A blue-green scale appears for a moment in this vision, then disintegrates.
The first thing Harlan noticed was that the stars were wrong.
The second thing he noticed was the weird-looking dinosaur.
It stood at the edge of the trees, maybe forty yards away, half-hidden behind trunks that looked like they had been dipped in ink. The thing was big enough to make a horse look like a housecat and ugly enough that Harlan figured the Almighty had been drunk when They made this one.
Harlan’s hand rested on the grip of the revolver at his hip while it stared at him with one wicked eye.
“Don’t,” said the woman beside him.
Harlan did not look away from the dinosaur. “Wasn’t planning to.”
“You put your hand on that old gun.”
“That ain’t the same as planning.”
She wore a gray military coat that had once been blue. Mud crusted the hem. A leather respirator hung against her chest, and somebody had painted little white runes across its filters. Her rusted rifle had a bayonet fixed to the end, but the bayonet glowed faintly orange, as though somebody had left it sitting too close to a stove.
And why did she call his gun old? It was the best six-shooter money could buy. You basically had to be headed west to even afford one. Harlan had decided not to ask about that yet. He had a growing list of things he was not asking about yet.
The strange-looking dinosaur. The glowing bayonet. The stars. The ink-black trees.
And the dead man lying ten feet from them.
Especially the dead man.
A third stranger crouched over the body. He wore some kind of smooth black suit with silver joints at the elbows and knees. There were no buttons. No stitching. No holster that Harlan could see. And somehow tiny lights crawled across the man's collar like blue ants and down to the strangest wristwatch Harlan had ever laid eyes on.
He touched the watch to the dead man's throat.
Nothing happened.
He moved his hand to the man's chest.
Sill nothing.
Finally, he sat back.
“He's dead,” said the stranger.
Harlan looked at him. “You needed the fancy watch to figure that out?”
The stranger glanced over.
“No. I needed approximately four seconds.”
The soldier woman closed her eyes.
“Wonderful. We have been here perhaps three minutes and I already hate both of you.”
Something shrieked in the forest before either man could respond.
It didn’t come from the dinosaur, but the beast had heard it too. Its head snapped toward the sound, and then it ran. That bothered Harlan considerably more than the dinosaur itself. What in tarnation could spook a king of the west? Tree branches cracked as the beast vanished into the night. For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then the man in the black suit stood with his arm extended like he was aiming his watch at the tree line and said, “We should probably be concerned about whatever frightened that large reptile.”
Harlan rolled his eyes at him, then drew his revolver while the woman unslung her rifle.
“Now you're planning?” she asked.
“Now I'm planning.”
The dead man’s name had been Thomas, and that was about all they knew. He had appeared with them, screamed, backed three steps away, and then something in the darkness had opened him from shoulder to hip. None of them had seen what did it. That had been perhaps two minutes ago. Now it was the woman’s turn to approach the body. Her name was Elsabet Vey—Lieutenant Elsabet Vey, actually—and she had corrected Harlan the first time he had neglected the rank.
Harlan suspected she might continue correcting him until one of them died, and given their present circumstances, that might not take long.
“What happens now?”
The question came from the man in the black suit, but Elsabet did not answer him. She kept her rifle trained on the tree line for another few seconds while Harlan did the same. Nothing moved beyond the edge of the clearing, which somehow felt worse than if something had. Whatever had frightened the dinosaur was still out there, and all three of them knew it.
Elsabet glanced down at Thomas, then looked to the row of little white symbols fastened along the lapel of her coat.
Harlan had taken them for decorations before. Maybe medals, though they were strange ones. Thin bits of ivory or bone, each no larger than his thumbnail, marked with the same cramped symbols painted across her respirator.
“What are you doing?” asked the man in black.
Elsabet pulled one of the runes free. “Changing my mind.”
“About what?”
“About him being dead.”
That got Harlan’s attention.
“Elsabet,” he said.
“Lieutenant.”
Of course.
She dropped beside Thomas while Harlan and the stranger shifted closer, keeping themselves between her and the trees. The rune had begun to glow faintly in her fingers, but apparently that was not enough. Elsabet drew the edge of her bayonet across the heel of her palm and closed her bleeding hand around it.
Harlan winced. “That seems unnecessary.”
“It isn’t.”
The light between her fingers changed from white to a deep, angry red.
Elsabet sucked in a sharp breath.
For a moment Harlan thought she had cut herself worse than she intended, but then he saw her face. The color drained from it. Her shoulders sagged, and the skin beneath her eyes seemed to darken all at once. Whatever the rune was taking from her, it was taking more than blood.
Then the air around Thomas folded.
Harlan had no better way to describe it. The world seemed to pull backward around the dead man. Blood lifted from the dirt in thin streams and crawled back across his clothes. The wound that had opened him from shoulder to hip drew itself shut as torn flesh and fabric knitted together beneath Elsabet’s hand.
The man in the black suit stared. “That is not possible.”
“Then keep watching the woods.”
Thomas jerked as his eyes opened, and he sucked in a breath so violently that it sounded like he had been drowning.
Then he screamed.
Harlan nearly turned toward him, but something moved at the edge of his vision and he snapped his revolver back toward the trees.
“Stay down!” Elsabet shouted.
Thomas either did not hear her or had decided he had already listened to enough strangers for one evening. He flung himself upright, stumbled away from the trio, and ran.
“Thomas!” the man in the black suit called.
Thomas never looked back. He tore across the clearing and vanished between the ink-black trees.
Elsabet stared after him for half a second as the rune cracked in her palm and collapsed into ash.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
She snatched up her rifle and ran after him.
Harlan kept his revolver aimed at the forest as she disappeared into it. The man in black remained beside him, one arm extended with that ridiculous wristwatch pointed toward the same darkness.
For several seconds neither of them moved.
Then a red flare lit up in the distance.
Harlan sighed, “I suppose we’re going after them.”
The stranger glanced at him. “That would appear to be the rational course of action.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Then the pair took off into the light.
The second thing he noticed was the weird-looking dinosaur.
It stood at the edge of the trees, maybe forty yards away, half-hidden behind trunks that looked like they had been dipped in ink. The thing was big enough to make a horse look like a housecat and ugly enough that Harlan figured the Almighty had been drunk when They made this one.
Harlan’s hand rested on the grip of the revolver at his hip while it stared at him with one wicked eye.
“Don’t,” said the woman beside him.
Harlan did not look away from the dinosaur. “Wasn’t planning to.”
“You put your hand on that old gun.”
“That ain’t the same as planning.”
She wore a gray military coat that had once been blue. Mud crusted the hem. A leather respirator hung against her chest, and somebody had painted little white runes across its filters. Her rusted rifle had a bayonet fixed to the end, but the bayonet glowed faintly orange, as though somebody had left it sitting too close to a stove.
And why did she call his gun old? It was the best six-shooter money could buy. You basically had to be headed west to even afford one. Harlan had decided not to ask about that yet. He had a growing list of things he was not asking about yet.
The strange-looking dinosaur. The glowing bayonet. The stars. The ink-black trees.
And the dead man lying ten feet from them.
Especially the dead man.
A third stranger crouched over the body. He wore some kind of smooth black suit with silver joints at the elbows and knees. There were no buttons. No stitching. No holster that Harlan could see. And somehow tiny lights crawled across the man's collar like blue ants and down to the strangest wristwatch Harlan had ever laid eyes on.
He touched the watch to the dead man's throat.
Nothing happened.
He moved his hand to the man's chest.
Sill nothing.
Finally, he sat back.
“He's dead,” said the stranger.
Harlan looked at him. “You needed the fancy watch to figure that out?”
The stranger glanced over.
“No. I needed approximately four seconds.”
The soldier woman closed her eyes.
“Wonderful. We have been here perhaps three minutes and I already hate both of you.”
Something shrieked in the forest before either man could respond.
It didn’t come from the dinosaur, but the beast had heard it too. Its head snapped toward the sound, and then it ran. That bothered Harlan considerably more than the dinosaur itself. What in tarnation could spook a king of the west? Tree branches cracked as the beast vanished into the night. For several seconds nobody spoke.
Then the man in the black suit stood with his arm extended like he was aiming his watch at the tree line and said, “We should probably be concerned about whatever frightened that large reptile.”
Harlan rolled his eyes at him, then drew his revolver while the woman unslung her rifle.
“Now you're planning?” she asked.
“Now I'm planning.”
The dead man’s name had been Thomas, and that was about all they knew. He had appeared with them, screamed, backed three steps away, and then something in the darkness had opened him from shoulder to hip. None of them had seen what did it. That had been perhaps two minutes ago. Now it was the woman’s turn to approach the body. Her name was Elsabet Vey—Lieutenant Elsabet Vey, actually—and she had corrected Harlan the first time he had neglected the rank.
Harlan suspected she might continue correcting him until one of them died, and given their present circumstances, that might not take long.
“What happens now?”
The question came from the man in the black suit, but Elsabet did not answer him. She kept her rifle trained on the tree line for another few seconds while Harlan did the same. Nothing moved beyond the edge of the clearing, which somehow felt worse than if something had. Whatever had frightened the dinosaur was still out there, and all three of them knew it.
Elsabet glanced down at Thomas, then looked to the row of little white symbols fastened along the lapel of her coat.
Harlan had taken them for decorations before. Maybe medals, though they were strange ones. Thin bits of ivory or bone, each no larger than his thumbnail, marked with the same cramped symbols painted across her respirator.
“What are you doing?” asked the man in black.
Elsabet pulled one of the runes free. “Changing my mind.”
“About what?”
“About him being dead.”
That got Harlan’s attention.
“Elsabet,” he said.
“Lieutenant.”
Of course.
She dropped beside Thomas while Harlan and the stranger shifted closer, keeping themselves between her and the trees. The rune had begun to glow faintly in her fingers, but apparently that was not enough. Elsabet drew the edge of her bayonet across the heel of her palm and closed her bleeding hand around it.
Harlan winced. “That seems unnecessary.”
“It isn’t.”
The light between her fingers changed from white to a deep, angry red.
Elsabet sucked in a sharp breath.
For a moment Harlan thought she had cut herself worse than she intended, but then he saw her face. The color drained from it. Her shoulders sagged, and the skin beneath her eyes seemed to darken all at once. Whatever the rune was taking from her, it was taking more than blood.
Then the air around Thomas folded.
Harlan had no better way to describe it. The world seemed to pull backward around the dead man. Blood lifted from the dirt in thin streams and crawled back across his clothes. The wound that had opened him from shoulder to hip drew itself shut as torn flesh and fabric knitted together beneath Elsabet’s hand.
The man in the black suit stared. “That is not possible.”
“Then keep watching the woods.”
Thomas jerked as his eyes opened, and he sucked in a breath so violently that it sounded like he had been drowning.
Then he screamed.
Harlan nearly turned toward him, but something moved at the edge of his vision and he snapped his revolver back toward the trees.
“Stay down!” Elsabet shouted.
Thomas either did not hear her or had decided he had already listened to enough strangers for one evening. He flung himself upright, stumbled away from the trio, and ran.
“Thomas!” the man in the black suit called.
Thomas never looked back. He tore across the clearing and vanished between the ink-black trees.
Elsabet stared after him for half a second as the rune cracked in her palm and collapsed into ash.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
She snatched up her rifle and ran after him.
Harlan kept his revolver aimed at the forest as she disappeared into it. The man in black remained beside him, one arm extended with that ridiculous wristwatch pointed toward the same darkness.
For several seconds neither of them moved.
Then a red flare lit up in the distance.
Harlan sighed, “I suppose we’re going after them.”
The stranger glanced at him. “That would appear to be the rational course of action.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Then the pair took off into the light.
