Ancient Enemy Box Set [Books 1-4]

by Lukens, Mark

  Sanchez swallowed hard and shook his head. “I don’t know.” His words came out in a rush of breath.

  “How did all the lanterns go out?”

  Sanchez shook his head again, more vigorously this time, his face scrunched up in frustration. “I don’t know.”

  Moody and Billy were at Jed’s side now.

  “Where’s Lawrence?” Moody asked.

  “Is that the barkeep’s name?” Jed asked.

  Moody nodded. “Yes.”

  “I don’t know,” Jed answered. “Sanchez here hasn’t been much help with information so far.” He glanced up at the chandelier of lanterns hanging above them from the ceiling. “We need to get these lanterns lit again. Get everyone inside.”

  Moody went to work on that, hurrying to the bar with his lantern. He went around to the other side and looked through some wooden boxes until he found a few long kitchen matches. He lit a lantern on the wall sconce to the left of the mirrors behind the bar, and then he lit the other lantern on the other side of the mirrors.

  The saloon was brightening up now with four lanterns lit. Jed could see most of the saloon now—only the back room, the stairs, and part of the balcony above were still hidden in shadows.

  “Is your barkeep back there behind the bar?” Jed called out to Moody.

  “No.”

  “Any blood?”

  Moody looked around at the floor behind the bar, studying it for a moment. “I think there might be a few spots. Can’t tell if it’s blood or dirt.”

  Jed looked at Billy while Moody grabbed a long wooden pole with a wick on the end to light the lanterns in the chandeliers. “Take my lantern and get the others in here. Then close the doors. Lock them if you can.”

  Billy nodded and took the lantern. He hurried across the saloon to the open door.

  Jed watched as Billy ushered Esmerelda, Karl, and David into the saloon. Billy closed the doors once everyone was inside, and then he locked the doors and pulled down the shades over the windows. He hurried to both windows and drew the curtains shut.

  Esmerelda led David to the same table he’d sat at before, whispering at him to sit down. Karl followed like a zombie and sat down at another table by himself, laying his head down on his arms, emitting a low moan.

  Moody had the chandelier lit, all of the lanterns brightening the whole saloon up now. He took the pole back to the bar and extinguished the flame on the wick. He set the pole against the wall near the stove, and then he added a few pieces of wood to the stove, lighting a piece of paper to get them started. The flames flared up inside the stove, and Moody closed the little metal door on the front, the hinges squeaking slightly.

  Jed pulled Karl’s gun from his holster and walked over to the table where Billy and David sat. He checked Karl’s gun for bullets, opening the cylinder. Each chamber was loaded with a bullet. He snapped it shut. It was an older gun, an 1870 Smith & Wesson .44 caliber, but it looked clean and well taken care of. He handed the pistol to Billy. “You know how to use this?”

  Billy nodded and accepted the pistol from Jed, laying it down on the table in front of him with a thunk.

  Jed walked back to Sanchez. “Tell us what happened in here. What happened to the barkeep?”

  “Untie me. You can’t keep me like this. Not with . . .”

  “Not with what?”

  Sanchez snapped his mouth closed. He swallowed hard.

  Esmerelda went behind the bar.

  Moody, still tending to the fire in the stove, watched her. “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t answer as she grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. She lined up some shot glasses on the bar near the pile of supplies the barkeep had put together for Jed earlier. She poured shots of whiskey into each glass.

  Jed walked away from Sanchez, giving himself a chance to think. He walked over to where he’d seen the spots of blood on the floor. Just a few spots. They seemed to lead over to the bar. These were spots of blood, not splashes or smears like they’d seen before in the general store and the dining hall . . . and in David’s house. He followed the spots of blood over to the bar. Two more spots of blood dotted the top of the bar. And Moody had already said there might be a few spots of blood behind the bar.

  Esmerelda watched Jed with a shot glass in her hand. She downed the drink and poured another. She picked up the jar of tea and the shot of whiskey. She brought the jar of tea to David and set it down in front of him. “Here, David. You must be thirsty.”

  He nodded and whispered a thank you.

  Esmerelda brought the shot glass of whiskey to Sanchez. “You want a drink?” she asked him.

  Sanchez nodded. “Could you get my hat from the floor?”

  Esmerelda picked up Sanchez’s hat and dusted it off. She placed his black cowboy hat on his head and then positioned the shot glass in front of his mouth, ready to pour. “Open up,” she told him.

  Sanchez opened his mouth and tilted his head back a little. She poured the whiskey into his mouth slowly. He swallowed the liquid down and then sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Moody asked, stomping over to Esmerelda and Sanchez.

  “He needs a drink,” Esmerelda said. “We all do.”

  “Well, the drinks aren’t free, just so you know.”

  “I’ve got money,” Sanchez said, addressing Esmerelda rather than Moody. “Inside my coat pocket.” He glanced at Jed who was still by the bar. “I won’t be needing the money much longer.”

  Esmerelda reached into Sanchez’s coat pocket and pulled out a long leather billfold. She opened it and pulled out a bill. She handed it to Moody.

  Moody’s eyes lit up—it seemed like the bill would be enough to cover the rounds of whiskeys. He shoved the bill down into his pants pocket.

  “You want another drink?” Esmerelda asked Sanchez.

  “Yes. Por favor.”

  Esmerelda grabbed another shot glass full of whiskey. She was about to bring it back to Sanchez when Jed put his hand out in front of her, stopping her.

  “Wait a minute, please,” Jed told her and took the glass of whiskey gently from her hand. He sat down at Sanchez’s table and set the glass of whiskey in the middle of it. “You can have this drink. But first you’re going to tell us what you saw.”

  Sanchez stared at Jed defiantly.

  “If you’ll be honest with us,” Jed said. “If you’ll help us, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with the judge. You’ve got my word on that.”

  Sanchez looked at Esmerelda who was still by the bar, then he looked over at David and Billy, then at Karl beyond them sitting at the next table with his head still down on his arms like he was sleeping. He looked back at Jed, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Please, Sanchez,” Esmerelda said. “We’re all in trouble here. We need to know what you saw.”

  Sanchez stared at Esmerelda for a moment, and then he looked at Jed.

  “Just tell us what you saw,” Jed said.

  “Give me that drink and I’ll tell you,” Sanchez said.

  CHAPTER 17

  Esmerelda helped Sanchez with his drink again, holding the shot glass for him while he drank the whiskey down in two swallows. He sighed softly and then closed his eyes, looking a little more relaxed now.

  Billy had pulled his chair around so he faced Sanchez, watching him. Moody brought Karl a shot of whiskey, but he didn’t drink it. Moody left him alone and sat down at Billy and David’s table, facing Sanchez. Esmerelda sat down near Jed.

  They were all waiting for Sanchez to speak. The saloon was quiet—no wind from outside, no sounds except for their breathing and the occasional creak of a chair or the rustling of cloth from fidgeting.

  Jed was sure Sanchez was going to back out on his promise now that he’d gotten his whiskey, or maybe even hold out for another drink, or bargain for his legs to be untied so he could stretch them. But Sanchez stayed true to his word and began talking.

  “After you left th
e saloon, me and the barkeep were alone in here. He stayed behind the bar. He was nervous. He wasn’t talking. We didn’t hear anything outside. And then, about ten or fifteen minutes after you were gone, all of the lanterns blew out. All of them at the same time.”

  “How?” Jed asked.

  Sanchez shrugged. “I don’t know. There was this . . . this wind. Like a sudden wind was inside the saloon, and then all of the lanterns went out.”

  “Darkwind,” Billy whispered.

  Sanchez looked at Billy, but he didn’t say anything to him.

  Jed ignored Billy, focusing on Sanchez. “You say this wind blew all of the lanterns out. And you felt this wind?”

  Sanchez shook his head no. He looked a little frustrated again, like he was having difficulty putting his thoughts into words. “No. I don’t remember feeling it. I heard a rushing sound, like the wind. And then the lanterns were out, and it was dark.”

  “And what happened after the lanterns went out?” Jed asked.

  “Right away, the barkeep screamed. At first I thought he was screaming because it was dark, like a child scared at night. But then I knew that something was happening to him.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. His scream was cut short. And then it sounded like he was choking. Like someone was choking him.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “It was dark.”

  “Did you hear anyone besides the barkeep? Did anyone say anything? Did you hear other people walking around?”

  “No. Just the barkeep choking.”

  “That’s the only thing you heard?” Jed asked, leaning forward a little. “Think, Sanchez. Think back to that moment. Anything could help. You didn’t hear any other sounds?”

  Esmerelda got up and went to the bar. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey and a few more glasses.

  Moody grabbed the bottle when she set it down on the table, serving himself a shot first and downing it quickly. “For Lawrence,” he said, lifting his empty glass up in salute.

  Jed grabbed the bottle after Moody was finished with it and his toast. He poured another shot and slid it towards Sanchez, but he didn’t lift it up to him yet. “What else did you hear?”

  Sanchez shook his head slightly, his face still scrunched a little in concentration. “I think his feet were kicking at the floor. Like when a man gets hanged, his feet kick while he’s choking to death.” Sanchez stared right at Jed. “You’ve seen that before, am I correct?”

  Jed wondered if Sanchez was lying, concocting these details because he knew he would be hanging from the end of a rope soon. “Maybe the barkeep ran away,” Jed suggested to Sanchez.

  Moody looked suddenly hopeful. “You think there’s a chance he ran away?” He stared at Sanchez. “Maybe that’s what you heard, a man running, not thrashing.”

  “No. His feet were kicking at the floor.”

  “But things can sound tricky in the dark,” Moody said. “Your mind can play tricks on you.”

  “I know the difference between a man running and a man’s feet kicking at the floor,” Sanchez said, eyeing Moody for a moment. He looked back at Jed. “You wanted to know what I heard, that’s what I heard.”

  Moody turned his attention to Jed, not willing to give up the hope that had been kindled in him now. “You think it’s possible that Lawrence ran? Maybe he got away somehow.”

  Jed glanced at the bar, then down at the floor with the spots of blood on it. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s strange. Your barkeep is gone like the others were, maybe taken. But the saloon hasn’t been torn apart like the general store and the dining hall were.”

  Moody’s eyes lit up with surprise. “Yes, that’s true. There is a difference.”

  The church hadn’t been torn apart either, Jed thought. The church’s pews, podium, and piano hadn’t been destroyed, only the bodies that had been piled on them had been damaged. But he didn’t think he needed to mention that detail right now.

  “But there are the spots of blood on the floor to consider,” Jed said. “And there are a few spots on top of the bar. The line of blood leads from behind the bar, over the bar, and then towards the saloon doors.” He looked at the saloon doors. “But the trail of blood stops well before the doors.”

  “Maybe he hurt himself in the dark,” Moody suggested. “Maybe he panicked. Went looking for us. He wouldn’t stay here to protect the likes of him.” Moody nodded at Sanchez.

  “But how did all of the lanterns go out?” Esmerelda asked.

  Moody shook his head. “I don’t know. He said it was the wind. Maybe the doors blew open, a draft came in, blew the lanterns out.”

  “That ever happen before?” Jed asked.

  Moody didn’t need to answer.

  “There was no wind,” Esmerelda said. “No wind at all since that storm died down.”

  “Maybe Lawrence extinguished all of the lanterns himself,” Moody said.

  “That’s not what Sanchez said,” Jed reminded him.

  “Maybe he’s lying through his teeth,” Moody answered. “He’s an outlaw. A gunfighter. You said a band of outlaws killed your men. Maybe Sanchez is in that same gang of outlaws. You said that gang might have rescued Red Moon. Well maybe they’ve come here for another member of their gang. Him.”

  “If that’s so, then why didn’t they take him instead of your barkeep?”

  “I’m in no gang,” Sanchez said.

  “Maybe Red Moon is after you,” Moody told Jed, ignoring Sanchez. “Maybe he’s after you and that Navajo boy you’ve been riding around with. Maybe they are trying to kill off all of the witnesses.”

  “An entire town?” Esmerelda asked.

  Moody looked at her. “Red Moon killed twenty men, I don’t think forty more would bother him any.”

  “Men did not do this,” Billy said.

  Moody stared at Billy. “We’ve enough worries without your mumbo jumbo adding to it.”

  “You think men did this?” Billy asked with a smirk. “You think men took everyone in town to the church without leaving a drop of blood in the dirt? Without leaving a track in the sand? You think men pulled everyone apart like that?”

  Karl let out another low moan from the far table.

  “I don’t think some of us need reminding of the damage done,” Moody said and poured another shot of whiskey. He got up and took it to Karl, sitting down beside him, coaxing him into drinking it. Karl still didn’t take the drink; he looked close to passing out.

  Jed looked beyond Moody and Karl at the stairs that led up to the balcony and second floor. He looked back at Sanchez. “You didn’t hear the barkeep go upstairs?”

  Moody looked at the steps ascending into darkness.

  Esmerelda’s eyes grew wide with horror.

  “I told you what I heard,” Sanchez grumbled. “If I heard someone go upstairs, then I would’ve told you that.”

  “And you didn’t hear anyone come downstairs, either?” Esmerelda asked.

  “I didn’t hear anyone on the stairs,” Sanchez said.

  Esmerelda and Moody locked eyes from across the room, both realizing the same thing at the same time.

  “Rose,” Esmerelda said. “We forgot that Rose was up there. She went up to her room with that cowboy earlier.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Oh God, Rose,” Esmerelda whispered. “How could we have forgotten about Rose?”

  All of them watched the stairs that led up into darkness.

  Moody got to his feet with his shotgun in his hands. “We need to go up there and make sure she’s unharmed.” He rushed across the saloon and hurried around the bar to the wooden cubbyholes next to the mirrors. He pulled out a skeleton key attached to a flat wooden tab and hurried back to them.

  “We shouldn’t split up,” Jed said as he got to his feet.

  “Agreed,” Moody said as he joined them again at the tables.

  “What about me?” Sanchez asked. “You can’t leave me here.”

  “We can’t take h
im up there,” Jed said.

  “You can’t just leave him here,” Esmerelda said. “He’ll be taken while we’re upstairs.”

  “They didn’t take him before,” Jed argued.

  “Well, this time it could be different,” she said. “You said so yourself that we shouldn’t split up.”

  “You could untie his legs,” Moody suggested. “Leave his hands shackled, but untie his legs so he can follow us up there.”

  Jed nodded. “Fair enough.” He crouched down in front of Sanchez. He looked up at him. “You kick me or try to get away . . .” He let his warning trail off.

  Sanchez didn’t respond.

  Jed untied Sanchez’s legs. Then he untied the rope attached to Sanchez’s handcuffs. Sanchez got to his feet quickly.

  Moody had Karl on his feet. The thin Swede still looked like he was walking around in a stupor, living in a cocoon of sorrow and misery now. Moody had his lantern in one hand and his shotgun in the other, the barrel pointed down at the floor, his finger on the trigger. He went to the foot of the stairs. “Rose!”

  No answer from upstairs.

  “Rose! It’s Moody! Answer me!”

  Still no answer from upstairs—no sounds at all.

  That queasy feeling was back in Jed’s stomach. He already had a pretty good idea of what they were going to find up there in Rose’s room—but, like a bad dream, he seemed to have no choice but to move forward, to go up those stairs and see the terrible sights that were waiting for him . . . waiting for all of them.

  Jed caught Billy watching him, but he ignored him, nudging Sanchez forward in front of him.

  Moody went up the stairs first, followed by Sanchez and Jed. Esmerelda and David were right behind Jed, and Billy and Karl brought up the rear. Karl was mumbling something in Swedish.

  The lanterns Moody and Jed held lit up the upstairs hallway when they were at the top of the stairs. Moody took a left, walking down the hall that ran towards the front of the building. There were three rooms down this hall, all of them on the same side of the hall. Each door had an even room number on them: eight, then ten, then twelve. All of the numbers were fancy brass pieces, probably ordered out of a catalogue. The doors were freshly painted, and there was more of the garish wallpaper covering the walls up here. The wall on the left-hand side had a few lanterns in sconces along with some framed paintings of desert landscapes. Moody didn’t bother lighting any of the lanterns up here.