American Eldritch, Chapter 10

My mind finally caught up with my feet when I crested a ridge, the quarry falling away before me. It wasn’t a big one, maybe a few hundred feet across. To the right was an old abandoned foreman’s office, a loading dock next to it with an overturned crane. Wagons would have been loaded up there and headed up the disused trail, which was now blocked off by a rock slide. The ground sloped down towards the west, becoming a dark pond.

The goblins were all over the pond. Little islands were dotted in the pond; an overturned cart, the boiler from what looked like a train, several posts that looked like all that remains from an old water tower. The Goblins hopped from island to island, shoving each other in an attempt to get at something on the western wall of the quarry.

Clinking to the wall was another one of those weird trees. It was young, only twenty-five feet tall. And within the “hand” of its trunks was a girl, screaming her head off as goblins tried to get her. The goblins seemed unusually hesitant to rush the girl. As I watched, one of the goblins made a leap for the tree. He got his hands on the wood but a swift kick from the girl sent him tumbling into the water.

The water… was wrong. It was too solid. The goblin hit the water and, instead of splashing, just kinda went “plat” before sinking beneath the surface. Even at this distance, I could tell the goblin could swim, yet it availed the little monster nothing as he quickly sank to the bottom. The water barely rippled.

Right. Don’t fall in the water.

Whatever plans I was making went out the window when I saw a few goblins produce bows. Seems they were done trying to get their hands on the girl and just wanted the situation over with. I drew my pistol and aimed down the sights, bracing my right hand with my left. The Colt is an impressively accurate handgun, and I’m a good shot to boot, but pistols lose a lot of punch at range and I want to make sure every bullet was a kill shot. Luckily I had elevation to aid so I wouldn’t have to angle my shots much. As I aimed down the sight I pulled back the hammer.

Right when the first goblin knocked his arrow, I squeezed the trigger. I cocked the hammer, switched targets, and squeezed. Repeat. Repeat. In under two seconds, four goblins were down. One had twitched when I squeezed the trigger so I wasn’t sure if it was dead, but it would be slowed, at the very least.

Several dozen heads snapped in my direction, with alarming cohesion. One that was slightly bigger than the others, wearing a tattered war bonnet with many feathers missing, let out a screeching howl. As if that was the starting gun, the goblins charged in my direction, screeching with a horrifying harmonizing unity. It didn’t sound like a horde; it sounded like one giant beast had been enraged and vied for my blood.

I maintained my calm for just long enough to shoot one of the leading goblins before surrendering to my instincts and running like a bat out of hell. As I fumbled with the loading gate of my pistol, I vowed to practice running reloads at the earliest opportunity, should I survive the day. I also wished I had thought to load all six chambers when we had discovered the goblin tracks.

I had tangled with goblins before, so I was aware of their speed. However, that had been against ten or so of the little bastards who had scattered as soon as Willy and I had started to take shots. It was an altogether different experience when fifty of the green-skinned humanoids were chasing after me and baying for my blood like high-pitched wolves. I kept my eyes on my surroundings as I ran, dropping a bullet or two but not daring to look down in case I lost my footing and got overrun.

I realized I was leading the goblins back to the posse and changed course. If I led them straight back I might just get shot by the excited volunteers in their desire to help. Or, they might hold their fire until I was clear, reducing the time they had to shoot before the goblins were on them.

What I needed was a narrow alley or a ledge I could use to lessen the impact of their numbers. I was also tempted to just keep running. If I put my gun away and just focused on running, I would be just a bit faster than them. The problem with that is I didn’t know how long they’d chase me or if they would just give up and search for easier game—namely, Tilly or the posse.

Finally, I got the last bullet into my revolver, dropping three bullets during the process. What normally took me a handful of seconds took nearly a minute during a sprint, as I began to orbit the quarry. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the horde had gained on me, now within a hundred feet. I ducked my head and poured on the speed, hugging the edge of the quarry.

I heard distressed screams and smiled grimly, glancing back to see several goblins had been pushed over the ledge as the tight group of bodies pressed those unfortunates closest to the edge into the empty air. The quarry wasn’t the deepest I’ve seen, but it was still a thirty-foot drop on a rocky wall. I doubt any survivors would give me trouble.

I kept sprinting, my lungs becoming dry, my legs burning (a blister was forming on my heel, as well. Damnable new boots.), sweat beading on my face, my shirt damp on my chest and under my arms. I wish I had thought to take off my jacket. Surprisingly, my hat was still on my head.

I had nearly run a full circuit around the quarry when I came upon the rockslide-blocked road. It was nestled between the two hills that made the southern walls of the quarry. The road had been dug between the hills, giving it vertical walls that likely precipitated the rock slide that now blocked it. The walls were about thirty feet apart.

I can make that, I thought, not really knowing if I was right.

I pulled on what remained of my reserves and leaped for all I was worth, sailing through the air over a twenty-foot drop. Time seemed to slow, affording me the chance to truly consider what a twice damned moron I was. As the far wall approached, I realized I wasn’t quite going to make it. I raised my legs as much as I could as I thumbed back the hammer on my revolver, then put my thumb between the hammer and the chamber. I didn’t want a misfire and to put a hole in my leg when I fell to my death.

My shins collided with the wall. In a panicked frenzy of reactions, I tucked my left shoulder down as much as I could and turned the sudden motion into a roll. At least, that was my intention. What happened in reality: I smashed my legs into the wall of the road, slammed my shoulder and head into the ground, and slid for a foot as my momentum played out.

Miraculously, my hat stayed on.

My bell truly rung, I dragged myself the rest of the way over the wall and rolled onto my back, awkwardly pulling the hammer off my thumb with my left hand. I noted through the pain in my shoulder and face that the firing pin had punched a neat hole in my thumbnail. That was a new one for me.

I forced my eyes to focus on the goblins. The ones in front were trying to slow down, but the ones behind hadn’t gotten the message yet. A few of the front goblins were trampled in the resulting tussle. I had no hope that they were dead, however. Goblins were light but surprisingly tough, seemingly made out of driftwood and hate.

The goblins that were shoved into the twenty-foot drop, however, I had better hopes for. It was less than a dozen, but from the cries of pain that resulted, I knew many were injured.

I was tempted to begin firing into the crowd that was just thirty feet away but held off. Gritting my teeth through the pain, I jerkily got back to my feet. I was relieved when the pain turned out to be awful, rather than debilitating. Nothing seemed to be broken.

While I was regaining my feet, there seemed to be a schism amongst the goblins. About half started to climb down the road wall, determined to get at me, while the other half began to pick up and hurl rocks in my direction. Suddenly I was glad for my jacket, as it provided enough cushion that the goblin-fist-sized rocks hurt but didn’t much damage me.

Gunfire to the south startled me. It was close but had the echoing quality that told me that whoever was shooting wasn’t in sight. For an instant, I was hopeful that I was receiving help, but when none of the goblins jerked or even reacted to the gunfire I knew it to be false. I remembered that the Sheriff and Dane had said the tracks we found amounted to around a hundred goblins. I had seen about half that in the quarry.

An arrow cut a line across my left bicep and my attention locked back onto the goblins. The moment I had been waiting for had arrived, where five goblins had produced bows. I dove to the side as they loosed, one arrow hitting me in the hip. I hit the ground hard, nearly biting my tongue. I waited for the motion in my body to settle before raising my revolver.

Click.

Panic seized my guts and threatened to loosen my bowels. A dud. Please, I prayed. Please let the rest be good.

Suddenly with no margin for error, I closed one eye and awkwardly steadied my right hand with my left while lying sidelong on the rocky ground, an arrow sticking out of my hip like a miniature flag pole. Ignoring the pain flaring in my thumb, I pulled the hammer back and squeezed the trigger.

The relief that flooded me when the gun bucked in my hand was almost intoxicating. I adjusted my aim.

Fire. I adjusted my aim.

Fire.

And again. And again.

Five more goblins; dead.

More rocks came my way but I ignored them as I—again—struggled to my feet. The goblins who had decided to climb the wall were just now crossing to my side, giving me time for another reload.

As I went through the motions, my hands slick with blood from my injured thumb, I discovered one of the chambers was empty. I almost laughed. Apparently, I had fallen back on habit during my sprint, leaving an empty chamber for safety. Did I mess up leaving the firing pin on an empty chamber? It should have rotated onto a live round if I had loaded it correctly. It would be funny if I hadn’t almost shit myself.

With my only distraction at the moment (aside from my looming death by being torn to shreds by frenzied goblins) being the rocks coming my way, I was able to reload with no complications. I was lucky in that none of the goblins were ball players. I approached the ledge and calmly executed the six goblins that were closest to reaching the top. I tried to aim at the ones that would fall on their comrades.

I started to reload again as I counted how many remained. With the ones still throwing rocks, it was about thirty. I only had time for three bullets before the first goblins began to reach the top, so I rotated the cylinder and killed three more.

I holstered my revolver and pulled my two daggers from my back scabbards, feeling somewhat confident in my chances now that I had taken out a third of their number. As the first goblin climbed the ledge I pounced forward, my dagger chopping down into the face of the thing. Its face contorted into an almost comical expression of surprised pain as the edge of my blade bit into its brain. I yanked the dagger free and lurched onto another, stabbing this one in the eye.

I cried out in sudden pain and jerked back, finding a spear wet with my blood in the hand of a goblin I hadn’t seen, just now finding his feet on the ledge. I felt strength flee my leg as the pain blossomed in my thigh—the same thigh that was attached to the hip with an arrow in it. I grit my teeth and forced the leg to hold my weight.

The goblin dashed forward and stabbed at me with the spear. I knocked aside his weapon with my own and used my longer arms to step forward and impaled him with my other dagger. I lifted him then, using the dagger as a skewer, and hurled him off the end of it at another goblin just gaining his feet. They collided with a satisfying thud and a scream as they went tumbling.

It was then I realized how much stronger I was than they were. It wasn’t a huge surprise; it was rare that I found a man stronger than me, let alone a child-sized monster. But I wasn’t utilizing advantages in this fight.

I had a brief moment of respite so I gripped the shaft of the arrow in my hip and chopped it off, leaving only an inch or two sticking from my hip. I needed to be able to move my arms without interference.

The goblins had figured out that offering themselves to me one at a time wasn’t feasible, as they came at me in a sudden rush of three. Just behind the three, I could see several more sets of hands reach over the lip of the ledge. I snarled, blocking a club that I idly noted was a rusted revolver tied to a stick, and shoved the goblin back with the same motion. I pivoted around another spear thrust from a second goblin, swiping my dagger across his eyes. As he cried out his horrified pain the third goblin came at me with two stone axes raised high. My arms weren’t in a position to block, so I snapped a kick forward. The steel tip of my boot crunched into his chest and kicked him back with enough force that he bounced once and then over the ledge.

A part of me noted that the gunfire to the south was still ongoing as I plunged my dagger into the face of the club-wielding goblin. The goblin seized and went still, but something in his skull wouldn’t let go of my dagger. I shrugged and used his body to batter two new goblins who harassed me with spears. The goblin corpse flew free on my second swipe and I used the flying body as a distraction to get some distance from the growing number of goblins climbing the ledge.

I parried one thrust but my return strike was spoiled as a thrown stone ax collided with my forearm. Luckily it didn’t have enough force to stick into it, but it cut through the jacket sleeve and left a nasty gash on my right arm. Before I could course correct, the owner of the ax appeared, screaming as he leaped from my blind spot.

Thanks for the warning, I thought as I spun, slamming the back of my dagger into the airborne goblins temple, which resulted in a sickening crunch. As the body tumbled past, I took two steps back to avoid the spear users, parrying another club wielder with my right hand. It was an awkward parry, and my hand, slick with my own and goblin blood, couldn’t maintain the grip on my dagger. It tumbled from my hand and all I could think was “Dammit, I just got that.”

When another spear thrust in, I grabbed it behind the head with my now free hand and yanked the goblin off balance. With a quick, zigzag motion, I plunged my other dagger into his throat and brought it out in a slash across the other spear user's torso. The goblin brought his spear up to block, but I dragged the blade along the shaft and sheared three fingers from his right hand. I pulled the spear up, spun it in my hand, and hurled it at another approaching goblin. Disappointingly, it dodged.

I danced back away from a new group of goblins, reaching into my jacket and pulling out a knife. Hoping the blood on my fingers wouldn’t ruin my attempt, I flipped the knife and caught the blade, then heaved the knife forward. A goblin gurgled out its final breaths, a knife suddenly appearing in its chest. I pulled another knife from my harness, as two ax-wielding goblins rushed me.

I gave ground, but stumbled on a rock I hadn’t seen, nearly falling on my ass. The goblins' eyes widened in frenzied glee as they pounced, followed closely by three more wielding stone daggers. I managed to keep my feet under me, but my injured leg was slow to respond. I accepted a couple of glancing blows to my shoulder and chest to impale the left ax wielder with my dagger, then slammed him into his comrade. I used their bodies as makeshift shields against the dagger trio as I firmed my balance.

The next few seconds were a panicked blur. I came out alive but covered in cuts. I’m not sure how, but I had lost my dagger and was wielding my knife and a stone ax, which I realized was more of a club because the goblin hadn’t bothered to knap it. Two goblins came at me with clubs, but in their haste to get at a weakened enemy had run ahead of the main pack. I contemptuously knocked aside their attacks and crushed their skulls with my club.

The fight had taken me close to the rock slide. My footing was spotty with the shifting rocks under my feet—which is when a rock from across the way hit my shoulder and gave me an idea. I stuck the knife into the haft of my club and picked up a rock three times bigger than the ones being thrown at me, but still felt comfortable in my hand. I looked up at the closest goblin, who—in an uncommon moment of comprehension—seemed to understand it wasn’t long for this world.

Its premonition was proven true a moment later as a rock the size of its head slammed into its chest, caving it in like a tin lunch box. Years of playing baseball at the orphanage were paying dividends. I hurried and picked up another rock and hurled it, breaking the leg of another goblin.

They were on me again, and I barely had time to pry my knife from the club. A surprising feeling of ironic gratitude overcame me as I quickly ended the lives of two goblins with the club. What had been a giant weapon for the goblin I took it from felt weighty and effective in my hand, and gave me the reach I needed to kill the goblins without giving them the same opportunity.

Suddenly the goblin with the bonnet appeared, carrying a cavalry saber that appeared to be a great sword in his small hands. The little bastard used it with some skill, managing to exchange a few blows with me and scoring a shallow cut across my abdomen. I was unable to retreat fast enough across the rocks, allowing the goblins to flank me. It was all I could do to ward off their blows for the next several moments.

Finally, luck lent me some aid. The saber-wielding goblin lunged but lost his balance when the rock he was standing on shifted. It started a minor landslide that I just barely avoided. Fortunately, the goblins on my right weren’t so lucky and were taken for a bruising ride down to the road below. The saber goblin attempted to slash at me in passing, which I blocked with the haft of the club. The blade bit surprisingly far into the wood, nearly pulling me into the rock slide as the goblin clutched to the hilt of his blade.

I grunted and set my stance, then hefted the goblin into the air and into the group on my left. I took a spear thrust into the small of my back, but it was a shallow blow. At least, I hope it was. All the wounds had started to combine into one blaring note of pain.

I couldn’t allow my energy to flag. I pulled deep with a roar and punched the goblin holding the spear so hard, that his face crunched and blood splattered in a wave behind his head. I stepped forward, planting my boot on the chest of the bonneted goblin as I lifted the club. The little bastard refused to let go and the saber pulled free of the club with a “ting” of metal. I brought the club down on his face with another roar, splattering his head.

I snatched up the saber from his now limp hand and began to lay about with it, club and saber whistling through the air as I reaped goblin lives.

I don’t know how much time passed. I just know that at some point I realized there were no more goblins. Even the ones throwing stones had disappeared. I was heaving breaths, every part of me hurt, and if there was a part of me that wasn’t wet with blood, I couldn’t feel it. I found myself at the bottom of the rock slide, surrounded by goblin bodies. The saber had snapped at the middle at some point.

I almost collapsed, but one thought kept me on my feet: Tilly. Got to make sure she was safe before I rested.

I began to walk down to the quarry, but my first step nearly sent me tumbling. I looked down and, to my surprise, found a stone dagger had been stabbed into the top of my foot. Now that I was paying attention, I could tell it hadn’t impaled my foot, but the blade was most probably interacting with my bones in some fashion. With a groan and then a scream, I bent down and tugged it out. I hissed fast breaths through my teeth as I reached behind me into my back pocket. Yes! It was still there. I said a silent thanks to Layla for insisting I carry all my things for today's fitting.

I pulled the hip flask up and opened it, giving it an experimental sniff. It was near rancid, but I knew from experience that even rancid drake blood would work. It’d just give me the runs for several days. I took several deep breaths then took as long a pull as I could.

I coughed and gagged but managed to keep the foul stuff down. Over the next few seconds, I could feel the energy radiating from within. As I watched, the blood seeping from my boot grew thicker, slowed, and then stopped. I debated taking another pull, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I screwed the cap back on and returned it to my back pocket.

Surprisingly, the club survived the fight. I felt an odd urge to take it with me, feeling a sentimentality for the weapon that was, largely, responsible for my breathing at the moment. As big as the club was, however, it would just be more weight and wasn’t big enough to use as a cane or walking stick. I looked around for a bit, finding one of the thicker spears, and decided it was as close to a walking stick as I’d get.

It was slow going. I have been in worse shapes before, but this one was definitely in the top five. Every other step squished with my blood, my foot floating in my boot. Small trickles of blood leaked from dozens of wounds across my body. I hope Layla isn’t pissed I ruined my new outfit.

The thought sent me laughing, which was unfortunate as it was that moment that Tilly came into view. I imagined what she must be seeing, a man in black, covered in blood, his clothing in tatters, laughing insanely as he used an appropriated spear as a walking aid.

It made me laugh some more.

I sobered up when I saw the terrified expression on her face. I crossed the expanse of the quarry, stopping a foot from the pond. “Tilly? I’m a friend of your pa’s.”

She gasped when I said her name. “W-where is he?”

I glanced south. “Hopefully on his way,” I said. “I heard you first and ran ahead, but later I heard gunfire back a ways. I think the Sheriff is handlin’ the rest of the goblins.” At least, I hope so.

“The rest?” She asked.

“I took care of the ones here,” I said, a shudder of pain making my voice catch on the last word.

She squinted at me, something I recognized I used to do when I thought an adult was bullshitting me. “Just you?”

I raised a bloody hand. “Weren’t easy,” I said with whatever humor I could scrounge up. “What about you? Did they hurt you?”

She shook her head. Amidst the trunks of the tree, I couldn’t see her well, but there was a brief cascade of golden curls with the movement. “I-I ran here as soon as I saw them,” she said softly. “I was hoping more of them would fall into the water.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. I was going to ask if she could make it over to me. But looking at the water and remembering what it did to the goblin, I was hesitant to ask a girl to cross it. I mean, she had gotten over there safely enough, right?

“Is it safe to come out?” She asked, unaware of my internal debate.

“The goblins are gone,” I said slowly. “I’m just worried about this death trap of a pond.”

“It’s easy to cross if you know how,” she said, confidence returning to her voice. She climbed out from under the tree, and I saw a young girl that pretty much matched what I’d expected.

She was a little older than I thought. With how Ulysses talked about her, I’d gotten the impression she was ten or younger. If the young woman in front of me was younger than thirteen, I’d eat my hat. She was wearing a nice, if used, dress, in summer colors. Her hair was light blonde and with loose curls, which seemed to float on her shoulders and moved in waves with her movement. She quickly hopped from post to post across the pond, and I discovered that she was wearing jeans and heavy boots under her dress. How delightfully practical.

I was frowning when she got to shore. She saw my expression and shied away. I softened it and pointed a bloody finger at her boots. “Where’d you get those?”

Her face tinted a shade of pink. She gestured at the foreman’s office. “They were in there. They’re easier to move around the quarry in!” She finished the last in a defensive rush.

I nodded and started limping back the way I came. A moment later she appeared at my side. I got the impression that if I weren’t covered in blood, she’d be clutching my sleeve. “And they fit?” I asked after a few yards.

I noticed her blush deepen, but she didn’t reply. Was she lying? Why?

Noticing my scrutiny, she hid her face in her hair. “Bret says I have feet like a man,” she muttered.

I’m glad she wasn’t looking at me because it was taking all of my willpower not to laugh. I almost told her to go retrieve her shoes but decided against it as I didn’t know if any more goblins were hiding nearby. That thought sobered me and reminded me that my gun was currently unloaded.

I drew my gun, the motion introducing a wound I hadn’t known I had across my right shoulder. I didn’t feel any dampness, so I must have taken a club hit. A groan escaped me as I pushed through the motion and began to pick bullets from my belt, holding the spear in the crook of my arm.

“Did you… did you really kill them all?” She asked as she watched me load my gun, which had blood crusted on it from my earlier handling. I needed to clean it soon or it’ll rust.

“Probably not,” I said, glancing around. Oh, I still had my hat. By God, maybe that elf did rub magic into it. “Some were injured and couldn’t fight anymore. Towards the end there I… don’t remember much. Some coulda run away.”

She got as close to me as she could without touching me. I closed the loading gate on the revolver, making sure the hammer was on the empty cylinder before holstering it. Oh, I was probably supposed to say something comforting to her. I didn’t have the energy for that kind of consideration right now. What I did have were a few spare knives. I reached under my coat and—okay that one is gone. And so is that one.

I soon discovered I had gone through a lot of knives in the fight or they had just fallen out. I managed to find my last knife, which I assumed was still there by dint of it being in the most inconvenient place. I groaned as I had to stretch a bit to grab it with my right hand. I reversed it in my hand and held it out to her.

She took it from me slowly. “My dad would never let me have a knife,” she said.

I snorted. “That, more than anythin’, tells me your dad’s a city boy,” I said with a shake of my head. “I like Ulysses a good deal, but everyone should have a knife. Even if personal defense weren’t a consideration, they’re too damned useful.”

We walked until we came upon the rock slide, which was carpeted with over a dozen goblin bodies. As we walked, I reversed the spear and stabbed each corpse that was within reach, making sure none were playing possum. I was about to start the arduous task of climbing the rocks when I noticed Tilly wasn’t at my side anymore. I turned and regarded her tiredly.

She was looking a little green. I realized this was probably her first brush with death, and aside from maybe stumbling upon the odd dead animal while she was exploring, was otherwise a sheltered kid from a loving family. I buried my irritation and called out to her.

“Don’t look at them,” I said, waiting until she looked up. I caught her eyes with mine. “Keep your eyes on me. You just got to keep your eyes on me and walk over here, yes, good—eyes on me! Good. Slow steps. Just keep walking. Your ma and brother are waiting at home.”

At the mention of her family, her steps sped up until she was next to me. “Good,” I said with a tired smile. “We just gotta get over these rocks and we have a straight shot home.”

We climbed over the rocks. At least, she did. What I did was stumble, groan, close-mouth scream, stumble, fall twice, stumble, nearly cry, and stumble my way over the rocks. I was so pitiful that Tilly got over her fear and began to help me, getting my blood all over her dress and hands.

“How are you even still standing?” She asked as I, coincidentally, took a seat on a boulder to catch my breath.

“I’m tougher than I look,” I muttered.

“You look pretty tough,” she said with a frown. “You also look like you should be dead.”

I grunted in reply.

Whatever she was about to say was interrupted when I heard something. Before I could register what it was, I was on my feet with my gun in my hand, the flare of pain running through my body giving me the adrenaline I needed to be alert. I began to relax in increments as I recognized the sound: horses. Goblins don’t ride horses.

Around the bend, two faces appeared that I didn’t expect. The first was Deputy Bill on a red roan, holding a lever-action shotgun with the kind of confidence that said he knew how to use it. Next to him, seated on a horse I didn’t recognize, was Layla.

I was so relieved my legs gave out.