by Lukens, Mark
“Billy,” Jed snapped as he and Moody got Karl inside.
Billy hurried across the walkway and rushed inside the saloon.
“What is it?” Esmerelda asked. She was on the blanket with David, an arm around his shoulders.
Moody helped Karl to the nearest table where Jed had just woken up a few minutes ago. Jed and Billy closed the saloon doors. Jed locked the doors as Billy retrieved the table legs from the floor. Jed grabbed the hammer and can of nails, then toenailed the table legs back in place, bracing the doors shut as best he could.
“Was that Karl screaming out there?” Esmerelda asked.
Moody nodded at her. “He had a bad dream.”
Sanchez watched from the floor in front of the bar, up on his knees, his arm that was handcuffed to the foot rail stretched out behind him.
Jed met Esmerelda’s eyes for just a second when Moody mentioned the bad dream Karl supposedly had had. He turned back to his task of nailing the table legs in place.
After Jed finished hammering the nails, he took the hammer and can of nails back to the table and sat down. Billy sat down in the chair next to him.
Esmerelda got up and went to the bar. She stoked the fire in the stove and set the coffee kettle on top. She went behind the bar and poured a cup of tea and set a basket of cornbread muffins on the bar top. She put a muffin on a metal plate and brought the muffin and the tea to David.
“How did Karl get outside without us hearing him open the doors?” Esmerelda asked. “We should’ve heard him knocking those braces away.”
Moody stared at the doors, and then looked at Jed. “She’s right.” Moody looked at Karl who sat beside him, slumped down in his chair, his arms on the table in front of him. He seemed to be studying his limp hands. “Karl, do you remember removing the braces from the door? Do you remember opening the doors?”
Karl looked at Moody—a blank stare. He shook his head slowly. “I . . . I woke up out there and . . .” He let his words trail off.
Jed remembered asking Red Moon what had happened to Roscoe in the woods. Red Moon had told him that Roscoe had walked towards the trees like he’d been in a trance. He didn’t believe Red Moon at the time, he didn’t believe in the spells Red Moon said the skinwalkers could cast. But now he was beginning to believe just about anything.
“It was morning already when I woke up,” Karl said. “I saw Ingrid out there. I saw my boys.”
The saloon was quiet, all of them listening to Karl’s words. Esmerelda brought two cups of coffee to the table, setting one of them down in front of Karl. “Tell us everything you saw out there,” she told him in a surprisingly stern tone.
“My Ingrid,” Karl said, wrapping his fingers around the tin cup of coffee like he was trying to warm them up. “I saw her.”
“There was more,” Esmerelda said, almost like she was accusing Karl. “Tell us everything.”
Jed noticed the fear in Esmerelda’s eyes, but she didn’t look at him—she kept her eyes on Karl, waiting for his answer.
“Ingrid only had one arm. My boys, they didn’t have their legs. They were crawling in the dirt, crawling behind her. They looked just like they did inside the church, arms and legs gone.” His face scrunched up in agony, tears slipping from his intense blue eyes. He shook his head like he was trying to shake the images from his mind.
“What happened next?” Esmerelda prodded.
Esmerelda knows something, Jed thought. She’s hiding things just like I am.
Karl rubbed his hands on his face, turning his pale skin red in seconds from the friction and from his crying. “They were dead. I saw them inside the church.” He looked at Moody, then at Esmerelda. “You all saw them. They were all dead. But they came back to me this morning.”
“What was Ingrid doing?” Esmerelda asked Karl. “Did she say anything to you? Do anything?”
“It wasn’t real,” Moody snapped at Esmerelda, and then he looked at Jed. “It was just a bad dream, that’s all. And completely understandable considering the terror we’ve all been through.”
“What did she do to you?” Esmerelda asked Karl as she ignored Moody. “Did she touch you?”
Karl had his hands over his face again. He nodded vigorously.
“She did more than just touch you, didn’t she?” Esmerelda said.
Karl pulled his hands away and inhaled a big breath, sniffling at the same time. “She . . . she touched my shoulder. Grabbed it hard. Her fingers digging into my skin. I was on the ground. She leaned over me and . . . and she kissed me.”
“That’s quite enough!” Moody said. “He had a bad dream. No need to make the man re-live every second of it.” He glared at Esmerelda.
“She forced my mouth apart with hers,” Karl continued. “I . . . I could feel her tongue inside my mouth, going all the way to the back of my throat. Her tongue was longer than it should have been. Like some kind of . . . like a snake.”
“That’s enough,” Moody told Karl. “It wasn’t real.”
“It was real,” Billy said.
They all looked at him.
“There are tracks in the dirt,” Billy told them.
Everyone was quiet.
Moody and Esmerelda looked at Jed.
Jed nodded in agreement with Billy. “He’s right. There are a lot of tracks in the street. Looks like the whole town walked down that street.”
CHAPTER 23
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Moody asked.
“There’s a lot of foot traffic out there,” Jed said simply. “And drag marks. Like some of the people were dragged.” He looked to Billy for conformation.
Billy nodded.
“But . . . but all of that could’ve already been there,” Moody argued.
“Sandstorm would’ve blown everything clean,” Jed told him. “Those tracks out there now are fresh.”
“Then the tracks are ours,” Moody said. “We went to Karl’s store last night, then to the church. Then we came back here. We walked right down the middle of the street.”
“There are many more tracks than ours,” Billy said.
“Which direction did the tracks come from?” Esmerelda asked, but it looked like she already knew the answer to her own question.
“From the church,” Jed told her. He had a picture in his mind of a whole town of dead people walking past the saloon, some of the people hobbling, some of them missing their arms and legs, some of them missing their heads.
“You’re trying to say those tracks are from the dead in the church?” Moody asked. “You’re trying to say dead people walked right down through the middle of town?”
Nobody answered him.
“Maybe the tracks are from whoever is doing all of this,” Moody offered. “Whoever killed your men and took Red Moon.” He stared right at Jed. “The skinwalkers you keep talking about.”
“There’s something else,” Jed said. He looked at Billy who nodded.
“What?” Moody spat out. “You two keeping secrets now?”
“The church,” Jed said. “The pastor’s body isn’t hanging from the front of it anymore.”
Moody looked suddenly twitchy, like he was about to rush to the doors and kick the braces away so he could go outside and see for himself. There was also a hint of embarrassment that he hadn’t noticed that the pastor was gone.
Karl laid his head down on his arms.
Esmerelda went back to the bar to get more cups of coffee. She gave a cup of coffee to Sanchez along with a cornbread muffin. He shoved the muffin in his mouth, eating it in two bites, chasing it down with the coffee.
She brought the basket of muffins and another cup of coffee to the table where Jed and the others sat.
Moody looked at Jed like a thought had occurred to him suddenly. “You were on watch last night. You were supposed to wake me up for the next watch.”
Jed didn’t say anything.
“You fell asleep,” Moody sneered. “You fell asleep at this table when you were supposed to b
e protecting us.”
“We all fell asleep,” Esmerelda reminded him.
“No,” Moody snapped and then looked back at Jed. “You fell asleep on your post.”
“A sleeping spell,” Billy said. “The Ancient Enemy is a powerful force.”
“I don’t believe in that,” Moody grumbled.
“You will,” Billy told him.
Karl moaned. He kept his head on the table but moved his hands below it, holding his stomach.
“What’s wrong?” Moody asked.
“My . . . stomach . . . it hurts.”
Moody got up and gently pulled Karl up onto his feet. “Come on, let’s get you lying down on your blanket.”
Karl stood up, but not all the way; he was hunched over and wincing in pain. He shuffled over to his blanket and lay down with some effort, Moody guiding him all the way.
Jed watched as Allen Moody tried to soothe his Swedish friend who had curled up in a ball on his side as he did so often lately, only now he was groaning lowly in pain, his red face shiny with perspiration even though it was cold in the saloon.
And then Jed’s eyes shifted to David when he heard a hiss of air and David’s cup of tea fall down onto his blanket where the crumbs from his cornbread muffin were scattered. But David didn’t seem concerned about the crumbs or the spilled tea—his eyes were on the saloon doors. Now it seemed like David was holding his breath as he stared at the doors.
Esmerelda noticed David staring at the doors; she was beside him in a flash, not bothering with the cup of spilled tea—her eyes were on the doors, just like David.
Jed’s skin prickled with fear, the nerves just under the skin buzzing with energy—an all-too-familiar feeling these days. He glanced at the doors, then at Billy. The Navajo stared at the doors just like David and Esmerelda were—he could feel something out there, too.
“What’s wrong?” Jed asked as he drew his pistol from his holster. He didn’t cock it yet, but he wanted it in his hand. He looked at David, directing his question to the boy. “What is it?”
“He’s out there,” David whispered.
“Who?”
“The one who wants things.”
Moody was on his feet, leaving Karl in his fetal position. He was across the room in a flash, his shotgun in his hands. “What’s that mean?” he asked, but he kept his eyes on the doors.
You know what it means, Jed almost said, but he remained quiet; no use wasting breath on words right now.
Everyone except Karl was watching the double doors now, even Sanchez who was up on his knees, his right arm stretched out behind him. “Uncuff me, marshal,” he snapped. “Give me my guns. I can help you.”
Esmerelda met Jed’s eyes. “Maybe he can.”
Jed didn’t bother answering her. He rushed to the window, the one to the left of the saloon doors. He feared a burst of gunfire, but at the same time he knew it wasn’t coming.
They don’t need to shoot at us—they can do so many other things.
Jed looked out the window at what was in the street, and then he looked over at Moody who was already at the other window with his shotgun ready. The Irishman stared out the window for a long moment, his face falling slack in both fear and confusion. His body seemed to go limp, his arm dropping down as he barely held on to the shotgun. Jed thought Moody was going to drop his weapon, maybe even faint. Moody shook his head, muttering to himself as he stared out the window.
“Hey!” a strong, deep voice called to them from outside. “Come outside!”
“Who’s out there?” Esmerelda asked.
Jed looked at her, and he swore she already knew the answer. Chances were she recognized the voice, but he was convinced she already knew who it was before she even heard him speak.
“It’s Pastor Starke,” Moody answered without turning around to look at Esmerelda.
CHAPTER 24
“He was dead,” Moody muttered to himself. “Pastor Starke was dead. We all saw it.”
Jed remained by the window to the left of the doors, his Colt .45 in his hand, but the pastor wasn’t coming towards the saloon. Pastor Starke didn’t have a weapon, he wasn’t making any kind of a threatening gesture—he was just standing patiently in the dirt street. But Jed could feel that there was little patience in the being that stood out there.
“Who else is with him?” Esmerelda asked. She was still beside David on the blanket.
Billy seemed to appear right beside Jed with Karl’s Smith & Wesson in his hand; Jed hadn’t even heard him walk across the room.
“He’s alone,” Jed told Esmerelda. “Nobody else is out there with him.” He looked at Moody who still hadn’t torn his eyes away from the window he stood in front of. Jed knew Moody was wrestling with what he was seeing out there in the street, trying to understand it.
“Maybe he wasn’t dead,” Moody said, and he seemed to be talking to himself, trying to convince himself. He looked Jed’s way, hoping for agreement. He turned around and looked at Esmerelda.
“He is dead,” Billy said as if he’d been asked personally.
“We all saw him,” Esmerelda nodded in agreement with Billy. “We saw him hanging upside down in front of the church. We saw his face, the blood. His eyes were wide open. He wasn’t breathing.”
Jed felt that seductive pull of rationalization trying to tug at him. He wanted so badly to believe that the pastor hadn’t been dead, only injured and in shock. He’d heard of men surviving hangings, gunshot wounds, and falls. Maybe the pastor had untied his legs from the rope that suspended him in front of the church, maybe he’d gotten down somehow. Maybe he’d come to the saloon looking for help.
But deep down inside Jed knew none of that was true. There was a dead man standing out there in the street right now, a puppet controlled by the dark thing Billy called the Ancient Enemy.
“Hey!” Another sharp yell from the pastor. “Come outside. We need to talk.”
The one who asks for things, that’s what David had just called him. He, or it, whatever it was, had asked for Red Moon when Jed had been in the woods. What would it ask for now?
Jed looked back out the window. “What do you want?” he yelled through the window at the pastor.
The pastor didn’t answer. He didn’t move. He remained fifteen feet away from the steps of the saloon’s walkway. A cold breeze ruffled the pastor’s suitcoat flaps and pants legs, even though they seemed stiff with dried blood. The pastor’s face was deathly pale underneath a black hat pulled down low. His eyes were sunken into his face, just dark shadows from this distance. His face was long and narrow, his body thin, with a malnourished look to it even though he was a tall man with broad shoulders. His arms looked a little too long, his hands a little too large, and those hands were covered with dried blood that looked like mud.
“I want to let you live,” Pastor Starke finally said. “He wants to let you live. He wants most of you to live.”
Most?
“But first there is a test you have to pass,” Pastor Starke said.
Esmerelda joined Jed and Billy at the window. Jed moved to the side a little so she could look out through the glass over the table top they had nailed to the bottom half of the window.
Sanchez rattled his handcuff against the foot rail again, pulling on the cuff, grunting with effort as he tried to break the metal rail away from the bar. He looked back at Jed. “Cut me loose. I can help.”
Jed didn’t answer Sanchez; he looked at Moody and saw the glimmer of hope in the man’s eyes, a look that said there could be a way out of this, a way to survive. But Jed also saw that Moody was still struggling to convince himself that Pastor Starke was alive, that he was some kind of messenger sent by Red Moon and his skinwalkers.
A skinwalker—that’s what Pastor Starke was now. Something had invaded the pastor’s body, walking around in his skin, using the dead man like a puppet.
“We should hear him out,” Moody said, looking right at Jed. “He said he’ll let us live.”
�
�He said most,” Jed reminded him.
“Does that mean he wants one of us?” Esmerelda asked.
“I won’t wait much longer!” Pastor Starke called out. His voice sounded so deep and loud, gravelly. “He won’t wait much longer. Either you give him what he wants, or bad things are going to happen to all of you.”
Everyone was quiet in the saloon now—even Sanchez had stopped rattling his handcuff against the foot rail, and Karl had stopped rocking and moaning on his blanket.
Jed stood close to Esmerelda. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume. It was a normal smell, a smell of nostalgia for a normal world far removed from this hell they were trapped in now. He looked back out the window and watched the pastor.
The pastor hadn’t moved an inch; he was still in the same spot as before. There was nobody else within sight, nobody on the rooftops across the street, no one inside the buildings beyond the dark windows. Nobody anywhere . . . only the pastor.
“You have three seconds to decide,” Pastor Starke said.
In the silence of the saloon, a noise sounded from upstairs: the creaking of wood. There was a loud stomp up there, then another, then another, like something heavy was walking around up there.
It’s heavy because it’s two people twisted together, walking together, and it’s coming down here now.
Jed wasn’t going to watch that thing come down the steps. He kicked the table leg off of the door, the leg knocking loose easily. He kicked the other one free, pulling it loose from the saloon door. He had made everyone’s decision for them. He unlocked the saloon doors, opened them, and stepped outside. Esmerelda, Billy, and Moody followed him.
“We’re here,” Jed told Pastor Starke when the four of them had gathered on the front walkway. “Call off that thing upstairs.”
Pastor Starke smiled; it was a quick, emotionless smile, the same smile Jed had seen on Roscoe’s severed head, like invisible strings had jerked the corners of his mouth up.
Jed was tempted to stick his head back inside the saloon to make sure Rose and the cowboy weren’t coming down the steps, but he didn’t. He was sure the pastor (the Ancient Enemy) would keep his word, and he was also sure that if something like that was coming down the stairs, David would be out here in a flash.