Gehenna (West of Hell #1) Read online

  McCall watched in disbelief as the sheriff tried to sit up. Most of his midsection was gone, strewn around the room in every direction.

  Sheriff Stanley struggled for several moments to get to a seated position, as he didn't have any abdominal muscles. Eventually he rolled to his side and pushed himself to his feet.

  His torso wobbled as he walked to the front of McCall's cell. With every step it seemed like his body might break in half. A trail of intestines dragged behind him, cutting a bloody swath through the dust on the floor.

  Everything McCall had witnessed so far today seemed impossible, but watching a dead man rise and walk was more than he could take. It felt as if the very foundation of his sanity was being eroded away by one event after another.

  Looking at the massive hole in the middle of the sheriff's body, McCall could see the man's ribs and the column of his spine. As he watched, a chunk of one of his organs fell from the cavity and landed at his feet with a sickening plop.

  He needed to escape before it was too late. Marshals or no, he couldn't stay in here, surrounded by walking corpses.

  Picking up the deputy’s pistol from the floor, he stood and faced the sheriff. Fanning the hammer with his left hand, he put two rapid-fire shots into Stanley's chest, aiming for his heart.

  The impacts sent the sheriff back a half step, his upper body bobbing precariously at its tipping point. But he pressed against the cage moments later, resuming his unsuccessful attempts at reaching McCall. Wisps of smoke emerged from the two holes in his chest, just above the gaping chasm that used to be his stomach.

  McCall knew that these weren't men anymore, and at that moment he didn't care to know what exactly they had become either. The only information he wanted now was how to kill them.

  He knew, from the two men to his right, that arrows and axes to the heart didn't do anything. The deputy's nearly severed arm told him that they didn't feel any pain. And the three holes in the sheriff's body told him that bullets and disembowelment had no effect.

  Picking up the tomahawk, he looked at the dull, gore covered blade. If they couldn't be killed, perhaps he could dismember them, disabling their ability to attack him.

  Too messy and tiring.

  He'd be exhausted before he could finish the job. And he didn't know how many more of these things roamed the streets.

  Then he thought of hunting. What do you do with a wounded animal? You cut its throat if you have a sharp knife, which he didn't. Or you shoot in the head if you could afford using the extra bullet.

  Dropping the axe, he switched the pistol to his right hand and cocked the hammer back with his thumb. Lifting the gun, he aimed at the sheriff's forehead and fired.

  The back of Stanley's head exploded, showering his desk and the window beside it with skull fragments and brain tissue. His limbs stiffened as he fell back, crashing into the desk and crumpling to the floor.

  McCall watched the corpse closely, looking for any signs of movement. There were none. Content with the result, he turned to the woman, pointed the pistol at her head, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

  After opening the cylinder, McCall tipped the bullets into his palm. Only casings remained, all of the rounds spent. McCall tried to remember how many shots he heard the deputy shoot in the street, and the number he used on the sheriff just now.

  Throwing the pistol to the ground in frustration, he grabbed the tomahawk and stood in front of the woman and the deputy. Knowing what he had to do didn't make it any easier. Shooting someone was one thing, but hacking at them with an axe seemed more personal.

  Drawing a deep breath, he grasped at reassurance by telling himself they weren't people anymore. They were no more than mindless beasts. If the boy could eat his uncle alive, then there couldn't have been any part of who he used to be inside the shell of his body.

  Using his left forearm, he battered the woman’s outstretched arms down, giving him a clear path to her head. With all his strength, he brought the tomahawk down in a shallow arc, embedding it in her skull. Strands of long blond hair, sliced by the axe, drifted to the floor, catching rays of light along the way.

  The woman slumped down, landing on her ass and pulling the axe with her. McCall kept a tight grip on the handle, afraid of losing his last weapon. The weight of the body drifted away from the cell, pulling McCall shoulder deep between the bars. Realizing how exposed his outstretched arm was, he heaved on the tomahawk, trying to wrench it free.

  What used to be Deputy Aaron looked down at the tantalizing limb and dropped his chomping mouth for it without pulling his arms free of the bars first. McCall gave one last tug on the axe, felt it give slightly, before releasing it as the deputy's teeth snagged his sleeve.

  A shred of his clothing tore away as he retracted his arm, flapping loosely from Aaron's bloody teeth.

  The woman's body fell over, landing on its back. The axe sat two feet past McCall's reach.

  "Shit."

  McCall slumped against the wall, cursing himself for not anticipating the turn of events. His eyes darted over the room again, searching for anything that could help him. Nothing sat within his reach.

  Looking at the two men to his right, McCall remembered the broken arrows sticking from their backs. His movement was a blur as he grabbed the nearest man's extended arm and pulled him tight against the bars. Moving to his right, he reached his arm into the other cell. Careful of the man's gnashing jaw; he grabbed one of the arrows and tore it free. Fortunately, it wasn't buried deep in the muscle, making it possible to liberate without much force.

  Releasing the man's arm, McCall jumped back to the middle of his cell. He flipped the shaft in his hand, angling the spade shaped arrowhead out of the bottom of his fist.

  Aaron had resumed his mindless reaching by the door. McCall threw his body into the deputy’s arms, driving the arrow into his eye. The puncture produced a distinct pop as the shaft drove forward until McCall's hand rested against Aaron's cheek.

  The deputy's hands, which had encircled Mad Dog's neck, clenched tighter before slumping to his sides. McCall let the arrow slip from his hand as Deputy Aaron's body collapsed on top of the woman in the flowered dress.

  Crashing into his cot, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the cell next to him. He was beginning to question what was more important to him; escaping the damned moaning, or saving his own life.

  Dropping to his hands and knees, he reached through the bars, trying to grab a hold of the pant leg of the sheriff. The key sitting in his front pocket was McCall's only hope. Extending his shoulder as far into the gap as possible allowed him to just reach the bottom cuff.

  Wrapping his fingers around it, he pulled gently, fearful of tearing the fabric. If Sheriff Stanley's body had been intact, it would have been impossible to slide him across the floor using the cuff of his pants. But because his nephew had an early lunch, he weighed significantly less.

  Even at its new, smaller size, McCall's muscles strained under the weight of the corpse. The process proved slow and agonizing as the body inched closer. McCall paused several times, switching arms due to cramps in his hands.

  After what seemed an eternity, the leg was close enough to get both of his hands around it. Sliding the legs through until the crotch jammed against the bars allowed McCall to reach into the pocket and fetch his salvation.

  The click as the lock opened was the greatest sound he'd ever heard. Not even the sight of the bodies blocking the door could take away his elation. Throwing his shoulder against it, he pushed with all of his strength.

  The men in the other cell continued their never ending groans as the door gradually eked open. After snagging his hat, he slid through the small opening and stuffed it on his head. Straightening his legs, he took the first steps of his renewed freedom.

  Standing in the center of the jailhouse, in a pool of the sheriff's blood, McCall looked at the guns strewn around the room and smiled
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  Chapter 9