Dark and Stormy Knights

THE BEACON by SHANNON K. BUTCHER

There were ten rounds in Ryder Ward’s Glock, but he was going to need only one.

The Beacon was here in this small, middle-of-nowhere, so-cute-it-made-him-want-to-puke Minnesota town. He could feel the deep, almost inaudible thrumming of its heart.

All he had to do was put one round between the Beacon’s eyes and he could go back home to his life, such as it was. At least until the next Beacon summoned him. There was always another one—always someone who needed killing.

He hoped like hell that this time, the Beacon would be an old man.

Daddy? Daddy, wake up.

Ryder shoved the orphaned child’s voice from his head and popped a trio of antacids into his mouth. He didn’t want to think about his last job—the lifeless body of the last Beacon sprawled on the toy-littered living room carpet. And Ryder sure as hell didn’t want to think about the tiny, chubby hand of the little girl trying to shake her dead father awake.

Daddy, are you sick?

He ground his back teeth together and focused on driving through the thickening snow. The sooner he finished this job, the sooner he’d see things were back to normal and he’d be offing old men with only a few good years left. That young man was an anomaly, that’s all.

Ryder eased his truck over the icy streets. Snow was falling harder now as the forecasted blizzard rolled in, and even with his windshield wipers on high, it was getting hard to see where he was going. The bump of his tire against the curb told him he was still on the street, though just barely.

He pulled into the alley behind a coffeehouse where the deep beat of the Beacon’s heart was the loudest. The alley where he left his truck was narrow and choked with snow. Getting out of here once the job was done was going to be tricky, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Just like all the other times.

Since his birthright had kicked in, he’d killed seventeen Beacons, and so far he’d never once been hauled in by police for questioning. Why would he be? There was nothing to tie him to his victims, no apparent motivation for him to do what he did.

When it came to solid motivation for a serial killer, cops didn’t tend to buy in to magical birthrights or the inherited ability to locate human magnets for otherworldly evil. If he ever got caught, he’d just tell them the voices in his head told him to kill—it’d be a lot simpler for everyone that way.

Not that Ryder was planning on getting caught. Get in, kill the Beacon, get out. Simple.

He trudged around the building through the snow, guessing he had maybe twenty minutes of daylight left—more than enough time to get the job done and get out of this too-cute town and back to his garage where he belonged, back to engines and wrenches and grease, all of which made perfect sense and didn’t burn his guts.

The lights inside the coffeehouse were dimmed by the falling snow, but he managed to find the door and slip inside. Bells tinkled merrily against the glass, announcing his arrival.

Great. So much for stealth.

The smell of fresh coffee and cinnamon filled his nose. The snow sticking to his eyelashes began to melt in the humid warmth. The gust of cold wind he’d let in subsided, allowing the lacy curtains on the windows to settle back into place.

No one sat at any of the small tables or booths. As far as he could see, the place was deserted, but he knew better. He could feel how close the Beacon was—feel a throbbing in the air, as waves of sound too low for a normal person to hear emanated from the Beacon’s heart. The sound thudded against his ears, resonated inside his chest. He could tell by the slowly increasing cadence that he was running out of time.

“I didn’t think anyone was out in this mess,” came a soft, feminine voice through an open doorway behind the counter. “Be right with you.”

Ryder froze in place. The Beacon was a woman?

She hurried through the door, drying her hands with paper towels. Her soft brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. A white apron tied around her waist showed off slim curves. She had a wide smile and the sweetest, most angelic face he’d ever seen. He doubted she was even thirty years old.

Too young to die.

How could he pull the trigger and end her life?

How could he not?

Melted snow dripped from his hair and ran down his neck, leaving cold paths of frigid water in their wake. The gun in the holster under his arm burned his skin. His ears were clogged with the sound of his racing pulse.

Ryder stood there, dripping, and as she watched him, her smile began to fade.

“Are you okay? Do you need help?” she asked.

His jaw clenched against the urge to answer her innocent questions. He couldn’t speak to her. If he did, it would only make his job that much harder. If he spoke to her, she’d be a real person.

Besides, what was there for him to say? Hi, I’m here to kill you. I’m sorry it has to end this way. If you don’t die, a monster will appear and all the people around you will be eaten.

No words would make this any easier, for either of them. Best just to get it done and get the hell away from here.

The woman stepped toward him. Ryder unzipped his leather jacket and reached for his gun.

“Did you get stuck in the storm? You’re soaking wet.” Sweet concern filled her voice, and it was all he could do not to turn around, walk out, and let her live the last few hours of her life in peace.

But what about the rest of this too-cute town? Didn’t its residents deserve to live?

The only way that was going to happen was if he put a bullet right between her pretty blue eyes. One woman’s life in trade for that of hundreds more. She was going to die tonight. There was nothing he could do to change that. It was his job to make sure she was the only one who had to die.

Ryder cursed his birthright for the millionth time.

“Have a seat,” she told him. “I’ll get you something hot to drink.” She hurried off before he could stop her.

Get a grip. He needed to stop thinking and just do this thing. Get it over with.

A deep sound of mourning rose up from his chest, despite his intent to remain silent. He tossed another pair of antacids in his mouth. He doubted they’d help, but it was something to do with his hands—something that didn’t involve pulling out his Glock.

The woman came back moments later, gripping a tall mug in her slender hands. “I made you hot cocoa. I hope you like it.” She set it on a nearby table and pulled out a chair for him. “You should sit. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Ryder took one step after another, hauling his dripping ass over to the table. He told himself that the shot would be easier to take if he was closer. It had nothing to do with the lure of her caring tone or the warmth of the drink she’d made for him.

He didn’t deserve warmth, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve her care.

He looked down at the chair she’d offered, then at the steaming mug. He couldn’t accept either. Not when he knew what he had to do to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He wanted to ask for her forgiveness, but he didn’t deserve that, either.

He pulled out his weapon and aimed it at her head.

Those pretty blue eyes widened, and her lips parted on a gasp of shock. She stepped back, lifting her hands. They trembled.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. There isn’t much cash, but it’s yours. Please, don’t do this,” she begged.

“I’m sorry,” Ryder repeated. What else could he say?

A loud pounding of footsteps came from the far side of the room. Ryder swung his weapon to the left, aiming it at the noise. A wooden door swung open, revealing a staircase leading up. And a little girl.

“Mama, can I go online?”

The little girl couldn’t have been more than seven years old. She had her mother’s pretty blue eyes and the cutest pointed chin he’d ever seen. She saw his gun pointing at her and came to a dead stop. The air around her throbbed, beating out a deep, almost inaudible rhythm—one only Ryder and men like him could hear.

This woman wasn’t the Beacon.

The little girl was.

Hell, no. He couldn’t do this. Let whatever demon was coming have this town. He was going to throw the woman and her kid into his truck and get them out of here.

And go where? The Terraphage would follow the Beacon wherever Ryder took her. With the roads as bad as they were, he’d have no hope of outrunning it.

If they were going to survive this, he was going to have to make a stand. Kill the Terraphage when it came.

A mocking bubble of laughter rose up inside of him. No one could kill one of those things. Anyone who had been stupid enough to try had failed. The Terraphage was huge, evil, and unstoppable.

Which meant he needed every second possible to come up with some kind of plan.

Ryder didn’t see the chair coming at his head until it was too late. He tried to duck it, but the woman’s aim was true and the metal leg connected with the side of his skull.

Lights out.

Jordan watched the man crumple to the ground, lifting the chair to strike at him again. Rage poured through her limbs, making her stronger than she would have imagined. She shook with the force of it, clenching her teeth against the need to let out a battle cry.

How dare he point that gun at her baby?

Anne started toward her, but Jordan held up a hand. “Stay back, honey. He’s dangerous.”

Or he had been. Right now he was limp and bleeding, lying utterly still. Maybe she’d killed him.

Part of her hoped so. A man who would draw a weapon on a child deserved to die.

He was a big man, filling out that worn leather jacket with wide shoulders and a thick chest. His hair was dark, damp, and mussed. Small scars marred the backs of his hands, especially his knuckles. Jordan guessed they were from bar fights or something equally distasteful. Any man who would point a gun at a child wouldn’t have hesitated to take out his anger with his fists.

Jordan had never regretted her divorce; her ex was a loser who had never wanted Anne. But for the first time since turning her back on men, Jordan wished she had one around—someone willing to protect her and her daughter from the threat this man posed.

Anne took a tentative step closer. “Mama, that’s the man I dreamed about. The one that came right before the monster.”

A cold, heavy dread slithered down Jordan’s spine. Her daughter’s dreams had been getting progressively worse for weeks now, but Jordan thought they’d been making progress. “No, it’s not. That’s just your imagination playing a dirty trick on you.”

“No. That’s him. I’m sure that’s him. He’s even got the same messy hair.”

Jordan stepped to the left to block Anne’s line of sight. “Just go upstairs and get me that big roll of tape out of the toolbox. We’ll talk about this later.”

The pounding of little feet told Jordan her daughter had done as she asked.

She kicked the gun out of reach and poked the man’s leg with the toe of her shoe. He didn’t move. He didn’t make a sound. Encouraged by his stillness, she moved closer and poked him in the ribs.

Nothing. He was out cold. Or doing one heck of an acting job.

Anne returned with the duct tape. “Who is he, Mama?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why’d he have a gun?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“What are we gonna do with him?”

Jordan let out a sigh that shook with nerves. “I’m going to tie him up so he can’t get away, then call the police.”

“I’ll call. I know the number.”

Of course she did. Jordan had made sure Anne knew how to stay safe. Even though they lived in a small town with nearly no crime, that didn’t mean things couldn’t go wrong.

The man bleeding on her floor was proof of that.

Jordan prayed the man wasn’t acting. She prayed even harder that his appearance wouldn’t set Anne back in dealing with her nightmares.

She rolled the man onto his stomach and went to work taping him up nice and tight. He was heavy, and his limbs were thick with muscle, but she was still riding that adrenaline high and managed to get him trussed up, taped from wrists to elbows and ankles to knees.

He wasn’t going anywhere unless she let him.

Now that it was safe, Jordan pressed her finger to the side of his neck, feeling for a pulse. His beat strong and steady, and she let out a small sigh of relief. She hadn’t killed him.

Whether or not he deserved it, she didn’t like the idea of being the executioner any more than she liked the idea of having a dead man lying in her coffee shop.

Jordan heard her daughter tell the sheriff’s department what had happened. Her high, sweet voice sounded odd describing something as grim as facing off against an armed intruder.

“Mama, Cindy says she needs to talk to you.”

Jordan picked up the gun with two fingers, as though it were covered in acid, and set it on the counter. She took the phone from Anne.

“Hey, Cindy.”

Cindy was the dispatcher at the sheriff’s station, and they’d gone to high school together. Her voice was rough from years of smoking, but she’d always been calm in the midst of chaos, even during the days of high school drama. “I heard you caught yourself a robber.”

Something about the way the man had acted made Jordan wonder if that was what he’d been up to, but there’d be time to figure that out later. “Guess so. When can you send someone to come get him? I whacked him on the head pretty hard.”

“The roads are a mess. We’ve got several injury accidents and no staff to spare. If you’re not in danger, it’s going to have to wait until we get things back under control.”

“We’re fine, but he may not be.”

“Is he breathing?”

“Yeah.”

“That’ll have to be good enough. Call me if anything changes. I’ll send someone as soon as possible, okay?”

“Sure. I’ll be here.”

Jordan hung up and saw Anne inching closer to the unconscious man, leaning forward as far as she could without falling over. “Stop right there, nosy. You go upstairs and keep yourself out of trouble while I wait for the police.”

“I’m sure that’s the man from my dreams.”

“And I’m sure he’s not. Go on upstairs, now.”

“Can I go online?”

“Sure. You know the rules.”

Anne nodded and pounded up the stairs, sounding as though she weighed as much as a grown man.

Jordan sat at a nearby table to watch her captive, sipping the hot chocolate she’d made for him. Her hands were still shaking, but at least she’d gotten through the worst of this ordeal.

Anne was safe, and that’s what really mattered.

The gunman needed a shave and a haircut. Everything about him screamed bachelor, from his wrinkled shirt to his bad-boy leather jacket to his overworn boots. Still, there was something about him that intrigued her. Maybe that’s what Anne felt that made her think she’d dreamed about him.

He was definitely dreamy in a your-mama-warned-you kind of way. Six-feet-and-change worth of walking trouble.

His eyes cracked open and he sucked in a hissing breath.

“Does your head hurt?” she asked him.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

He struggled to sit up, but with his hands trapped behind him, he had no leverage.

“I wouldn’t bother,” said Jordan. “You’re tied up way too tight to move.”

“Guess so.”

“Who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” said the man.

“If it doesn’t matter, then tell me your name.”

“Ryder Ward.”

“Want to tell me why you’re here?” she asked.

“Not particularly. What time is it?”

“Why? Got somewhere to be?”

“Anywhere but here if it’s nightfall.”

Jordan looked outside at the falling snow. She couldn’t tell if the streetlights were on or not, but there was enough of a glow outside to know it wasn’t full dark. “Not quite.”

“We don’t have much time, lady,” he said.

“The name’s Jordan, not lady, and we have all the time in the world until the police show up. Just sit tight and I won’t have to knock you out again.”

He looked up at her, his dark eyes haunted by something she could only imagine. “I know what this looks like, but I swear to you I never wanted to hurt you. Either of you.”

“You have a funny way of showing it. Pointing a gun at someone usually indicates an intention to harm them.”

He sighed. Incredibly, his body twisted and he managed to sit up. Sweat had broken out along his hairline at the effort, but it was more than she’d thought he could manage.

Maybe she hadn’t tied him up tight enough.

“Your daughter. She’s special.”

Anger spiked through her veins, making her voice come out in a growl. “Never speak of her again, or I’ll be mopping what’s left of you off my floor for a week.”

He simply lifted an eyebrow at her threat, ignoring it. “She has bad dreams. Nightmares.”

Jordan hid her surprise that he knew about the dreams. “All kids do.”

“Not like this. Hers are getting more frequent. She sees huge, writhing creatures that want to eat her. She thinks they’re real.”

How could he know that? Only a handful of people were aware of Anne’s bizarre dreams.

“She’s right,” said Ryder, his voice quiet with regret. “Those creatures are real, and they do want to eat her.”

“Shut up,” barked Jordan. “You don’t know anything about us.”

His shoulders fell in defeat. “I wish that were true. I wish I’d never met you or your daughter. I wish I was just a normal guy and that she was just a normal kid, but neither one of us is going to get their wish.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that our time is up. The creatures from her dreams are called Terraphages. Certain people can call them from wherever it is they live and let them into our world. Those people are called Beacons, and your daughter is one. The fact that I knew where to find her means there’s a Terraphage on the way right now.”

Mama, that’s the man I dreamed about. The one that came right before the monster.

“What a load of crap.” Jordan’s voice didn’t hold nearly as much disbelief as she would have liked.

“You know I’m right. I can see it in your eyes. If I wasn’t right, then how would I know about the dreams? How would I know they’re happening more often?”

Jordan had no answers.

“The Terraphage is coming for her tonight. The only way to stop it from breaking through into our world is to kill her. That’s why I was here.”

“To kill my daughter.” Just saying the words made Jordan’s stomach clench in sickening anger. How dare he even imagine such a thing? She should kill him now. Tell the police it was self-defense. If he lived, he might try to hurt some other child.

Jordan looked toward the weapon lying on the counter and back at the man. Could she do it? Could she really pull the trigger now that he was a threat?

His gaze skittered away until he was staring down at his boots. “I didn’t know she was a kid. It’s almost always an old man.”

As if that excused murder. “And now that you know?”

He let out a defeated sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t kill her, so the Terraphage will be here soon to do the job. I’ve failed, and now this whole town will be dead before sunrise.”

“Does that include you?”

“Yeah. It does.”

It was the bleak acceptance in his tone that made her believe him. The resignation. “You really believe this is true, don’t you?”

“Look, lady, I didn’t ask for this job. I don’t want it. I hate killing people, but it’s better than the alternative—letting Earth be overrun by these things whenever they get hungry. I’m just glad my part of this mess is over now. Let someone else worry about it for a change. I’m done.”

“If what you’re saying is true, and something terrible is coming here tonight, then why not kill it instead?”

“Because there’s no way to kill it. Others have died trying. The Terraphage is unstoppable.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“My grandfather did.”

“And?”

“And there wasn’t enough left of him to bury. Just mangled pieces of his armor covered in blood. Nearly two hundred people died before the sun came up and forced the Terraphage back where it came from.”

“If that’s true, then why didn’t any of us hear about it? That kind of thing makes news.”

He shook his head. “It was years ago. Local authorities chalked it up as a tornado from a storm that came out of nowhere. They kept thinking that eventually they’d find the remaining bits of folks spread out across Oklahoma, but they never did. The Terraphage ate them. It gorged itself on human flesh, wrecked the town, and is going to do so again tonight.”

Jordan could almost picture her beloved town torn to ribbons, her friends broken and bleeding. She couldn’t let that happen. Especially not to Anne.

“How do we stop it?” she asked.

“Weren’t you listening? We don’t. We just pray that we’re among the first to go.”

“So, what? You’re just giving up?”

His wide shoulders lifted in a tight shrug. “Looks like. Besides, if I live, I’ll just have to go back to killing other innocents. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime, and there’s no retirement option for this line of work.”

“I should take Anne and run. Even as dangerous as the roads are, they can’t be as bad as whatever’s coming.”

“You can run. Anne can’t. Wherever she goes is where the thing will show up. She’s the one drawing it here.”

Jordan refused to believe that. She refused to give up and let some beast eat her daughter. “There has to be something we can do.”

His dark eyebrows twitched in irritation. “I was trying to think of an idea when you bashed me over the head.”

“I’m not sorry I did it.”

“Gee. Really?” He rolled his eyes. “I suppose we could wait until the last minute. As soon as the thing shows up, you two can run and I’ll hold it off for as long as I can. The town will still be destroyed, but you two might make it.”

“How can you say that so casually? You’re talking about the possible death of hundreds of people, yourself included.”

He gave a negligent shrug. “Wrong place, wrong time. Life sucks.”

“You’re serious. You’re going to stay behind and fight this supposedly unstoppable thing.”

“Unless you’ve got some better ideas.”

Beneath them, the ground began to shudder. The mug of hot chocolate shimmied to the edge of the table and toppled over, shattering on impact.

The man’s eyes widened. “Time’s up. It’s coming. Cut me loose.”

Jordan grabbed the back of a chair to steady herself. “How did you do that? How did you make the floor shake?”

“I didn’t. This isn’t a trick.”

“It has to be.”

“So, you think I found some way to rig your building to shake without you knowing it in order to convince you to let me go because I knew before I walked in here that you were going to manage to tie me up? Is that more believable than monsters?”

He had a point. He couldn’t have known he’d end up trapped unless he was psychic or had a time machine—neither of which seemed any more plausible than monsters.

“I’m not lying to you,” he said. “How could I know about your girl’s dreams unless I’ve been through this before?”

“You could have broken into her therapist’s office and stolen the records.”

He snorted in disgust. “Why? Why the hell would I do that?”

“I don’t know. None of this makes any sense.”

The floor trembled again, the motion swelling like the crest of a wave rising from the ocean. Chairs toppled. Dishes rattled on their shelves.

“We’re out of time,” said the man, his voice tight with urgency.

Jordan didn’t want to believe him. She wanted to wait until the police showed up and helped her straighten out this mess. But he was growing more desperate, struggling to stand even though she knew he’d simply fall over again. His powerful body strained to move, making a vein on the side of his head pop out.

“Please,” he said, looking right at her, hiding nothing. “Let me try to help. It probably won’t make a difference, but at least I won’t die lying down.”

Whatever was going on, he believed what he was saying. Of course, that could simply mean he was insane.

Beneath her feet the floorboards trembled, cracking as they moved. A large bulge rose up near the stairway as if something below were trying to push its way up through the floor.

Until this moment, Jordan had hoped that all of this was some kind of sick joke. But standing here, watching the floor pulse as if alive, she knew that had been wishful thinking. Something was trying to break through.

She grabbed a pair of scissors from behind the counter and sliced through the duct tape in a matter of seconds, praying she wouldn’t regret freeing him.

He ripped the tape from his sleeves, destroying the leather. “Where’s your car?”

“In the back alley.”

“The tiny POS covered in snow?”

“Yeah.”

“Not going to cut it.” His hands were free, and he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “I’ll start my truck for you and pull it up close to the door. It’ll get you where you need to go in this snow and do so in a hurry.”

Jordan didn’t want to leave this man behind to die, but she’d do so in a heartbeat if it saved her baby. “Thanks.”

“Good luck, Jordan. You’re going to need it.”

She sprinted for the stairs, leaping over the protruding bulge, yelling for Anne to grab her coat.

The floor near the stairway had settled again, but it wouldn’t stay that way long. Ryder didn’t know how long it would take the Terraphage to break through into this world, but he knew for a fact that he wanted to be armed by the time it did.

His Glock was on the counter, but he didn’t think that 9 mm rounds were going to do anything more than piss the thing off. He needed more firepower—the kind he kept stashed in the back of his truck, just in case.

Only seconds had passed, but the woman already had her daughter in tow, heading down the stairs.

“Stay there,” he ordered them. “You can’t leave until the last second, or it’ll just come in wherever you are.”

“Mama, I don’t want to see it,” said the girl. “I see it when I sleep. I don’t want to see it when I’m awake, too.”

The fear in her voice tore at Ryder’s heart. He’d never once felt sympathy the way he did for the tiny moppet. He wasn’t sure what to do to make her feel better, but he knew he had to try something. “Close your eyes, honey. I won’t let it get you.”

The woman hugged her daughter closer. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know. Never done this before. I need to get some guns out of my truck. I don’t know how much good they’ll do, but it’s the only chance we’ve got.”

“Don’t be long.”

He wasn’t. It took him less than a minute to start the truck, move it close to the door, and gather his supplies. The metal box was too heavy to lift, so he dragged it over the ground, plowing away the snow as he went. Now the girls had a nice clear path to the truck, at least until the driving snow filled it in again. At the rate it was falling, that wouldn’t be long, but he didn’t think that was going to be a problem. The Terraphage would show up at any moment.

He pushed through the door. Snow billowed into the room, driven by the wind. Ryder shoved the door closed to keep out the chill and to keep Jordan from leaving until it was time. He really didn’t want the Terraphage to eat his truck.

“The highway heading west was a parking lot when I came into town,” he said. “Don’t go that way.”

“South?”

“As good a guess as any.”

“I’ve got family down that way. They’ll take us in.”

The floor trembled, pulsing with a throbbing energy that resonated in time with that coming from the little girl.

Ryder glanced at her, then back at her mother. He lowered his voice, hoping the girl wasn’t listening too closely. “Unless I kill it—which isn’t likely—I don’t know what will happen. I don’t know if it will come for her again tomorrow night.”

“Then you’d better kill it, Ryder. We’re counting on you.”

No pressure.

A deep groaning sound rose from the ground beneath the coffeehouse. The little girl crawled up her mother’s body, clinging to her like a monkey. “It’s coming, Mama!”

“It’s going to be okay, baby. This man has come here to kill it.”

Anne looked at him, her blue eyes brimming with tears and her pointed chin wobbling. “Really?”

“Really,” lied Ryder. “Listen to your mom and this will all be over soon.” One way or another.

The floorboards beneath his boots shuddered and bulged, cracking into jagged splinters. Ryder jumped back and flung open the metal box full of weapons and ammunition.

He loaded his .45, a rifle, and a shotgun, set the rifle on the counter, holstered the .45 under his arm, shoved his pockets full of ammo, and aimed the shotgun at the bulge in the floor. “First glimpse you get of the thing, run. Got it?”

Jordan gave a shaky nod and stepped toward the door.

The bulge in the floor moved, sliding toward Jordan like a wave toward the beach.

“Stop!” yelled Ryder, but it was too late. She’d moved too far, and now the Beacon was drawing the Terraphage toward their exit, blocking the way.

The floor beneath Jordan’s feet bowed, tossing her back into the room, away from the back door. She hit the wall, taking the brunt of the blow on one shoulder as she shielded her daughter’s body.

Shards of wood filled the air and showered down on top of them. Ryder felt the sting of cuts across his face but ignored them. A giant black hole opened up in the floor, and a heartbeat later, the pulsing mass of the Terraphage appeared in the opening.

It was huge, filling one corner of the room. Oily, dark green skin hung on its jagged frame, leaving visible the oddly jointed bone structure beneath. Six eyes glowed flame orange from deep within its fleshy head, pulsing in time with the Beacon’s heart. Saliva poured from its jaws, and inside its mouth—which was wide enough to swallow a small car whole—were hundreds of tiny, serrated teeth angled back toward its throat.

Ryder had heard the stories. He’d grown up with tales of the Terraphage haunting his dreams, but he’d never actually seen one before. He stood there, staring in shock, his mind unwilling or unable to accept what he saw. Fear slithered over his skin until he was shaking. A cold sweat that stank of terror and defeat slid down his ribs.

Now he knew why the warnings he’d heard all his life had been so dire, why he’d been taught to show no mercy—to kill the Beacon before it was too late. The thing that stood before him could not be stopped. It was power incarnate, hunger made manifest. There was nothing a puny human like him could hope to do to win.

“Mama, no,” came the little girl’s frightened cry.

“Don’t look, Anne. Just don’t look,” said Jordan, her voice a whisper of terror.

As if that would help. They were all going to die now. He knew that. Part of him wanted to fling himself at the thing and get it over with, but the rest of him fought that idea, thrashing in defiance at the notion that he’d give up now. He’d allowed this thing to come here. It was his duty to at least try to stop it.

If he could save one little girl, at least his death would have some meaning. No one else would remember him or care that he was gone, but Anne might. If she made it out alive.

The Terraphage lumbered forward toward Anne. The girl screamed. Jordan clutched her daughter and tried to push herself to her feet with one arm. Ryder leveled his Mossberg and fired the first slug.

A deafening boom blasted the room, but the monster didn’t even rock back. It did, however, turn its focus onto Ryder, which was fine with him. If he got it away from the door, Jordan had a small chance of getting her daughter out of here alive.

“That’s right, you ugly fuck,” he growled as he took aim at the thing’s eyes. “Come and get me.”

Ryder fired again. And again. The Terraphage roared in anger, and a tentacle as thick as Ryder’s leg shot out toward him.

He flung himself back to avoid it, landing hard on one of the small tables. It collapsed under his weight and he went down just as the razor-sharp tip of that tentacle sliced at him. His head slammed into the floor hard enough to put a light show on display behind his eyelids. He shook it off and instinctively rolled to the side. The muzzle of the shotgun burned his cheek as it rolled with him, but he barely felt it.

As dizzy as he was now, he didn’t dare stop fighting the thing long enough for it to refocus its attention on the Beacon.

He pushed to his feet, seeing two of the monsters lumbering toward him, hunched over to clear the high ceilings. His vision was fuzzy but clearing fast. Just not fast enough. The double vision faded and the two beasts coalesced back into one again just as it swiped one huge clawed paw toward Ryder’s head.

He ducked as he brought up the barrel of the shotgun to shield himself from the blow. The weapon was ripped from his hands. It slammed into the wall and clattered to the floor, well out of reach.

All he had left was the rifle across the room on the counter and the handgun in his shoulder holster. If the shotgun slug didn’t break that thing’s hide, the .45 might not even make a dent. He needed to get to the rifle. Fast.

Ryder lunged to take cover under a booth table. He was at the front of the building now, hoping he’d drawn the Terraphage far enough away from the back door.

“Run, baby!” he heard Jordan yell.

Relief sang through his veins. He’d saved the little girl—given her the means to escape.

Just then the Terraphage spun around as if sensing their escape. It let out a high-pitched, hissing howl as it leapt toward the Beacon.

Anne screamed, her terrified voice rising to a deafening pitch that clawed at Ryder’s ears. Jordan scooped up her daughter and huddled in the corner, trying to shield the child with her body.

It wouldn’t do any good. The Terraphage would gobble them up together, swallowing them whole.

Hell, no. He was not going to watch this happen.

Ryder shot out from under the table, grabbed one of the chairs, and hurled it at the Terraphage’s back. It roared in anger, swinging its lumbering body around as that razor-tipped tentacle shot out at his head.

He lifted another chair and batted it away. The tentacle cut through the wooden seat, leaving the wood singed and smoking at the edge.

Holy shit!

Ryder had always refused to learn to fight in his grandfather’s inherited plate mail, and at this moment, he wanted to kick his own ass for not listening. No way was his leather jacket going to stop that weapon from slicing him down to the bone. If it managed to hit something vital, game over.

Behind the monster, Jordan made a run for the kitchen. He prayed there was another way out, and if so, he was going to need to hold the doorway so they had time to get away.

With that thought in mind, Ryder flung the remains of the chair at the Terraphage’s orange eyes and made a break for the kitchen. He slid through the opening and slammed the door shut behind him. It was made of wood, nice and solid, but after what he’d seen that thing do to the chair seat, he was convinced it wouldn’t hold long.

A stainless-steel shelf stocked with supplies sat next to the door. Ryder grabbed the top shelf and toppled it over in front of the door.

“What are you doing?” asked Jordan. She was breathless, and panic raised her voice an octave.

“Giving you time to escape.”

“There’s no way out of here.”

The door shuddered under the Terraphage’s first attack.

“Then why the hell did you run in here?” he demanded. He needed more barriers to pile in front of the doorway. Something—anything to put in the path of that thing.

“I thought we’d be safe in here. It would give you time to kill it.”

“Listen, lady. There is no killing it. I tried to tell you that before. You run or you die.” He grabbed a sack of flour and piled it onto the toppled shelving. “Is there a window or anything you can use to get out?”

“No.”

“Then you’d better start tearing a hole through the wall.”

“It’s brick.”

“Hope you’ve got some dynamite, then, or we’re all dead.”

Anne whimpered, making Ryder feel like shit for scaring her more. She already knew she was going to die. He didn’t need to make it worse by scaring her more.

Ryder pushed a giant, freestanding mixer across the floor, ripping the cord from the wall. He shoved it onto the sloppy pile, knowing even as he did it that the effort was futile.

Jordan cradled her daughter. Her face was pale as death. “Closest thing I have is a propane tank I use on the grill in the summer.”

Ryder froze as the beginnings of a plan slithered into his mind. “Where is it?”

“Pantry.” She pointed toward an open doorway.

He ran to the pantry, found the tank. He couldn’t tell if it was completely full, but it was their best shot.

“Get in the pantry and stay there,” he ordered.

“What are you going to do?”

“Try to drive it back to where it came from.” Or at least send it off to find someone else to eat who was less trouble.

“What can I do to help?”

“Pray for a miracle.”

Jordan hugged her daughter’s trembling body. They were both huddled in the back corner of the pantry, as far away from that abomination as they could get. They couldn’t see what was happening, which somehow made things more frightening. If Ryder failed, they’d have no clue the monster was coming for them until it was too late.

“It’s gonna eat us,” whispered Anne. “Just like in my dreams.”

“No, baby. Ryder’s going to kill it and we’re all going to walk away.” The lie didn’t sound convincing, even to Jordan’s own ears.

“I don’t want to die, Mama.”

“You’re not going to die.”

A rumbling roar bellowed out from the monster, shaking the canned goods on the wooden shelves. Anne flinched and tightened her hold around Jordan’s waist.

Ryder shouted a violent curse that rang with pain. A gunshot went off. The monster hissed and hit a wall hard enough to topple some of the dry goods from their shelves. A can of green beans rolled toward Jordan’s toes.

Anne was right. They weren’t going to make it out of here alive, not if Jordan didn’t help him.

“Stay right here, baby. I’m going to help Ryder kill it and I’ll be right back.”

“No, Mama. Don’t go.”

Jordan cradled her daughter’s precious face in her hands. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, and her blue eyes pleaded for Jordan to stay. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Anne shook her head. “You don’t know. You haven’t seen what it can do.”

“Those were just dreams. You’ll see when this is all over that the dreams weren’t real.”

“The monster showed up like in my dreams. Ryder showed up like in my dreams. We’re gonna die like in my dreams, too.”

“No. I’m not going to let that happen. You stay here. Stay quiet. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

Jordan kissed her forehead, maybe for the last time. Tears stung her eyes as she soaked in her daughter’s face. She didn’t want to leave her, but she’d do whatever it took to even the odds against that thing.

“Love you, baby.”

“Love you, too,” said Anne, her voice weak with fear and tears.

Before Jordan could change her mind, she turned and left.

The shelving in front of the kitchen door was a mangled mass of metal. The bag of flour had burst open, covering everything in a fine layer. Blood splattered the floor, mixing grotesquely with the white powder.

The fight had moved back into the main room of the coffeehouse. She could hear the hissing of the monster and Ryder’s acidic curses coming from the next room.

Jordan hurried over the floor, careful not to slip in the flour. She grabbed the knife caddy on her way out, thinking she could hurl them at the beast if nothing else. She wasn’t a fighter, but she’d do whatever it took to protect her baby girl.

As she cleared the doorway, she saw Ryder dodge a massive tentacle that shot out from the monster’s stomach. The tip of it gleamed red with his blood, as did the claws on one of the beast’s giant paws.

Ryder had been injured. He was a strong, fast, capable man. What chance did she have against something as huge and powerful as this?

A panicked gale of laughter rose up in her chest. She fought it down, not wanting to give away her presence. Maybe if it didn’t know she was here, she could get in a lucky shot.

Jordan had never thrown a knife before, but she’d seen it done on TV. She grabbed the biggest one she had by the blade and flung it end over end toward one of the monster’s eyes.

The handle hit just to the left of where she aimed, bouncing off harmlessly. She hadn’t managed to hurt it, but she had managed to get the thing’s attention.

Great.

The fiery light in its eyes flared, trapping her gaze. The greasy weight of fear descended on her, pinning her in place. Like a deer frozen in headlights, she was unable to move. She couldn’t even breathe. An alien presence slithered into her thoughts, burrowed into her brain like a worm. The world stopped. Time fell away. She heard a hissing whisper buzzing in her ears, telling her hope was futile. Death was easier. All she had to do was hold still and it would all be over. Let it eat her, just as Anne had said.

Poor, sweet Anne. Her baby was going to have to grow up without a mother. If she was lucky enough to grow up at all.

The monster lumbered toward her, growing larger by the second. Jordan tried to close her eyes. She didn’t want to see it happen, but she couldn’t look away. The monster wouldn’t let her. It held her gaze, whispering to her of death and peace.

How could there be any peace without Anne? Who was going to take care of her? She couldn’t stand here and let this thing eat her. She had to fight.

The fiery light in the monster’s eyes flared brighter, and a searing pain exploded between Jordan’s temples. The hissing inside her ears grew louder. Her knees locked. Her body shook under the strain of trying to break free from the monster’s hold.

It was close now—close enough to touch. It opened its jaws, and Jordan could feel its satisfaction slithering inside her mind. It knew it had won.

Jordan put the image of her baby’s face in her mind and clung to that. Her mind filled with memories of Anne’s first laugh, her first step, her first day of school, when she seemed far too little to be away for so long. She’d been so brave that day, wiping away Jordan’s tears and telling her she was a big girl now. She’d come home from school devastated that she hadn’t learned to read that day, and it had been Jordan’s turn to wipe away the tears.

So many happy memories of going to the zoo or watching cheesy movies and making up their own dialogue. Jordan was going to miss so much of Anne’s life, but she’d take her baby’s sweet smile with her and hold it close, always.

A heavy weight slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. Shock ripped her eyes open, despite her desire not to witness her gruesome death. Instead of the monster, it was Ryder who was on top of her. He’d knocked her out of its path and was now shielding her with his body.

Now that she was no longer looking into the monster’s eyes, the hissing whisper was gone from her mind and she was back behind the wheel of her own body. She blinked up at Ryder, trying to shed the lethargy in her limbs and the suicidal haze in her mind. She wasn’t sure what had just happened—how it had turned her into a person she didn’t recognize—but she knew she wasn’t going to let it happen again. No more looking into the monster’s eyes.

“Get back in the damn pantry,” growled Ryder, then he rolled over and started firing at the thing. It roared in pain and reared back. The tentacle flapped in the air as if trying to swat away the bullets.

“I’m trying to help.”

He pushed to his feet, and she could see blood soaking the front of his shirt. Three parallel cuts had torn it to shreds, as well as scoring his skin beneath. “You’re just in the way.”

“Tell me what I can do to kill it.”

“Nothing. We’re screwed.”

“I’m not letting it eat my baby. We need a plan.”

He fired again. The bullets weren’t breaking the skin, but they were keeping the thing pinned against the far wall as it batted at them like mosquitoes. “I had one, but it’s not working.”

“What was it?”

“Get it to eat the propane tank. Shoot the tank and make it explode in the thing’s mouth.”

“Do you think that would work?”

“Maybe. But it knows the tank’s not food, so it’s not going for it.”

It leaned forward from the wall, only to flinch back when Ryder’s gun fired again. Jordan didn’t know how many bullets he had in that gun, but they weren’t going to last long.

The monster ate people. Maybe if the tank smelled like people, it would eat it. At this point, anything was worth a shot.

Jordan took one of the small knives from the caddy and scored a line on her forearm. Blood welled up from the cut.

“What the fuck are you doing?” demanded Ryder.

She smeared her blood over the tank, painting it a grotesque red. “Up here we do a lot of fishing. You have to put scent on your bait to get the fish to bite.”

The Terraphage lumbered closer. Ryder fired again, only this time it didn’t back away. “Get back. I’ll see if it works.”

Jordan scurried back behind the counter. She grabbed a towel and tied it over the wound to slow the bleeding. She couldn’t see what was going on, but she could hear the gunshots and Ryder’s vile curses rising up every few seconds.

At least he was still alive to curse.

She pushed herself to her feet, hoping to take a peek, and a few feet away spied Ryder’s rifle lying on a pile of spilled coffee beans.

Jordan snatched it up. She was no marksman, but she knew the basics. Point and shoot. Just like a camera.

Ryder tossed the bloody tank at the monster. A snakelike tongue shot out and grabbed it, drawing it into the thing’s mouth.

Victory coursed through her. It had worked. The monster had taken the bait.

“Die, fucker,” growled Ryder as he fired his handgun at the tank.

The bullet pinged off harmlessly, not even denting it. There was no explosion, not even any flames.

Their plan had failed.

They were all going to die.

Shit! Now what was he going to do? That propane tank was supposed to explode like in the movies. Hell, if Hollywood was to be believed, all he should have had to do was throw a rock at the thing to get it to burst into flames.

But no. He couldn’t get that lucky.

The bloody tank rolled around in the Terraphage’s mouth as if it were sucking on a piece of candy. Its blistered tongue flickered over it, cleaning away every trace of blood. As distracted as it was by its treat, it wouldn’t be that way long.

It would either spit out the tank or swallow it, rendering it invulnerable inside the belly of the beast. Either way, Ryder was still screwed.

A huge boom exploded behind him. He turned around to see Jordan wielding the rifle.

“I can’t get a clear shot,” she shouted.

Most of the blood was gone. They had only a few seconds left. “Toss it here.”

She did. Ryder caught it and charged the Terraphage. The pale tank was barely visible now. It was going down the thing’s throat. He had time for only one shot. He stopped, aimed, and fired.

And missed.

The bullet tore into the soft pallet of the Terraphage’s mouth. It roared in pain. As its mouth opened, the tank fell to the floor, landing in a puddle of saliva.

His plan had failed. Anne was going to die despite his best efforts.

“Get out!” he yelled over his shoulder. “I’ll try to keep it distracted.”

Jordan didn’t ask questions. She sprinted for the kitchen.

Ryder reloaded the rifle, grabbed the propane tank, and propelled himself into the Terraphage’s open jaws.

Jordan raced back through the room with Anne just in time to see Ryder dive into the monster’s mouth. She had no idea what he was doing, but there wasn’t time to stop and figure it out.

All she cared about was that the door was clear, Anne was firmly in her arms, and they were getting the hell out of here.

She hurried outside, barely feeling the cold. She pushed Anne through the open door of the truck, scurried up onto the wet seat, and gunned the engine. It purred like a cat as she slid over the streets, heading out of town as fast as the tires could carry them.

Ryder was dead. All she could do now was make his sacrifice mean something by getting her baby out alive.

The Terraphage’s jaws clamped down hard, crushing Ryder. Something in his leg cracked and pain screamed up his spine, setting his brain on fire. For several precious seconds, all he could do was let the pain wash over him, consume him. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe, which was likely a blessing. The stench of decaying meat clinging between the thing’s teeth was overwhelming.

Finally, he pulled himself together enough to remember his task. He pointed the barrel of the rifle at the propane tank and fired.

He braced himself for the explosion, but none came.

The pressure around him changed, undulating as the Terraphage began to swallow him whole. He tried to hold on to the tank, but it was ripped from his fingers as it slid down the Terraphage’s throat first.

A hissing noise filled his ears. A sulfurous, rotting smell filled his nose. Gas. Either he’d managed to rupture the tank or the Terraphage’s powerful jaws had.

The dark, hot stench grew until Ryder was dizzy from holding his breath. When he could no longer stand it, he tried to pull in some air, only to find that his nose and mouth had been mashed against the Terraphage’s flesh, cutting off any available oxygen. His shoulder and hip joints popped and burned as the pressure around his body increased. Hot, wet muscles shoved him back toward its throat. He tried to fight it, but he was no match for this kind of power. He was along for the ride. The best he could hope for now was to get one quick shot off to ignite the gas in the Terraphage’s belly, killing himself so he didn’t have to burn to death in its stomach acid.

Lights winked behind his eyelids from lack of oxygen. He was running out of time fast. His hand still gripped the rifle. His arm was going numb, and he had no hope of moving it within the muscular confines of the Terraphage’s mouth, but he thought he could move his finger enough to pull the trigger. All he had to do was wait until he was on his way down its gullet before he fired. Anything sooner and the muzzle flash wouldn’t ignite the gas.

Dozens of serrated teeth dug into his leg. Hot, sharp pain streaked up his spine. He felt something crack more than he heard it, and another wave of agony washed over him. An involuntary scream exploded inside him, but he couldn’t pull in enough breath to let it out. The silent scream coursed through his chest, sapping him of what little strength remained.

Dizziness slid over him, threatening to steal his consciousness. His muscles grew weak and began to tremble from lack of oxygen. He wasn’t going to last much longer. He had to do this now.

As the Terraphage swallowed him, his arms slid down its throat first. He tried to pull the trigger, but it was coated with saliva and who knew what else. His finger slipped off. He tried again.

Numbness vibrated through him. Blackness closed down around him until even the twinkling stars in his vision disappeared. His strength faded, making even the small movement of one finger difficult.

Ryder gritted his teeth and focused all his concentration on that one little digit. His finger twitched. The rifle bucked in his grip.

He didn’t hear the explosion, but he felt it. Pressure slammed into him like a giant fist. The heat seared his hands and face. He became weightless for a brief instant before he hit something hard. Pain engulfed him, and he could no longer fight its pull. He let go and let the numbing blackness swallow him whole.

Ryder woke up to the feel of a little hand squeezing his. He cracked one eye open and hissed at the brightness of the light surrounding him.

“He’s awake, Mama.”

Anne. That was Anne talking. He’d know that sweet voice anywhere.

“Careful, honey. Don’t hurt him,” said Jordan.

As if that were possible. He already hurt about as much as a body could. Every joint ached, and the pain in his leg was enough to tell him that it was either broken or missing completely. He wasn’t yet ready to see which.

He forced his eyes open and saw Anne’s pretty face beaming down at him. Her blue eyes were glowing with happiness. “You killed the monster,” she told him, smiling.

“I did?”

“Yeah. Big-time. You’re a hero.”

Ryder nearly snorted. Only the thought of how it would make his ribs ache held him back. “You think so, huh?”

“Yep. You even killed the monster in my dreams. They’re all gone now.”

“That’s enough, Anne,” said Jordan. “Let him rest.”

Ryder squeezed her precious hand before letting her go.

He’d saved her. He’d killed the Terraphage. Not only that, but that low pulse of sound that had once beat in time with her heart was gone. Anne was no longer a Beacon. She was safe—a normal little girl with her whole life ahead of her.

Knowing he had played a part in that felt pretty damn good.

Jordan sat on the side of the bed, taking up the spot left open by Anne’s departure. Her fingers were soft but strong as they moved over his palm. “You’re going to be okay. Your leg is broken in two places and you have a ton of stitches and a few burns, but the doctors say you’ll survive.”

“That’s good to hear.” It would be even better once he got some pain medication, but that could wait for a few more minutes. He didn’t want to look weak in front of her, not when she was staring at him as though he’d handed her the world.

“You’re a hero,” she whispered. Tears shimmered in her blue eyes. “You saved my baby.”

The gratitude made him uncomfortable, so he tried to shrug it off. The pain in his joints stopped him from pulling off the whole nonchalant act. “No big deal.”

“It is to me. Thank you.”

Ryder swallowed down an awkward lump of emotion. “Sure. Whatever.”

“So, what now?”

Three months later, Ryder followed the call of the Beacon to a small, sandy Nevada town no one would really miss.

The low, nearly inaudible pulse of the Beacon’s heart thrummed nearby, coming from the town’s only grocery store. He wasn’t sure who the Beacon would be this time—man, woman, old, young—but it hardly mattered to him. Not anymore.

His grandfather’s dented plate mail rattled as he walked into the store. He knew he looked ridiculous, but that was okay by him. Lying in a hospital bed again wasn’t. This time, he’d come prepared to do battle. Another one of the Terraphages was going to die tonight. The rifle strapped to his back would help. The explosives would help even more.

There were ten grenades dangling from his waist, and he was going to need every one of them. And then some.

Shannon K. Butcher once spent a summer chasing tornadoes with the National Severe Storms Lab in Oklahoma on an undergraduate research project. A former engineer, she now writes full-time. She lives with her husband and their son. Vist her at www.ShannonKButcher.com .