by Lukens, Mark
Moody still had his shotgun and Billy still had Karl’s pistol, but both men kept their weapons down by their sides like they knew the guns were useless against what inhabited the pastor. Jed holstered his Colt.
“What did they do to you, pastor?” Moody called out to the man. “Are . . . are you dead?”
The pastor’s smile was still plastered on his face, the smile of a dummy controlled by a ventriloquist. “I’m both. I’m dead but still somehow alive. He keeps you alive for as long as he needs to. You feel the pain and the terror and the suffering. And it goes on and on and on. He won’t let you go.”
“You said you would let us live,” Moody said. His voice was shaky, and he seemed to be on the verge of tears.
The pastor’s smile drooped down into a frown, his face blank for a moment. Then the smile reappeared, the corners of his mouth jerking up, his dead eyes hidden under the shadow of his hat. “Yes. But you must give him an offering first.”
“And then we’ll live?” Moody asked.
“First the offering, and then he will decide.”
“What kind of offering do you want?” Jed asked.
“Before noon today, he wants a human tongue out here on the floorboards. It doesn’t matter whose tongue it is, as long as it is from a live person. If you don’t have the offering out here by noon, then bad things are going to happen. Such bad things.”
PART 3
BAD THINGS
CHAPTER 25
Two hours later they weren’t any closer to making a decision about the human tongue that Pastor Starke wanted in front of the saloon before noon, but at least they hadn’t heard any more shuffling sounds coming from upstairs. An hour ago they had gone upstairs and entered the room where the abomination that used to be Rose and her cowboy customer lay. Billy looped a rope around one of the twisted ankles and tied the other end to the leg of the bed while Jed kept his Colt .45 aimed at the double-headed thing in case it moved. Billy then looped another rope around the two arms twisted together, pulling it tight at the wrists, then he secured that end to the bed leg underneath the headboard.
“I don’t know if that will be enough to hold them here,” Jed said.
But it was all Billy was willing to do, as close as he or any of them were willing to get to the thing on the bed.
“Maybe we could nail the door shut,” Esmerelda suggested. “Bar it shut somehow.”
After getting the hammer and can of nails, Jed managed to toenail a few nails into the door and then into the frame. He also nailed a few slats of spare wood they’d gotten from some large crates in the storeroom across the door.
Jed still didn’t think it was enough to keep that monstrosity inside the room, but it was going to have to do.
Now Jed, David, Billy, Esmerelda, and Moody were all seated at the table. Karl was lying on his side on his blanket, moaning softly in a fitful sleep. Sanchez had switched positions on the floor in front of the bar he was chained to, but he still looked uncomfortable.
Moody poured his second shot of whiskey, but instead of drinking it, he curled his hands around the shot glass like he had a habit of doing, like the feel of the glass in his hands was as comforting as the whiskey inside of it was. He had taken his pocket watch out earlier and laid it on the table. “We have to do it,” he said, staring at his pocket watch. “You heard Pastor Starke, or whatever it is. It won’t let us live if we don’t give it what it wants.”
“We’re not giving it a tongue,” Esmerelda said.
Moody glanced at her like her opinion didn’t matter, then he looked at Sanchez.
Sanchez stared right back at Moody.
Moody turned back around and spoke in a low voice. “There’s only one person we can use, only one person we would all agree on.”
“No,” Jed said softly.
Esmerelda let out a long, slow breath of relief. She seemed worried for a few seconds that Jed might agree with Moody’s suggestion.
“Why not?” Moody asked, slapping a hand down on the table, making David jump. “You said yourself that Sanchez is an outlaw. A criminal. A killer. You’re taking him to Smith Junction where he’ll surely hang.”
“No,” Jed said again without much force, but it had a ring of finality to it.
“He’s going to die anyway,” Moody said. “We could use him now to save us all.”
“We don’t know if he’ll hang,” Jed said. “He hasn’t been convicted yet. He hasn’t been in front of a judge or a jury.”
Moody sighed like he and all of the others knew which way an Arizona judge and jury were going to side in a case against a Mexican outlaw.
“Maybe we could use Rose upstairs,” Esmerelda said. “Or the cowboy’s tongue.”
Jed saw their melted faces in his mind, their mouths melted together as one, bits of teeth and glistening meat twisted together, their tongues somewhere in that mass of flesh.
“The pastor said it had to be the tongue from a living person,” Moody reminded her.
Esmerelda sighed and everyone was quiet for a moment.
“So that’s it?” Moody finally asked. “Everyone’s made their decision? Everyone’s agreeing to just give up? We’re all going to put our lives at risk to save some murderer’s tongue?”
Jed looked over at Sanchez who was watching them intently. He didn’t look scared, he looked ready to fight to the death rather than let them carve his tongue out of his mouth.
“We could vote,” Esmerelda said.
Moody sighed loudly again.
Jed nodded. “That sounds good. Let’s vote. All who agree not to give that thing out there one of our tongues, raise your hand.”
Jed raised his hand, and he looked around the table. Esmerelda, Billy, and David raised their hands. He looked over at Sanchez who had his free hand raised. Karl was still in and out of consciousness, rocking and moaning in pain right now, not even listening to them.
“The boy doesn’t get a vote,” Moody grumbled. “And neither does the outlaw.”
“He’s got rights like any of us do,” Esmerelda said.
“Even if you discount David and Sanchez,” Jed told Moody, “and even if Karl could wake up and agree with you, then it would still be three to two against you.”
“Fine,” Moody said, throwing his hands up in disgust. “It’s getting close to noon. I suppose we’ll just sit back, relax, and see what bad things are coming for us.”
They were all quiet again. Moody poured his third drink, but he didn’t pick it up yet. He stared at the glass of whiskey as he spoke. “Why a tongue, anyway? What would that thing want with a tongue? It has all of those other bodies in the church to use.”
“It does not want a tongue,” Billy said.
They all looked at him.
“How do you know that?” Moody asked.
“It wants to see how far we will go,” Billy said.
“If it’s so powerful, if it can bring the dead back, then why doesn’t it just come in here and take us?” Moody asked.
“It wants us to do something for it,” Billy said.
“What?”
“It will tell us,” Billy answered him.
Jed watched Billy, and in that moment he was sure that Billy knew what that thing out there really wanted.
“It’s probably not going to tell us anything now,” Moody sulked. “Not if we’re not doing what it tells us to.” He checked his pocket watch again on the table. “Quarter to noon,” he announced.
Jed got up and walked to the windows. They had braced the doors shut again, but it probably didn’t matter anymore now if they did or not. He knew he was taking a chance by not following the Ancient Enemy’s orders, but he just couldn’t allow himself to tear someone’s tongue out of their mouth, whether they were a murderer or not.
In fifteen minutes they would find out. In fifteen minutes the monstrosity from upstairs might snap the ropes, crash through the door, and come down here. Or the dead townspeople might come crashing through the saloon doors and window
s.
How could they stop that thing upstairs or the dead people in town? They couldn’t shoot them, that wouldn’t slow them down—they were already dead. Chop them up? Burn them? Maybe they could splash lantern oil on them and light them on fire. But they would probably burn the saloon down at the same time. Maybe even the whole damn town. And that creature would still be out there. The Ancient Enemy would just bring more dead people. Somewhere out there in the desert, Red Moon was waiting. And Dobbs. And Roscoe. And David’s family.
The saloon was safe for now, but deep down inside Jed knew it wasn’t. Esmerelda had said as much. What did she know that he didn’t? What did Billy know about this that he was keeping hidden?
The answer seemed close. It seemed like Jed should be able to see the answer. He was overlooking a vital clue or two, a piece of the puzzle that would bring the whole picture into view.
If Esmerelda and Billy really knew what was going on, if they really knew what that Ancient Enemy was after, then why were they keeping it to themselves? Why not talk about it so they could all put their heads together and come up with a plan to beat that thing out there? The Ancient Enemy was powerful, there was no doubt about that, but it was also hesitant about coming inside the saloon. Something in here scared the Ancient Enemy.
Jed felt like the answer was almost there, like something was materializing out of a fog and he could almost make out the edges of it, almost see it.
“No!” Esmerelda screamed.
Jed heard the clatter of the shotgun, the scraping of a chair on the floorboards, the chair tipping over and crashing to the floor. He turned around and saw Moody running at Sanchez with the shotgun in his hands, the weapon aimed at the outlaw.
CHAPTER 26
Jed drew his Colt and pointed it at the back of Moody’s head.
Moody stood in front of Sanchez, his shotgun aimed down at the man, his finger on the trigger.
“Don’t do it,” Jed growled at him. “What you’re doing right now is murder, and I’ve got the legal right to gun you down for it.” Jed felt a moment of calmness washing over him, a feeling he hadn’t felt in days. He was back in his element now, dealing with a problem he knew well, dealing with a problem he knew how to solve.
Moody trembled a little, but he still aimed the shotgun at Sanchez. “We need to do this,” he said without turning around to look at Jed.
“You kill him and we can’t use his tongue anyway,” Esmerelda said. “Don’t you see that?”
Jed figured Esmerelda was trying to rationalize with Moody. He didn’t look at her, but he could tell by the sound of her voice that she was still a few feet away from them. He also heard the sly movements of Billy getting into position with Karl’s Smith & Wesson. Jed knew Billy could be as silent as a cat if he wanted to, but he was letting his movements be heard not only by Jed, but by Moody.
“I’ll just shoot him in the legs until he lets us take his tongue,” Moody said.
“You fire that shotgun and you’ll have to reload,” Jed reminded him. “I’ll put a bullet through your brain before you can do that.”
Sanchez drew his legs up close to his body so Moody would have no choice but to kill him if he pulled the trigger.
That was smart, Jed thought.
Sanchez waited there, still showing no fear as he stared up at Moody without blinking, his dark eyes never wavering. He didn’t beg or cry; he just watched Moody. Jed wondered if Sanchez would walk up the gallows steps like that, silent and cold, confident that he’d done nothing wrong.
“We have to do this,” Moody said. He was trembling more now, beginning to cry.
“Just lower the shotgun,” Jed said in a softer tone of voice. “We’re all under a lot of pressure. We’re all scared.”
Moody started crying harder, lowering the shotgun in defeat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what else to do. I—”
Moody’s words were cut off as Jed struck him in the back of his head with the butt of his Colt. Moody dropped to the floor with a thud, already unconscious.
Esmerelda stifled a scream. Jed glanced back at her and saw that she had her arm around David, both protecting him and comforting him.
Billy stood a few feet away, backing Jed up with Karl’s pistol. He swooped in and grabbed Moody’s shotgun from the floor.
Jed hadn’t hit Moody that hard; Moody would be waking up in a few minutes so Jed went to work quickly. He dug the key to the handcuffs out of his pants pocket and unlocked the cuff from the foot rail of the bar, and then he unlocked the cuff from Sanchez’s wrist.
Sanchez looked shocked, but he didn’t say anything. He remained seated there in front of the bar.
Jed turned Moody over onto his stomach, wrenching both of his hands behind his back. Moody was already waking up, grumbling, but still too weak and stunned to fight back as Jed shackled his hands together. Jed stood up and holstered his Colt.
Moody flipped over onto his side, fully awake now and panicking, blinking in shock as he stared up at Jed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Placing you under arrest for attempted murder,” Jed told him.
“I wasn’t trying to kill him, just wound him,” Moody argued. “I was trying to save our lives!”
Jed looked at Billy. The Navajo seemed to know what Jed wanted from him—he helped Jed get Moody up to his feet. They walked him to the table and sat him down in his chair.
“This is outrageous,” Moody said. “You can’t do this. I’m going to get a lawyer in Smith Junction and bring charges against you.”
Jed didn’t reply.
“This is my saloon,” Moody said. “My hotel.”
“It’s also American soil,” Jed told him. “American land with American laws.”
“He’s a murderer!” Moody yelled, rocking in his chair, nearly tipping it over as he turned around to stare at Jed.
“Do I need to tie you to the chair?” Jed asked him.
Moody stared at Jed like he was ready to catapult up out of the chair at him, but he remained seated and quiet, breathing heavily, his fleshy face red with rage and exertion. There was no blood in his hair from the blow Jed had landed from the butt of his pistol.
“Good,” Jed told Moody and then turned his attention to Sanchez who was still in the same spot in front of the bar even though he was free now. “You going to be trouble?”
“No,” Sanchez answered.
“Good,” Jed said again. “We’re all in this together. We’re not hurting each other or killing each other. Agreed?”
Sanchez nodded. Jed looked at the others. Billy and Esmerelda nodded.
“You,” Jed said, turning back to Sanchez. “Come over here and sit down at the table. You’re still a wanted man.”
Sanchez got up slowly. He stood for a moment on unsteady legs, like he was trying to get the circulation going in them again. Then he walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down.
Jed wasn’t sure if Sanchez would be trouble or not, but at this moment he felt that he could trust Sanchez more than he could trust Moody. As long as Sanchez didn’t get a gun in his hands or run. But it didn’t look like Sanchez had any intention of running outside with that thing out there.
“Marshal,” Esmerelda said.
Jed looked at her. She had Moody’s pocket watch in her hand. “It’s noon.”
The saloon was silent.
Jed walked over to the window to the left of the door. Billy had slipped Karl’s pistol down into his belt among the layers of his clothing, and he still had Moody’s shotgun in his hands. He went to the other window and looked outside.
“What is it?” Moody asked. “What do you see out there?”
Jed stared out the window, keeping to the side of it as much as possible. He looked out at the street, at the buildings on the other side of the street, up and down the street as much as possible, but there was no one out there.
“You see anything?” Moody asked.
Jed turned around and loo
ked at Moody, then at Esmerelda. “Nothing yet.”
“Unchain me!” Moody snapped. “You can’t leave me like this. I have a right to defend myself, damn it. This is my saloon.”
Jed looked back out the window, his hand on the butt of his Colt.
“I’m better now,” Moody said in a softer voice, turning to Esmerelda. “I swear it.” He looked at Sanchez across the table who was watching him with an expressionless face and cold eyes. “That outlaw’s going to grab a gun and shoot me.”
Several minutes passed as Jed stared out the window, watching for any sign of movement, listening for any sounds from out there. He also listened for any sounds coming from upstairs. But there was nothing but silence and stillness. He continued watching the street. When the pastor showed up, or whatever else might show up, Jed wanted to see which direction they came from. He wanted to see where they were hiding right now. Were they in the church down the street? He couldn’t see the church from the saloon windows, but he watched that direction, waiting for someone or something to come walking down the dirt street.
The saloon was silent again. No sounds except for Karl who had started moaning louder, rolling back and forth on his blanket.
“Something’s wrong with Karl,” Moody said.
Jed hated to move away from the window, but he walked back to the table. Billy followed him, standing beside him with the shotgun. They all stared at the Swede as he tossed and turned on the blankets, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands on his belly, his face redder now, sweatier.
David jumped to his feet from the chair beside Esmerelda. He ran around the table to Jed, clinging to him.
“What’s wrong, David?” Jed asked.
The boy didn’t answer. He stared across the room, watching Karl like he was afraid of him, like he was waiting for something to happen.
“Moody’s right,” Esmerelda said, standing up from her chair and backing away from all of the blankets spread out across the floor. “Something’s wrong with Karl. Look at his belly.”