Doc Holliday_The Sky Fire Chronicles

by Paul Summerhayes

  “Whisky for me and my boys,” he said, sliding several coins across the timber bar top.

  The saloon owner obliged, setting up and filling three glasses, which the newcomers took. The men drank quickly, slamming their glasses back down onto the bar.

  “Again, old woman.”

  “Be respectful, boys,” said Kate, looking them up and down.

  Broken Nose glanced at her for the first time. “Respect. Of course.” A grin touched his lips before he glanced across at the gambler, who hadn’t noticed the newcomers. His grin faded and his attention returned to Kate. “And how much are you, darling? For all three of us?”

  The big man’s two companions chuckled, one making a lurid gesture with his hands.

  Kate faced off against the men with her hands on her hips. Tilting her head slightly, she returned Broken Nose’s stare. “Go to hell.”

  The cowboy’s smile vanished and he took a step forward, towering over Kate. “You’re going to regret that attitude, bitch. We should take you here. Ride you on this floor like the animal you are—”

  Click.

  All eyes turned to the saloon owner. She had produced a double barrel scattergun and leveled it at Broken Nose and his friends. “Leave,” she said, indicating the door with her gun barrels.

  The three men raised their hands slowly.

  “No offense meant,” said Broken Nose. Suddenly, he lurched forward, grabbing Kate by her hair and pulling her roughly to his chest. He produced a long-bladed hunting knife and pressed it against her neck. “Now. Put the gun down.”

  “N-now g-gentlemen,” slurred the thin gambler from across the room.

  Snatching up his walking stick, the thin gambler stood, knocking over his chair. He staggered drunkenly across the room, running into several tables and chairs and bumping into a solitary drinker before stopping beside the bar. Leaning on his wooden stick, he addressed the ruffians. “My good men, there is no need to address these fine women with such vulgarities. This is all just a misunderstanding. Let me buy you a drink.”

  “Mind your own business.”

  “My own business?” The gambler started coughing and covered his mouth with his stained handkerchief. “You insult my friends,” he managed to say through fits of coughing.

  “This whore?”

  “Yes.” The gambler regained control of his coughing fit, dabbing his lips with the white linen. “As you so delicately put it, this whore is my friend.”

  “Well, ain’t that sweet. I’ll tell you what, I’m going to jam that stick up your ass and then we’re going to have some fun with your whore. What do you think of—”

  The gambler’s walking stick whipped through the air with tremendous speed, striking Broken Nose’s hand and sending the thug’s knife flying. The blade flew through the air and impacted into the wall above the bar where it vibrated for several seconds.

  With a cry of frustration, Broken Nose went for his revolver, but the saloon owner leaned over the bar and pushed her scattergun barrels up under his chin. “I wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” said Broken Nose, raising his hands. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”

  “Get out of my saloon,” threatened the woman. “And don’t come back.”

  With their hands raised, the three men backed up toward the doors. “We’ll be seeing you soon,” the leader said to the gambler, and then they vanished outside.

  The gambler watched the men go before losing his balance and dropping into the nearest chair.

  “Doc!” Kate rushed to the man’s side, placing her hand lightly on his arm. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, my sweet Kate…”

  “Doc Holliday, you are a fool.” Kate studied the seated man’s face. Sweat covered his forehead and his skin looked pale and pasty. He panted like he had run a marathon. “You must rest. Too much excitement will kill you.”

  “I thought you said it was going to be the whisky that kills me.”

  “If you don’t look after yourself, it will be me that will end you.”

  Doc Holliday smiled weakly. “Why, Kate, I didn’t know you cared.”

  Kate walked out of the saloon with her arm entwined with Doc Holliday’s. The day was getting late and Doc, as usual, was exhausted. He needed to rest now as later tonight there would be people with money, drinking and gambling. And gambling was how Doc made his living. He never felt more alive than when he had cards in his hands and the stakes were high. He loved games of chance and poker the most—probably more than he loved his good friend and travelling companion, Kate.

  He wasn’t an old man—in fact, Doc Holliday wasn’t even thirty, but he had suffered with crippling tuberculosis for years, making him thin and sickly. He knew the disease would eventually rob him of his life so he had decided to go out with a bang—heading west for the warm air and the adventure.

  Doc Holliday leaned heavily on his walking stick and Kate’s arm as they crossed the dusty street to the boarding house. Kate was speaking, but he wasn’t listening.

  Who were those men? he wondered. They’re not locals that I can recall…

  Kate stopped, pulling on Doc’s arm and rousing him from his thoughts. He looked up to see three shapes stepping out of the growing shadows of the boarding house.

  “Well, well. Fancy meeting you again so soon,” said Broken Nose.

  “We are truly blessed,” replied Doc. Not now, I’m too weak for this. He tried to stand straighter, but lost his balance and rocked unsteadily. Kate gripped his arm before he fell over and held him upright. “We meet twice in one day,” he said. “How fortunate.”

  “Let’s get this over with, Holliday,” said the big man, making a fist. “I need a drink.”

  They know me.

  “Let’s go into the saloon and have a drink,” said Doc. “I’m buying.”

  “Only after we’ve wailed on your skinny hide.”

  Broken Nose lunged forward, but somehow Doc managed to sidestep his charge. One of the big man’s companions rushed forward and Doc dispatched him with a slash of his walking stick, striking the man’s chin brutally. The thug cried out, staggered backward and tripping over his own feet, fell over.

  The dying sun’s rays glinted off Doc’s tinted spectacles as he somehow managed to push Kate protectively behind him. Just in time. The third man took a swing at the gambler’s head with his meaty fist. With blinding speed uncharacteristic of one so frail, Doc unsheathed a concealed sword from his walking stick and slashed at his attacker, leaving a bloody gash down the man’s cheek. Cursing, the surprised man stumbled backward, pressing his hands against his face.

  From behind his dark glasses, Doc searched for an escape route like a cornered wolf before focusing back on his assailants. They were trapped. The three men had underestimated the thin gambler, but they wouldn’t again. They circled the pair more cautiously now.

  Come on! Who’s next?

  Doc pushed Kate behind him and adjusted his grip on the sword, holding the blade tip low. In an instant, he could whip the sword up and strike. The men hesitated. Had they noticed the perspiration glistening on his skin? Or that his breath now came in sharp wheezes and his sword quivered ever so slightly? He was spent. If these thugs waited any longer he would probably fall over on his own. Broken Nose faced Doc while the other two moved around to his sides.

  “Screw this!” It was the man Doc blooded. With a hand held against his cheek, he drew a revolver, pointing it at Doc’s head.

  “No!” ordered Broken Nose, giving his companion a threatening look. “The boss said no guns.”

  The injured man hesitated, glancing sideways at his leader in disbelief. Slowly he lowered his gun, but didn’t holster it.

  Boss? Who?

  While Doc was distracted, the third ruffian chose that moment to rush forward. The man swung a haymaker at the side of Doc’s head, who narrowly dodged the fist by ducking out of its path. Like a striking serpent, Doc drove his sword hilt up under the man’
s ribs.

  Oof! The man dropped to his knees, gasping for air and cradling his stomach.

  Hard knuckles connected with Doc’s chin and his head snapped back, filling his vision with bright lights. The force of the blow caused the thin gambler to drop his sword and he staggered backward into Kate. But before he could fall, a strong hand gripped the front of his suit and pulled him upright.

  Broken Nose leaned into Doc so their faces were only inches apart. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, his breath stale and overpowering. Then, something hard impacted Doc’s cheek, knocking his spectacles flying.

  Doc Holliday closed his eyes, shutting out the painful light. It felt like he’d been hit by a train, but he guessed it was just Broken Nose’s fist.

  Thump!

  A fist struck Doc again and he felt the cartilage in his nose break and blood gush down his face. His world spun wildly and disoriented, he hung limply in the big man’s grip.

  Thump!

  Stop already! he pleaded silently, but his assailant didn’t hear.

  Thump!

  He was struck again and somewhere in the distance, he heard a scream and he knew it was Kate.

  This has to stop. Now!

  Doc Holliday was growing angry. No, he was more than angry. Pure rage built rapidly in his body and he tensed, feeling strength flooding into his muscle, fueled by a burning hatred for the men around him.

  They will die for this!

  With blood covering his face, Doc Holliday started to chuckle. It was a low and muffled sound to start with, but then it erupted from his mouth like he was a crazed lunatic.

  “What’s he laughing at?” said a distant voice.

  “I don’t know,” said Broken Nose. “The fool’s delirious.” The big man shook Doc by his shirt and the thin gambler danced limply like a marionette having a fit, but his laughter didn’t stop.

  “He’s crazy. Finish him and let’s go.”

  “What are you laughing at?” Broken Nose screamed into Doc’s face.

  The big ruffian pulled back his fist to smash Doc again, but stopped when the gambler raised a hand and pointed to the west, where the sun’s golden rays had just disappeared below the distant horizon.

  Broken Nose looked from the sunset to Doc’s blood-covered face. “So?”

  Doc’s eyes suddenly sprung open and Broken Nose sucked in a breath. “Hell!”

  There was no color to the gambler’s eyes—they were completely white except for his black pupils. Doc Holliday locked eyes with his assailant and the thug’s grip loosened.

  “You’re too late,” muttered Doc.

  It was too much for Broken Nose. He released his hold on the gambler and Doc Holliday dropped into the dirt. Stepping away, the big man went pale. No one said they were to fight a madman.

  Doc Holliday sprang lightly to his feet, wiping blood from his face with the back of his hand. He flicked the blood onto the dry ground and measured each of the three men with a glance, grinning like a hungry predator. He no longer appeared frail and sick. In fact, in the dying light his face looked fuller, no longer gaunt, and his once lean body seemed thick with corded muscles. His smiling, blood-splattered features gave him an unearthly, bestial appearance.

  The man with the cheek wound opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Turning, he sprinted away from Doc, but the gambler covered the distance to him in the blink of an eye, blocking the man’s retreat. With no time to stop, the ruffian ran into Doc’s extended arm which struck him across the forehead, driving him clean off his feet. The blow sent the man cartwheeling through the air where he landed awkwardly on his head several feet away and crumpled silently to the ground.

  Broken Nose’s mouth hung open, surprised at the puny man’s speed and strength. Slowly, the unfolding events registered in his mind. It wasn’t meant to go down like this. This was supposed to be an easy shake down. Easy money.

  The big ruffian’s companion drew his revolver and aiming at Doc’s head, he pulled the trigger.

  BOOM!

  The gun shot shattered the still air, but as the smoke cleared the bandit realized he had missed his target. Doc had covered several yards of open ground and now stood beside the gunman.

  “I told you. You are too late.”

  The man panicked, bringing his revolver to bear on the pale gambler. As quick as the gunman was, he was too slow compared to Doc’s speed. The gun had barely moved when Doc caught the man’s hand, crushing his fingers against the revolver in a powerful grip.

  “Oow!” cried the gunman as Doc twisted the man’s hand at a sharp angle.

  “No!”

  Snap!

  Doc released his grip on the man’s wrist and the ruffian dropped to his knees, cradling his ruined hand in his lap.

  Broken Nose was no coward, but he took advantage of the distraction and ran, disappearing around the corner of the boarding house. Doc growled and started to give pursuit when Kate stopped him with a shout.

  “Doc!”

  Instantly, he stopped and turned to face Kate. The woman hadn’t moved during the attack and stood in the same position in the middle of the street. Her eyes found his and in that moment she was powerless to speak, her mouth suddenly dry. After only a moment she tore her gaze away from his, her hand moving defensively to her throat. She had known for some time Doc Holliday was different, but to see him like this…a monster, was all too much.

  Please, Kate. Don’t look at me. Not now.

  He glanced back at the boarding house, but the big bandit was nowhere to be seen. He had gotten away. Doc turned his mind inward, calming his thoughts and gradually, the fogginess of his rage started to clear and his breathing slowed to normal. He could feel the hatred which coursed through his veins slowly dissipate and his physical attributes return to normal. His inner beast had retreated.

  This attack wasn’t about what happened in the saloon.

  He retrieved his sword and spectacles, putting the dark glasses on.

  They knew who I was. But why attack me?

  “You still cheating honest men out of their money, Holliday?”

  Doc spun, raising his sword to strike out at whatever new threat they faced. He paused, confronted with two dust-covered horsemen who had stopped a dozen yards away. One of the riders was a beautiful raven-haired woman and the other…

  “Roberts, you old buzzard,” said Doc, recognizing the old man. Still, he didn’t lower his sword. “I’d thought you would have done us all a favor and passed away by now.”

  “You ain’t that lucky,” said Roberts, dismounting. “This is no way to greet old friends. Any chance of you lowering that knife?”

  Doc Holliday hesitated, but eventually lowered his sword, sliding it back into its walking stick sheath.

  “And who’s this beauty?” Doc said, nodding to Pat. “Your granddaughter? No. She must be a prisoner as no sane person would want to be in your company.”

  “I’m Marshal Pat Garrett,” Pat blurted out quicker than she intended.

  “My pleasure, Miss Garrett,” said Doc, bowing slightly and giving a small theatrical flourish with his hand. “And this magnificent Hungarian rose is Kate. My only true friend.”

  “You mean the only person who will put up with your crap.” Kate moved to Doc’s side and rested a hand on his arm.

  “Well, yes.” Doc produced a stained handkerchief from his vest and wiped the blood off his face. “And that makes you a true friend.”

  Under the blood there were no visible marks on Doc Holliday’s pale skin.

  A stooped black shape watched the events unfold from the shadows of the saloon. The hunchback cursed his lackeys before retreating into the growing darkness.

  “Fools,” he muttered. It was disappointing that his men didn’t kill Holliday as he requested. “He gains strength from the setting of the sun. I wonder…”

  This gambler, Doc Holliday, had gained a reputation of interfering with things that didn’t concern him. He had stumbled across the s
ervants of the dark gods in the past and inadvertently caused delays to their plans. After seeing Holliday in action, the hunchback knew why his masters wanted this man dead.

  And that old marshal is here, too. No doubt he will be a thorn as always. I can’t let these two join forces. Together, they may prove to be too strong. I still have time to kill them both and complete my master’s task.

  He hated Marshal Roberts for his prior interference, but this would be the old man’s final days.

  They will all die before sunset tomorrow.

  The hunchback couldn’t afford any more setbacks before Tombstone. He needed to complete his assigned tasks swiftly. The consequences for failure wouldn’t be pleasant as his masters, the dark gods, weren’t the understanding type.

  “My masters will feast on these mortals soon enough.”

  Chapter 3

  The street was dark by the time Doc Holliday had finished cleaning the blood off his face, and at Roberts’ suggestion the small group entered the saloon to talk. Insisting on buying the drinks, Holliday dropped money on the timber bar and ordered whisky. The bar woman complied, placing four glasses on the bar top and filling them from an unlabeled bottle.

  The saloon was poorly lit, illuminated by only two oil lamps at opposite ends of the long room. Scattered about the room, a few patrons sat in the semi-darkness nursing drinks. They paid little attention to the four newcomers at the bar.

  With their drinks in hand, the four moved past the locals to the back of the room, where they sat around table. Despite the room’s dimness, Holliday continued to wear his dark spectacles.

  That’s strange, thought Pat. There must be something wrong with his eyes.

  As discreetly as she could, Pat studied the thin gambler. Any traces of the creature he had been in the street were gone. He appeared to be normal—although pale and sickly thin.

  “It’s been a while since our paths have crossed, Marshal,” said Holliday, breaking the growing silence.

  “That’s a good thing,” said Roberts, shooting Holliday a look.