Dead Water

illy Skaggs and the search party had a long trip ahead of them. They had found the horse, but the trip back home would be three days’ ride through the middle of the Nevada desert. Billy loaded his saddle bags with two full canteens, a map, and what was left of the food. “Hey, everybody,” he called, “Ready to go?”

Pappy, Billy’s boss, had come to him four days ago with an important mission. One of the horses had broken through a fence and wandered into the desert. “Now, normally I would never send you out after just one horse,” he said. “I’ve got hundreds of ‘em, so losing just one ain’t nothing I’m too troubled ’bout. But this here horse is different. I was going t’ ride ‘em out to town, ’cause I needs t’ get my watch repaired. The clock maker is a friend of mine, and I was going t’ shows him my antique, silver-plated revolver. And wouldn’t you know it, before I could leave, the horse escaped!”

“And,” said Billy, wanting to cut to the chase, “It has your antique revolver in the saddle bags.”

“It sure does! Now Billy, I need you t’ go look for ‘em. Take three of the other ranch hands and form a search party. The horse escaped about six hours ago, so you need t’ get goin’ right away!”

Billy knew immediately who he would take with him. Billy drafted his three friends: Carl “Vulture” Fourth, James “Bronco” Mays, and Ed “Old, Moldy Mashed Potatoes In A Bucket” Benson. They were close friends, having gone through Cowboy Camp together as children.

There used to be a fifth to their group, a man named Phil Duke. Phil wanted his own nickname, but the only nickname he could come up with was “Cowboy.” The others insisted that he pick something else, but he refused, and threatened to shoot them all. Finally Billy explained that he couldn’t nickname himself “Cowboy” as they were all cowboys, and thus he was not unique in that respect. So Phil decided to ride East until he ended up in a place with so few cowboys that the folks around him would insist on calling him “Cowboy,” whether he liked it or not.

It took about four days of searching to find the horse, and it would take at least three days to get back to the ranch. Fortunately, the horse was very tired from all the running and didn’t put up much of a fight. After a brief stop for rest, Billy and his search party began their long journey home.

The four rode for several hours until they came across a small pond, an isolated oasis in the desert. They decided to stop nearby for lunch.

“Hey fellas,” called Vulture, “I’m going to tie the horses to that tree over by the pond. You fellas give me your canteens and I’ll refill them. Billy and Bronco, why don’t y’all cook us up some grub?”

“What can I do?” asked Ed, who hardly ever used his nickname.

“You can get out your shovel and dig us a mess hole,” Vulture replied. “And do it farther away from the camp this time! I don’t want to sleepwalk into a hole full of your shit again.”

“Yeah, yeah… A fella digs the mess hole in the center of camp one time, and he never hears the end of it.”

Vulture lead the horses down to the creek and tied their ropes to a nearby tree. Vulture was glad Pappy’s horse was so willing to move; he wouldn’t need Bronco’s homemade cattle prod. If you weren’t careful, it could easily burn a hole in the horse’s hide.

Even before he walked the sixty feet back to camp, Vulture could smell the large tin of beans and bacon cooking. He wondered if the other men would care if he took a plate of food and moved upwind.

After a leisurely lunch, the men sat around the campfire rolling cigarettes and telling dirty jokes. Eventually Billy Skaggs gave orders to move on until sunset. Vulture went back down to the creek to collect the horses, while the other men gathered their things.

“Hey fellas,” called Vulture, “y’all better come get a look at this!”

Billy, Ed, and Bronco hurried down to the creek. The horses were still tied to the tree, but Pappy’s horse was lying on the ground. “Is it dead?” asked Bronco.

“Yeah,” Vulture replied. “It weren’t sick or nothing. It don’t look like an animal attacked it, neither. Don’t know what coulda done it.”

Billy bent down to examine the horse. “Look at that! There are two small holes down here on it’s neck. There’s a little blood here, too. Now what in the hell do you suppose did that?”

Billy, Vulture, and Bronco took turns examining the horse’s tiny wounds. Finally Ed spoke: “I know what it was. I know what done it!”

“What?” Billy demanded. “What coulda killed this thing without scaring the rest of the horses?”

“A vampire!”

“Now come on, Ed. You’ve been reading too many of those pulp novels… There ain’t any vampires! Even if there were, they wouldn’t be out here in the Nevada desert! And even if they were out here, I thought vampires couldn’t come out in the daylight?”

“How do you know there ain’t any vampires, Billy? Have you ever been to Pennsylvania?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Maybe the only reason we don’t believe in vampires is because there ain’t any here in America! At least, until this one done showed up.”

Billy stood up and brushed the dirt off his jeans. “Well, let’s not argue about it. Maybe there is vampires, and maybe there ain’t. All I know is, if there is vampires around here we shouldn’t be around here, neither. Let’s get our stuff and go.”

Ed took Pappy’s revolver, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and dropped it in his saddlebags. The four men loaded the horses and left the camp. They traveled across the desert for almost eight hours, only stopping twice to “water the cactuses.”

As the sun began to set, Ed broke the silence. “We should camp over there, on top of that there hill. No way for anybody to sneak up on us up there.”

Bronco chuckled contemptuously. “What exactly has got you so afraid, Ed? You afraid of one of them there vampires creepin’ up on you while you’re sleeping? Well, don’t worry, I’m sure Billy would be glad to keep watch for monsters.”

“Damn you, Bronco. Didn’t you see what happened to that damn horse? If it weren’t a vampire that made those holes, what in the hell was it?”

“Beats me. Maybe the horse sprung a leak! Alls I know is, there ain’t no vampires, werewolves, Eskimos, or any other monsters out here in this desert. And you’d have to be a danged fool to think there was!”

“Now wait just a minute! I say I know what happened to that horse. If you think I ain’t right, then come up with a better idea! Until then, shut your trap!”

“Why don’t you both shut up?” snapped Vulture. “I’m getting pretty damned tired of all this vampire hooey!”

Billy turned his horse and started toward Ed’s hill. “Let’s just make camp, OK? That is, if you hens are done pecking at each other.”

The four rode to the top of Ed’s hill and dismounted. Vulture lead the horses to the nearest tree, which was about forty feet away, and tied them to it.

There was something in the air. A sour smell, like old milk left in an outhouse. Vulture followed his nose, walking down a gentle slope that finally lead to a cliff. Thirty feet below, under the orange light of the setting sun, Vulture could see a small lake with brown water, the source of the foul odor. In the distance, Vulture could just make out six or seven houses. “Oh, I know what this is!” he thought. “This here is Dead Water!”

Vulture had heard about a small town being built around a lake with dark, grimy water. Many years ago, there had been gold discovered nearby and a mining town had sprung up almost overnight. Its residents had died off almost as quickly. An unknown disease had struck down the miners; something foul in the water. It came on without warning, often taking them in a single night. The men that didn’t die right away got deathly pale and tried to kill anyone who came near. They were either killed by other miners or succumbed to the mysterious disease. And, strangely, the miners’ wives had simply disappeared. There were only a handful of women, so folks thought maybe their bodies had been carried off by coyotes. Or perhaps, when the men started getting sick, they simply abandoned them, never to return.

“If this here is Dead Water,” thought Vulture, “I’d better get the guys and get going. Whatever disease that took those men could very well take us, too.”

By this time, the other men had started a fire and Billy was opening a can of that night’s supper. “Hey, have you guys seen Vulture? He’s been gone for like half an hour!”

Bronco laughed. “You know how Vulture is. Every time we have beans, the poor baby can’t handle the, ah, “after-dinner stench.” I recon he’s taken some trail mix or something to eat off by his lonesome.”

“I recon you’re right, Bronco. Well, the can’s open. Let’s get ‘er cooked!”

After a heavy meal and a healthy dose of whisky, Bronco, Billy, and Ed fell asleep around the fire. Billy rose with the sun and, eager to get home, immediately woke up the other men. All except Vulture. He wasn’t there. “Where the hell is he?” Billy wondered.

“Beats me,” said Bronco. “It looks like he’s been gone all night! You know, he could’ve just slept upwind!”

Billy decided that Ed could gather their things while he and Bronco went to look for Vulture. “The last time I saw him was when he went to tie the horses, so let’s go look down there first.” They walked downhill and made their way to the tree. The horses were eating the flowers from a nearby cactus, and patiently waiting for a drink of water. “Horses are fine, but no Vulture,” said Billy. “But hey, what the hell is that smell?”

“Smells like a dead man’s boots!” said Bronco, fanning the air with his hat. “You don’t think…”

“Maybe whatever killed the horse makes people stink faster than they’re supposed to?” Billy and Bronco followed the smell down the slope, but they never made it to the cliff. After they had walked about a hundred yards they found Vulture, lying face-down in the sand.

“He’s dead, ain’t he?” cried Bronco. He bent down to examine his fallen friend. “His skin’s all white, like bleached bones. And there’s two, no four, holes in his neck…”

“His blood’s gone, just like that horse,” said Billy. “Whatever done this, it’s following us.”

“Well, Billy, let’s go get Ed. We’ll need him to dig the hole.”

Billy and Bronco took the horses up to the campsite, and told Ed the bad news. “But why do I have to bury him?” he demanded.

“Because,” said Bronco, “You’ve got the only shovel.”

By the time Ed finished burying Vulture, it was almost noon. Billy decided that they should skip lunch to make up for lost time.

“Who’s going to lead Vulture’s horse back with us?” asked Ed.

“Nobody,” said Billy. “That’d slow us down. If whatever killed Vulture and that horse really is following us, we’ve got to move as fast as we can.”

“OK, but this here’s the desert. If you leave it out here, it’ll starve!”

“I’m not leaving it. You’re going to shoot it.”

“I don’t want to kill a horse that don’t even have it’s leg broke! Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you’ve got the nicest gun.”

Ed took Pappy’s sliver-plated revolver from his pocket, and took the saddle bags off of Vulture’s horse. He didn’t want to shoot a hole in a canteen or a bottle of whiskey. Ed wanted to blindfold the horse first, but he knew Bronco would laugh. Ed put two bullets in the horse and the three men continued their journey home.

After riding for several hours in silence, Bronco voiced what was in all their thoughts. “Do you think it really was a vampire?”

Ed scowled at him. “You thought I was a fool before. But I’m right! Y’all know I’m right!”

“I don’t know nothing! It could’ve been anything. Maybe Vulture got bit by a snake or something. Who knows. But until I see one for myself, I ain’t going to believe in no vampires!”

“Quiet, you two,” snapped Billy. “Less talking, more riding. We need to get some distance between us and whatever it was that killed Vulture.”

After a mercifully uneventful day’s ride, Billy decided to stop for the night. “I don’t know what’s out there,” he said, “but I don’t want to take any chances. Bronco and I will sleep, and Ed, you keep watch.”

“What? Why me?” Ed demanded.

“You’ve got the best eyes.”

Bronco and Billy laid out their bedrolls, and after some beans and whiskey, fell asleep. Billy had only taken a little whisky, and instead he drank almost an entire canteen full of water. He wanted to make sure he’d wake up in a couple hours. When he did, the first thing he noticed was that Ed wasn’t keeping watch. “Where is that lazy bastard?” he wondered. “Aw, hell!” Billy scanned the area, looking for any signs of a body. He couldn’t see anything, and in that part of the desert there weren’t many places to hide. However, there was a group of large rocks near the campsite, just large enough to hide a body. Billy ran over to investigate.

“Ed! Ed!”

“What? Is it morning already?” Ed apparently had brought his bedroll out behind the rocks, where he couldn’t be seen.

“You were sleeping instead of keeping watch? What in the hell is wrong with you? We could’ve been killed!”

“Aw, you said you don’t believe in no vampires, anyway! And it’s not right that you guys make me do everything. I have to dig the holes for us to shit in, I have to bury Vulture… Why can’t you or Bronco do some of… Hey, where is Bronco?”

“Aw, hell… C’mon!”

Ed and Billy ran back to the campsite. Bronco was lying in his bedroll, his hat shielding his face from the firelight.

“Oh, thank the Lord,” whispered Ed. “He’s alive!” he called to Billy. “Everything’s OK, he’s alive.”

Billy gazed down at Bronco. “Is he? Why didn’t he wake up when you yelled?”

“I, ah… Hey, Bronco!” Ed nudged Bronco with his boot. “Hey, wake up!” Suddenly, Bronco’s hand shot out and grabbed Ed’s leg. “Hey, what’re you-” Bronco shot upright, pulling Ed to the ground. His hat fell down beside him. In the light from the fire, Billy thought his face looked deathly white.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Ed demanded, trying to rise. But before he could get up, Bronco threw aside his blanket and jumped on top of him. Bronco punched Ed in the face, pounding him like a lump of dough.

“Bronco!” screamed Billy, “What the hell are you trying to pull?”

“Get him off me!” Ed yelled, trying to block the blows with his arms.

Billy punched Bronco in the back of the head. Bronco didn’t seem to feel anything. He grabbed Bronco by the back of the shirt and pulled him off Ed. He dropped Bronco on the ground, getting ready to stomp on his head. Billy stopped short. Bronco’s had two holes in his neck, still dripping blood.

“Bronco, are you OK?” he asked. Bronco didn’t answer. Instead he dove for his bedroll, coming up with his gun in his hands. He glared at Billy, his face a stony glare. “Bronco, now don’t!” Yelled Billy. “You don’t know what you’re doing!” Billy watched as Bronco lifted his arm, aimed the gun, and cocked the trigger. And then, with a loud crack, his forehead burst open. He dropped slowly, like a falling tree. A few feet behind him stood Ed, holding Pappy’s smoking revolver.

“Good lord!” Billy exclaimed. “I thought I was dead for sure!”

“You can thank me later,” said Ed. “What do you think came over him?”

“Look at his neck. Bleeding holes, just like Vulture and that damned horse. Thing I don’t understand is, why wasn’t he dead?”

Ed slid the revolver into his pocket. “Maybe the vampire just had him mostly drained, and when we came back he got scared away?”

“I recon you’re right,” said Billy. “Look, in the sand… Footprints!” Even in the dim firelight, Ed could tell the footprints didn’t belong to any of them. The prints were smaller than their boots, and not as deep.

“Do you think this vampire is a woman?” Billy wondered.

“Who cares,” Ed replied. “All I know is, I don’t want to be around when it comes back. Let’s get the horses and get out of here.”

“We have to move fast. Let’s leave everything here but our guns and some water. If this vampire is on foot, it’ll have a hell of a time catching up with us again.”

Billy untied the horses, and dumped their saddlebags in a pile by the fire. Ed knew that Billy wouldn’t let him take Bronco’s horse with them, and they couldn’t leave it in the desert to starve. He left it by the fire with a bullet in it’s brain.

“One more thing,” said Ed. “I’d feel lots safer if we could burn Bronco’s body. We already have one monster after us; we don’t need another one.”

They heaved Bronco’s body into the campfire. After adding some wood and the rest of the whiskey, they mounted their horses and rode off as fast as the horses would take them.

After four hours of hard riding, Ed called out to Billy: “How far do you think we’ve gone?”

“Forty miles, at least. Are vampires much faster than people?”

“Don’t rightly know, Billy. How far are we from the ranch?”

“At this rate, we should be home in another eight or ten hours, not counting a stop to let the horses rest up. But we’re not stopping for nothing until the sun’s all the way up.”

“No, I’m stopping now. I got to piss.”

“Well, I might as well stop too, then. I’ll keep a lookout.”

Billy and Ed dismounted, Ed walking off to a nearby cactus and Billy staying by the horses to stretch his legs. It was just starting to get light again, but no sunrise quite yet. “I know I said I’d keep watch,” thought Billy, “But I’m not going to watch a man piss, even if I’d only see the back of him. I’ll keep a lookout over the other way.”

A gunshot, and a scream. Ed was in trouble.

“Aw, hell!” Billy drew his gun and ran towards the sound. In the distance, he saw Ed on the ground and a dark form leaning over him. The vampire was a woman after all! Billy crept closer. The woman leaned down and opened her mouth. Billy watched, mesmerized, as out of her mouth jumped a long, silver spike, like a sword being unsheathed. The spike plunged into Ed’s neck.

“That’s no vampire,” thought Billy. “Vampires have fangs like a bat! That thing is like… It’s like… She’s like a human mosquito!” Suddenly, Billy snapped out of his trance. He raised his gun and fired. The woman fell backwards, the spike jumping back into her mouth. And then, nothing. Billy waited, afraid to breathe. “I should just leave them both there,” he thought. “I should just turn around and get back on my horse and go home.” Then he remembered Pappy’s revolver, and his promise to bring it back to the ranch. Billy walked slowly, keeping a close eye on the woman and on Ed. “Stay dead, stay dead, stay dead…”

The woman jumped to her feet. Even in the dim moonlight, Billy could tell there were no bullet holes. He raised his gun but before he could get off a shot, the woman leaped upward, disappearing into the sky. For a moment there was a loud humming sound, and then nothing. Billy stood and watched, afraid to breathe. After a long while, he remembered what had happened to Bronco. Billy crept slowly up to where Ed’s body still lay on the ground. “Sorry, Ed,” he explained, “I can’t have you coming after me, too. I have enough trouble on my hands.” Billy put a bullet in his dear friend’s chest.

Watching the sky, Billy made his way back to the horses. “Wait,” he thought, “What the hell am I doing? If I go back home, and that thing is still following me, more people could die. I have to stay here and face her myself.”

Billy walked back to the group of cactuses where Ed met his end. Billy was relieved to see that Ed’s body was still there. “It doesn’t look like bullets hurt this lady,” Billy whispered to Ed’s corpse. “So I’m hoping you was scared enough to take an extra weapon with you… Oh, and I’ll be needing your gun and hunting knife, too.”

Billy took his canteens from his horse and used Ed’s knife to saw off the tops. “There… They’re a little more like buckets now. This is my one chance… If this doesn’t work, at least I’ll be the only one to die. The folks back at the ranch will be safe.”

Billy could feel he was being watched, but he figured he would have to wait until sunset for the mosquito woman to make a move. He spent the time building a fire and burning Ed’s body. Just in case.

The sun set, but still no sign of the monster. Billy threw some twigs and dried up weeds onto the fire. He saw a dark shape in the sky. It was her! The mosquito woman floated down as gently as a leaf. When her feet finally touched the sand, it made no sound at all.

“Well, hello there!” she said. “As you can see, I’m quite well. Your little bullets can’t hurt me. You might as well make this easy on yourself. Get on your knees.”

“Now, hold on there!” Billy said, casually. “I suppose you are going to kill me eventually. So how about you tell me just who in the hell you are? Or what the hell you are.”

“I am the result of millions of years of natural selection, just like you. Sure, the monkey is Mother Nature’s favorite son. She gave him opposable thumbs and big enough brain to make the horse his slave. But insects have been evolving, too. They evolved right alongside the mammals, unnoticed, until finally we have a creature such as I.

“But enough of this talk. I need lots of blood if I am to have enough energy to escape the accursed desert. That’s why I killed your friends, and why you, too, will die. Give me your neck!”

“Wait a minute…” Billy protested. “The bullets can’t hurt you, I can see that. I recon it’s because your body has a hard shell around it like a bug.”

“I’m tired of talking,” said the mosquito woman. She rushed at her enemy, screaming. She held her arms outstretched like an owl attacking a mouse. Billy grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her to the ground. He leaped on top of her, pounding her in the jaw. He whipped his gun from his coat and fired, point blank, at her face. He pulled the trigger again and again, until the revolver was empty. The monster under him shuddered with each blow. Finally she was still, a smoking hole in her forehead.

“Maybe a six-shooter can’t hurt you from ten feet, but six inches is a different story, ain’t it?” He stood and stepped to the side, waiting. “I ain’t been beat by wild horses or bulls in heat. What chance does a bug have?”

Then Billy noticed a familiar humming sound. Like a bolt from a crossbow, the silver tube shot from the woman’s mouth and impaled itself in Billy’s leg. He wanted to scream in pain, but he felt strangely relaxed. “She must put stuff in you as well as take it out,” he thought. He started getting tired, and his eyes ached to close. “No, no… Draw your gun!” As Billy’s eyes closed, he could feel the tube draining his life away.

Billy wobbled on his feet. He collapsed, and the silver tube snapped out of his leg. The woman stood up, the tube instinctively sliding back into her mouth.

“Now that’s not enough!” she said, wiping the blood from her forehead. “Surely there’s a few more pints in you!”

Billy’s eyes opened, and he glared at his foe. “I guess that there sleepy juice don’t work so well if that tube ain’t stickin’ in you,” he thought. He reached into his coat and pulled out Ed’s pistol.

“So, you’re alive! Get up!” the woman demanded. Billy, still shaky, got to his feet.

“A bullet to the face don’t work,” said Billy. “How about one in the mouth?” He aimed, and pulled the trigger, and…

“Nothing? How can this be empty?” Billy demanded. “Two bullet for the first horse, one for the second, one bullet in Bronco, one shot at the lady…” Suddenly, Billy remembered Ed bragging about the great deal he got on a half-price revolver. “Because… it’s a five-shooter!”

The woman laughed. “Out of bullets? How sad. Oh, well. Time to die!” The woman opened her mouth, and out slid the long, needle-like tube.

“I’ll make it easy for you,” said Billy, as he got on his knees. The woman flew at Billy like a dart. He rolled to the side and grabbed the two canteens. He threw the water at her as she shot past. She landed and turned to face him. Her spike slid back into her mouth.

“What the hell is this?” she demanded. “You brainless hillbilly… Did you think I’d melt?”

“Not quite. Your skin’s hard enough to keep bullets from doing much hurt. Well, I recon your insides is soft enough to cook, especially with the right type of match.” Billy reached into his pocket and produced the extra weapon that Ed had brought with him.

“What’s that thing supposed to be?”

“Lightning rod. Come get some.” Waving the cattle prod, he lunged like a fencer. He jabbed the woman in her chest. She dropped to the ground, her soaking wet body in spasms. Billy jabbed her again, holding the cattle prod against her. Smoke poured from her mouth, and a smell like burning sewage. Finally, she lay still.

Billy Skaggs leaned over the dead creature and spat in her face. As he limped back to his horse, he pulled Pappy’s silver-plated revolver from his pocket. “I think I’ll keep this gun,” he thought. “After all, I’ve earned it.”

Filed under: horror, story by Writepop