Prologue: On the Horizon
Owning a bar in Alpine, Arizona was hard. Cathy Stern knew that better than anyone; she had been running the only one in town for as long as she could remember. Formerly a Mormon settlement, the town of Alpine and its residents had long rejected the need for any kind of bar. However, growing traffic and withering religious roots had led to a communal change of heart in the mid-20th century. Eager to start a venture, her great-grandfather had opened the Treetop Saloon, a small wooden establishment held together with rusty nails and entrepreneurial spirit. With time the salon grew into a bustling bar and diner, frequented by long-time residents and travelers on their way to the Arizona/New Mexico border.
"Micky's waiting on her beer, Jeff," Cathy barked at her employee as she balanced a full plate of food in each hand. With only 3 servers including herself, the Friday night rush was always a hassle. With a sigh, Cathy steadied the plate in her right hand and exited the kitchen. As she entered the main dining area, the sound of laughing, talking, and shouting brought a smile to her face. She rounded a row of bar stools and approached a line of tables, each one filled with boisterous patrons and local characters.
"Hey, Cathy!," one patron called as she set down the food she had been carrying. "Another round over here!"
"Gotcha Rick," she replied back, deftly dodging the flailing arm of a customer who had consumed one too many drinks. She made a beeline for the bar, but stopped abruptly as the bell hanging from the front door chimed.
Cathy sighed. The last thing she needed right now was another customer. Putting on a smile, she turned towards to greet her new patron.
"Welcome to the Treetop Bar and Grill! Why don't you find a place to . . . sit . . . ?"
The young boy in the doorway shrunk under her gaze, his face hiding under the hood of his frayed grey jacket. He shifted on one foot, one hand gripping the strap of his worn red backpack and the other buried in the pocket of what Cathy assumed used to be jeans. One leg had been torn off just above the knee, the other rolled up to be the same length.
Cathy tried to remember if she had ever seen the boy before. No, she would have remembered him. The kid seemed uncomfortable, almost nervous, as he lingered in the entrance of the bustling restaurant. Cathy guessed the boy was homeless, but where did he come from? Alpine was a small town; with less than 200 folks in town, it was easy to get to know everyone.
He probably got separated from his parents. It's pretty cold outside, he must have come in to warm up.
"Well hey there little guy," she greeted as she approached him with a smile. The child shrunk back into the doorway, and Cathy made an effort to appear casual. "What's going on?"
The boy raised his eyes to meet hers, and Cathy found herself momentarily lost in his strange reddish-brown gaze.
"Why don't you come in?" Cathy offered. "It's pretty chilly out there, but it's nice and toasty in here. Grab a seat." She gestured to an open booth by the window. "I'll get you a snack."
The boy stood silently, an unreadable expression plastered on his face as he looked over the inviting restauranteur. Finally, the kid padded over to the booth and removed his backpack. Placing it underneath the table, he slipped into the booth and removed his hood. He continued to eye her as she walked back to the kitchen.
"I've got Micky's beer," Jeff stated as he brushed past her on his way to the main dining room.
"Rick and his buddies want another round too," Cathy replied. "I'm cutting them off after this though. Lord knows how those boys are when they're shit-faced." The restauranteur peered her head into the kitchen. "Hey, get a burger going. And a Coke."
Ten minutes later, Cathy approached the booth where the silent child was sitting. Glued to the television over the bar, he didn't notice her until she set down the piping-hot hamburger and cold drink right in front of him.
"Here ya go buddy," she said with a smile. The boy's eyes fell from the television to the food, then to his host, then again to the food.
"Burger's not gonna hurt ya," Cathy assured. "Go ahead, dig in!" The boy eyed the meal warily for a few more seconds before picking it up and taking a small bite. Immediately, the child's widened, and a small smile crept broke through his clouded expression. Cathy chuckled as he took a larger, more eager bite, then another , then another. She watched silently as her young patron inhaled his food, pausing only to take sips of his drink.
"Good, huh?"
The boy emerged from his food and locked eyes with his host once more. He finished his bite before putting down the hamburger and shoving his hand into his pocket. Producing a beaten five-dollar bill, he offered it to her.
"Oh that's okay honey," Cathy said, shaking her head. "It's on the house."
The boy stood still for several moments before replacing the note and taking another bite of his meal. His eyes wandered back to the television. Cathy followed his gaze to the wall-mounted set, where a brunette newswoman sat beside a picture of several costumed crimefighters.
"… anti-mutant sentiment on the rise, public outcry surrounding the X-Men school in Westchester, New York reached a head at a protest outside the institute's front gates. Renowned mutant rights activist and outed mutant Charles Xavier released a public statement…"
"Those X-Men, huh?" Cathy commented. She looked down at the child in front of her, whose attention remained glued to the television. The boy took another massive bite of the burger, which by now was almost gone. "It's weird, having all these mutants running around with crazy powers and what not. Almost doesn't seem real, y'know."
If the child heard her, he gave no indication. He took another massive bite and watched as the newswoman began reporting on the weather.
"So, where are your parents, kiddo? You don't seem like you're from around here."
At her question, the boy's attention snapped back to his host. The child shrunk back into the booth, and his gaze fell. Cathy frowned.
Is he homeless?
"You still hungry, kid?" Cathy asked, changing the subject. "Let me get you some desert."
"Who's the kid?" Jeff questioned as Cathy reentered the kitchen.
"Don't know," she answered. "He's not from around here. I don't think he's got any folks. No idea why he's up here in the middle of nowhere.
"Beats me. Maybe ask him? Either way, Rick and his buddies are getting rowdy. I think it's time they left."
"Sure," Cathy responded, grabbing a piece of pie from the counter. "Let me give this to the kid and I'll cut them off. Then we should call the cops. Make sure no one's looking for the squirt."
Pie in hand, Cathy emerged from the kitchen. She was surprised to find the boy's booth empty.
Emerging outside, the boy shuddered. The winter wind was biting, nipping at his ears and wracking his small frame. He put up his hood and tightened it with his jacket's frayed drawstrings. The child peered over his shoulder, and for a moment considered going back inside. It had been warm inside, and the woman had been nice . . . .
No. Adults always seem nice at first, but they always end up being mean. That lady was probably a real jerk who was just trying to trick me.
He started down the road, hoping to find his way back to the main drag. The meek light of nearby shops cast long shadows across the street that seemed to dance in the moonless night. The boy pulled at the drawstring of his jacket and steeled himself. A gripping terror welled in the pit of his stomach, but he forced himself to keep moving.
I'm too old to be scared of the dark. Captain America isn't scared of the dark, so I won't be either. There's nothing out here…
A menacing, rumbling growl shattered the child's concentration. He swiveled around, surveying the area for the source of the sound. The street was empty.
There's…there's nothing out here. It must just be…there's nothing…
But there was the noise again, echoing through the dimly lit streets. The child stood still and listened. A barely audible scratching sound drifted from the behind the boy. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned around, his white-knuckled hands wrapped around his backpack straps.
Atop a nearby store, the kid spotted two yellow lights.
What's that?
Curiosity overcoming his fear, the boy took a few tentative steps forward. Suddenly, the lights blinked, then narrowed. The boy realized that he was staring at a pair of eyes.
Without warning, a massive bipedal form rose atop the store, silhouetted in the moonlight. Its golden eyes remained locked on the quivering boy below. The creature gripped the front of the store sign with two massive arm-like appendages and leaned towards the child, a guttural growl rolling in its throat.
The boy screamed, turned, and ran.
Adrenaline pumping, the boy sprinted down the street back towards the diner. He peered over his shoulder, searching for any sign of the creature. Distracted as he was, the kid failed to notice the line of motorcycles in front of him. The child turned his attention forward just in time to collide with one of the motorbikes. The bike toppled, sending him sprawling onto the pavement. The he sat up and cradled his leg, panic momentarily forgotten. A thin line of blood dripped from a new gash in his knee.
Thoughts of the creature sparked new fear in the boy's mind. He struggled to his feet and looked around for any sign of his assailant. He saw no glowing eyes, no sign of any monster.
"What the fuck?"
The boy turned to find a young man looming over him, a bottle in one hand. A group of like-aged men stood in the diner's entrance, eyeing the fallen bike.
"What'd you do to . . . hic . . . to my bike?!" The drunk man lumbered forward, causing the boy to stumble backward.
"C'mere you little shit," the man drawled. The boy turned around to run, only to have his drunken assailant wrap and arm around his torso and lift him off the group.
"What happened dude?" one of the men in the doorway asked.
"This little punk was messing with my bike," the drunk man replied, tightening his hold on the struggling child.
"What do we do with him?" a member of the group queried.
"I say we teach him a lesson," replied another.
"I'm down with that," a third chimed in.
The boy struggled in his captor's grip, tears pricking at the edges of his vision. Desperate to escape, he leaned forward and sank his teeth into the man's arm.
"Aaaarghh fuck!" the drunken patron exclaimed, loosening his hold on the child. The boy fell to the pavement, jumped up, and made a beeline for a nearby cluster of bushes.
"You okay Rick?"
"The fucker bit me!"
"Don't let him get away!"
The boy kept running, wincing at the throbbing pain in his knee. He hastily wiped away the tears clouding the edges of his vision and willed himself to stop crying. A bottle whizzed past his head and crashed into the blacktop, shattering into countless glimmering pieces. In a matter of seconds he reached the bushes. Diving behind them, he peered out at the street. Several of the group were approaching his hiding place. The rest had gathered around the fallen motorcycle.
None of them noticed the dark shape perched atop the diner's roof, it's glistening golden eyes fixed on the scene below.
The boy ran. Away from the men. Away from the town. Away from the monster.
Behind him, screaming pierced the quiet night.