Dead or Alive

by William Harms

  “Jesus,” he whispered.

  Another coughing fit seized him, and Sid felt his mouth fill with blood. He gagged and spit it out. The blood was thick and stringy. Cramps shot through Sid’s stomach and he collapsed to the floor as chills burned his body. Blood dripped from his nose. He sat there and closed his eyes. There was a deep burning sensation at the back of his head and it was hard to concentrate. He suddenly realized that he had the same symptoms that the dead horse had displayed. But how could that be possible? Diseases didn’t go from animals to people. In all his years, Sid had never heard of such a thing. Another wave of cramps shot through his body and he doubled over from the pain.

  Sid waited for the cramps to subside and struggled to his feet. He had to get to the doctor. He took a step forward and lost his balance and stumbled, crashing into the stove. He put his hands on the cold metal and rested for a moment, struggling to catch his breath. The world spun around him and the motion made him sick. He turned and vomited up a stream of blood and white foam; this time he didn’t have the strength to wipe his mouth.

  The door seemed miles away. Sid pushed himself away from the stove and stumbled toward the door. Thunder boomed overhead. After what seemed like an eternity, Sid reached the door and fell against it, throwing it open. It hurt to breathe and Sid leaned against the door’s frame for a moment, fighting to regain his strength. A cold wind blew in his face and he felt a little strength return. He pushed himself away from the door and stumbled toward the road.

  After reaching the road, Sid stopped for a moment. The cold air from the wind helped clear his head and his vision became more focused. To his right Sid heard someone coughing; he looked in that direction and saw a woman scurrying down the street. Sid looked up at the sky, at the flashes of lightning, and lost himself in the bright lights for a moment. He shook his head and returned his gaze to the street and began to walk forward.

  Someone stumbled out onto the road in front of him and collapsed in a heap. Sid struggled past, ignoring the person’s outstretched hand. The vision in his right eye faded away to nearly nothing.

  Sid reached the doctor’s office and stopped for a moment, looking at the people gathered around. His mind failed to register what was going on, why all those people were sitting around the doctor’s office. The coughing of the sick was drowned out only by the sound of the thunder crashing overhead. The ground and walkway outside the office were covered with blood and foam.

  Sid pushed past the sick toward the door to the doctor’s office. He slammed into the door, then yanked it open and entered.

  The doctor’s office consisted of a small waiting room, which held two benches and a desk; a door in the rear led to the examining room. Sid stumbled into the middle of the waiting room and looked around. People were everywhere--men, women, and children--and most were doubled over in pain. Blood and mucus and snot and foam covered large sections of the smooth wooden floor. Several people were on the floor, leeches attached to their cheeks and inner arms.

  “Doc!” Sid screamed.

  Doctor Fisher came out of the examining room, his apron covered with all manner of gore. He held a bleeding instrument and his young face was a mask of exhaustion. Fisher coughed and a thin stream of white foam escaped from his mouth. Sid stumbled toward the doctor.

  “You gotta help me.”

  Fisher gently led Sid over to a clean spot on the floor and forced him to sit down. “Have a seat, Sid,” he said, “I’ll get to you as soon as I can.”

  “There was a horse. It’s the same thing. Trane shot the horse.”

  “You’re not making any sense, Sid. Just try and rest.”

  Sid passed out and fell backward, striking his head on the wall. Doctor Fisher looked at him for a moment, coughed up more blood, and returned to the examining room. He no longer heard the wails of the dying.

  #

  Seth looked out the window of his room. The room was on the second floor of the hotel and looked out onto the street. Heavy rain obscured his vision but occasionally he would see a figure run down the street, fighting against the torrential rain.

  Saul was lying on the bed, curled up into a ball. He was covered in his own blood and was coughing constantly. White foam dripped from his chin. David sat on the edge of the bed, trying to give Saul some water. He looked at Seth. “We need to get him to a doctor.”

  “No doctor,” Saul replied. His voice was low and soggy, as if his entire throat were filled with snot. “I fucking hate doctors.”

  Seth walked over to the bed and put one hand on Saul’s forehead. The large man’s skin was burning hot. Seth pulled back his hand. “We gotta see the doctor,” he said. “You’ve got a horrible fever.”

  “Fuck you,” Saul said. Blood dribbled out of the side of his mouth.

  Seth looked at David. David’s face was pale and covered with sweat. David coughed into his hand. “You alright?”

  “I’m fine, just a little tired is all.”

  Seth nodded and walked back to the window. He wanted to go get the doctor, but if Saul wanted to die, that was his business. Seth just hoped that he and David wouldn’t catch whatever was making Saul sick.

  #

  Trane sat at his desk, eating supper. He licked his fingers clean, then lifted the plate and lapped up the remaining bits of food with his tongue. After setting the plate down, he looked over at the cells; the brothers were still unconscious. Thunder pounded the sky.

  Trane shuddered and hacked up a mouthful of phlegm, which he promptly swallowed. His head felt a little light and sweat rolled down his face; his armpits were soaked and rivers of sweat stained his shirt. A shaking fit seized him.

  The brothers stirred awake. John sat up, one hand reaching for the back of his head. Pain pounded through his entire body. The dirt floor of the cell was cold against his bare skin and the wounds from the whip burned in the cool air. A moment later Paul sat up and stood, using the bars of his cell as a crutch.

  Trane looked over at the brothers, then pried himself out of his chair and walked over to them. “Well, well, look who decided to wake up. How you little girls feelin’? Hungry?” Trane’s voice was thick with phlegm.

  John reached for the bed and pulled himself up onto it. “You could say that.”

  “I ain’t feelin’ too good right now, so I’m goin’ over to see Doc Fisher. Upset stomach, you know? Must be from eating so much.” Trane burped and the air filled with the stench of rotting flesh. Trane turned away from the brothers and lumbered toward the door. “You ladies be good,” he said as he exited.

  John fell back onto the bed, the roughness of the mattress scraping his bare back; the cuts from the whip began to bleed. He looked at his brother through the bars that separated the cells. “You okay?”

  “Fuck no--every inch of my body hurts. Never been hit with a damn shovel before.”

  “Me neither.”

  “This is quite a mess we’re in now.”

  “Yeah. No thanks to you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You heard me. If we wouldn’t have robbed that stage we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

  “So now this is my fault?”

  “Damn right it’s your fault.”

  “I didn’t see you crying too hard when we were hauling around all that money.”

  “Don’t pull that crap with me. You know damn well what I’m talking about. I never wanted to rob that stage, never wanted anything to do with any of this.”

  “Then why did you come along? You could’ve stayed back in Eagle Mountain, found another job.”

  “You’re all the family I got, that’s why. I know the whole idea of family don’t mean much to you, but it means a lot to me.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “That’s about what I’d expect out of you.” Anger swelled inside of John and this time he didn’t fight it. It was true that he agreed to go along with the robbery, but none of this would have happened if Paul could’ve kept a damn job. They should be back on
Gladstone’s ranch, working, instead of sitting in a jail cell in the middle of nowhere.

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. You want to live your life like this, that’s your business. But I want none of it. In the past day I’ve been whipped, hit in the head with a shovel, and here in a bit I’ll probably be tortured and killed. If we live through this, we’re done.”

  “That a fact?”

  “Damn right that’s a fact.”

  “You’ve always been a pussy, you know that? Always putting up with shit, never standing up for yourself.”

  “How is shooting three fellas standing up for myself?”

  “You just don’t get it, do you?”

  “You’re the one that doesn’t get it. You’ve always thought you were some big bad man who needed to beat someone up in order to get their respect. You’ll never change.”

  “Yeah, well at least I fight for what I believe in.”

  “And what do you believe in? It sure ain’t working hard or the virtues of family. The only person you care about is yourself.”

  “You don’t know as much as you think you do.”

  “Spare me your crap. I’ve heard enough.”

  “Yeah, that’s what…”

  “I said shut up.”

  John struggled off the filthy mattress and looked at the bottom of the bed. The bed sat on four wooden legs. John grabbed one and began to work it back and forth, loosening it. With one big yank the leg came free. He walked over to the door of the cell, the leg in one hand. He hated the fact that the only way they would get free was with more violence. But that was how it had to be.

  Anger simmered inside of him--anger at Paul and anger at himself for being stupid enough to go along with Paul’s plan. He kne w better than to rob that stage, to shoot those men. The idea of getting the farm back had clouded his mind, made him stupid. If given the chance he’d never make the same mistake again. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have anything to do with that stolen money.

  #

  Doctor Fisher sat on the floor of his examining room, cradling a man who was barely breathing. He had tried everything: leeches, bleeding, and tonics. Nothing worked. He had never seen a disease spread this fast, or affect so many people. And yet a few people here and there were unaffected by it, people who had brought in sick loved ones. He watched a couple of them sit in the waiting room, surrounded by deathly ill people, seemingly untouched. And if some people could resist the disease, that meant the disease could be fought and treated. It was just a matter of finding the right medicine. Fisher coughed up a wad of blood and just let it dribble down his face.

  Fisher’s right eye was swollen shut and a steady stream of blood dripped from his nose. The floor of the examining room was covered with blood and foam and snot and mucus. Two bodies lay sprawled out on the floor and Sid lay on the examining table, his chest silent.

  The man in Fisher’s lap stopped breathing. Fisher gently patted him on the head. “There, there, Robert,” Fisher said. “Everything is going to be fine. Just try to rest.”

  Sid opened his eyes and sat up. His skin was pale and his eyes were sunken back into his skull. He looked down at Fisher and smiled, blood and spittle dripping out of his mouth. He swung his legs over the side of the table and glared down at Fisher.

  “Hey, Doc,” Sid said, his voice thick and grating, “I’m hungry, awful hungry.”

  Fisher released Robert and looked up at Sid. “Sid? But you’re dead.”

  Sid gingerly dropped off the table, his mouth clicking with hunger. “I know.”

  A wretched and filth-covered hand shot out and grabbed Fisher by the hair and yanked his head back. Fisher screamed out of instinct, his muddled mind not fully comprehending what was happening. An instant later, Sid’s yellowed teeth tore into the side of Fisher’s throat and a stream of blood erupted from the wound. Sid raised his head, blood and bits of flesh covering his face. Sid dropped Fisher and the doctor flopped around on the floor like a dying fish, blood gushing from the wound. Sid grabbed Fisher by the shoulders and dragged him away from Robert. Fisher gasped for breath, air sucking in and out through the gaping hole in his neck.

  Sid ripped open Fisher’s shirt, eyeing the tender area just below the ribs. He licked his lips and descended, chewing his way into Fisher’s innards. A pool of blood and torn flesh formed in the cavity and Sid’s face was covered with the gore. The air filled with the sound of Sid smacking his lips.

  From all around the office came the sound of shuffling feet and scraping skin. Sid looked up from his meal. The dead were rising all around him, their eyes filled with a maniacal hunger. A dead woman saw Sid’s feast and walked toward him. Sid growled at her.

  “Get your own, bitch,” he said. “This is mine.”

  #

  Saul was dead. Seth checked his neck for a pulse and found nothing. The walls of he room were covered in blood and phlegm and white foam. David coughed and looked at Seth. “What do we do now?”

  “I’ll get the doctor up here so we can make this official.” Seth looked at David. “You feeling okay?”

  “Not really.” David looked at Saul and Seth could see the fear in his eyes. Even if David hadn’t admitted it to himself yet, Seth knew that the young man was afflicted with whatever had killed Saul. Most likely it was only a matter of time before David succumbed to the illness too. “I think I’m getting a fever.”

  From outside lightning flashed and large drops of rain splashed against the window. “Maybe you should go back to your room,” Seth said. “I’ll get the doctor.”

  “I don’t want to die, Seth,” David said. A long cough erupted out of the young man and when he pulled away his hand it was splattered with bits of bloody flesh and white foam.

  “I know. Go on now.” Seth walked over to the door and opened it. David put his head down and walked out into the hall.

  Behind them, the bed creaked as Saul sat up. Blood oozed out of his mouth and dripped from his nose and his eyes burned a bright red.

  Seth turned at looked at Saul. “What the hell…”

  David turned and looked back into the room. “I thought you said he was dead.”

  Seth backed away from the bed, out into the hall. “He is dead.”

  Saul stood and looked at Seth. The dead man smiled and flapped his tongue in the air. “I’m going to suck out your innards, old man,” Saul said. “Lap them up like a dog sucking on bone marrow.”

  “Get out of here, David,” Seth said as he pulled out his revolver.

  “How can this be happening?” David backed into the wall on the other side of the hallway, his eyes stretched wide with horror. A coughing fit hit him and he doubled over in pain, blood spraying from his mouth. David fell to the floor.

  “Stay where you are,” Seth said to Saul, his revolver trained on the dead man’s chest.

  “Fuck you,” Saul said as he lunged forward. He struck Seth with a massive fist that sent the older man flying down the hall. Seth smashed into a wall and slid to the floor. Pain shot through his back and neck and the world faded in and out of focus. He knew that Saul was strong, but he never imagined that he was that strong.

  Saul loomed over David. David’s face was covered with blood and flecks of foam. Tears ran down his face. Saul reached down and lifted David up by the shoulders.

  Seth struggled to his feet, one hand still clutching his revolver. White dots spun in lazy circles around his face. Seth looked up; the other end of the hallway was a hazy mess of movement.

  “You’re going to taste sweet,” Saul said. He raised his hands to David’s face and twisted. The flesh at the front of David’s throat ripped open and his neck made hollow popping sounds as the bones of his spine shattered under the pressure. David’s mouth opened and closed silently, but his eyes had gone blank. With a final twist, Saul tore David’s head free. David’s headless corpse slumped to the floor.

  Seth raised his revolver and fired, his vision still blurred. The slug slammed into the wal
l next to Saul. Dust drifted out of the bullet hole and thunder rocked the hotel. A brilliant flash of lightning turned the hallway white.

  Saul turned and looked at Seth. David’s bloody head hung from one of Saul’s hands. “I always thought you were a prick,” Saul said.

  Seth fired again and this time the slug hit Saul square in the chest. Blood and foam leaked from the wound. Seth fired again and the round clipped Saul’s neck. Saul dropped David’s head and advanced on Seth, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Large drops of blood and foam fell from Saul’s massive frame, staining the faded carpet beneath his bare feet. The hallway stunk of blood and gunpowder.

  Seth shot Saul just below his nose, shattering his face. Saul fell to the floor with a loud thump. A pool of blood and foam spread away from his head.

  Seth walked over to Saul and kicked the large man in the side of the head. Saul was still. Seth looked at David’s wasted body.

  “I’m sorry, David,” he said. Seth quickly looked away from the gruesome sight. Bile surged into his throat and he fought off the urge to retch. The hallway suddenly smelled of rotten flesh.

  Outside thunder and lightning filled the night air. Seth turned and started down the hallway. Rain pounded the roof.

  The hotel was small, with eight rooms on the second floor; the first floor was dedicated to the lobby, a small dining area, and the kitchen. Seth walked down the stairs and entered the lobby. Four small lamps lit the room and the floor was splattered with blood and foam. The front door hung from one hinge and the wind slammed it against the side of the hotel.

  Seth walked over to the front desk. “Hello?”

  From the kitchen came a small crash and the sound of scraping metal.

  Seth lifted his revolver, reloaded it from the rounds in his belt, and walked toward the kitchen door. The floor was sticky with blood and foam. Seth reached the kitchen door and gently pushed it open with a foot.