James Axler – Stoneface

Then another possibility arose. In the distance, clearly audible over the racket of the creatures, came the buzzing roar of a small engine.

Chapter Two

“Sounds like a motorcycle,” Mildred said, craning her neck to see over the surface of the roadbed.

“Look,” Doc said, gesturing with the long barrel of the Le Mat.

The screamwings crawling over the surface of the wag had fallen silent. With their heads darting to and fro, they looked like hounds sniffing the wind for a scent. The engine sound grew louder, rising and falling as gears were shifted.

With a piercing collective shriek, all of the scream-wings flung themselves into the air. Like a cloud of black smoke, the flock rushed away, drawn toward the throbbing noise.

Ryan got to his feet and ran to the wag, Mildred and Doc at his heels. While they climbed inside, the one-eyed man gazed down the long flat ribbon of roadway. It stretched ahead, cutting through the foothills, then dropping across rolling plains.

Less than an eighth of a mile ahead a figure sat astride a motorcycle. Above it were dark fluttering shapes, like bundles of dirty cloth unfolding and folding in the air.

As Ryan got inside the wag, Jak said, “Lucky break us.”

“Pretty damn unlucky for somebody else,” J.B. commented. “We drew those monsters out. Now that poor bastard is paying for it.”

Even as he spoke, the motorcycle toppled, throwing the rider to the road. The scream wings covered the bike and made darting passes at the rider, who tried to crawl toward the vegetation.

Ryan eyed the grade of the road and said to J.B., “Put us in neutral. Let’s roll forward.”

J.B. engaged the gears and the wag slowly moved forward. Peering between the front seats, Ryan kept his eye on the rider, who was swatting and batting at the winged demons. He picked out more details as the wag picked up speed. The rider was a man, and his long, dark blond hair was tied at his nape. He wore only cutoff jeans and a sleeveless denim jacket. He was bleeding from a score of fang and claw inflicted lacerations.

“J.B.,” Ryan directed, “when we get abreast of that guy, just slow down. Don’t stop.”

“What’re you planning?” Krysty asked, a line of worry appearing on her brow.

“I’m going to get him inside. Give me those gloves and a blanket.”

After slipping on the heavy work gloves and draping a blanket over his head and shoulders, Ryan crouched by the door, holding the handle.

“I’ll need both hands free,” he said to Mildred. “Keep me covered.”

Mildred moved directly behind him, her Czech-made target pistol held at the ready.

“Almost there,” J.B. said. “Get ready.”

“Keep the door open a crack and keep the wag moving. I don’t plan to be out there more than thirty seconds.”

“Touching the brakes,” J.B. called.

In two smooth motions, Ryan slid open the door and leaped out of the vehicle. Since it wasn’t traveling more than five miles per hour, he hit the turf running.

The man was on the ground, adding his shrieks to those voiced by the darting, slashing, biting creatures. He was trying to cover his face and protect his eyes. Three of the screamwings were on top of his head, sinking teeth and claws into his scalp. He wasn’t fighting back, and he appeared to be completely unarmed.

The rest of the swarm was occupied with the idling motorcycle, or so Ryan hoped. Because of the blanket hooding his head, his peripheral vision was obstructed and he had no idea if any of the screamwings were turning their attention to him.

Even as the thought registered, he heard the sharp double crack of Mildred’s revolver. Something limp landed on his right shoulder, then fell to the ground at his feet.

Not bothering to look down, Ryan kept his eye on the blood-streaked man howling and thrashing over the sandy soil. He reached him in two long-legged bounds and snatched one of the little demons from the man’s head.

It came away clutching pieces of scalp and hanks of hair, yowling in protest and pain. It sank its teeth into the thick leather of Ryan’s glove, and though the needle points didn’t penetrate, Ryan felt the pinching pressure. He snapped its neck with his other hand.