With a grunt, the bounty hunter pushed him up, and drew the revolver. Against his chin he smashed the barrel, pulled the trigger. Top of the maniac’s head burst off, before he turned to black ash. About them the shot echoed to Cassidy’s curse.

Desperate, mind flailing, he commanded, “To the CAVE, Bryn!” It was the only place he could think to go, where they could lose pursuers. Thorncrown Hospital was in flames, and they would only run them down, if they were to flee across the desert. The fire had spread to other buildings, so was no safe haven among them.

Through the fog they ran. Bryn knew the way, for he’d thought of sneaking to the cave. Mercurial shadows lurked in the fog, distorted and inhuman. Blood starved fiends fought the shambling figures over what survivors remained. A huge form upon dark wing swooped down. Up into the sky the monstrous denizens of Thorncrown rose, only to rain down ash. Cassidy focused on getting Bryn through this horror. The boy latched onto this order, brain numb to all else.

A face, pallid with horrid grin, swam out of the mist before them. Black silhouettes formed in the night, and murderous hands dealt righteousness. Only ash remained, but Laetitia’s eyes blazed as she darted away, but joyful was her grin. About the mist he gazed; break of the twig was brittle. Fast was he; yet, it flew out into the dark to the raggedy woman’s contempt drenched delight. Silence filled the fog.

Behind Cassidy arose a titter, nasty and delighted, but full of hunger. Again, he whirled, but there was only a dry click. Curse upon his lips, he looked down. Laetitia lifted him from the ground. Inside the tattered hood eyes blazed, mouth broad in a hungry smile. To the ground she cast him. Low to the earth her body bent; the bounty hunter thought of an old tom cat, who liked to torment mice.

Like a mountain cat, Laetitia pounced. Movements liquid smooth, through the fog she came to Cassidy. A cape, leather supple, flashed in the mist, and an immense shadow blackened the uncertain light of the conflagration. Above, a hateful bellow of fury was cut short. Black ash fell, and the shadow above moved to other monstrous figures. Not a cape, Cassidy’s mind insisted, but he threw aside the thought, for madness hid in it.

Between what stalked the skies and the gorging of the abominations, they steered well-clear of Thorncrown. Bounty hunter and boy watched every shadow, feared every step. The hospital burned as the last patients were devoured.

Snap, the wheel broke, and onto the hard earth Bryn tumbled. Cassidy dashed to him, eyes flew about, but no shadow lurched through the mist.

Large dark eyes welled with tears, skin deathly pale, “I want my Ma,” confessed the boy in shame. “I’m sorry!” his head hung, for fear of the rebuke.

“Come on,” Cassidy lifted the waif of a youth, “You’re okay. We’ll get out of here and find your blessed mother.”

“You should leave me,” he uttered, everyone always seemed to forget him, Bryn thought.

“Hey,” Cassidy smiled, “when things were bad, I thought of my mother too. I’ve heard other men wish to see their Ma, someone to ease our sorrow.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder, “Besides, how can I escape without the dashing and clever Mister Cox, Bryn the erstwhile Detective. I’d be lost without you.”

“Really,” he said, “dashing and clever.”

“Yes,” smiled Cassidy, “nothing gets past the keen eyes of the young Law Man.”

With another smile from the boy, the bounty hunter lifted him onto this back. Thick fog rose up the path. Screams of agony fell silent. Over the Huckleberry Springs, mist densest at the bottom, an inky blot flitted about to pluck figures from below. Bellows of the sordid apparitions raised goosebumps on Cassidy’s warm skin. Entrance to the cave loomed, and back to it he turned.

Just inside the cavern lied torches, which came to life with a match. Cassidy set down the boy, heart pounded. Bryn still shook, but dark eyes roamed over the remnants of long dead civilization. All of Huck’s research had been gathered from these ruins. Again the boy began to thrum. He searched about the tattered remains. Their language was primitive, but everywhere was painted their history. Bits and pieces, bits and bobbles, they told of war, which had grown ever bitterer through the years. One side eventually felt the hand of luck. Death came, as it always does and always would. Another pot, like the one in Thorncrown Hospital, rested in a corner, though in much better condition. The boy rotated the piece in his hands to see the tale it told. Now complete, the shaman, last of his people, enacted a terrible ritual. What remained, it had exacted a terrible vengeance, so both primitive tribes would suffer the same fate.

“It has been here a long time,” Cassidy mused, who looked about the chamber.

“This explains the disappearances,” the lad blinked, “and the curse.”

Laughter dropped from blood smeared lips, echoes crawled about the stones. Cassidy lifted Bryn onto him back. Fog, thick and warm, flowed inside the cavern from the Huckleberry Springs. It passed through, and at his back the bounty hunter kept the steady breeze. Blood drenched terrors roamed the dark, figures distorted in the torchlight. Across the paintings of war, they slid. Echoes funneled through the cave works, until every chuckle slithered into the ear, licked the neck. Bryn squeezed his eyes shut, and relentless was the bounty hunter. With only the wind to guide them, they moved. Screams choked with blood hushed the malignant humor of their pursuers, but both had no interest in seeing the stalker of the fiendish silhouettes.

Out into the Devil’s Lake they hastened. The ubiquitous vapor was much warmer here, which was heavy as Huckleberry Springs. Veiled in the vapor, the skeletal remains of men and beasts were piled up. The lair of the beast was a labyrinthine orchard of bones, many millennia of victims and prey. Such an apex predator must have a massive territory, thought Cassidy, to have accrued such an abundance of graves. Discarded among the long dead were relics of different people, equal in its blood thirst. The body of water itself was very shallow, even at its deepest. A spire rose in the distance, the boy pointed out to him, but it was the only reliable point of reference. Hiss of geysers boiled out like some dire beast ready to spring. All around the pungent aroma of countless cemeteries ruled the air. Fewer shapes frolicked here, for the sky held an umbral blot. Cassidy felt feverish heat soak him, and he set the boy down, who mopped his brow. Though their skin was clammy, both felt the springs’ soothing touch in the chest. Bryn noted a slight bitterness on the tongue. Down from above the fury of the ancient creature swelled, upon its nest they tread.