Gehenna Read online

  "Where's your gallows?" the old man asked. "We'll string these bastards up right now."

  Sherriff Stanley came running up the road, kicking puffs of dust up with each heavy step.

  "The hell you will," he said. "We follow the law here in Gehenna. No one is getting killed without a trial first." He glared at Deputy Aaron. "I sent you up here to see why people were yelling, not to shoot at someone."

  "These men have gone mad! They're trying to eat everyone!" Aaron said. He tried to spit out the other man's saliva between sentences. "Look at his chest! I shot him three times and he kept coming at me! They don't feel pain and they won't die."

  Stanley looked unbelievingly at everyone standing around, taking in the entire scene.

  "He's not making any sense. What happened here?" he said to Ellis.

  "We were inside, talking about my fine whiskey when we heard this woman screaming," Ellis said, cocking his head at the motionless woman. "When we came out, they were eatin' her alive. A couple of us got bit tryin' to get them away from her."

  "He bit my leg!" Dave said in between whimpers.

  "Stop being such a damn baby," Anthony said. It looked like he wanted to give Dave another good cuff, but couldn't because of his grip on the man with no lips.

  The man kept trying to bite at Ellis, but his disgusting mouth couldn't reach Ellis' hands. Some of the kicks and stomps must have damaged something in his neck because it kept leaning to one side. The bend in it was unnatural, just like everything else happening.

  "He ain't lying; these men won't stay down. That one over there has a damned tomahawk stickin' out of chest," Ellis said.

  Sheriff Stanley's eyes opened wide at the site of the axe buried in the man's chest. "That's impossible."

  "Apparently it ain't. That axe is all the way to the hilt, but he still got a good chunk out of my hand," the older man said. He had a gruff, whiskey aged voice. "They ain't natural and we oughta take care of it right now.

  "And who are you? Do you know these men?" Stanley asked.

  "They call me Zed. These are my two boys, Robert and John," he said while nodding at his sons. They tightened their grip on the crazed man, but didn't make any acknowledgements otherwise.

  The sheriff looked around in disbelief. "This shit isn't funny. Discharging firearms is against the law, even for a deputy," he said to Aaron.

  Karen wasn't sure if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, or if he wouldn't.

  The older man with the raspy voiced strode over to the sheriff and stuck his wounded hand in his face. "Does this look like a joke, son?"

  "I understand that something happened here, but what you're describing isn't possible," Stanley said. He shook his head, unable to comprehend the situation. "Aaron, go down and open up the other cell in the jailhouse. We're going to throw these two in there until we can figure out what's going on."

  Without saying anything, Aaron turned and trotted down the road to the jailhouse that stood a hundred yards away.

  "Karen, go down and get Doc Randy. Tell him we need his services at the saloon right now," he said. The look in his eyes suggested that he wasn't in the mood for a smarmy remark from her.

  Karen could think of a thousand things she'd rather do than go see the doctor. She considered him an asshole of the highest order. He was probably drunk anyway.

  "Dave, carry this woman inside. It doesn't look like she made it, but we'll have the doc take a look at her anyway," Stanley said.

  "But my leg−"

  "To hell with your leg. Carry her inside, now!" Stanley said, marching toward the jail.

  "Bring those two on down here and let's see if we can sort this mess out."

  Karen watched them carry the two mangled men down the street before turning on her heels and heading in the opposite direction.

  Chapter 4

  McCall sat on his cot, inspecting the sheriff's office. There were shotguns, revolvers, lever-action rifles, and muzzle loaders stacked and leaning everywhere. A veritable gold mine of firearms sat just outside of his reach. The entrance was directly in front of his cell, and a back door sat off to his left. Neither looked too sturdy.

  Along the wall opposite of the sheriff's desk sat half a dozen kegs of gunpowder. Apparently the local gun ordinance pertained to explosives as well. McCall eyed the kegs for a few seconds before turning, glancing back at his gun which sat upon the desk. No matter how he got out of this, he had to take that Peacemaker with him.

  Leaning back against the cold, stone wall, he cracked a smile while thinking about the deputy he'd put the fear of God into. Every time someone asked him about the markings on his pistol he came up with a more outlandish story.

  He used those tales to fuel his infamy. The more people feared him, the less he had to worry about them getting into his business. Even Mad Dog was just a stupid name he spread around to help build his legend.

  Truth was, he hadn't killed that many men. He'd only shot down four, and all of those were in self-defense. Killing changed a man, and not for the better. Unfortunately, when people think of you as a fighter, they want to challenge you. When they think of you as a stone cold rampaging beast, they tend to leave you alone.

  Now he had to relax and wait for an opportunity to present itself. If he was going down, he'd be damned if it would be in a shithole town like this.

  It had only been a few minutes since the sheriff had gone to check on the situation when McCall heard arguing voices coming down the street.

  Deputy Aaron burst through the front door. His face had drained of all its color, except for some darkening under his eyes. He hesitated for a moment when he looked at McCall, as if he'd forgotten about the prisoner. Dropping his gaze, he hustled over to the empty cell to McCall's right, fumbling for his keys.

  "What's going on out there, boy? You don't look so good."

  The deputy didn't have a chance to answer before Sheriff Stanley strode through the door and pulled Aaron away from the cell by the collar of his shirt. Taking the keys from his nephew, the sheriff opened the cell door before stepping clear.

  Coming in behind him were two men and what looked like a person who had been stampeded to death—except he somehow wasn't dead. McCall didn't understand how the man could still be alive, let alone struggling with such ferocity, in his condition. Part of his skull was exposed and a hanging flap of skin covered one of his eyes. He didn't have any lips.

  "Hold him over by the door, but don't let go of him yet," Stanley said.

  Two more, and much larger, men dragged in yet another crazed man, this one with an axe buried in his chest. He fought against their hold despite what should have been a mortal wound.

  "Throw both of them in at the same time and I'll get it secured," Stanley said, taking a position behind the open cell door.

  The first group to come in the jailhouse threw their butchered prisoner in the cell and quickly stepped aside. The second group did the same and the sheriff slammed the door as fast as he could.

  McCall watched the mangled prisoners as they stumbled over one another, slowly getting back to their feet. They pushed to the front of the cell, their arms extending through the bars, and tried to grab their captors. Broken arrow shafts protruded from their backs.

  A putrid smell permeated from them, like a dead animal that had been in the sun all day.

  "You boys go on back to Ellis' place; Deputy Aaron and I will take it from here."

  "What're you going to do with them?" the large, balding man asked.

  Stanley considered the new prisoners for a few seconds before responding. "I don't know yet. We still need to figure out what the hell is going on with them. We're going to do a quick search around the town to see if anyone knows who they are. We'll check on you at the saloon as soon as we're done."

  Not wanting to take their eyes off the strangers, the four men backed out of the front door, leaving it open behind them.

  Walking back to his desk, Stanley opened the top drawer and took out a bottle of so
me dark booze. After taking a long pull from it, he handed it over to the deputy.

  "You aren't looking so good. Take a swig of this, it'll clear you up."

  To McCall's surprise, Deputy Aaron looked even worse than he had when they entered the jailhouse only two minutes before. His skin was taking on a sallow, thin appearance.

  Grabbing the bottle, Aaron started to drink from it only to spit it back out, covering the sheriff's desk.

  "That tastes like kerosene!"

  "I made it myself."

  "With what? Kerosene?"

  "Only a little."

  "Anyone care to explain what's going on here?" McCall asked from his cot. "How is a man with an axe in his chest walking around?"

  The sound of McCall's voice grabbed the attention of the lipless man, who turned and tried to reach through the bars to McCall. He was short a good two feet so McCall didn't bother moving.

  Stanley walked around his desk and stood in front of the second cell, out of reach of the moaning men.

  "Who are you?" They didn't acknowledge the question, just kept trying to grab onto him. "Where did you come from? Why were you attacking that woman?" No response except more moans.

  "Aaron, you're telling me that you shot this guy three times?"

  Wiping the alcohol and spit from his lips, Aaron turned around. "Yes, sir, three times at less than five feet. He just kept coming forward, trying to take a bite out of me."

  When the deputy had arrested McCall at the general store yesterday, he'd been frightened. Now he seemed petrified.

  "No man could live through that. It just ain't possible."

  "Look at the front of his shirt: three bullet holes, and three more arrows sticking out of the back. The other one looks like someone mistook him for a tree and tried to chop him down."

  "He ain't no man. Neither of them are," McCall said. "At least not anymore. No one can live through that."

  A startled look swept across their faces. Stanley recovered after a few seconds and laughed it off. Aaron didn't.

  "What are they then? Demons? Why don't you leave the investigating to those of us who are still men of the law? We don't need advice from an outlaw in a jail cell," Stanley said.

  The sheriff knew the one part of McCall's criminal history that wasn't fabricated − he had once been Sheriff McCall before Mad Dog. He'd presided over a sleepy hamlet back east, spending most of his days at one of the few pubs in the area.

  A caravan, passing through on their way to Philadelphia, was held up on the outskirts of town. Hearing the gunshots from his perch at the bar, McCall had been able to catch up to the bandits before they could escape. The gunfight was short, with Sherriff McCall putting two men down before three others escaped. Though he lived in a small town, he'd always been an incredible marksman.

  The marshals arrived the next day with a warrant for his arrest. He was charged with robbing the caravan, killing its occupants, and the murder of two federal officers. As soon as they walked through the door, he recognized three of them as the men who'd escaped him the day before.

  The corruption of the marshal service had caught McCall completely off guard. Though he pled his case, they were intent on having his head. After gunning down another agent, he fled, abandoning the life he'd built. It wasn't a week later that his face began appearing on wanted fliers up and down the east coast.

  "It doesn't look like he's going to be capable of standing soon, let alone investigating anything," McCall said, nodding at the deputy.

  Aaron was sitting against the edge of the desk, his hands placed on his knees to support his weight. His body began trembling, shaking the entire desk supporting him.

  "Aaron?" Stanley asked.

  Abruptly falling to his knees, he pitched forward, cracking his head against the wood floor. He never raised his hands to protect himself from the fall.

  Stanley dropped to his haunches beside Aaron, placing a hand on his back. McCall stayed in his cot, reclining against the wall, watching. He'd seen even the biggest of men fall apart after a gunfight, but had never heard of someone having such a visceral reaction.

  "Come on, son. We need to get you over to Ellis' saloon and have the doc take a look at you."

  The trembling stopped. Aaron lay motionless on the floor, his uncle kneeling over him.

  "Aaron?"

  A moan escaped Aaron as he slowly leaned back on his haunches, his black eyes looking over his uncle.

  "Aaron? What's wrong wi−"

  The young deputy lunged at his uncle, chomping down on Stanley's right ear. The sheriff howled as he fell backward, pushing his nephew away. The combination of his weight falling back and violently shoving Aaron in the opposite direction tore his ear free.

  Stanley scampered away until his back bumped against the kegs of black powder. His shocked face was ashen gray as he pressed a hand to the gaping hole on the side of his head. Streams of blood seeped through his fingers, coursing down his forearm.

  Aaron chewed on the ear with slow, deliberate bites. McCall could hear the cartilage crunching.

  After a large and pronounced swallow, he crawled forward, eager to get another piece of his uncle.

  Chapter 5

  "Asshole?" Karen called into the vestibule of the church. The only thing she hated more than being around Doc Randy was being with him in his church. She avoided it at all costs.

  "Doc, the sheriff needs your help. Several people are hurt back at the bar."

  No answer. Bastard was probably drunk, as usual. For a doctor and reverend, he didn't seem to mind partaking. Throughout the years he had constantly railed against the sins of Ellis' Saloon and its workers.

  Never mind that she knew for a fact that the good doctor had purchased the services of at least two of the women who worked there. Or that he had an illegitimate child of his own. Or that he drank and smoked himself stupid every day.

  Karen may have been a prostitute, but at least she accepted her faults. Doctor Randy had convinced himself that he lived without sin, despite all of his vices. How he managed to have a congregation, as small as it was, remained a mystery to Karen.

  Stepping into the dark entrance, she let her eyes adjust before walking down the middle of the nave. Because Gehenna was a relatively small town, the church didn't have an abundance of pews – only six on either side of her.

  Beyond the front bench, sitting on the floor with his back against the podium, sat the doc. His eternally red cheeks stood out in stark contrast to his otherwise pale skin and bulbous nose. A bottle of some kind lay beside him, tipped over with most of its dark contents drying on the stone flooring.

  "Jesus Christ," Karen said. She knelt down in front of him, unconcerned with her blasphemy. "Wake up, you drunken dolt."

  With no response forthcoming, she tapped on his cheeks. After a second she recognized the golden opportunity and cocked her arm back.

  With a grin that felt like it spread from ear to ear, she slapped him in the face as hard as she could. The crack echoed through the room, making it all the more fun for her.

  The impact sent his body off to the side, landing on top of the bottle. The booze soaked through his black robes and hair. Karen hoped it might make him smell a little better.

  "I'm awake!" He rubbed his cheek, which was turning a brighter shade of red. "What'd you have to hit me for?"

  Pushing himself back into a seated position, he glared at Karen with a deep-seated disdain.

  "How dare you entire this holy place, whore. What are you doing here?"

  "Trying my best not to catch on fire," she said. "Though it doesn't look like I'm any more sacrilegious than you are."

  Sneering at her, he reached around for his bottle. His shoulders slumped with he noticed that most of it had spilled on the floor.

  Karen wondered if she could get away with slapping him again.

  "Get out of here and leave me in peace, whore."

  "The last place I want to be is here with you. The sheriff sent me down to collect your
sorry ass. Some people are hurt back down the street and they need you to look at them." Judging from his appearance, Karen wasn't sure that he was capable of taking care of a dog right now.

  "If you think I'm going somewhere with a filthy—"

  "Yes, we know I'm a whore, but your services are needed, as sad and pathetic as they may be."

  The doc looked like he was formulating a retort, so Karen decided to appeal to his needs rather than his heart.

  "The injured are waiting for you at the saloon. Ellis will most likely be obliged to take care of you while you tend to the wounded."

  Randy perked up at that, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Well, if people are in need, the Lord demands I offer my services."

  Karen really wanted to slap him again.

  "You said 'people'. How many are we talking?"

  "At least five, maybe more though."

  "Five? What happened to them?"

  "Two of them were bit, one was eaten alive, and the others were attacked with arrows, guns, and a tomahawk."

  The doc, who was still struggling to get to his feet, stopped and gave her a disbelieving look. "Don't toy with me, heathen. I haven't time to play games."

  Karen sighed and looked to the ceiling of the chapel, as if looking for guidance. "Knowing that I can't stand the sight of you, why would I lie, as that would only prolong the agony of your company?"

  The doctor smirked as he straightened out his black clothing. "What you're saying doesn't make sense. Two people were bit and one was eaten alive? By what, wolves?"

  Turning, Karen started walking back to the entrance. "By two strange men that no one recognized. They were the ones that were shot and axed."

  She could hear Randy plodding down the aisle behind her.

  "Two men are running around eating people?" he asked. "Your whoredom has rotted your mind."

  "No more than booze and stupidity has rotted yours."

  While Doctor Randy retrieved his medical supplies, Karen decided to wait outside. Standing in the dusty street, she looked in the direction of the railroad tracks. The rail sat about two hundred yards away, at the end of the town. Squinting against the setting sun, she could see four people walking out of the front door of a brown home.