Deadlands: Ghostwalkers

by Jonathan Maberry

  He wondered if the necromancer even counted that cost or if the lives of his own people meant as little to him as the lives of the people here in Paradise Falls.

  Probably.

  He wished he could get up close to the man and look him in the eye. He had met killers, criminals, and bad men before, but he had never looked into the eyes of someone who was willing to spill an ocean of blood to achieve his own goals. He had never faced down a would-be conqueror. And he dearly wanted to have that confrontation with Deray. He wanted to ask him by what right he made war on his fellow men. By what right did he cultivate war on a global scale. By what right did he set himself above all laws and all codes of ethics and morality.

  He wanted those answers and then he wanted to put a hot bullet into that cold heart.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  “They’re coming!”

  The cry went up from the barrier and blazed like wildfire through the town.

  Grey and Saint ran to the sandbag wall and stared at the line of undead troops that had begun to pass between the gates of the Icarus Bridge. The first undead soldier to step onto the bridge did so tentatively. He tugged on the ropes, jerking hard to see if they’d part before he put his weight on the boards.

  The ropes held.

  “Come on you bastard,” murmured Grey. “Come on.”

  The corpse turned and waved to his companions and Grey saw him give a thumbs up. Then the soldier turned back and put a foot on the first of the boards. It was too far away for Grey to hear the wood creak, but he remembered the sound and could imagine it now. Old wood that complained under any burden. The undead held onto the ropes as he eased his weight onto one foot and then both. Above him, Aleksander Deray leaned over the damaged rail of his ship and growled at the dead men. Grey couldn’t hear the words but it did not appear as if the necromancer was offering compassion and support. His face seemed as filled with storms as the sky above him.

  The dead man took another step. And another. The bridge swayed but the boards held. The ropes held. The bridge held. When he was halfway across the gorge, the undead stopped and actually jumped up and down on the bridge, testing its integrity and strength.

  Can they feel fear, Grey wondered. If so, why? It couldn’t be anything to do with physical pain, their bodies were stolen. And it certainly couldn’t be concerns about their mortality because they were demons. If their bodies died they’d simply go back to hell.

  Was it a fear of torment in the Pit? Grey doubted it. More likely, he mused, it was a red delight in all of the terrible things they could do with those stolen bodies. If they were as evil as Brother Joe said, then they would crave pain and slaughter the way an opium eater craved the pipe. An addiction of malice. His gut told him that he’d hit on it.

  But that meant that he could not bargain with them. Could not really threaten them. It would be like trying to reason with a swarm of locusts or a raging forest fire.

  The corpse turned and waved. First to Deray and then to the other undead. He yelled so loud that his words drifted all the way through the wind and rain to Grey.

  “It’s safe! The fools have cut their own throats. Come, my brothers! Come!”

  And they came.

  With a howl like a pack of hellish jackals, the grinning horde drew their guns and raced forward onto the bridge. Hundreds of them. Staggering corpses whose gray and rotted flesh were a horror to behold, and they sent up a continuous moan of unbearable hunger as they stumbled forward, hands reaching toward the promise of warm human flesh. Behind the legions of the dead were the living soldiers in the employ of the mad conqueror. Deray’s men wore uniforms of gray and black and purple, and each carried a rifle made from copper and steel and set with burning jewels. Across the Icarus Bridge came the armies of the underworld. Across the chasm, far above the thrashing water, came the exterminators who would slaughter and consume.

  Behind the sandbag barrier, the defenders of Paradise Falls crouched with wild eyes and sweating hands gripping their meager weapons.

  “God,” cried one of the men at the barrier. “Look how many there are.”

  Grey heard weeping among the gathered fighters behind the sandbags.

  “They’re almost across!” shouted someone else. And it was true, the army of the damned were three quarters of the way across the creaking bridge. With every step they moved faster as their careful walk gave way to a fast walk and finally, with a howl that shook the skies, a full-out run.

  The chasm was two hundred and seven feet wide. That’s what Jenny and Looks Away told Grey. The bridge was made of wooden slats and miles of rope. It swayed under the weight of hundreds of running feet.

  “Guess it’s time,” said Grey. “Be ready.”

  He placed two hands on the sandbag wall and swung his body over, landed with a thump on the hard-packed dirt, and then jogged down the slope to the mouth of the ridge, reaching it while the undead were still a dozen yards away. He stood between the bridge posts and raised both his hands. The racing dead suddenly slowed, and as the leading edge of the charge stopped, the others collided with them. In the air the sky frigate turned hard aport to give Deray a better look as Grey stood in a posture of obvious surrender.

  The oncoming tide of killers stopped, but three hundred gun barrels swung toward him, and then—as Grey had hoped—a tall figure pushed through the crowd, shoving the other walking dead aside as he moved to the front of the army. Grey felt his heart sink. He knew the clothes, that hat, the guns, that face. Lucky Bob Pearl came smiling to within twenty feet of where Grey waited.

  “You are one persistent fellow,” said the Harrowed.

  “Been called that,” admitted Grey.

  “And you’re a right pain in my ass.”

  “Been called that, too. And worse.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “You’re a bit persistent your ownself,” said Grey. “Every time people think you’re dead you pop right back up like a prairie dog.”

  “More like a bad penny, wouldn’t you say?” suggested Lucky Bob.

  “Fair enough.”

  “What’s your name, son?”

  “Grey Torrance, and I’m the sheriff ’round these parts.”

  “Really? Since when?”

  Grey laughed. “I’m lying. I read that line in so many dime novels I just had to say it. Sounds just as stupid out loud, doesn’t it?”

  A smile flickered on the Harrowed’s face. Behind him some of the others were smiling, too. Grey doubted they appreciated the little joke. No, their grins were in anticipation of slaughter and feasting.

  “Kill ’im, brother,” said one of them, but Lucky Bob shook his head.

  “No,” he said loud enough for them all to hear, “let’s have the niceties. After all, these people used to be my friends. It’s only neighborly to have a chat before we commence with the butchery.”

  Grey kept his smile on his face, but it felt like it was hammered there with rusty nails.

  “So,” said Lucky Bob as he took a casual step forward, “what’s a couple of bad pennies like us doing here, Mr. Torrance?”

  “Call me Grey.”

  “Fine. What’s the game, Grey? You have your hands up like you want to surrender.”

  Grey lowered his arms slowly. “Not really. More of an attention-getter. Actually I wanted to have a chat.”

  “A chat, is it? You want to beg Lord Deray for mercy? Do you want to offer terms for your surrender? Do you want to lay at his feet and—.”

  “Actually, sport,” said Grey, “I don’t really have much to say to your lord and master that don’t involve four-letter words. I got no use for him. I wouldn’t buy water from him if I was on fire. I wouldn’t waste water to spit on him.”

  Now no one on the bridge was smiling. A cold and dangerous light ignited in Lucky Bob’s dark eyes. “You want to watch that mouth of yours, boy.”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me? I kind of think you’re already playing that card faceup on the table.”
r />   “There are worse things than death.”

  “Yeah,” said Grey. “I know. I’m looking at that right now.”

  “I think I’ll let the dead eat you last,” said Lucky Bob. “After you’ve watched us kill every last person in town.”

  “Maybe that’s how it’ll work out,” said Grey. “But before we get to that, I want to speak to you. To the manitou and to the human soul of Bob Pearl that I know is still in there. I want you both to hear what I say. Just you two. As for the rest…? Well, you’d know better than me, but I’m pretty sure they’re not the reasonable type.”

  “Not much, no.” Lucky Bob cocked his head to one side. “But before you waste your last breath on an impassioned plea, son, understand that there’s nothing you can say to make this easier on you. There’s only one way this is going to end and we both know it.”

  “Maybe,” said Grey. “And then again maybe not.”

  “Don’t die a fool, boy. And don’t embarrass yourself by begging for mercy.”

  “Nope, not about that. This isn’t about you sparing me or the people here. You’re going to try to kill us and maybe you will. Before you do, though, you need to know what you’re going to risk. Not your troops, but you. The manitou inside and the man. You both need to hear this.”

  Above them a voice bellowed. “No!”

  They looked up to see Deray grasping the shattered rail of the frigate. It descended through the rain and then stopped forty feet above the bridge. Close enough for a rifle shot, thought Grey. Tough height and angle for a pistol shot, especially in this weather. Might be worth trying, though. If he thought he could kill the man with absolute certainty, he might have gone for it. Even with all those guns pointed at him. It might end the war right here.

  As if reading his mind, Deray barked an order. “Pearl—kill him now. He is nothing. His words are nothing but lies.”

  “My, my, my,” said Grey. “He almost sounds scared. Makes me wonder if he’s afraid of what I’m going to say.”

  Lucky Bob narrowed his eyes. For a moment the evil intensity of his expression wavered. He glanced up at Deray. “My lord,” he said, placing his free hand over the ghost rock chunk buried in his chest, “give me a minute or two with this fool. He felt it was important to come out here like this, maybe he has something worth hearing.”

  Deray clearly did not like it, but he also clearly did not want to appear weak or nervous in front of his troops. He gave a terse wave of his hand. “Make it quick, then, and afterward bring me his head.”

  “That’s the plan, my lord,” said Lucky Bob. He turned, thumbed the hammer back on his big pistol, and nodded to Grey. “Speak your piece.”

  “Okay, then here it is,” said Grey, pitching his voice loud enough for them all to hear. “We know who and what you are, Bob. We know about the manitou inside you. We know that the manitou and the human being are wrestling each other for control. Right now it looks like the manitou has been winning hands down, but we both know that’s not set in stone. It never will be. I never met Lucky Bob, but from what everybody’s been telling me he was one tough son of a bitch. Brave, forthright, strong-willed, maybe even noble. He died trying to save this town. We know this.”

  Grey saw how his words hit the Harrowed. He licked his withered lips and said nothing.

  Behind him the undead were growing impatient and kept looking past Lucky Bob to their prey hiding behind the sandbag barrier.

  “And just as we know about you, Bob,” continued Grey, “we know what will happen if you die.”

  “So what?” asked Lucky Bob. “You killed me already yesterday and here I stand, right as this rain.” With his free hand he snatched a few raindrops out of the air and then flung the water at Grey.

  “Yeah, well,” said Grey, “that’s because I didn’t kill you the right way, did I?”

  Lucky Bob said nothing.

  “That’s because I didn’t put a bullet in your brain,” said Grey. “Yeah, that’s got your attention. If your brain is destroyed, it won’t send you back to Hell. It’ll destroy you for good and all. For all time. Forever.” He pointed to the row of rifles that pointed from atop the sandbags. “Every man and woman in Paradise Falls knows that they can kill your immortal soul.”

  The silence was immense. Even Deray’s yells had dwindled down to nothing.

  “Now listen to me and listen to me good,” said Grey. “We don’t want to do that to you. Not even to you. Far as we’re all concerned, you’re a victim a couple of times over. First you were murdered. I suspect that Chesterfield’s men gunned you down, didn’t they, Lucky Bob?

  The Harrowed said nothing.

  “Then Aleksander Deray put that ghost rock in your chest and he made you his slave. Maybe he invoked the manitou and sent it to take you over, or maybe he grabbed you once that happened. Don’t know and don’t really care. I’ll bet the manitou inside of you isn’t happy about being a slave to Deray. I know Lucky Bob Pearl isn’t. That chunk of ghost rock in your chest is the same as having an iron collar around your neck. Magic or chains, it all comes out the same. As long as it’s there, you’ll never be free of Deray. You’ll never be really alive. That means you traded one hell for another.”

  “His words are meaningless,” yelled Deray. “Don’t listen to him. Kill him. I command you!”

  “You’re talking a lot, boy,” said Lucky Bob, “but are you getting anywhere with this?”

  “I am. I’m here to give you a chance, Lucky Bob.”

  “A chance at what?”

  “At being free.”

  They stared at him. Waiting. Waiting.

  “Stand with us,” said Grey, lowering his tone so that only Lucky Bob could hear him, “and you get to live. Doctor Saint will even find some way of removing that damn rock. Stand with us, with your daughter, and save the town you love. The town you died trying to protect.”

  Lucky Bob seemed to waver, and Grey prayed that he had reached the man—that good man—inside.

  “I…,” began the Harrowed, but he stopped and shook his head.

  “Defy me and I will burn you,” said Deray.

  Something caught Grey’s eye and it very nearly made him falter. Forty feet away from where he stood, gathered together beneath the leafless boughs of a dead cottonwood, he saw a dozen figures. All men except for one young woman. Every face was familiar. Every face was as pale as death. Dark eyes, hard mouths.

  The ghosts. His ghosts.

  They had caught up to him at last. They were here.

  Grey knew that this was all going to end in darkness. In pain.

  In damnation.

  But he still wanted to save Lucky Bob if he could. For Jenny. For the sake of the people they were. For his own soul.

  “Please,” he said, though he spoke as much to the waiting ghosts as to the undead here on the bridge.

  “I can’t do that,” said Lucky Bob softly and with his free hand he lightly touched the ghost rock buried in his chest. “Lord Deray’s cast a spell over the rock. Dark, dark magic. So … powerful. You can’t imagine. If I tried to take it out, I’d burn. Do you understand? I’d burn to ashes, flesh and bone … and brain. I’d be every bit as dead. What you’re offering me is nothing, boy. I’ve already lost. I’ve got no hope at all.”

  “Listen to me,” Grey said urgently, talking now directly to Lucky Bob. “Your daughter is in this town. If you cross this bridge she’ll die. Think about what Deray will do to her.”

  Lucky Bob shook his head and despite everything there were tears in his eyes. “No … Jenny’s already dead. I killed her myself the other night. Shot her through the heart.”

  “You’re wrong,” Grey insisted. “The bullet ricocheted off the whalebone in her corset. It saved her the same as my silver belt buckle saved me. She’s alive. Jenny is alive.”

  The Harrowed kept shaking his head. “You’re a hopeful fool, boy. Whalebone can’t deflect a bullet.”

  “You’re wrong,” repeated Grey. “Jenny is alive and you didn�
��t murder her. You can still come back from the edge of this, man. But she’s here in town and she’s going to fight whoever crosses this bridge. You know how that fight will end. You know that she’ll die and that she’ll become a slave to Deray. Is that what you want? Is that what you—Lucky Bob Pearl, the man who saved this town—want for her and everything she stands for? Isn’t there anything left of the good man who everyone in Paradise Falls loved? Listen to me, man. This is the truth.”

  “Don’t believe his lies, Pearl,” shouted Deray. “He is trying to sow seeds of doubt.”

  Lucky Bob walked forward until he stood face to face with Grey. Tears burned silver lines down his face. “My daughter is dead and I am in hell,” he said. “There is no escape. Lord Deray will conquer this world and it will become an abode of demons who are his slaves. That is the truth. This town will fall and it’s going to light a fire that will burn down the whole world. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing that anyone can do. You want to threaten me? You want to shoot me in the head? Go on and do it. It would be a mercy because I am a monster, and I am already in hell.”

  Once more Deray’s mad laughter filled the skies.

  He’s enjoying this, Grey realized. He’s letting us have this conversation because he wants to prove me wrong in front of all of his men.

  “Goddamn it, I don’t want to kill you,” Grey said to Pearl, then he spoke to the other leering dead. “I don’t want to kill anyone except that prick up in that ship. He’s the monster. I want to help you. I want you to help us. Stand with us. Fight Deray. Be free.”

  “He’ll burn us.”

  Grey sighed. “So will I. If I have to.”

  Lucky Bob blinked. “What?”

  Grey growled, “You have one chance, Bob. Get off this bridge right now…”

  “Or what?” demanded the Harrowed.

  “Or I’ll kill you. Right here. Right now.”

  “Ha!” cried Deray. “Bold words but an empty threat. These people are sheep to be herded. They are nothing. They can do nothing. They—.”