in center mass. All three tumbled and rolled on the highway, yelping in pain. Bane knew he only had a few seconds. He shoved the pistol into his waistband and crouched over the nearest stunned creature to slice its throat deeply from one side to the other. Then, knowing the others would soon be recovering, he wheeled around and raced off again.
Only two of the unnatural creatures left. He knew he couldn't fight both at once without being chewed up beyond s
urvival. Bane had sublime confidence in his abilities but he also was realistic about his limits. In a few seconds, he could hear panting right behind him.
More than a mile ahead, two headlights came up over a rise. Bane immediately weighed a dozen different options without slacking his speed. He was only now beginning to feel the hint of effort in maintaining this pace and felt he was good for several miles yet. Was it his imagination or could he feel hot breath on the back of his neck? He shifted the silver daggers to heft one in each hand. If these monsters seized him, maybe they'd be able to kill him but they sure wouldn't survive to gloat about it.
The headlights were getting closer too. In his all-black outfit, neither Bane nor the dark hairy forms behind him were easy to see. The Dire Wolf ran directly at the front of the oncoming vehicle and at the last possible instant dove flat to the asphalt. The roar of the engine and the stink of the exhaust rushed over him, but to his immense relief he remained untouched. Two dull thumps sounded and the truck skidded to a halt.
III.
Despite his heart still pounding after that expeerience, Bane hopped up and hurtled over to where the twitching Skinwalkers were sprawled in the middle of the highway. He slashed open their throats without hesitation and hauled the bodies off into the dirt. Only then did he fall to a seated position on the ground without trying to catch himself. His hands were trembling so badly he had trouble cleaning the blades with handfuls of dirt before sheathing them.
It hadn't been the chase or excuting the Skinwalkers or even killing the STIGMA agents back in the car that was unsettling him. It had been diving flat and letting a strange truck drive right over him. He had never tried that stunt before and had no desire to ever try it again. Taking deep steadying breaths, he got back up on his feet as the truck driver trotted over toward him.
A stout middle-aged man with a flat-brimmed hat, the driver gestured for Bane to come with him. "Say nothing, my friend. Not a word. More than your life depends on it." The cadence of his words sounded familiar. Navajo.
More grateful than he had expected, the Dire Wolf followed and swung up into the big Chevrolet Silverado. Before he had buckled his seat belt, the driver had made a three point turn and was roaring back in the direction he had been coming from.
"I warn you, say nothing right now. Do not speak. There are names that are better left unsaid to avoid retribution." The man was older than he had seemed at first. In the light from the dash, his face was deeply lined and weathered. "I am going back to town. If you like, I will drop you off at the local motel. In the morning, the buses start to run and you could lease a car if you like."
Complying with the orders to be silent, Bane merely nodded. He felt suddenly exhausted as his adrenalin levels dropped to normal and his calves were getting stiff. The possibility of nodding off occured as a possibility.
After a few miles had been put behind them, the driver said, "I think it is safe to speak now but please, choose your words carefully. Say nothing of what happened."
"I understand," the Dire Wolf said. "Thank you. This would have been a long walk indeed."
"My name is Dennis Harrison. I work at a garage fixing motors. Let me ask about two items you carry. Are they silver?"
"Yes. Very old, too. They were made so long ago there is no name for that era."
"Ah. It is a good thing you carry them. Silver is pure and clean. It is the ice water of metals."
"They have been a great comfort to me," Bane admitted. "So, this is a Silverado, very nice. You keep its interior spotless. Do you happen to know its ground clearance?"
"I do. Eight and a half inches, useful for going offroad."
Bane let out a weary sigh and settled back in the seat. "I'm glad you weren't driving a snappy little sports car that hugs the ground, Dennis."
6/8/2021