Pale Face

An outcast loner survives the impossible.
How can he survive becoming the proof that no one can deny?

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Award-Winning Science Fiction Novella

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Honorable Mention: L. Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future Contest

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Hector glanced back toward his truck, lost in the distance and darkness, and wished he had not left his rifle sitting on the bench seat. The intrusive thought was as perplexing as when he chose not to bring it, but he had to continue. He did not know why, he just knew that he had no choice ... not anymore.

He lost track of time as he rode, as he usually did, sometimes riding until the sky lightened. So he was surprised when he reached the gravel road, clearly marked with a wooden sign, painted brown, declaring the presence of the Continental Divide in white lettering. He reined in and Spirit was more nervous: ears darting in various directions, snorting and shying one way then the other. Hector rested a calming hand on the side of the horse's neck as he spent long minutes scanning the sage brush, grass, dips in the land, focusing intently to keep from missing anything. After completing the circuit, he grunted and straightened, took out the canteen, and drank two swallows of warmish water. Hector capped the canteen, screwing on its plastic lid, then patted the horse's neck again, still staring out into the darkness. The strange electricity in the air had grown in intensity. It tickled at his spine, and seemed to penetrate into his gut, making his intestines contract and churn like he had stomach flu.

But there was nothing.

After another handful of minutes, he pulled on the reins, turning Spirit back the way they had come. "C'mon, Łįį'," he said. "Time to go home." He pulled at the reins, but Spirit refused to turn. He pulled again, more insistently, frowning at the horse's flattened ears —

The world went mad.

Not twenty yards away, the air exploded with light. Spirit reared and Hector barely kept himself in the saddle, clutching with his legs and dropping the canteen to catch at the saddle horn as he fought to get the horse under control. After the initial shock, reflexes born of a lifetime in the saddle took over. Hector relaxed his frame and resisted clamping down with his legs, because that tended to frighten a startled horse even more. Instead, he let his weight settle backward, bending his spine into a slouch, almost lifting his hips. He let his weight fall deeper into the saddle. At the same time, he pulled back on the reins to one side, bending Spirit's neck until his nose almost touched Hector's knee. The whole event took only seconds, then he realized that he was staring directly into blinding, white light. It shone out at him from a central point, so bright it was hot, actually burning his skin.

There was nothing more for him to see, then it raced at them.

Spirit's front hooves sliced the air again, pawing madly. It was such a powerful movement, coming so unexpectedly, that Hector had to catch the saddle horn, but with both hands this time. His back arched painfully as the horse's motion nearly threw him —

The light came straight at them.

Hector screamed in horror.

Spirit wailed.

Hector smelled the sharp pungence of urine as the horse lost control of his bladder.

Then it hit them.

Hector's every nerve exploded with fiery, excruciating pain.