Fossil Lake: An Anthology of the Aberrant Read Free Page B

through one of the underground emergency exits. We don’t want someone to capture a picture of her like this.”
    Troy sighed as he watched several of the nurses run off. It was another potential media nightmare. The woman hadn’t died, but it was just as bad. She would most likely never regain her sanity, just like the television star and politician who currently resided in a mental institution.
    They should probably count themselves lucky only three people had gone insane.
    Not everyone could handle the genius of Chef Baron LaVour. Not everyone could handle Eat Yourself.
    But, the couple had signed the waivers, so it didn’t really matter. Thank God for the legal system, Troy thought and then headed back to work.
     

THE VARMINT OF FOSSIL VALLEY
     
    Lewis Unknown
     
    Eugene Verner shifted in the saddle, pain flaring briefly in his old joints. Not for the first time did he regret hiring his services to the wagon train, but he’d been low on liquor money. ‘Sides, it was easy work compared to bounties or herding cattle at his age. Hell, the settlers even had a map to this new Eden of theirs. All he had to do was see them through a thousand miles of Indians, bad weather and the odd bandit gang.
    A task he had now completed, as his horse cleared the top of a rise and he gazed for the first time upon Fossil Lake.
    It took up a third of the valley, its deep blue waters looking cool and inviting. The reeds at the edge formed a pattern that seemed like a welcoming smile from a folksy old uncle, just itching to tell you a story and share some moonshine.
    So why did the sight of it send a cold shudder down Verner’s back?
    He was still staring at the lake when the lead wagon caught up to him. The driver, a big red-bearded man with a bald head and hands like ham-hocks, pulled his team to a halt and gazed out across the valley with admiration.
    As well he might. The gentle hills tapered to good flat land, tall grass perfect for grazing. It would make for fine fields once spring came. To the north was a stand of woods, amber and crimson leaves blowing in the breeze. There’d be ample timber for good sturdy homes, and game to hunt to help them get through the winter.
    “Beautiful place isn’t it, Mr Verner?” said the red-bearded man. “Just right for a good God-fearing community to take root.”
    Verner scratched his own beard, mostly grey. “It’s your community, Pastor Campbell, not mine. And I’ve told you before, it’s just Verner.”
    A friendly smile shone from his open, honest face. “Ah sorry, my friend, force of habit. Though I’ve told you, it’s only Pastor Campbell when I’m in church. You call me Hugh and I’ll call you Verner, deal?”
    Verner nodded, not bothering to fight the wry half-grin that was the closest he came to smiling. They’d had this same conversation a hundred times since setting out for the Montana Territory, and he expected they’d have it again.
    Campbell might be a man of God, but he wasn’t afraid of hard work, and was even willing to dish out a little tough love to get lost sheep out of the saloons and into church on a Sunday. More than a few such joints back in Chicago had come to the conclusion that it was cheaper stay closed until after the Sunday service rather than deal with the broken fixtures and furnishings after  Pastor Campbell came to collect his wayward parishioners.
    “Still we’re finally here, God be praised,” Campbell said. “Before we enter the valley proper I believe it would be only right to hold a prayer meeting in thanks to the Lord. You’re welcome to join us.”
    The prospect of yet another prayer meeting finally shook Verner’s attention from the lake. “I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he said. “Tell you what, you do that, and I’ll find us a spot to camp tonight.” He nudged his horse away before the other man could answer.
    Soon Campbell’s voice was booming out over the valley, thanking the Lord for protecting them on their journey and