A Man of the Mountain - Running Blind

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15. Running Blind

“Christ he’s heavy,” panted Nick, throwing an arm under Mansen. The man was bleeding like a stuck pig and clearly on death’s door. “Come on Shirley, give me a hand with this.”

     Shirley wasn’t able to move, much less help. She was still shocked by the speed at which it had all happened. The attack was blinding and ended just as quickly as it had begun. The rest of the crew was nowhere to be found. Likely, they were trying to make their way down the mountain in the storm. Without a guide, their chances of making it back were slim, but she didn’t blame them for running. The sight of that creature had filled her with such a primal fear that she had barely been able to squeeze the revolver’s trigger.  

     Flakes continued to fall unabated, creating speckles in the yellow light of their headlamps. They fell on Mansen, melting red. He coughed and spluttered, spitting up blood and trying to talk. His body shook briefly with convulsions and then he looked up at Nick with wide eyes. “It…”

     Nick struggled to keep him down. “Easy, Rick. It’s alright, I’ve seen much worse. Shirley, if you please.”

     Shirley knelt beside Mansen, the stench of death already apparent. The slash ran all the way up Mansen’s sternum. For every inch they dragged him, he left pieces of himself behind.

     “It was real.” Mansen’s eyes went wide, his body shuddered a final time, and then he fell still.

     Nick put two fingers to Mansen’s neck, feeling for a pulse. When he found none, he bowed his head. “To hunt the myth is to die by it,” he said, running a hand across Mansen’s face and shutting his eyes. “He may have been a prick, but he was part of something bigger. He earned those words.” Nick stood and spat next to the body.

     “What the hell?!” Shirley hadn’t liked the man but spitting on his corpse was too far.

     “What?” Nick shrugged. “He earned that too.”

     In her rage, Shirley nearly forgot that while Mansen was dead, the beast wasn’t. “What is the matter with you?”

     Nick shrugged. “He’s dead, doesn’t matter to him anymore and I needed closure.” Just then, a howl cut through the wind, somehow louder than before. Nick looked around uneasily.

“Do you think it’s still hunting us?” whispered Shirley. +

     “Oh, I’m almost certain of it. Did you see the way it looked at us?”

     Shirley shuddered. “So, we can either try to high-tail it down the mountain with the rest of them,” she gestured in the direction the crew had gone. “Or, we can finish this fight while the beast is still injured.” She was shocked by her own words. Her body was telling her repeatedly to turn and run, but something inside her still wanted to fight. On auto-pilot, her hand flicked out the revolver’s chamber and began replacing the spent shells.

     “I’m up for a fight if you are,” said Nick, trying to hide the fact that he was panting from exhaustion.

     “Lucky for us, it left a trail.” Leading away from the spot they had shot the beast was a streak of red blood. In the heavy snow it was quickly becoming obscured, but for the moment it was still visible.

     “Then there’s no time to waste. After you, Shirley.” Nick pulled the flask from his pocket and finished it in one long gulp. “I’d share, but trust me, I need this more than you do.”

     Shirley shook her head and started off in the direction the beast had gone. In the open field the trail of blood may have been almost buried by the fresh powder, but in the forest it was still a dark red line, leading them forward. The trees looked ghostly in the pallid glow of her headlamp, and she could feel each heart beat like footsteps of a tyrannosaur. The trail narrowed as the forest rose up around them on either side.

     Nick looked uneasy, swapping his pistol between the right and left sides, muttering to himself.

     Gradually, the trail curved to the left and the blood went unmistakably forward into a deep thicket of bushes. Shirley stopped and held a hand out. Without saying a word, she motioned to the bush.

     “He’s still in there,” said Nick, pulling the hammer back on his pistol.

     Shirley winced at the audible click it made and followed suit. “Any bright ideas?” she asked.

“Yeah, you run, now.” His eyes never left the bush.

“I’m not going any-“ she started, but a raging howl cut her off. The echo was deafening and felt like it came from all sides. It took all of Shirley’s effort to keep her hands on the pistol and away from her ears. She would have given anything for the sound to stop. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. On instinct, she began backing away.

“Why do they always announce themselves before they attack?” Nick asked. “You’re not scaring anyone here!” The tremble in his voice said otherwise.

Shirley continued to back away until she was a good fifteen feet behind Nick. A piece of her wanted to stay close, stick with the fight, but a stronger motivation drove her back. It was not cowardly, just self-preservation.

Nick fished through his pockets, pulling out a gold cross on a chain. He wrapped it around the pistol.

Shirley didn’t have time to ask about it. From the top of the ravine on the right, the beast lunged in a deadly arc, straight at Nick.