James Axler – Shadowfall

“Very well,” Doc said, oblivious to the closeness of the danger.

He reached up for an ancient burr on the side of the live oak, grasping it firmly and kicking himself into the air, legs scrabbling for a purchase, failing to find it and dropping, panting, to the ground again.

“Like us to drop a rope for you?” Mildred called.

The last thing Ryan wanted was to instigate a panic in the old man, but the animals were moving ever nearer, stopping to dig with their hooked tusks among the roots of the trees, seeking mushrooms or grubs.

The ones that Ryan could see looked to be appreciably larger than normal pigs, but distance was deceptive and he couldn’t be sure. At least the light breeze was blowing from the north, so that they wouldn’t yet have scented the humans.

“Move it, Doc.”

Despite his efforts to stay cool, the old man picked up on the frayed note in Ryan’s voice. “Are we about to enjoy some company?” he asked.

“Looks that way.”

“Perhaps you should climb up yourself, first, my dear fellow. You have a great deal more to lose than I do.”

Ryan responded by bolstering the SIG-Sauer, cupping his hands together like a stirrup. “Up,” he said.

Doc shoved the sword stick into his belt and placed his right foot in Ryan’s hands, glancing up to see that Jak and J.B. were hanging on to the lower branches of the big oak tree, waiting to help him.

Dean’s voice came from much higher up the tree, from among the luxuriant foliage. “Dad!”

“I know,” Ryan replied. “I know. Up you go, Doc, quick as you can.”

The old man knew better than to argue when that cold steel tone entered Ryan’s voice. He pushed down while Ryan lifted, reaching up for assistance. There was a grunt of effort, then Doc was gone, only the familiar cracked knee boots waving for a few moments.

Ryan risked a last glance around the side of the tree, seeing that the pigs had somehow detected their presence. They were running toward the oak at a fair speed, muzzles low to the earth like hunting dogs. Now that they were near, less than fifty yards away, Ryan could appreciate how enormously big and powerful the mutie animals were.

The nearest was a boar, one tusk broken off short, leaving a jagged point, the other tusk curving wickedly, its tip stained with clotted mud. The creature had to have stood nearly five feet tall at the shoulder, better than ten feet from snout to the tip of its curling tail.

“I’ll shoot it,” Trader yelled.

“No, don’t!” Ryan jumped for the same rounded burr that Doc had tried for unsuccessfully.

Though Doc had an extra inch in height, Ryan had vastly more strength and agility. He reached and held, swinging his legs up over a protruding branch in a single easy motion.

What he hadn’t realized was how close the nearest pig was and how fast it was moving. Something caught the heel of his combat boot as he pulled himself safely into the tree, and he was aware of stinking breath and a snorting grunt of rage immediately below him.

“Gaia!” Krysty’s emerald eyes were wide with shock. She held out her hand to steady him, helping him to climb a little higher into the tree. “Close, lover.”

“Too close.”

Suddenly there were pigs everywhere, crowding around the tree, banging into it, jostling one another, their tusks clashing like sabers. Ryan looked about him, seeing that everyone was perched higher up, all of them finding a nook or cranny to hang on to. Everyone stared down at the maelstrom of murderous animal flesh below them.

The whole tree was now vibrating under their weight and pressure.

Ryan peered down, seeing that the monstrous pack leader, with the broken tusk, had struggled to rear itself up onto its hind legs, muzzle questing toward the man. Its slobbering lips were pulled back off the drool-smeared fangs, wheezing in its desire to reach Ryan.

“Fuck off.” Trader was just above Ryan, straddling a thick branch, plucking acorns and hurling them at the pigs. “Why not chill them.”