Airship Hunters by Jim Beard, Duane Spurlock Page B

foot in a stirrup, the other leg flew free, and he had yet to find his balance and his seat in the saddle. The piebald galloped in maddened fright. Cabot’s fear of falling made his blood thunder in his ears.
    And he heard something else—a deep-throated roar. From behind, from whatever thing he’d seen near the soddy, from whatever now pursued him.
    Cabot couldn’t look back. He scrambled, tried to gain purchase and pull himself into the saddle as he was thumped along by the piebald. He was nearly in place, but still off balance, when the horse shied to the right, and Cabot found himself in space, clutching only the reins.
    He had been jarred by the floundering ride, but Cabot had enough sense to release the reins so he wouldn’t be pulled along by the horse’s flight. He tucked into a ball before he slammed into the ground and bounced along for several feet.
    Adrenaline-spiked blood thrummed through his limbs, and Cabot scrambled to his feet without feeling the pains that lanced through his body. The piebald’s hooves sounded distant already. The Treasury agent dashed forward, spotting against the growing darkness the blacker mass of a wooded area just ahead. He entered the trees and ducked and twisted to avoid the larger branches as they came into sight. Smaller limbs and vines swatted his face and hands as he swam into the dense body of the forest.
    He paused in his headlong flight only once to glance back for any sign of pursuit. He didn’t see anything, but he heard the crackle of limbs and leaves when the thing—whatever it was—entered the timber. Cabot took off again.
    He rushed as best he could for two minutes. Then he slowed and tried to go more carefully and with less noise, but the darkness made taking cautious steps difficult. Cabot leaned his back against the trunk of a large tree. He made an effort to control the rush of his breathing and listened for sounds of pursuit.
    He heard them. The crackling, the breaking of deadwood. But whatever was behind him was moving more slowly than it had out in the open.
    Cabot looked at the branches above him. He jumped, grabbed a large limb, and pulled up. He began to climb into the tree, moving slowly and reducing noise as best he could. He hoped the sounds of the thing’s progress were enough to cover those of Cabot’s vertical flight.
    Thirty feet above the forest floor he stopped. The thing—Cabot tried to avoid thinking the word monster —continued getting closer, though the noise of its passage suggested it was not tracking the Treasury agent directly to his hiding spot.
    Cabot still couldn’t see what was following him. His tree, and those all around, were beginning to sway in the breeze. The clouds were thicker, and the darkness was complete. He could see no moon, no stars.
    He began to hear the creaking of wood. He thought this was from the trees moving in the wind, then felt differently. The wind wasn’t so insistent that it could move the trees that much. But the creaking continued and increased.
    He felt some sort of presence. A moment of panic had him peering downward, but he saw no sign of his pursuer. And the sounds of pursuit had ceased.
    Cabot realized the presence he felt came from above .
    He looked up. Through the limbs, the sky was a smooth, featureless black.
    In that moment a blaze of cold shot along his spine and clutched the back of his neck. He realized those weren’t clouds he saw. Something was above the trees. Something huge , blotting out any sight of the sky.
    The creaking was coming from whatever held itself above him. Perhaps it brushed the treetops, causing the slight sounds. But otherwise, it was silent.
    Cabot fought his panic, rejected the urge that pushed him to clamber to the ground. That’s where the monster waited.
    Cabot heard the creature on the ground moving again. The noises were those of a large figure moving quickly. Away from Cabot’s tree, but apparently deeper into the timber.
    The creaking increased,