Guns of Seneca 6 gos6-1

by Bernard Schaffer

  Junger opened his mouth to speak, but Elliot silenced him with a sideways glance. “Your prisoner is dead, Marshal,” Elliot said. “Your authority here ended the moment Jem Clayton dragged that poor bastard out into the desert. Now, as the highest elected legal authority in this territory, I’m advising you that your services are no longer needed. Your continued presence here is also no longer needed, nor welcome.”

  McParlan saw the satisfied look on both men’s faces and said, “Both you hotshot hillbilly cousin-kissers might be able to push people around in this town, but I’m not from this town, so excuse me if I don’t piss my pants in awe of your ‘legal authority.’ Right now there’s a mass murderer on his way here with a highly-classified military weapon that he will use on every last man, woman and child in this settlement.”

  “What proof do you have of that, Marshal?” Elliot said. “A deranged old man, who I might add, you brought here. The same man you shot to death right outside this very door?”

  Junger waved his hand around the office at his multiple plaques and awards and said, “I’ve kept this town safe for twenty years without your assistance. Why should I need it now?”

  “You’ll have the corpse with the most medals after Little Willy gets through with you, Sheriff. That’s the parts of you he doesn’t eat, of course. Now, speaking of eating, if you’re done wasting my time here, I’m going to go get some breakfast.”

  Junger watched McParlan limp out of the office and slammed the door shut behind him. “Son of a bitch, Billy. It’s only a matter of time before that Marshal starts sticking his nose into things that don’t concern him. I’m telling you, it’s a bad omen that Halladay and Jem Clayton are back and that they brought this one-eyed bastard with them.”

  Elliot stuck his fingers between the blinds and watched people passing the office along Pioneer Way. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, Walter. We’re gonna lower the prices at the Proud Lady and the interest rates at the Savings and Loan. That should keep the locals stupid and happy for the time being.”

  “And what about the trouble makers?”

  Elliot re-lit his cigar and took it out of his mouth to blow on the tip, making it glow bright red. “Deactivate every security gate on Seneca 6. Let’s leave the doors open for a little while and see what wanders in.”

  * * *

  Little Willy Harpe squatted in front of Charlie Boles Junior and waved his hand in front of the boy’s face. The boy’s stare was vacant. Harpe snapped his fingers in front of Junior’s nose and there was no response. “Did I break him?”

  “I don’t think so,” Hank Raddiger said. He was careful not to get too close to the man. The voice coming from Harpe’s mouth was markedly different than before, but Hank was suspicious that Little Willy was playing games with him.

  Harpe shook Junior by the shoulders. “Come back to us, boy.”

  Junior’s eyes opened. His pupils were dilated and would not focus. Finally, Junior smiled stupidly and said, “Hey, Elijah.”

  He looked around for his father and saw that the two Customs Officers were taping plastic explosive packets around his midsection. They squeezed each packet flat and sculpted them to Boles’ body. Charlie Boles grinned at Junior when the officers handed him his gunbelt. He buckled the belt and said, “Now I’m ready!”

  Junior lifted his shirt to show his father the plastic explosives wrapped around his own waist and said, “I am too.”

  Harpe looked at him and said, “Do you know what you are prepared for?”

  “For glory,” the boy said.

  Harpe’s voice was patient and instructional, like a teacher reviewing a lesson with his pupil. “And what are you to do?”

  “Find Jem Clayton and tell him my Pa has a score to settle with him.”

  “How will you recognize this servant of evil?”

  “He’s the man that stole our wagon and beat my Pa.”

  “What will you do after you find him?”

  “Let everybody know there’s gonna be a big fight, and get them all to come out into the street.”

  “Blessed truly are the children,” Harpe said. “What then?”

  “I press this button.” Junior showed Harpe the toggle switch in his hand, connected by wires that disappeared beneath the cuff at the wrist of his shirt. The wires snaked along inside the sleeve, winding down his chest to where they connected to the set of plastic explosives wrapped around his thin, hairless stomach. “Then, I walk to wherever the biggest group of women and children are standing, and all I need to do it let go of it. That’s when I go to glory and all of them get to come with me.”

  Harpe pulled Junior by the shoulders and kissed him on top of his head. “You long for the spiritual milk, my son, and it shall it be yours. Before nightfall you will look upon the face of the Lord All Mighty and drink all that you desire.”

  Junior smiled and nodded as Harpe walked over to Charlie Boles. He told Boles to hand him his gun and proceeded to remove all of the bullets from the weapon. “Why you doing that, Little…Elijah?” Hank said. “I thought you wanted him to duel Clayton?”

  Harpe handed the gun back to Boles, who holstered it. “Do you think I want to chance Clayton getting gunned down in the street and for it to all be over?” Harpe checked the dead man’s switch in Boles’ left hand, making sure the wires were hidden inside the sleeve. “I want my good friend to bear witness to this, Hank. And I want him to know it is just getting started.”

  Harpe watched Charlie Boles and his son get onto the same destrier and trot up through the canyon. “You did say my brother considered you his Lieutenant, right?”

  “That’s right. I was the one figured out where you were taken, and how to get here. He was so grateful he gave me what he called ‘The Rapture.’ He would just look at me and speak that one little word. I was thinking we could have that same agreement.”

  Harpe frowned and said, “That don’t sound much like my brother.”

  Hank felt feverish with need. He pulled on Harpe’s shirt and said, “Your brother and me had special arrangements, Elijah. Please, just a little?”

  “Suffering introduces a man unto himself, Hank,” Harpe said. “You want me to arrange a more intimate introduction?”

  “No.”

  “Good. I’m looking for two long pieces of metal. Thick enough to hold the weight of a man, and twelve feet long, at least. Have you seen anything like that?”

  Hank removed his hat and looked around the scene of the wreckage. “I’m sure we can find something in this mess.”

  The Boles were near the top of the canyon, about to descend on the trail that would take them to Seneca 6’s security gate. “I spent my whole life believing that I was doing the Lord’s work, and that when the time came, he would take me to his side and thank me for being his loyal servant. You cannot imagine my surprise when the time of my death came and there was no glory waiting. Nothing…just oblivion. It was a never-ending darkness more horrible than any hell you could possibly imagine. I admit it, for a moment, my faith was shaken. I thought I’d backed the wrong horse, Hank. You follow me?”

  Hank nodded and said, “I think so. I’m not sure.”

  “My job wasn’t to serve God,” Harpe said. He cast his eyes skyward and touched the creature embedded in his chest. “It was to become Him.”

  * * *

  Bart Masters guided his destrier down Pioneer Way, ignoring the stares from people he passed who looked at the mining device strapped to his saddle. “Taking your work home with you, Bart?” someone said.

  “That’s right. Our stove’s broken and I need it to heat up the water,” Bart replied.

  He pulled up his reins in front of Anna Willow’s office and removed the backpack from the saddle. “I’m here, Marshal.”

  Jimmy McParlan came out and looked the device over. “Did they give you a hard time taking it off the site?”

  “When they find out about it, I’ll probably get fired.”

  McParlan sucked on his teeth and said,
“Show me how this thing works again.”

  Masters lowered the pack to the ground. “This here is the battery and charging cells.” He held up the hose and wand connected to the pack. “This is the barrel where the laser comes out. You can adjust the intensity of the beam here.” He handed the unit to McParlan and said, “I don’t see what use it’s going to be, Marshal. The beam only comes out about a foot no matter how high you adjust it.”

  “That’s just cause you don’t know how to adjust it right.”

  “And you do?”

  “No. But Adam Wells does.” McParlan looked over as a destrier approached the security gate with a man and boy riding together. They did not stop to enter a code and went through the gate unhindered. “What the hell?” McParlan said. He handed Masters the mining device and said, “Take this into Adam and tell him to make it better. I’ll be right in.”

  The Marshal held up his hand to stop the riders and said, “How you folks doing. Did you enter a special code to get in here?”

  The boy shrugged and said, “No, sir. We entered by the Lord’s grace.”

  “You wait right here.” He limped up the front steps to the Sheriff’s Office door and banged on it. “What the hell’s the idea of leaving the gate open, Junger?”

  Walt Junger put his pen down and looked at McParlan with feigned astonishment. “Why, Marshal, you made it quite clear that my assistance was not needed.”

  “This is no time for foolishness. Secure that gate.”

  Junger shook his head and said, “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Marshal. This was a directive that came straight from Mayor Elliot himself. Feel free to take it up with him.”

  McParlan slammed the door and searched for the newcomers but they were already gone. He ran the image of them through his mind over and over. They were dirty looking, simply attired folk, probably just trying to resupply before heading off. They had calm, easy expressions and nothing about them looked ominous. The man had been armed, but that was common enough in this area. McParlan decided he could not think of what it was, exactly, and that was enough to make him want to go find out.

  * * *

  At noon, the sun was bearing down with such fury that Jem Clayton wondered if it was possible for his hat to melt. He walked through the swinging doors of the Proud Lady and was relieved to be out of the heat. When his eyes finally adjusted to the dim light, he saw Dr. Royce Halladay sitting at a poker table, eyes half-lidded, but still upright, still drinking, and still holding his cards.

  “Jem Clayton,” Halladay slurred.

  Jem put his hand on Halladay’s shoulder. “You’ve been hitting it pretty hard, Doc. Why don’t we go get some food?”

  Halladay flicked his empty whiskey glass with his finger and said, “I prefer to drink my breakfast, sir.”

  “I need to talk to you. Let’s get some food.”

  Halladay looked up from his cards and cast a suspicious eye at Jem. “I do not appreciate your tone, Jem. The last time I checked, I was a grown man. In fact, I was an adult when you were just a whiny little brat buzzing around my office trying to bite me.” Halladay leaned over with laughter and Jem had to put out his hand to keep him upright.

  Jem went to the bar to order a coffee. The men seated beside him were covered in the grime of the mines and had finished the first of many bottles they would drink that day.

  Jem looked over to see that Halladay was still playing and giving the dealer a hard time about dealing him the wrong cards. The swinging doors opened behind Jem and he heard a boy call out, “Found you, Jem Clayton! My Pa is right outside waiting on you.”

  Jem returned to his coffee and sipped it. “Go away, Junior. Tell Charlie I’m not interested.”

  “Coward!” Junior shouted.

  Jem turned to look at the boy, then returned to his coffee and ignored him.

  Outside, peopled stopped in the street to watch Charlie Boles kick up a cloud of dust as he stomped around, hollering, “I’m going to stand here until you come out, you yellow-bellied rat bastard!” Boles turned to face the onlookers and said, “Jem Clayton jumped me and my boy out there in the wasteland and left us to die! And now I come for him, and he’s scared to show his face.”

  The Proud Lady’s doors swung open and Royce Halladay staggered onto the porch, grimacing at the bright noon sun. “Jem Clayton would not waste the bullets on a mongrel such as you. I, however, have several extra that I would be glad to contribute.”

  “He told me to come meet him in Seneca 6 after he robbed me and stole my wagon. He left me and my boy in the desert with no food and water. You either produce him or I will be forced to seek other reparations!”

  “I seem to have room on my dance card.” Halladay grinned stupidly as he drummed his holster with the tips of his fingers.

  “I don’t have no quarrels with you, old man,” Boles said. He moved his hand to his weapon. “I just want Clayton.”

  Halladay went down the steps, “Alas, now I have one with you.”

  A woman stopped her three children from walking into the sea of people, afraid of losing them in the crowd. She kept them behind her as Halladay and Boles squared off and pulled the littlest one into her wide skirt. She put her hands over the two older children’s eyes and said, “Don’t look.”

  Charlie Boles Junior walked over to her and pulled on her sleeve. “Don’t be afraid, ma’am.”

  “You shouldn’t watch this either, sweetheart,” she said. “Stand behind me and keep your eyes closed. I will say a prayer for your daddy.”

  Junior pressed the device’s button with his thumb and said, “I’m not afraid. When I let go of this, we’re all going to glory.”

  “What did you say, dear?”

  The crowd roared as Jem Clayton came out of the saloon doors and drowned out whatever response the boy gave her. Jem Clayton called out to Dr. Halladay, “I’ll handle this.”

  Halladay kept his hand near his gun as Jem came down the steps and stood in front of Boles. Boles nodded eagerly and said, “Yeah, time we settled up.”

  Jem lifted both of his hands to show Boles they were empty. “I will not fight you, Charlie. We had our disagreement, and it’s over with. I’ve got too much else on my mind to worry about you right now. Accept my apology and take your boy home. You can have your wagon back, it’s parked near the Sheriff’s Office. I’ll even take you to it.”

  “Won’t be no apologies,” Boles said. “Draw.” Boles snatched his gun from its holster and aimed it at Jem’s face.

  Charlie Boles Junior tugged on the shoulder of the woman. He leaned up to her ear and whispered, “Your children are going to love it in Heaven.”

  Charlie Boles started to squeeze his trigger when he looked across the street at his son approvingly, seeing that the boy was about to detonate his device. Detonate his device? Charlie thought. What the hell am I saying? He threw up his hands and screamed, “Junior! No! Don’t do it!”

  Jem turned to look where Boles was yelling, but Royce Halladay shoved him out of the way and fired one bullet into Charlie Boles’ stomach and a second into the center of his forehead. Boles dropped his gun and weaved from side to side, taking steps in his son’s direction. He held up his hand and said, “Junior, don’t do it, son. Fight it.”

  The electrical charges wrapped around Boles’ waist popped like blown fuses and smoke billowed out of his shirt. He let go of the toggle switch and it dangled by the wires hanging from out of his sleeve.

  “Pa?” Junior said. “Pa!”

  Charlie Boles shirt caught fire and the flames raced across his clothing and through his hair. He fell to the ground in a smoldering heap. Jem turned to look at Junior and the people around him who were too busy watching the burning body to notice Junior let go of his dead man’s switch. The boy’s bomb detonated and there was a flash of light that sent Jem hurtling backwards.

  18. Golgotha

  Harpe stood at a peak on Coramide Canyon and watched the scene unfold miles away in Seneca 6. It was smoky,
and hard to get a clear view of any particular person, but the chaos was evident. Harpe measured the blast radius to be at least ten feet in every direction of the boy. Luckily, he’d been standing close enough to a building to take out one of its load bearing walls.

  “How’s it look down there, Elijah?” Hank Raddiger said.

  “The boy’s device worked fine, but something went wrong with his father’s explosives. I’m hoping he goes up any second now. My word, Hank, this is the best damn entertainment I’ve ever had. When I give the go ahead, send them Customs boys in to acquire our package.”

  A fire-brigade wagon rolled toward the site with men clinging to its side. Another truck came up behind that one, a large, industrial vehicle with heavy front end scoop to clear away the rubble of the building.

  “There you are,” Harpe said.

  He saw Marshal McParlan standing knee deep in the rubble, scooping out handfuls of ash and dirt with his bare hands. The old man tossed away whole sections of wall and he dug like a beaver until a hand reached out from the rubble and McParlan grasped it, pulling with all of his strength.

  “I hope you enjoy playing Savior, Marshal,” Harpe said. He put down the binoculars and looked around the crash site. A pair of large metal beams bolted into an X leaned against the hull of the ship. “Is it sturdy enough to do what I need it to do, Hank?”

  Hank patted the crossed beams and said, “Yes, sir.”

  “You’d better hope so,” Harpe said.

  * * *

  Anna Willow waded through the rubble of the destroyed Savings and Loan building. People were still buried beneath it. Burn victims’ clothing had melted into their blackened skin. The lucky ones were dead. Anna shouted for someone to bring her more medical supplies as she dug through smoldering building materials. She stuck syringes of morphine into the necks of any patient that was still moving and was running out fast.

  There were at least a dozen dead bodies. People ran frantically in every direction, choking on smoke as they screamed for their loved ones. She tried to help them all. She did what she could.