by Tim Marquitz
“That’s good news, Mister Strobridge, good news. But that train will do you no good. Liao’s undead won’t stop here. They’ll continue east as well, devouring everyone they come across.”
“Devouring the land,” Red Thunder spoke from somewhere behind them.
Mathias nodded. “Liao must be stopped. Here. Now.”
Strobridge growled. “If that bastard Liao dies in the fighting, then so be it. But we can’t stay here, holed up in this place with no food, sleeping in our own shit.”
“That’s right,” added Mason.
Strobridge’s eyes slid to Manning. “What do you say, son? There’s a pretty penny in it for you if you want in.”
Manning fixed the railroad boss with his steel stare, hands loosely at his hips, poised above those deadly dragoons. “I’d love to see you go, Mister Strobridge. Hell, you and your idiot nearly got us killed twice already. The two of you have been more of a pain in the ass than any of us want to deal with, but since you have this thing Liao wants, this Taiping Jing, then I can’t see why you’d want to go runnin’ around drawin’ attention to yourselves. Why don’t you stay and help us kill Liao?” Manning shrugged. “Then we go for the train.”
Mister Strobridge slapped his hand against his leg. “Lily-fuckin’-livers, the damned lot of you.”
Mathias shook his head, trying to drive Strobridge to wisdom. “You can’t protect the Taiping Jing. If you leave here, you’ll be giving Liao what he wants, and it will only enable him to reap and reap and further reap. We can’t allow that to happen.”
“You saying we can’t leave?”
“Yes, Mister Strobridge.”
“What?”
“We’re not letting you leave.”
“Nobody and I mean nobody tells J.H. Strobridge what he can and cannot do.” The railroad boss slowly turned, sneering, his eyes full of contempt. “Come on, men. We have plans to make.”
“You need to turn over your weapons,” Marshal Oden said at their backs.
“Fuck you,” came George Daggett’s reply. “Come take ‘em.”
Oden gave Mathias an uncertain look. Nobody wanted to forcefully disarm the Daggetts.
The priest shook his head and waved dismissively. “Leave them be for now. They’ll stew, but they’ll come around. There’s really no other choice.”
Her pa wiped his arm across his sweaty brow. “Not so sure about that, Father. Strobridge has them pretty convinced.”
“It’ll be fine, Mister Weaver,” Mathias replied, although his anxious jaw rubbing told Nina he wasn’t so sure either.
Chapter Twelve
Rachel Buell's singsong mewling floated eerily in the chilly afternoon air. The sound caught Nina's attention and she looked over where the Buell women sat on the floor against the wall. Clara stared at nothing and absently stroked Rachel’s hair, the girl laying her head in her ma’s lap. They had been like that since Grover's bodily destruction.
Nina felt sympathy for both, all-too-familiar with the sudden and violent loss of a loved one. She worried for both women’s sanity.
Nina knelt before the fire, slowly feeding herself from a handful of nuts and dried fruit Red Thunder had given her. Time dragged by, tension thick all around. She watched Strobridge's gang sulking Over There, milling around in a cloud of black intent. Being told what to do hadn’t sat well with any of them. Nina hoped the amount of firepower on this side of the building would keep them in check.
Buck and Red Thunder walked the perimeter. The roughrider occasionally peered out through a gap in the barricade. He'd spit, shake his head, and move on, only to return a moment later and repeat the process.
Mathias had finally given up his seat in No Man’s Land and taken to the floor closer to the fire, where he’d put his head on his folded robe and pulled a hat over his eyes to rest. Marshal Oden had taken up one of the chairs in No Man's Land, facing the barricaded front door. He lounged, his feet kicked forward, hat tugged low. He sneaked an occasional glance Over There, keeping tabs on Strobridge and his lickspittles.
Otherwise, the day passed in nervous anticipation of what would happen when Liao came calling tomorrow. No one could deny his control of the situation, a thousand deaduns surrounding their building and no way to escape. How could Mathias protect them when their guns and bombs failed?
“I got a good feeling about Father Mathias,” Pa said.
“I’m not sure how you could have a good feeling about anything, Pa.”
“It’s all relative, Nina girl.”
“Relative to what?” Manning prodded the fire, staring into it as if their answers lie somewhere within the flames. He had a whiskey bottle full of water and held it out to Clara Buell without looking. The woman just stared and rubbed her sniffling daughter’s head, and Manning peered at them, then set the bottle down by Clara’s leg.
“Y’all know what I mean. I’m trying to make the best of the situation,” Pa said. “I happen to believe strongly in the Lord. So, either you’ve not accepted the Lord’s presence within yourself, or you just flat out don’t like the man.”
Manning pulled a crooked grin, which could have been amusement or affirmation. Nina didn’t know which. “I never said I didn’t like the priest. Followed his lead this morning, didn’t I?”
“That you did.”
“Just not sure what we’re gonna do when those things come pourin’ in here in the hundreds.”
“I think we all know what’s gonna happen.” Clara Buell spoke up. The woman looked at them, her eyes suddenly focused albeit haunted. “We’re gonna die horribly, and there’s nothin’ any of us can do about it.” She put her hand over Rachel’s ear, looked askance. “Would be kind if one of y’all would hand me your piece so I can ensure Rachel’s peaceful passage. When the time comes, of course.”
No one replied, and Clara looked annoyed. “I know how to use one. Shot vermin back on the farm with my daddy’s six shooter, and I can handle a shotgun just fine.”
Manning nodded. “When the time comes, Miss, I’ll oblige you one of mine.”
Satisfied, Clara nodded. “Thank you.”
They sat in silence. Jasmine came over and bent down, offering Clara a wet rag. The woman used it to wipe her daughter’s dirty face and hair. The woman fussed with pursed lips, showing the forward determination of someone who had accepted their fate with a certain amount of dignity. She thought Ma would have been the same way, only Ma would have had them join hands in a circle while chanting to their guardian spirits; ever faithful to her religion, and peace, in the wake of chaos and death. Was that strength?
“I had a dream,” Nina blurted out. Before anyone could reply, she told them about it. The gist of it anyway—words couldn’t describe the feeling she’d had being amongst the Shoshone again. She didn’t know why, but it seemed important to let them all know that someone was protecting them; and maybe to convince herself, too.
When she mentioned the shaman’s words about Ma, her pa’s head sunk.
“That’s an awful nice dream, Nina,” he said, “and reminds me of some great memories. Thank you for helping me see what’s important right now. Truth be told, I ain’t opposed to moving on from this world so I can meet your ma in the next, but I’d never leave you, girl. Not now.” Pa reached out and touched her cheek, his skin rough and worn; the hand of a man who never sat idle.
Nina covered his hand with hers. “Don’t talk like that, Pa. Thing is, I believe it...that Ma’s watchin’ over us, I mean.” The revelation wasn’t a total surprise, but it felt good to recognize it. “Or maybe I just miss her a lot.”
Pa looked worn, physically and emotionally. Not surprising given his age, but worrying all the same. Lately, on the trail, he’d needed Nina to take extra time on chores while he rested. Nina hadn’t minded. She knew his scout’s life had taken a toll on him, and it was hard to imagine how he felt right now, foot all twisted up, and the stress of the past twenty-four hours weighing heavy on him. “I choose to believe it, too.”
Miss Buell—now widow Buell—was suddenly standing there, wringing the cloth in her bony hands. She seemed to want to say something, fighting to find the right words. She finally sighed and came out with it. “Just so you know, when we first came here, we weren't...we didn't have no ill feelin's toward y’all or your kind. My husband, he was just tryin' to protect us. It’s hard to know who to trust these days.”
“You sure picked the wrong ones then.”
“Nina,” Pa chastised.
Clara’s smile dripped bitterness. “No, she’s right. It was a bad decision. I know that now. And I’m sorry. We’re sorry.”
“Why you tellin’ me this?”
“Because I want to make peace with God before we go. And make no mistake, we’re going.” Clara frowned and wrinkled her brow. “And because it was wrong. Grover was a good man and got along with just about anyone. I guess seeing…seeing Mister Thunder there was frightening at first, what with all the raids and the violence these days. I just regret we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.”
Nina nodded, unsure how to take that. She’d never been good at receiving compliments or apologies. “Never know, Miss Buell. We might make it out of this yet. How’d you end up in those woods anyway?”
Clara told them how they’d been closing up the boot shop for the day, when the deaduns overran the town. A chill ran up Nina’s spine as she told how the first ones had simply stood out front, staring in through the windows as if waiting for something.
“Of course, Grover grabbed the shotgun and sent me and Rachel to the back. But we didn't go. We stood there while those things looked in at us. At first, I thought it was a gang of some sort. Like I said, it's wild out here. Don't know who to trust or where you're safe. I told Grover we shoulda never come...” Clara turned her head to the fire, looking through the flames into some other world. “When they busted the front window and tore the front door off its hinges, the smell coming off them was the first thing that hit us. That's when we knew exactly what they were. It didn't take but a second more to realize it was the end of days. Just like the good book says.”
“I know how you feel, Miss Buell,” Nina said. “Me and Pa—”
“Grover blew a hole in one of 'em, getting guts all over the new high work leathers we got in just last week,” Miss Buell went on like Nina hadn’t even spoken. “I remember putting those out and thinking Grover was asking too much. They weren't the same company we usually got 'em from. Shoddy.” She laughed. “Now maybe he'll let me mark ‘em down.”
Nina laughed uncomfortably along with her. “I reckon you could have a bloody boot sale.”
Clara beamed, wiping a lock of wispy brown hair from her eyes. “Yes, indeed.”
“What happened then?” Manning regarded the widow with those intent eyes of his as he nibbled.
Glad to have her attention taken, Nina admired James Manning, unabashedly. No sense in being shy about it anymore, not if they were all a hair's breadth from Hell. Her eyes traced the strands of sweat-greasy hair poking out from beneath his hat, down to his ears and then along his unshaved jawline. Two or three day's growth on his face only made him that much more attractive. Her heart beat faster, and she resisted the urge to reach out and touch him.
Did he feel the same way? She had an inkling, but the uncertainty was all that stopped her.
Truth was she'd never thought about men much before. Well, maybe on some nights she'd dreamed about the young Indian fellas she'd met in their visits to the tribe. Copper skin rubbing against hers as they rolled in the grass beneath the full moon. But she'd certainly never felt anything this strong…this close. It was strange after what she’d imagined with Jasmine.
She found herself wishing the same thing as Clara Buell, only different; that she’d met James Manning under much better circumstances. But what then? Would Nina have thought him just another rough man in a rough world? Would she have felt the strength of his touch or seen the compassion in his eyes? Nina liked everything about him, even though she’d failed to admit it before. This time, when he caught her staring, Nina didn't look away.
“Grover shooed us out back where we already had the pony hitched. Bacon was barking his head off. We jumped in the back and started down the trail to...I'm not sure where we were going, exactly. Home, I suppose. We live not quite a mile outside town. Lot of good that would have done us, though. Getting home.
“Anyway, more of them things came out of the woods and spooked the pony. Grover couldn’t keep him on the trail and we ended up hitting a tree, right where you found us. They got the animals first. Poor Bacon, trying to protect us. He’d been Grover’s dog. When Grover saw one of them things pick up Bacon and bite him, he went crazy. I never saw that man so mad in his life. I was proud of him for fending those things off. And, well, you know the rest.”
“Sorry about Grover, ma’am.” Manning tipped his hat to her.
“Oh, it’s not your fault. Can’t no one stop God when he wants somethin’ done.”
Nina harrumphed. “Well, if God is doing all this, let’s hope he takes a nap soon. We could use a damn break.”
“It’s hard to keep one’s faith,” Clara said, shifting so she rested on her heels. Her eyes raised as if she expected Grover to come walking over any second. “But at the same time, I welcome this.” She waved a hand indicating everything. “The dead folk walking, and the demon who took my husband...the end of the world. It only proves to me that God is real, too. He has to be.” Her expression changed to curiosity. “I wonder what Mister George Daggett wants?”
“No good, no doubt,” Manning said, standing as the group turned to look at Mean George coming their way.
He strode over with an exaggerated swagger, thumbs in his belt loops as if he were strolling through a field of daisies. The loud-mouthed bastard appeared to be weaponless, yet still wore an air of cockiness only a truly ignorant man could pull off.
Marshal Oden was waiting for him with crossed arms. Instead of stopping in front of the marshal, George tried to slide on past. Oden caught him by the arm. “Where do you think you’re goin’?”
“Just want some water,” George said, still trying to squeeze past.
“What's your trade, son?”
“We ain’t got nothin’ more to fuckin’ trade. You done took all our whiskey. You got all the women now, too.”
“You got somethin’.”
George backed up, so Oden let him go. The Daggett dipped his head and brought it up shaking, looking provoked. “We ain’t givin’ over our guns, you hear?”
“You can’t drink black powder, either.”
“Oh, that’s funny.”
“Wasn’t meant to be.”
“Look, you gonna let us die of thirst over there? You call yourself a man of justice?”
“Trade us your Spencers, and you can have all the water you want.”
“You’d disarm us with all those fuckin’ deaduns out there?”
“You can have ‘em back if we’re attacked.”
George dragged a hand down his face. “Aw, fuck it. I never did get along with you lawdogs anyway.” With that, he produced a short blade and stabbed Marshal Oden in the gut.
Chapter Thirteen
Marshal Oden clutched his belly, staggering back before George could get in another poke. A dark cloud passed over the Marshal's face. He glanced at George's little knife and growled. With surprising speed, the big guy cocked his meaty arm and lunged.
George was quick, partially blocking Oden’s swing, receiving a glancing blow to the cheek that was still enough to put him on his ass.
Everyone drew, Nina included, and that's when she realized their mistake. Mister Strobridge, Woodie, and Mason had dragged a patchwork shield made
from pieces of wood into No Man's Land and hunkered behind it, protected near the far wall where Grover’s remains were covered by a tattered blanket.
George rolled in behind them, and Strobridge shouted, “Now!”
Woodie tossed one of his damned balls over the shield.
Nina had about a second to wonder how they hadn't seen this coming, before the world vomited light and sound. She was thrown across the room and struck the wall, jarring the breath from her body. She landed hard on her tailbone as the sky winked repeatedly, fragments of wood pummeling her, her vision obscured by dust and smoke. Something sharp gouged her shoulder and she curled up as best she could, covering her head until the worst was over.
Beneath the dwindling sounds of falling debris came a low rumble. The ground shifted. The wall at her back moved. Knowing she could be brained by dropping stones, Nina scrambled, panic-crazed, to get out from under the pile of debris. She kicked her legs free, shoved several large, heavy timbers off her head, choking on dirt and bits of wood as she tried to catch her breath.
Once free, Nina looked for Pa and found him crawling toward her. He was covered in dust and shouting something, but Nina's ears were ringing. She couldn’t hear a dern thing. She waved her hand to indicate she was okay and crawled away from the quaking wall.
She shifted her hat and peered around through the haze as the ground continued to rumble. Red Thunder had fallen across the fire holes and was rolling clear of the flames. Buck sat on the ground, howling and holding his knee, blood blossoming in his pants leg.
Over There, the far wall was gone. A score of deaduns were scattered and blown to pieces outside. Strobridge and the Daggetts threw down their wooden shield, pulled pieces of cloth from their ears, and ran for the new opening, weapons blazing. Woodie scuttled behind them, carrying an extra sack over his shoulder. It looked as if they'd tied together several shirts and put the remaining ammunition inside.
Nina went to draw on the bastards, hoping to get at least one of them, then realized her Colt was gone. She’d been holding it when the bomb went off. Her eyes scanned the dirt floor and spied it lying on the edge of No Man’s Land, several yards away. She wanted to go get it, but couldn’t seem to make her body move. She could barely see anything above the cloud of dust and dirt whipping around.