Those Poor, Poor Bastards (Dead West Book 1)

by Tim Marquitz

  “Kill…it!” Oden growled through bloodied teeth. The beast thrashed, but the marshal held on, roaring.

  Manning yelled and charged up the pile with Nina’s ax in hand. He severed the sinuous tendril holding Red Thunder and went to work on the core of clumped, wiggly things. His ax head threw off ropy globs of blackened goop as it rose and fell. Red Thunder spun, dodging another deadly claw, and buried his tomahawk in the thing’s side.

  Liao’s face was too high for them to reach. Except for Buck Patterson. The wounded man had limped halfway up the sliding scree. He raised his weapon, and a fat ball of lead smashed the mask’s forehead to pieces, bone-colored shards spinning away like a rain of stars.

  Liao squealed, jerking from side-to-side as more of Buck’s slugs pounded home. Seeing those fathomless eyes wide with terror was one of the most satisfying things Nina had ever witnessed.

  Mathias’s holy light grew bright once again. She glanced back to see the priest kneeling on the beam, one shaky hand still holding his cross high, the other fist to his chest as he prayed to his Lord.

  Nina staggered to her feet, prepared to charge up the mound if she could. But then the beast shrunk away, by reflex jerking the marshal down before its claw wrenched free. A cloud of dense fog rolled in, covering Liao’s retreat.

  “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!” Buck screamed, sending one more shot into the mist, receiving a satisfying squeal in response.

  Manning looked down at Nina from the top of the pile, his face a mess of blood and gunk. Nina smiled up at him, feeling giddy. They were alive. Well, most of them, anyway.

  Marshal Oden’s blank, lifeless stare was fixed on Heaven, and Nina sure hoped the big man had made it there.

  A few moments later, deaduns moaned from the mist.

  They were coming.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “What do we do now?” Pa asked as Nina got under his arm.

  “I swallowed my chaw,” Buck announced.

  They looked at him. “It was my last plug,” the roughrider explained, then winced at his leg.

  “I meant what do we do now we’re surrounded by the walkin’ dead.”

  “We sure as shit ain’t got no ammo. At least nothing for my piece.” Buck spun his chamber and holstered his weapon.

  “And we have injured,” Manning added.

  “We go down there.” Red Thunder nodded to the pit.

  Pa peered over the edge. “Ain’t that a drop?”

  Red Thunder put his foot out over the gap and stepped off. Nina gasped but was relieved when the Indian landed just a few feet down, his head clearly visible.

  “The way is hidden by shadow. There are some cracks, so we must be careful, but the floor evens out below. Come.”

  “Must be part of the river that feeds the well,” Pa said. “Ain't no tellin' what's down there. Might get ourselves trapped.”

  “Well, we know what’s up here, Lincoln,” said Manning.

  Pa nodded at that. “Let’s go then.”

  “What about the dead?” Jasmine asked.

  “Ain’t nothing can be done about it,” said Buck. “We’ll honor ‘em later if we get the chance.”

  “And pray for their immortal souls,” Father Mathias added. “Samuel Oden was a good man and a friend. His place in heaven is assured.”

  “Come,” Red Thunder repeated.

  Nina could hear the moans getting louder. Some debris tumbled down from the top of the pile to their right.

  She saw Jasmine trying to haul Rachel to her feet, but the girl was staring dumbly at nothing in particular. “Rachel, we have to go,” the black woman said.

  “Leave me,” the girl said. “I want to stay with my ma and pa.”

  “Your mama gave her life so you could live,” Nina said. “Let’s go. Deaduns are coming.”

  “I don’t care,” Rachel said, still looking at the ground.

  Nina marched over. “Get her,” she told Jasmine. “We don’t have time for this horseshit. You think your pa would want you getting pulled apart and et?”

  “Come on,” her own pa hissed. He was sitting on the edge of the hole in the floor, looking past them through the dust at the opening in the debris. Shadows were shifting and they had but seconds.

  Rachel was a limp doll as Nina and Jasmine pulled her to her feet and led her over. Manning and Red Thunder were helping the others down, and James reached up and took hold of Rachel, as well.

  They all made haste down into the darkness. Nina was last and she saw the first deadun tumble down the debris pile and flop into the room.

  She ducked down into the hole. The dim light of day extinguished. At first, Nina thought they’d made a good decision, but once down in the dank dark, she wasn’t so sure. The black was all-encompassing, and the air had dropped several degrees. “Ain’t none of us got a light?” she whispered, feeling squirrelly.

  She heard some fussing around, a spark flared, and there was Buck’s grinning face surrounded by a halo of illumination from the head of a tiny stick.

  “Safety matches. Won two boxes from a feller in Sacramento playing five card stud.”

  Manning had some ripped up cloth and he wrapped the end of one of the wood slivers with it, while Buck pulled a flask from his back pocket. The roughrider unscrewed the cap, frowned, and poured some whiskey over the fabric. Nina smelled the stuff from where she stood, saliva welling up in her mouth. Anything other than dust and creek water sounded fucking delicious about now.

  Before his match went out, Buck lit the makeshift torch to reveal much of what Nina already suspected: wet, dripping walls and a circle of filthy, tired faces.

  Something tumbled from above, thumping heavily and rolling down the slab. They scrambled out of the way as the deadun Nina had spied above skidded to a halt at their feet.

  Manning stepped back and buried his ax between its eyes with a thunk. He was getting downright deadly with that thing. Nina stared at the corpse’s pasty gray skin covered with that odd, flowing script. She should be used to them by now, and maybe part of her was, but questions rose above her fear. How the fuck had it come to be, exactly? She knew it was Liao Xu, but how? She’d have to ask Mathias when she got a chance.

  “Okay. Let’s get moving,” Manning said. “More might be behind this one.”

  “And I’m sorry to say, despite our small victory, it won’t take long for Liao to recover,” Father Mathias said. “Although he’ll think twice about rushing in so eagerly, or face the Lord’s wrath.”

  Nina gave the priest a sour look.

  “Right. He’ll probably rush in regardless. Seems a bit maniacal like that,” Buck added.

  “But only if his heavenly subjects find us first,” said Manning. “If we can elude them, we might make it.”

  “We don’t have a damn clue where we’re going.” Nina caught herself not using ‘goddamn’ out of respect for Mathias’s religion. She recalled Red Thunder’s words about faiths and gods being the same across all religions.

  “Well, let’s go nowhere fast,” Manning said.

  They shuffled forth, Buck, Mathias, and Manning first; Nina, Pa, and the girls in the middle; and Red Thunder bringing up the rear. Nina fit fine under Pa’s shoulder, giving him just enough support to keep off his foot. Pa grunted whenever it bumped something, bare and unprotected as it was. The sound of rushing water always seemed close by, yet somehow distant, too. Nina felt a spike of panic and started to grow faint, her breath coming quick in and out. What if thousands of gallons of water rushed by just feet above their heads? What if the cave collapsed?

  She got angry for spookin’ herself. After all the mayhem they’d faced, Nina wasn’t about to lose all control due to her own dang imagination.

  They trudged on, Nina focusing on one step at a time, her stomach nauseated and rumbly. Hell, they were all hungry, but thinking about food was much better than thinking about the tight tunnel, the possibility of running into a dead end, or hundreds of deaduns falling into the hole behin
d them. Get a damn grip!

  Pa asked, “What you think happened to Strobridge and his boys, Father?”

  “Hopefully dead,” Nina muttered.

  Pa clicked his tongue. “I’m talkin’ to the good Father.”

  “Hopefully dead,” the priest replied over his shoulder.

  The floor declined gently, and if Nina remembered Pa’s maps correctly, their path would take them down to Maples Creek. It was only maybe a half mile from the fort, give or take, so Nina expected some kind of conclusion soon. Freedom or death. Or maybe this passage went on forever? Pa was starting to get heavy, leaning on her more and more—everyone here had to be past tuckered out.

  Nina focused on the light from Buck’s torch. She imagined Pa’s long stride and her three strides in between forming a rhythm, a rhythm pounded out by Shoshone drums. It wasn’t perfect, no, but the percussive sounds soothed her senses, allowing herself to sink into a trance. A meditative state, her mother would say. Nina had seen Ma do it hundreds of times, but the little girl back then had been perfectly happy playing in the grass and flowers around her silent, still guardian.

  A harsh hiss broke through her reveries. Nina’s eyes snapped open. Manning was there, peering up the tunnel over her shoulder.

  Red Thunder crouched, his attention fixed in the same direction. “Someone’s coming.”

  “Kill the torch,” Manning said, “and keep quiet.”

  The blackness swallowed them, but Nina could see what they meant. Light flickered toward them, the tiniest bit of luminance bouncing off the tunnel walls. Soon, voices could be heard, and it took Nina two seconds to realize who it was. A cold, sickness settled in her guts.

  “Pa,” she whispered, “I’m going to set you down.”

  Nina drew her pistol and hunting knife and knelt near Red Thunder. Part of her protested what she was about to do, but it was life or death now, and there were certain people who, by their own goddamn nature, made life a lot more dangerous than necessary. Namely, the no-good bastards working their way down the tunnel.

  As they drew closer, shadows danced along the wall where the tunnel curved upward. Strobridge’s rangy silhouette came first, limping heavily, followed by the hobbling Les Woodruff, and then the Daggetts.

  Nina took a deep breath of cold, musty air and tensed.

  Red Thunder’s loping form shot past Mister Strobridge and took Mason Daggett down while James Manning’s shadow made a direct line for George. Nina took three steps and pointed her gun at Strobridge’s head. She caught sight of Woodruff backing up right into Buck, who grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

  “Ow!” George Daggett called out, sounding good and surprised. A scuffle ensued followed by something clattering to the ground. “All right, goddamn it. Alright! I give up.”

  Mister Strobridge held up his hand, eyeballing the barrel pressed against his cheek. “Darlin’, we need to quit finding ourselves in this position.”

  “This is the only position we’ll ever find ourselves in.”

  Manning stood up in their midst, fists clenched at his sides. “Your plan not work out so well?”

  “Ain’t got a lot of time to explain ourselves. Deaduns are after us.”

  “All the more reason to do what needs to be done with you maggots,” Nina snarled, shoving her muzzle into Strobridge’s hairy cheek.

  The boss pushed his face into the Colt’s barrel, causing Nina to withdraw the pistol back a little. “I’m the only one who can work that goddamn train,” he said, brows lowered. “So you ought not be killin’ your only chance of getting the hell outta here,” then added with a curl of his lip, “squaw.”

  Manning’s steel gaze threatened to cut Strobridge in two. “Fine.” Manning turned and laid Woodie out with one punch. Buck let loose of the man as he folded, and Manning fell on top of him to finish the job he’d started the night before. “Finally brought it all fucking down, didn’t you?” Each word spat between blows. Even in the near pitch black, Nina could see Woodie’s face opening up all over again.

  “I got a lot of reasons to kill you,” Nina said, pushing the barrel into Strobridge’s bearded face, causing him to crane his neck back. “Ain’t enough bullets in this gun.”

  The railroad boss nodded, as if he’d expected this kind of welcome. “We can settle scores later.”

  Leaving Woodie a sprawling mess, Manning stood, still breathing like a mad bull. “As for you,” he said, and snatched Mean George’s Spencer off the ground, turned it on him, and pulled the trigger a half-dozen times.

  George snickered. “All out.”

  Manning jammed the barrel of the weapon into George’s belly, then he flipped it, took hold of the barrel, and cracked the twisted grin off his face with the stock. George went down, hands up to protect his head.

  Mason started to intervene but Red Thunder held the business end of his tomahawk to the rebel’s throat.

  “Fuck, man! Ease up,” George whined, holding his hand to his face.

  “Like you eased up on Marshal Oden?” He kicked George in the leg.

  “Fuck, Manning. I barely hurt the guy. It was a goddamn potato peeler. I knew he’d be fine. We was just tryin’ to get out of there. We needed a distraction…”

  “It’s true.” Mason glared at Manning. “Y’all wouldn’t let us leave, so we didn’t have a choice. You made us stab the marshal.” He blinked and looked around. “Where is he?”

  “Dead.” Manning shook his head, his nostrils flaring. The torchlight bathed his face in a hellish glow, and for a moment Nina wondered about their humanity. Were they all losing it? Had they ever had it?

  “Let’s go,” she said, pushing away from Strobridge and holstering her Colt. “Come on, Pa.”

  “Leave them here?” Manning looked at her.

  “Yer sick of their gas, I’m sick of their bullshit, and I’m not wasting a bullet to hobble Strobridge here by shooting him in the leg and leaving him for the deaduns.”

  Manning shook his head. “I don’t know. Dangerous leaving them behind.”

  “Then shoot ‘em or bring ‘em.”

  Manning chuckled. “As you please, Ninataku.”

  Nina stopped, looked at Manning, then at Red Thunder, who still had his tomahawk ready to bury in Mason Daggett’s skull if it came to it. “You told him my name?” she asked the Indian.

  Red Thunder didn’t have time to answer, as Manning said, “You were singing in your sleep. The song. There were other words, but that’s the one I remembered.”

  “Oh.”

  “Ninataku means Fire-Eater,” her pa explained. “Her Goshute name.”

  Buck re-lit his torch. “Stay away from this then, Fire-Eater,” he said to Nina. “We’re plumb outta bug juice.”

  “How about you not shoot us then and we get to my train?”

  “Fine,” Manning glowered. “Like you said, we’ll reckon things out later.”

  “Fair enough,” Strobridge said.

  “Let’s scoot,” Buck pushed past the group with his light, and Nina took her place beside Pa, and just in front of Jasmine and Rachel, the whites of their eyes shining.

  Strobridge and the Daggetts walked in front, just behind Buck, so everyone could keep an eye on them. The Daggets ushered the battered Woodruff between them. The man lurched in a daze, dragging his feet and stumbling often. Mason and George hefted him back to his feet every time, until finally George griped, “Pull it together, man. We ain’t got no damn wheelbarrow no more.”

  Nina wasn’t surprised. Footing was treacherous even for those who hadn’t just suffered a beat down. The floor was slick in some spots; massive, wet stones set into the packed dirt. ‘Neckbreakers’ Buck called them, sure to let everyone know whenever he passed one.

  Strange, colorless bugs scampered into cracks, frightened by the torchlight. They passed spots where the trickling flow emerged to run straight down the middle of the tunnel, sometimes forcing them to traverse tiny pools of black water.

  As they walked, Nina thought
about why she hadn’t pulled the trigger. Part of her realized she’d probably made a mistake leaving Strobridge alive. The other part thought Ma would be proud. Maybe it was the moment she’d seen Manning as a demon, a man capable of incredible violence. In any case, they were surviving, and that’s all that mattered. She put her faith in her decision and left it alone.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Buck’s cry. “Light ahead. Woohoo!”

  Sure enough, the tunnel became saturated with it as they went. Nina’s pace quickened by the idea she and her pa might see the sky one more time before they died. They exited a vertical fissure, squeezing through and coming out the other side into a thick forest at the base of a rise. Nina breathed in the evergreen scents of pine and silver spruce, her head dizzy with delight, the smell of death gone save for the stink of their own garments.

  They followed the trickles of water down to Maples Creek, Nina’s ears happy to hear something besides black powder explosions and moaning deaduns. Everyone whooped and hollered. Manning even wrapped his arms around Nina and hefted her. She hugged back, hating it when he pulled away.

  “Praise God,” Mathias said, falling to his knees and kissing a rock.

  Pa nodded but focused his attention upward through a gap in the tree-tops, relishing the wind in the pines. The clouds had cleared a little, exposing cerulean blue skies, gifting them with a glimpse of heaven and embracing them in the harmonies of high nature. “Amen, Father.”

  Strobridge still favored his right leg, but didn’t appear to be shot or bit or bleeding. He looked half the man they’d met in the street two days ago. His fine jacket was torn, his shirt caked with dirt and dried blood. His kerchief hung loose around his neck.

  “I guess this is where we part ways, Mister Strobridge,” Mathias said to the railroad boss.

  “No need to part ways, Thomas. Might be a good idea to have some company on the road back.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Manning said.

  “Red and me can scare up just about anything in these forests and mountains,” Buck added. “We should have something on the spit by nightfall. Provided the deaduns remain in relative disarray for the next day or so, we can make it back to Coburn or Truckee or whatever the fuck they’re calling it these days before too long.”