Gehenna Page 3

  Staggering was more like it though; they seemed to meander around the street aimlessly. A scream burst through the silence, forcing her nerves back on edge. The voice had come from a home much closer.

  The wandering people turned in a slow, jerky manner and plodded in the direction of the scream. Two doors down, a child and elderly woman emerged from a faded house and teetered in her direction. The entire scene gave Karen an uneasy feeling.

  "Let's go, hooker," Doc said from behind her. She jumped at his voice, not realizing how entranced she'd been by the bizarre situation.

  "Did you hear that scream? It sounded like a child."

  "I didn't hear anything. Let's get going, I need a dri… I mean, people need my help."

  Turning around, Karen walked toward the saloon at a brisk pace. Another scream, much closer, gave both of them pause.

  "Don't tell me your holy ass didn't hear that?"

  "I won't stand for back talk from whores," he said, his voice brimming with indignation. "I heard it, but there are other people that need me first. I'll come back when I've finished at the bar."

  When you've finished drinking at the bar, that is, Karen thought.

  As they walked back to the saloon, Karen kept looking back over her shoulder, trying to keep an eye on the people behind them.

  By the time they arrived, she'd seen more than twenty people crowding into the street. She had a feeling things were about to go from bad to worse.

  Chapter 6

  McCall had witnessed some horrible things in his life, but watching a nephew eat his uncle topped the list. The viciousness with which the boy killed his own kin shocked McCall to his core.

  The sheriff hadn't died easy or quick. After several minutes, his screams began quieting as he choked on his own blood.

  When the boy first went to work on his uncle, McCall had yelled and banged on the bars, trying to get the attention away from the sheriff. No man deserved to die like that.

  As it became clear that nothing would distract the deputy, McCall sat in his cot and watched the scene play out while he tried to deduce a means of escape.

  Blood and gore covered the surroundings. The young deputy didn't seem to believe in dining room etiquette while he ate people. He'd dug into the sheriff's stomach, pulling out his innards, which now decorated the walls, floor, and weaponry.

  Shortly after the last of Stanley's dying gurgles, his nephew abruptly stopped. Slowly turning, he looked at McCall with his black, soulless eyes. McCall didn't flinch, and returned the intense look. During their brief stare down, McCall wondered if fear and intimidation would work on the boy, or whatever it was he had become, the way it did on animals and people.

  It didn't. The deputy rose and staggered toward the cell, his outstretched arms reaching through the bars like the two men to the right. A loop of intestines hung from his left shoulder, sprinkling its foul contents with every jarring step. The entire room smelled of copper and shit.

  Looking back at the boy, McCall felt he had been right to say these were no longer men. Something had changed them, and it didn't look like they would ever be the same again.

  Over the deputy's shoulder, through the door to the jailhouse, McCall spotted a few people meandering by the door. Though the jail was filled with the moans of the three monsters surrounding him, he could hear similar sounds coming from the street.

  If there were more people like this outside, then McCall wasn't so sure that escape was his best option. Maybe he should ride this out until someone came and took care of Deputy Aaron and whoever was wandering the streets.

  His cell, which seemed like a death trap only moments before, could be his salvation. All things considered, he was relatively safe in here. When he'd first been locked up, he'd checked every bar, shaking them vigorously as he looked for any weakness. He didn't find any.

  What if no one came before the marshals arrived tomorrow afternoon? What good would the protection of his cell do if he'd be hanging in the gallows tomorrow anyway?

  Besides, who was going to save him from these things in an unarmed town? Without guns, he wasn't sure anyone could defend themselves, let alone mount a rescue to save a jailed outlaw.

  McCall rose from his cot, coming within a few inches of Aaron's reach. Moving to his left, he kept a close eye on the kid, studying the boy's reaction.

  Instead of retracting his arms and moving closer, the deputy tried to stretch through the gaps in the bars even further. He didn't seem to have any kind of problem solving capabilities. Like an animal.

  Spotting the gun sitting against Aaron's hip, McCall squared off in front of him, just out of his reach. If he moved fast enough, he could remove the gun from its holster and shoot the deputy down. That would solve one problem.

  Unfortunately, McCall had watched Sheriff Stanley put the cell's key into his pocket. The lawman's body was a good ten feet away – there was no chance of reaching him.

  The setting sun had begun casting long, dark shadows across the floor and walls. The angle of the light made it difficult to see the other side of the room for McCall.

  When a woman stepped into the doorway, McCall couldn't make out any of her features. She stood in the door in silence. Her silhouette didn't betray any information as to her mental state.

  "Lady, I suggest you run on out here just as fast as you can," McCall said.

  She didn't respond.

  McCall drew in breath to yell more warnings, when the moan escaped her.

  Damn.

  Her body pitched forward, propelling her through the door and into the office area. Paying no attention to the sheriff's body, she crossed the room and stumbled into the back of the deputy. The force of the collision slammed his head against the iron bars on either side of his face.

  McCall watched closely, looking for any sign of anger or pain. Anything that would come close to an emotion other than the empty yet somehow ravenous look that stuck there. Nothing registered on his face.

  The woman managed her way around the deputy with a dearth of grace, settling in beside him. A massive hunk of flesh was missing from her neck. The front of her yellow dress was adorned with what had once been white daisies. Now that they were caked with blood and dirt, the flowers resembled something from an artist's nightmare. Large patches of blonde hair were absent from her scalp, some of which now stuck to her gore soaked clothing.

  With two of these things in front of his cell, McCall decided that if he was going to get out of this mess, it would have to be soon. There was no telling how many more stalked the streets.

  Thrusting his right forearm up, he slammed it against both of the deputy’s arms, pushing them high and away. Dropping to a knee, he reached through the bars with his left hand and grabbed the pistol that hung from Aaron's hip. As he pulled back on the butt of the gun, the hammer caught against the holster.

  McCall yanked on the gun, jamming the deputy against the bars, but didn't free the pistol. Lifting up instead of back, McCall managed pull the gun clear. As he did a pair of hands grabbed the collar of his shirt, reeling him forward. The brim of his hat struck the bars and toppled from his head.

  The gaping mouthed woman pulled him closer. McCall grabbed onto her wrist, trying to wrench her hand free of his clothing. Separating them on his second attempt, he shoved her arm away just as Aaron got both of his hands around the back of McCall's neck.

  Dropping the gun behind him, McCall put his left hand against the nearest bar and pushed himself away from Aaron's bloody mouth. The woman, seeing his hand on the bar, bobbed her head down, missing his fingers by inches. Her crooked teeth clanged against the bar, shattering several of them.

  Jerking his hand away from the bar, McCall barely got it out of the way of her second attempt. Her mouth hit the bar again and her jagged teeth tore into her lower lip.

  Without the ability to place his hands on the bars, McCall was slowly being pulled into Aaron's awaiting maw. Struggling against his hands, McCall tried to pull them away from his neck,
but couldn't break Aaron's grip. The only thing preventing his impending doom was one of the other men in the neighboring cell. He'd managed to grab onto McCall's shoulder and was pulling him in the opposite direction.

  Swinging his head around in wide, frantic arcs, McCall looked for anything that could help him. A shaft of light glinted off a barely visible piece of the axe blade that was buried in the man's chest.

  Reaching out with his right hand, McCall grabbed the handle of the axe and tore it from his chest. The blade scraped against the man's ribs as it pulled free, sending bits of white bone and red tissue falling to the floor.

  Lifting the tomahawk above his head, McCall brought it down on the left elbow of the deputy. The blade was dull and didn't do the damage that the outlaw hoped for, but it was enough to loosen Aaron's grip a bit. McCall rained another blow down on the joint, cutting through most of the tissue. The grip strength in that hand evaporated and McCall was able to force himself away.

  The other man's hand remained on his shirt, but McCall was able to extract himself from it with a quick jerk of his shoulder.

  Falling back on his cot, he took long, deep breaths. In front of him stood Aaron, pressing against the cell, with outstretched arms. The one McCall had taken the axe to hung at the elbow. A patch of skin and muscle were all that held his arm intact with only a small amount of blood pattering the floor. No pain or concern registered on Aaron's face. Mad Dog McCall had never imagined, let alone witnessed, anything like this. He wasn't sure anyone had.

  A moan from yet another source wafted into the cell. Movement caught McCall's eyes from behind Aaron's legs.

  The sheriff, lying on the floor, covered in his own blood and organs, turned his head and looked at McCall with black eyes.

  Chapter 7

  "If you aren't going to be of use and fetch me a drink, then get away from me, you shitty haired whore," Doctor Randy said, glowering at Karen.

  "Shitty haired−" Ellis said, before cutting himself off. "Are you drunk, Doc?"

  The doctor looked up from Dave's wounded leg and gave Ellis a reproachful look.

  "Just because I partake in the occasional spirit does not mean that I am drunk."

  "Well, you look worse than Dave does and it seems like the Reaper's tapping on his shoulder."

  Dave was lying on the bar, grimacing every time Randy touched his leg. He popped his head up at the mention of his name.

  "Am I going to die?" he asked the doctor, his voice wavering with fear.

  Anthony stood beside Randy, watching the work being done. "Nobody's dying. Especially not from a leg bite," he said as he cuffed Dave on the crown of his head.

  "Don't hit me, boss! I'm not feeling so good."

  Zed, the older man with the injured hand, took a shot of whiskey and stood from the table he sat at with his two sons. Dark bags colored the undersides of his eyes. Karen couldn't remember if they had been there before or not.

  "I've never seen anything like that in all my years. No man can take bullets like that. Never seen anyone take an axe to the chest either."

  Doctor Randy poured some clear alcohol over Dave's leg, causing him to scream out in pained shock.

  Anthony slapped the side of his face.

  "Don't hit me, boss!"

  "What you're saying isn't possible," Randy said. He patted Dave on the thigh as he rose from his chair. "Just lie here for awhile and rest."

  "He ain't lyin'. We kicked the livin' hell out of one of them, and he just kept gettin' up. We all saw it," Ellis said.

  Walking over to Zed's table, Randy grabbed the bottle and took a long swig from it. Too long to please Karen, but she didn't want to start more bickering.

  "You have to be over exaggerating how much damage the man took."

  Holding the bottle in one hand, Randy reached out for Zed's hand. "Did the same man bite you?"

  "No, it was the other one. They were both acting like rabid dogs, trying to bite everything in sight," Zed said.

  After a few seconds of inspecting the wound on Zed's hand, the doctor poured some of the whiskey over it.

  "That should take care of it for you," Randy said before drinking from the bottle again.

  Karen couldn't take it anymore. "Is that all you're going to do? We could have done that ourselves and spared us the displeasure of your company."

  "Watch your mouth with me, whore."

  Barbara had been sitting at a table in the far corner of the room, batting her eyes at John, one of Zed's boys. Lauren sat beside her, sipping at a glass. She was the only other girl working that night.

  "Don't act all holy around us. Just last week you came in the back door of this place and we had us some fun," she said. Apparently Barbara had enough of the doctor as well.

  The doc's rosy cheeks turned a deep red as he looked around at everyone. He started to speak, but only managed a few sputters.

  Ellis walked to the middle of the room and took charge. "Now look, I don't want to hear any more of—" he said before stopping.

  Cocking his ear in the direction of the front door, he stood in silence for several seconds.

  Rob, the bigger of Zed's sons, rose from his chair. "What is it?"

  "Shhh!" Ellis said.

  Everyone froze in place, listening. Then Karen heard them. Moans coming from the street.

  Lauren walked over to where Ellis stood, her knee high skirt pulling every man's eye in the place to her. She liked to call that skirt her 'money maker', because it always guaranteed someone would throw money her way.

  Karen wasn't too surprised to see that it drew men's gazes even in a situation like this.

  "What is that? Is someone sick?" she said.

  Ellis took a few tentative steps toward the door. "That sounds an awful lot like those two men the sheriff just took away."

  No one else moved a muscle. Karen felt her body tensing and forced her muscles to relax.

  Peering over the top of the saloon doors, he stood there for several seconds, looking down the street to his left. The moans continued to grow louder.

  "There are a whole lot of people walking around that look just like those men. I see Mrs. Armstrong walking this way. Her−" His voice caught in his throat. "Oh Jesus! Her eye is out! It's hanging on her cheek!"

  Karen ran to the window and looked in the same direction as Ellis.

  People littered the street. They moved about in a jerky fashion, as if their knees weren't bending properly. Most of them had blood caked to their clothing. Some were missing limbs.

  "They're everywhere," Karen said, more to herself than anyone else. "I recognize most of them; they live in town. What's going on out there?"

  Doctor Randy walked over to the door and stood beside Ellis. "What are you two going on about?" He must have seen Mrs. Armstrong because his tone changed from condescension to horror. "Oh my God. Ma'am, you need help! Come over here and let me help you!" he yelled through the door.

  "No, you fool!" Ellis grabbed at his shoulder, trying to keep him from leaving the saloon. A raspy, wheezing sound came from the other side of the door, grabbing everyone's attention.

  The man that stumbled into the saloon had been burned beyond recognition. His entire body was blackened, with bits of charred clothing stuck to oozing skin and muscle. The smell of burned hair and flesh emanating from him made Karen nauseous. Smoke rose from his head and shoulders.

  He grabbed at the black, alcohol soaked robes Randy wore, but his fingers were too damaged to grip anything. Tripping over his own feet, the doctor fell to the ground and landed on his ass. He held his hands out in front of him, trying to ward off the monstrosity.

  Ellis shoved the man in the chest, throwing him through the double doors.

  From the window, Karen watched as his charred body fell off the porch, rolling into the street head over heels.

  "Bring some tables over here, now!" Ellis said from the doorway.

  "Impossible," Randy said from the floor. "That's impossible."

  Rob and John j
umped from the chairs, knocking them over behind them. Each grabbed an edge of their square table and tipped it sideways, sending its bottle and glasses crashing to the floor.

  "Hurry!" Ellis said. "More of them are headed this way!"

  Zed's sons dropped the table on its side at the base of the door and pushed it flush against the frame.

  "We need another table and more weight," Rob said.

  Karen grabbed Lauren by the elbow, pulling her from her chair. "Grab the other end of this table."

  "I don't underst−"

  "Just do it," Karen said.

  Lauren seemed like she wanted to continue to protest, but a quick glance at Karen's face took the fight out of her.

  As they lifted the table to put it on top of the other one, Karen could see Mrs. Armstrong on the other side of the door. Blood and pus ran down her cheek from the empty socket where her right eye had once been. The eye swayed back and forth with every step, smacking against her nose and cheekbone with a watery softness. A groan escaped her throat when she saw Karen and Lauren.

  Known as the finest seamstress in Gehenna, Mrs. Armstrong had personally made several of Karen's favorite dresses. She specialized in working with fine stitching due to her dexterous hands and sharp eyesight.

  When Lauren spotted Mrs. Armstrong, she dropped her end of the table and ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time, screeching the entire way. The weight of the falling table dragged Karen forward, pulling her within reaching distance of Mrs. Armstrong.

  Karen could feel bony, jagged fingers snagging her hair and tugging at her scalp. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and ripped her back through the doorway, sending her pin wheeling into the bar. Ellis punched the elderly woman in the face, mashing her dangling eyeball and knocking her out of the door.

  As she fell backward from the force of the blow, Ellis took hold of both sides of the table and jammed it on top of the first, closing off the door.