Bone Deep, page 11
part #2 of The Legend of Andrew Rufus Series
He let his whip unroll and waited. NOW! Pecos shouted. Andrew flicked his whip up, snapping it into the tree limbs above him, knocking down heavy piles of snow right on top of the wolf leaping towards him. The air sizzled and popped, and when the ash cleared the wolf was gone.
There was no time to celebrate; the other wolves were right behind him, snarling, feet melting the snow as they ran. Andrew flicked his whip into the trees again and again and again. Wolf after wolf exploded. One snarling wolf made it past the cascade of snow, but Widow Maker jumped to the side, kicking out a spray of snow behind him and catching the wolf in the chest.
Andrew pushed power into his arm to try to burn out the terrible ache, but the longer they rode, the harder it was to whip into the trees. He glanced back trying to gauge how many wolves were left. He hissed in dismay when he saw there were still at least fifty behind him. I hate winter, he thought, gritting his teeth as he swung the whip up again.
If it weren't winter, you'd be in a hell of a spot. If it weren't winter there wouldn't have been so many fires! Maybe. Can we not argue right now? I'm kinda in the middle of something.
Five wolves leaped off the ground towards Widow Maker's back, and Andrew's heart stuttered. What had he done? He'd put another horse at risk. How could he have been so stupid? He snapped his whip up over and over and over, ignoring the burn in his arm, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, sighing in relief when the wolves burst into ash.
He wanted to urge Widow Maker to go faster, but if they went any faster the wolves wouldn't be able to catch up, which is exactly what he wanted. Crap. My plans are just as bad as yours! Workin', ain't it? Andrew didn't bother to respond, just kept swinging his tired arm.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Andrew looked back and saw all the wolves were gone. Whether he'd killed them all or their alpha had called them back, he didn't know. He hadn't exactly been counting; he'd just been focused on staying alive.
"Good job, boy," he whispered to Widow Maker. "You can stop now." Widow Maker pranced to a stop, shaking his head up and down. "Yes, I know. I said you did good. No other horse could've done it." Andrew slipped from his saddle, rubbed Widow Maker's neck, then vomited in the snow.
He retched until he couldn't stand it anymore. The sheriff's destroyed face was all he could see when he closed his eyes, and he wondered how many more had burned. He forced air through his lungs, breathing out, wishing he could breathe the memories out too.
I hate this, he thought. Why would anyone do this? Why?! Some people just ain't right. Pecos was silent for a moment. 'Bout what I said earlier… the sissy bit… well… Don't worry about it, Pecos. But... I'm… I get it.
Andrew wiped his face with a clump of snow and stood. He was shaky all over. His head hurt, and his heart was still pounding. He'd been so scared when the wolves had followed him. He'd been scared of burning. He'd been scared of the pain. But he hadn't burned. Hadn't gotten so much as a scratch. He could hardly believe he was still alive, that his plan had actually worked. There had been so many.
"I guess we'd better go find the others," he said softly, rubbing Widow Maker's neck. Widow Maker nodded. Wouldn't trust him. What? Why not? He's got that look. You're kidding? We just bonded and what not! Still.
Andrew sighed, mounting quickly, tucking his feet into his stirrups and not a moment too soon. Widow Maker jumped so high, Andrew's head hit a tree limb, and snow covered him, slipping down his collar, front and back. "Stop it!" he yelled. But Widow Maker just tore off back the way they'd come, bucking as he went.
Chapter 12
They hadn't ridden long before they ran into the others following their tracks and the trail of black ash. They looked relieved to see Andrew, well, Pecos, alive and well.
"What the hell was that?" Doyle snapped.
"It was the only thing I could think of," Andrew said, trying desperately to get Widow Maker under control. Widow Maker finally settled down, prancing in place.
"Then don't think!"
"It worked, didn't it?" Andrew retorted. "I got them outta the town, didn't I?"
"Sure did," Joe said agreeably.
"But you didn't know," Doyle growled. "How'd you get rid of 'em anyway?"
"Widow Maker ran close to the trees, and I snapped my whip into the branches to knock snow on them." Andrew thought it was best not to mention how scared he'd been, how he'd just known one would make it through and pull him off Widow Maker, burning his flesh into dust. "Anyway, seemed to do the trick," he added with a crooked grin. Doyle glared at him, but said nothing.
"How's the town?" Andrew asked.
"A few causalities," Joe said. "The buildings got a bit burned, but all the wolves followed you, so we figured it was best if we didn't stick around."
"Yeah," Andrew shuddered. "Let's keep away from towns. I think this pretty well proves the wolves are after Pecos." Doyle still looked annoyed, but Andrew wanted to get on with it, so he said, "Doyle, you wanna lead and find a good spot for a trap?" Doyle nodded sharply, turning his horse away from the town and heading off into the woods, Charlie at his side.
Widow Maker snorted and trotted after them. "I'm sorry," Andrew said softly. "I thought it was implied." Widow Maker shook his head angrily. "Fine, I'll tell them." Widow Maker kicked out his back legs. "Right now?" Widow Maker nodded. "Fine."
Widow Maker burst forward, catching up with Doyle and Charlie. "Widow Maker would like me to mention that I'd be burnt toast if it wasn't for him. He totally saved my life," Andrew said. "Good?" Widow Maker shrugged.
Doyle shook his head. "You and that horse are plum crazy."
"Actually, he's a lot like Pecos; just throws more fits." Excuse me? I don't throw fits! Doyle cocked an eyebrow. "Look," Andrew went on. "He's bigger and faster than all the other horses. He's meaner and tougher, and he knows it. I just think he likes it to be acknowledged is all."
"Widow Maker or Pecos?"
Andrew laughed. "Both! See?" Humph.
Widow Maker kicked out his legs and jumped up ahead. "Doyle's leading the way," Andrew scolded. Widow Maker snorted. "But you don't know what kinda trap he wants." Widow Maker tossed his head. "Because you don't!" Andrew snapped. Widow Maker bucked forward almost knocking Andrew off, then he slowed down and fell behind Doyle. "Thank you," Andrew ground out.
Joe chuckled and said, "It's good to see you two getting along."
"Something like that," Andrew muttered. "How come Doyle knows where to set up a trap anyway?"
"What?"
"You guys are like a weird super hero team. Charlie knows where to go, what's going on, and everything else if you believe Pecos. Pecos is the strong one, the one who can do anything, survive anything, the crazy one." I ain't crazy! Have you met you? What? How could I do that? I AM me, boy! Well, my mom always says you never can tell about yourself, so there. So there what? Never mind, Pecos; just let it go. I'll let it go when I wanna let it go!
"You were saying?" Joe said.
"Sorry. Pecos interrupted."
"I imagine he did," Joe said with a chuckle.
"Anyway, Doyle's all scouty; he can find the special spots, knows where and how to set up a trap, and frankly he's absolutely terrifying. I'm surprised the monsters even stick around once they see Doyle."
"And you," Andrew paused, looking at Joe. "You're… you're… you're nice. And…" He didn't know what else to say about Joe. He was nice. Downright pleasant in fact.
"He's the good-lookin' one," Charlie called back.
"What?" Andrew asked in surprise.
"The good-lookin' one," Charlie repeated.
"It's true," Joe said, nodding.
"But… I mean… it's more than that. You're the booky one right? And you deal well with women." Charlie's right. What? Come on, that's not a thing! It's Joe's thing. Andrew rolled his eyes. "Fine, you're the good-looking one. But I still don't get it. How? How did you all end up together?"
"Just did," Joe said with a shrug, pulling his harmonica out of his pocket. Andrew sighed in frustration, knowing the conversation was over even though no one had answered his question.
"Here's a river," Doyle said, pulling his horse to a stop. "We can use that."
"Where?" Andrew asked, looking around.
"Right there."
"Where?"
"Under the snow there."
Andrew still didn't see it. "How the hell can you tell?"
"Just can."
"Damn it, Doyle! Where's the damn river?!"
"Right there," Doyle ground out.
"Whatever. How can we use it?"
Doyle dismounted. "It's iced over, so we make some holes, draw the wolves out, and force 'em into the water."
"Sounds risky," Andrew said with a frown. "What happens if we fall in?"
"We dry off."
"Yeah," Andrew said, rolling his eyes, "but what about hypothermia?"
"Hippa-what?"
"Hypothermia. It's where you get so cold you die."
Doyle laughed softly before saying, "I 'spect we could assume we'll fall in and have the shelter ready with some dry clothes."
Charlie nodded. "Joe and I'll put it up."
"We don't have more than one pair of boots, do we?" Andrew argued. Take your boots off! Pecos snapped with an annoyed tone. Are you crazy? We'll get frostbite! Why you bein' so damn argumentative?! Just double up on socks, boy. You'll be all right. I ran 'round naked for years; never got frostbite. Uh-huh, Andrew snorted. I forgot you thought you were a coyote. What'd you say it like that for? Like what? You had a tone. Did I?
"Never mind. Pecos says we'll just take off our boots. Is this the best spot you think?" Andrew asked, still not convinced.
"It'll do," Doyle said, clearing off some snow to reveal the ice underneath. "See, boy? The river's right here."
"Well why didn't you just say so?"
"I did."
Andrew sighed. They were so difficult. Why did they have to be so difficult?
"It would help," Doyle said thoughtfully, "if we knew how many wolves there are."
"Should we leave the fire going to see how many come out or do we douse it at some point?"
"Don't know."
Andrew sighed, wishing they knew more about the cinder wolves and wondering why the darkness hated Pecos so much.
Doyle handed him an axe, and Andrew turned it over in his hands. He'd never used an axe before.
"Um… whadda I do with it?"
Doyle stared at him. "The axe?"
"Um... yeah." Andrew's cheeks were hot; he felt so stupid, but he honestly didn't have a clue what to do. You're a city slicker through and through, boy.
Doyle didn't seem to know what to say. "You… um… you lift it up and bring it down." He shook his head. "Just watch me." Doyle raised his arms and swung the axe down, breaking the surface of the ice.
Seemed easy enough to Andrew. Definitely not as hard as roping. Don't you dare chop off my leg! There ain't no healin' that. Is that a thing? Could I actually do that? Would I have said it if you couldn't? I don't know! Would you? No, boy! Get to work! Andrew shrugged and lifted the axe overhead, bringing it down as Doyle had done. When it hit the ice, it bounced, and Pecos groaned.
Andrew frowned. If he didn't ask the power to help him, he was just Andrew, weak Andrew. And apparently weak Andrew wasn't strong enough to cut a hole in the ice. But he could fix that. He grabbed the power, channeling the heat into his arms, imagining strength in his arms, imagining the axe busting the ice in two, and tried again.
This time the axe cracked the surface, but only barely. I think Doyle's plans are actually worse than yours, Andrew thought glumly. Well, I don't got a better one. Giant steaming pile of crap biscuits; that's what this is. That's disgustin', boy. You kiss your momma with that mouth?
Andrew rolled his eyes and kept working. He only made one hole to every three of Doyle's, but finally the surface of the river was riddled with holes large enough for a cinder wolf to fall through.
The cold from the ice had seeped into Andrew's boots, freezing his feet, but his chest was on fire. Breaking holes in the ice was hard work. If he had a choice, he'd pick roping. He reached for the power, knowing it was warm, trying to push it down into his feet to thaw his toes, but he couldn't seem to concentrate anymore, and the power slipped away.
He walked stiffly into camp, wishing the Grey Shaman would visit so he could have another cup of coffee. He wished he could take a nap, but Joe had just finished feeding the horses and was ready to modify the other whips, so Andrew helped him.
"How come you all have whips, anyway?" Andrew asked.
"Helps drive the cattle. They respond to the sound; makes it easier to get them to go the way you want."
When they had finished, Andrew practiced. "You're holding yourself back," Joe said. "Using a whip isn't anything like roping. It's a totally different thing. All you need to do is focus on your timing. You've got to whip it out at just the right time. Swing it up, pause for just a second, and crack it down."
Joe demonstrated, and his metal tips buried so deep into the trunk of a pine tree, he had to dig them out with his knife. "Maybe we ought to practice on something else." He pointed towards a small spruce. "Try that."
Andrew whipped towards the tree, grinning as his whip sliced off a small branch. "You wanna talk about it?" Joe asked.
"No." Dewmint's burned body flashed into Andrew's mind, then morphed into the writhing sheriff. He swung his whip angrily, and half the tree burst apart. Huh. Doyle may have a point. What's that? Use your anger. Channel it; just like you do the strength. Andrew shrugged, trying to hold onto his anger, his hate, his desperate desire to kill the wolves. He cracked his whip again, and branches flew into the air.
"You're getting the hang of it," Joe said, patting Andrew on the back. Andrew nodded, and kept going. Before long the tree was just a pile of branches.
"We doin' this?" Doyle asked as Andrew rolled his whip and tied it under his duster.
Shouldn't we wait until morning? Andrew thought. Or supper or something? Nah. Andrew closed his eyes, wishing a hot cup of coffee would materialize in front of him. Coffee would make everything better right now, but when he opened his eyes again, there was still no coffee.
"What's the plan?" he asked with a sigh.
Doyle shrugged. "We know they want you. So we put the fire on one side of the holes and you on the other. That way they gotta go through the holes to get to you. I'll light the fire and stay on that side with Charlie; you and Joe stand on the other side. I'd say not to waste your time with bullets, but it wouldn't hurt to try. We were caught off guard last time; this time we're ready."
Andrew nodded. As far as plans went, it was much more detailed than Pecos's plans ever were. They tossed their boots and dusters into the shelter and went out to stand on the ice. Andrew shivered as the cold and wet leached through his socks and into his feet. What I wouldn't give for some feet warmers right now, he thought glumly.
"Don't let 'em touch you," Doyle said seriously.
Andrew didn't know if he added that for Joe and Charlie's benefit or Andrew's. He didn't know what they'd seen back in that town. He didn't know if Doyle had told them what had happened to Dewmint or about Andrew's hands. Maybe they didn't know. He frowned. They'd seen the sheriff; they had to know.
Doyle knelt by his pile of tinder and lit the fire, then he and Charlie stepped quickly back. At first Andrew didn't think anything was going to happen, but then the fire began to grow and four wolves leaped from the flames and started running towards him. More followed them, but Andrew lost count after a dozen.
He vaguely saw Doyle douse the fire, but he couldn't look away from the pack of wolves running across the ice, their paws leaving huge steaming prints behind them. Andrew's heart thudded madly. He held his whip tightly, wishing he could strike at them, but knowing he had to wait until they were closer.
The wolves reached the holes, and several of them skidded into the freezing river. Boiling water steamed into the air and landed on the other wolves, and they drew back howling. Doyle was shooting at them, but just as before, the bullets didn't seem to bother them at all. The largest wolf stalked towards the holes, steam pouring off its feet. It examined the openings and then leaped over one after another and another and another, making its way safely through the openings.
Andrew stared in dismay. They'd only gotten a few wolves with the holes, and there were still so many left. The other wolves followed the leader's path, and as soon as they cleared the holes, they pounded across the ice towards Andrew.
Andrew stumbled backwards. His hand was trembling, but he drew his whip over his head. He heard Joe's whip snap, and ash burst off one of the wolves, but it kept running. Andrew cracked his own whip, hitting a wolf with a resounding crack. The wolf jerked back howling, and ash and fire flew through the air, but it didn't poof into ash.
What if Doyle was wrong? What if the whips didn't actually work? They were out on the ice, away from the trees and snow. What if it became a trap for them instead of the wolves? Andrew's breath came faster. They should have had a backup plan. They should have tried the whips first. On one wolf. Just one.
The wolves drew back, wary and snarling, forming a half circle around Andrew and Joe, advancing slowly. Hold your ground, boy. They're gonna come fast. You've gotta be twice as fast.
"Joe," Andrew hissed. "Get away from me. They're coming at me; you can get them from the side. That way you won't get burned."
"I'm not leaving you," Joe snapped. Fire rolled off the wolves in huge waves, vanishing in the air above them. Liquid fire dripped off their teeth, splashing onto the surface of the ice and melting little pits.
"Joe, I told you to move; now MOVE!"
"I'm not..."
"Get the hell back!!" Andrew commanded, charging towards the wolves. There was no way he was going to let Joe get hurt like Dewmint had. The wolves wanted him, so that's what they'd get.
Doyle jumped over an ice hole, face grim; and his whip cut through the air, wrapping around the lead wolf's legs. Doyle jerked quickly, flinging the wolf toward a hole. The wolf scrambled but slipped and disappeared beneath the water with an agonized howl.
