Two lamps lit up the kitchen, which had been ransacked. A shattered table lay just inside the door, and pots and pans littered the floor. Two large stoves sat in the middle of the room, partially obscuring the far side of the kitchen. Blood and foam were everywhere. From the other side of the kitchen came slow sucking sounds. Seth raised his revolver and stepped forward, his right foot kicking a can as he moved forward.
The sounds stopped.
“Who’s there?” Seth said. “Come on out.”
Metal crashed across the kitchen and a woman stood up on the other side of the stoves. Blood covered her face and a wad of stringy flesh hung from her mouth. She raised one hand and swatted at Seth. It was the daughter of the hotel’s owner; she had helped Seth and his boys when they first arrived. What in the hell was going on here?
Seth slowly worked his way to the other side of the kitchen. The dead woman watched Seth and raised her other hand and took a bite out of the arm she was holding. Blood dribbled down her chin.
“Leave me alone,” the woman said.
Seth swung wide when he reached the other side of the stoves, making sure that he kept as much distance between himself and the woman as possible. He looked at the dead woman and then down at the floor. Two bloody and shredded bodies lay at her feet, along with a large meat cleaver.
The woman looked down at the meat cleaver for a moment and then returned her gaze to Seth. “Their bones were too hard. I couldn’t break them with my hands.”
Seth raised his revolver and fired, striking the woman in the forehead. She fell to the floor with a soft thump. Outside thunder crashed and the rain continued to fall.
CHAPTER NINE
On the eastern side of town Mayor Lintz sat in his house watching the falling rain through a window. Thunder boomed overhead and brilliant flashes of lightning sliced through the night sky. Lintz took a sip of warm tea. That was one hell of a storm brewing out there.
He turned away from the window and set the book he had been reading down onto a small table that sat next to his chair. Lintz closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the rain. Having grown up in the East, Lintz truly missed the sound and spectacle of thunderstorms, the sound of rain on the roof, the brilliant flashes of lightning. He remembered when he was young and he and his father would sit out on the front porch and watch it storm. Those were some great times.
Lintz opened his eyes. He had been trying to get his mind around the missing National stage all day and still couldn’t figure it out. Trane didn’t seem too interested in discussing the situation, and there was something that didn’t sit right about those two fellas that were in jail. Why would two boys be running around the desert without any shoes or shirts? They wouldn’t last for a day dressed like that. There was definitely something wrong with the whole affair. Tomorrow he’d track down the National boys who were waiting for the stage and see what they knew. And he’d go see Jerry too, make sure his story matched with the sheriff’s. Lintz knew Trane well enough to know that you couldn’t trust a single word that came out of his mouth. He wished there was some way he could get rid of him.
From the rear of the house came a crash. Lintz stood up and walked across the living room. There were two rooms to the rear of the house--the kitchen, which had an exterior door, and a small den; Lintz stopped just short of the hallway that led to the rear rooms. Thunder crashed with such force that the house shook. There was another crash followed by the splitting of wood, and now Lintz knew that the sound was coming from the kitchen. He turned, walked back to his chair, grabbed the rifle that sat there, and walked toward the kitchen.
The back door was gone and wood splinters and glass shards lay scattered across the floor. A single lamp burned in the corner of the kitchen and cast a hazy blue glow across the room. Lintz cocked the rifle.
“Come on out,” Lintz said. “You come out now and I won’t be forced to shoot you.”
Lightning flared outside and for the briefest of moments Lintz saw a huge shape standing just outside his kitchen door. The figure lumbered toward the open doorway.
“Stay there,” Lintz said.
Sheriff Trane stumbled into the kitchen. His clothing dripped rain and his face was covered with blood. He looked at Lintz and smiled. His skin was a dull yellow and his eyes gleamed in the hazy darkness.
“What the hell you doing, Trane?” Lintz said. “You can’t show up here and tear my place up.”
“Fuck you,” Trane said. He took three steps toward Lintz, his feet slopping around inside his wet boots. Trane burped and a stream of blood oozed from his mouth. The air filled with the stench of rotten flesh. Lightning flared outside.
“Excuse me,” Trane said. He smiled and ran his tongue across his lips.
“Stop right there. I don’t know what’s gotten into you but this has gone far enough.” Lintz raised the rifle. He had no idea what had happened with Trane but there was no doubt in Lintz’s mind that the sheriff meant to kill him.
“I’m going to enjoy this.” Trane lowered his head and lunged at Lintz. Lintz fired one shot in defense, which missed its target and struck the wall behind Trane. Lintz went to fire again, but the sheriff was already on top of him and Lintz’s feet tangled and he fell to the kitchen floor. Trane landed on top of him and the impact drove the breath from Lintz. Trane knocked the gun to one side and lowered his mouth and tore a chunk of flesh out of Lintz’s face. Lintz screamed as blood streamed down his face.
“You’re mighty tasty,” Trane said as he chewed the mayor’s flesh.
Lintz fought to get out from under the sheriff, but he was simply too big, weighed too much. Blood and pus dripped from Trane’s lips and his eyes were a deathly yellow. Small open sores populated his face and some of them oozed a thin white fluid. Rain pounded the roof and thunder rumbled through the night.
Trane lowered his face and tore into Lintz’s neck.
#
Edith Smith sat up in bed. She thought she had heard the school bell ring. As rain pounded Edith’s small house she got out of bed and lit a lantern. There, the sound came again--the bell rang in quick succession, three sharp clangs. Edith scowled and changed out of her night clothes and put on a dress, a bonnet, and her shoes. She dreaded the thought of venturing out into the storm, but if someone was messing with the school there was going to be hell to pay. She had been the teacher in Jackson for going on thirty years and didn’t tolerate such behavior.
She opened her door and shielded her face from the rain that lashed at her. Thunder rumbled overhead. Edith walked around the side of her house, the lamp in one hand, and looked toward the one-story school house. The inside of the school was dark. She looked at the small steeple that rose from the rear of the school. As if on cue the bell rang.
Edith walked across the rain-soaked lot that separated her house from the school. Lightning flared overhead and for a second she saw several dark shapes moving around inside the school. A frown creased her face and her right hand started to shake with anger. The school was sacred ground, and even the most illiterate fool in town knew that to vandalize it was to unleash a fury the likes of which they had never seen. Edith’s body quivered in rage and she forced herself to calm down. She would be firm, direct, and vengeful, but she would not let them see they had gotten to her, that they had made her angry.
The steps leading up the door were slick from the rain, but Edith negotiated them with practiced ease. The door to the school hung open. Edith forced herself to stand as straight and tall as possible before she entered.
The interior of the school was gloomy and heavily shadowed, but even in the darkness Edith saw the overturned desks and the books strewn across the floor. Anger swelled up inside of her again. Whoever was responsible for this travesty was going to face severe punishment. Very severe punishment.
She lit the lantern that hung by the door and the front of the school took on an unearthly glow. From somewhere in the back of the room, back by her desk, someone giggled and the sounds of running feet
echoed throughout the room.
“Who is there!” Edith demanded. Her voice was barely recognizable from anger and she felt her face go flush. “Answer me this instant!”
There was another series of giggles and then silence.
Edith removed her bonnet and walked toward the other end of the school, her lantern leading the way. Books and papers and desks had been thrown everywhere and a few of the chairs had been completely destroyed. From the corner of her eye Edith saw someone run past her on the right side. She reached her desk and looked down.
Her desk had been ransacked. Shredded papers lay all around, her attendance book was in ruins, and that week’s themes were soaking wet. Worst of all, her ruler had been broken into several pieces.
From the rear of the school came another giggle. “Fuck you, bitch,” a voice said.
Edith picked up her lantern and looked back toward the door. Fear seeped into her consciousness and she started to think that this was no ordinary vandalism, that she might be in real danger. It would be best if she got the sheriff and returned with him. Then the little pissants responsible for this mess would learn some respect.
“This has gone on long enough. You are all in a lot of trouble.” Edith started toward the door, walking carefully so she wouldn’t trip over of the debris.
In one swift second the lantern at the front of the school was snuffed out, the door to the school slammed shut, and the lock fell into place.
Edith stopped. Now she really was getting scared. She held the lantern out in front of her and strained to see through the darkness. Several shapes rose up out of the gloom and walked steadily toward Edith. She stood her ground; despite her fear she couldn’t show anything other than complete confidence and control.
The shapes entered the periphery of the lantern’s light and now Edith could see who it was--the Thompson twins, the Ratler boy, Billy Jones, and that filthy brat Daniel Morris.
“That’s far enough,” Edith said.
Morris laughed and blood and ooze dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think so,” he said.
The group was now within a few feet of Edith and for the first time she clearly saw their blood-streaked clothing, their pale faces, the foam and phlegm that clung to their chests and faces. She backed away from the boys. “Stay back. I’m warning you.”
Ratler giggled and the group marched forward.
Edith stepped backward and her foot hit something. She lost her balance and fell backward, the lantern flying out of her hand in a wide arc. The lantern struck the floor, rolled a few times, and then the flame was extinguished.
The boys loomed above her. Lightning flashed outside and Edith saw the Morris boy licking his lips.
#
The wagon shuddered from the wind and the rain. Michael Campbell opened the rear flap and looked out into the night. Lightning shot across the night sky and flared out in a thousand brilliant branches. From behind Michael came the sound of his wife coughing again. He turned around and saw Deborah doubled over, coughing violently into her hand. Her hand was spotted with blood and flecks of white foam. Paul looked at his son.
“Tend to your mother,” he said.
“Yessir,” Joseph said. The teenaged boy picked up a washcloth and patted his mother’s forehead. “It’s going to be okay.”
Michael looked outside again and cursed himself. He should have stayed in town, spent the extra money for the hotel room. Now his wife was deathly sick and they were stuck out here. He had tried three times to free the wagon from the mud and each attempt had ended in failure. The only thing he had to show for his efforts were muddy and wet clothes. Michael closed the flap and turned back around.
“How’s her fever?”
“The same.” Joseph gently took his mother’s head and lay her down onto the small mattress that sat in the middle of the wagon. Boxes and cans and other supplies were crammed into the corners of the wagon in an effort to give Deborah as much space as possible. A single lantern hung in one corner, where it rocked from the wind. In another corner water leaked in from a small tear in the fabric.
“She’s going to be fine, Joseph. The fever will pass by the morning and then we’ll take her back into Jackson.”
“Yessir.”
“I’m going outside to make sure the horses are secure. I’ll be back in a second.” Michael tossed aside the flap and stepped out into the torrential rain. The mud was ankle deep and he struggled to get around to the front of the wagon. Lightning flashed and the landscape was burned white for one brilliant second.
This entire trip had been a mistake. Michael thought that by bringing his family west to Los Angeles he’d be able to get work in one of the orange groves that were springing up there, but at this rate they’d be lucky to even survive the trip. They had spent an entire week lost in the western part of Texas, lost their cow to illness, and now Deborah was sick. Very sick. Michael knew that she’d be lucky to survive the night, and the thought of losing his wife tore at him. Still, no matter what happened, he’d be strong for the sake of Joseph. He’d show his son what a real man was made of, how a real man handled tragedy.
“Pa, come quick!” Joseph yelled from inside the wagon. Michael turned and ran back to the rear of the wagon, steeling himself for what was to come. He threw open the flaps and jumped into the wagon.
“What is it?” Michael said. Deborah had partially fallen off the mattress. Joseph had her by one arm and was trying to pull her back onto the bed. His chest was covered with blood and white foam and the side of the wagon’s canvas nearest Deborah was also covered with blood. Joseph turned and looked at his father.
“She vomited up a lot of blood.” Tears streamed down Joseph’s face.
Michael moved across the wagon and grabbed his wife and pulled her back onto the mattress. Her face was covered with snot and blood. Michael felt the side of Deborah’s neck; there was no pulse. He sighed and closed his wife’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “She’s gone.”
“Are you sure? Maybe she’s just asleep.” Joseph’s bottom lip trembled with grief and more tears slid down his cheeks.
“I’m sure, son.” Michael moved next to the boy and placed one arm around Joseph’s shoulders. “It’s okay--we’ll be fine.”
Thunder rumbled overhead and a strong gust of wind shook the wagon.
“What are we going to do with her?”
“We’ll bury her tomorrow, once the storm clears. Find a nice tree and place her beneath it.” Michael watched his son cry. It was just him and Joseph now. What did Michael know about raising a boy on his own, about washing clothes and cooking?
The mattress creaked and there was a tiny laugh.
Michael turned around just as Deborah’s teeth sank into his shoulder. A tiny geyser of blood splashed against her face and Michael pushed a shocked Joseph aside. Deborah lifted her head and smiled at her husband.
“I’m hungry, Michael,” she said, “so very hungry.”
Joseph looked at his mother, disbelief and dismay contorting his face. “Momma?”
Deborah looked at her son. “Stay put. I’ll get to you as soon as I’m done with daddy here.”
Michael backed away from Deborah and slid off the mattress. She slithered toward him, her mouth clicking open and shut, the hollow sound of her teeth filling the wagon. Blood seeped from the wound in Michael’s shoulder. He looked at his son. Some part of his mind recognized the fact that he was about to die, and Joseph would be next. Something had seized a hold of his wife and she wouldn’t rest until they were both dead. Deborah reached for Michael’s throat, her long nails reflecting the dull light from the lantern.
“Get out of here, Joseph,” Michael said. “Get out!”
“But Ma…” Joseph extended one hand toward his mother just as she grabbed Michael by the throat. Michael punched Deborah in the face. The blow shattered her nose, and blood and phlegm littered the ruins of her face. Michael tried to strike her again, but her lips found his
throat and her teeth tore into her husband’s soft flesh.
Joseph screamed and backed toward the wagon’s flaps. His hands fumbled across the canvas and the world turned into a kaleidoscope of black and white and red. Seconds later Joseph was out of the wagon and running across the muddy plain, lightning flaring all around him.
CHAPTER TEN
The jail was quiet, save for the sounds of the storm. The lantern on Trane’s desk had burned low and barely provided enough light to illuminate the room. John and Paul leaned against the bars of their cells. Rain leaked through the cracks in the walls and dripped from the ceiling, and the brothers were soaked from the rain that splashed through the windows of their cells. Their bare feet were covered with sticky clay from the jail’s floor. Neither of them had spoken since their earlier argument.
The door to the office banged on its hinges, pushed by the gusting wind.
“I wish I had some chew,” Paul said.
“Shut the hell up.”
Paul walked over and sat down on the rotten mattress and shivered from the cold. His feet were numb and freezing. Paul wanted nothing more than to shoot that damn sheriff and get that money. But the odds of that happening were looking pretty slim. They were dead for sure. Paul looked toward his brother’s cell. Damn him and his holier-than-thou attitude. He didn’t have their father kicking the crap out of him every other day. Nope. While Paul was getting beat in the barn, John was outside, in the sun, safe as could be.
Another loud clap of thunder hit, and the door to the office slammed shut. A moment later it slowly opened and Trane’s massive figure entered the doorway. The sheriff stumbled into the office, his boots making soft, wet sounds as he walked. The office quickly filled with the stench of something damp and rotten.
“Howdy boys,” Trane drawled, his voice muddied. “Ready to tell me where that money is?”
John backed away from the bars of his cell and picked up the bed leg, hiding it behind his back. “There is no money,” he said.
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