"Stalked and Stalker" Pt. 7 (Patreon)

I won a Dean Spencer story contest for one of his pieces of art. I'm now completing it with (theoretically) weekly entries. This is part seven.

Part One can be found here, Part Two here, Part Three here, Part Four here, Part Five here, and Part Six here.

Paying Patrons can instead go here, for a compiled, slightly more edited version of the story-to-date, along with my thoughts and author's notes about each section.

(Low res image. High res will be used for the final product. Art by Dean Spencer)

7

Blaze stood two steps up on the staircase, holding one of the flaming logs she’d snagged from the fire over MacKenzie and Alex as they did their best to block the stairwell entrance with the two skiffs. Each boat had been turned stern-down with the interiors facing inward, and pulled up side-by-side against the opening in the hill. There wasn’t a lot inside the stairwell to attach them to, but there was a narrow sill all the way around the interior of the opening. Using the oars, anchors, and a lot of rope, MacKenzie and Alex rigged the two boats securely enough that Mac was convinced the blizzard wouldn’t tear them loose.

Whether that would prevent some dedicated creature from clawing its way inside was another matter entirely.

“Any of you hurt?” Doc Soloman asked calmly.

MacKenzie was about to snap that he’d have mentioned it if he was hurt, but caught himself. He knew adrenaline masked a lot of pain, and he was still coming down from facing the combined threat of bramble-wolves and blizzard, and then securing their markshift shelter in the stairwell. He took a few deep, calming breaths and focused on the sensations his body was giving him.

“I got some shallow cuts, Doc,” Alec said.

MacKenzi glanced at the man in surprise. There were a few scratches on his face and hands, but nothing Mac would expect Alec to tell Soloman about. But then Alec turned, and MacKenzie got a good look at his back. There were long, crimson lines showing through rips in his jacket, sweater, shirt, and undershirt. The clothing’s tears were clean, as though neatly cut by a razor. MacKenzie has seen the thorn-vines shred Alec’s parka, but hadn’t realized any of the cuts had made it through to the man’s flesh. The cuts weren’t deep, but they were long, one running from his upper left shoulder, across his spine, to just short of his right hip.

“Doc, get those checked out and cleaned,” MacKenzie said. “We have no idea if those things were venomous, or toxic, or could leave particulate spores in a wound. Alec, can you keep an eye on the entrance while Blaze and I go up to the first landing?”

Alec nodded. “Not a problem, Mac.”

Alec sat on the second step, and faced the makeshift skiff barricade. His Le Vengeur dagger was already in his left hand, and Alec drew a Browning FN M1900 from a thigh holster with his right hand. MacKenzie could see Alec’s eyes were alert, moving to check the many crevices were wind and snow managed to get past the on-end skiffs. Doc Soloman moved down the stairs to settle behind Alec, and murmured for his patient to remove his layers of sweater and shirts.

MacKenzie moved up the stairs, and Blaze fell in beside him.

“Where’s your pickaxe?” Blaze asked.

Mac stopped. His familiar pickaxe wasn’t in his hand, and wasn’t in the loop on his parka where it normally hung when not in use. He tried to think when he’d last had it. When the plant-things attacked? Okay, but when had he lost it?

“I must have dropped it when I began shooting flares into that thing.”

Blaze cocked her head, her expression one of concern.

“And you didn’t notice until I asked? That’s not like you, Mac. You doing aces?”

MacKenzie took a few more deep, calming breaths. Blaze was right. Losing any tool wasn’t like him. Losing his pickaxe was especially not like him. He must have been much more rattled than he’d realized by the bramble-wolves. That, or something else was going on. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything not packed in their stores anytime recently. He was breathing the same air as everyone else. If there was an outside force at play, it likely wasn’t pharmacological.

The feeling of being watched was still with him. The sensation was weaker, as though it wasn't looking directly at him, but the feeling behind it was—if anything—more malevolent.

“I’m shook, Blaze,” MacKenzie confessed. “I have a bad case of both the heebies, and the jeebies. I don’t think those thorned horrors were random, or alone. I think something sent them after us. Something we haven’t seen yet.”

Blaze nodded. She has long learned to trust MacKenzie’s instincts. If he said there was something unseen working against them, she immediately believed him.

“Okay,” she said, “How does that impact procedure? Do you really want us at one end of the stairs and John and Alec at the other end, if there might be something waiting and watching to ambush us while we’re separated?”

It was a great question.

“Change of plans,” Mac said down to duSeverency and Doc Soloman. “We’re all sticking together, and proceeding on the assumption we are under observation by a hostile force. We have all the packs. We don’t need our parkas in here, but you should each gear up on the assumption we’re in enemy territory. We’ll proceed once Doc is done with Alec.”