Chapter Twenty Three

A dry wind blew over the remains of New York City; the breeze carried a terrible, sweltering heat upon it, like a blast of hot air from the mouth of a furnace. The sun cast an angry red glow over the western horizon, despite its having set some hours previously.

The remaining three horsemen picked amongst the ruins listlessly, waiting for their leader to return from whatever errand had called him away. The Beast had wandered off on its own some time ago, and had searched the rubble for hours, growing increasingly frantic all the while; now he sat tense and eager, wicked grins spreading across each of his terrible faces. He'd finally found survivors.

They were a pathetic lot: wild-eyed and battle-scarred. They'd made a brief attempt to fight the Beast off, but had quickly been driven back by the creature's savage enthusiasm. He'd managed to corner them in the remains of a ruined alley, and now they huddled together pitifully, staring in terror upon their end.

The Beast grinned down at them, shivering with dreadful anticipation, his muscles already tensing, and then...

Dancing Bird watched grimly as Evans tended to Buck's bullet wound.

"Would you lay off?" Buck grumbled. "I told you, I'm fine."

"You've been shot," Evans reminded him testily.

Buck winced at Evans' clumsy attempts to administer first aid.

"I been shot nine times," Buck muttered. "Most of 'em a lot worse than this."

Evans shook his head.

"You're bleeding, for God's sake."

"Flesh wounds bleed," Buck insisted. "Seriously, I'm fine. Get off."

"I will not," Evans snapped. "Now stop fussing and let me have a look at it."

Buck begrudgingly relented; Evans stared at the wound for a moment, and then clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"It's sheer luck that the bullet didn't sever an artery," he sighed, "but it looks like you're going to be fine."

"That's what I said," Buck grumbled.

Evans didn't seem to notice; instead, he glanced across the clearing at Dancing Bird.

"I might have some gauze in my pack, if you wouldn't mind..."

The pained expression on Dancing Bird's face stopped Evans mid-sentence; the shaman looked as if he'd swallowed something that he didn't care for the taste of. A moment later, the shadows began to swirl around the three men, thickening into utter blackness as they did so. Evan's eyes bulged.

"What's all this?" he exclaimed.

Through the sudden clamor, Evans could barely make out the sound of Dancing Bird's voice. He thought that he sensed a slightly resentful note in the man's tone.

"It takes a man of great compassion," said the shaman, "to show sympathy to a man who deserves none."

Absolute darkness enveloped Evans; a moment later, he found himself blinking against eye-stinging desert sunlight.

...the Beast stumbled at the very moment of pouncing, startled by some unseen stimulus. The terrified survivors watched as the creature's collection of eyes boggled in unison; a moment later, they found themselves mirroring the creature's reaction.

What had been gargantuan heaps of rubble to either side of the group were now solid walls. The howling of the wind had disappeared, to be replaced by the clattering of wheels on paving stones. A few late-night foot passengers wandered idly by the mouth of the alley, seemingly oblivious to the disbelieving stares of those within.

The city appeared to have rebuilt itself, seemingly in an instant.

The more present-minded members of the group glanced frantically about themselves for any sign of the Beast, but the space that the monster had occupied was now conspicuously empty. No sign of the creature remained - save the tiniest echo of a despairing wail, even now fading away at the very edge of hearing.