The Color of Gothic

by Joel Q. Aaron

  “You got more to worry about than me.”

  “Duane, watch your manners,” his mom said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Sorry, sir.”

  “Apology accepted. Duane, is that Mr. Blair’s horse you’ve been riding?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Has he told you anything about the people getting killed?” Jones asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jones nodded at Mary. “I told you.”

  “Honey, what did Mr. Blair tell you?” his mom asked.

  “That some bad men were killing people and trying to scare everyone. But he’s wrong. There’s vampires out there.”

  “Are you sure that’s what he said?” Jones asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What about his friend, Frederick Worthington?”

  “I don’t know him.” Duane stood up to get a better view through the double doors. The vampires were on the way, and he didn’t want to be caught unprepared. “Gunfire is getting closer.”

  Mary pointed down. Duane reluctantly sat again.

  “Did Blair say anything…,” Jones paused. “About demons or vampires?”

  There was something about the pastor that didn’t set right with Duane. It wasn’t nervousness. The man was nervous and showed the same traits of fear he had less than an hour ago—shaky, sweaty, jumpy, unsure. Blair wouldn’t be as scared as the pastor. And why didn’t the pastor know what was happening? “No, sir, he didn’t say anything like that.”

  “Then how do you know about the vampires?”

  He huffed to show his annoyance. “The guys at the stable have all been talking about it.”

  “Duane,” his mother said in that way to let him know he was about to get in trouble. Yeah, he was disrespecting the pastor, but he was acting scared and ignorant.

  The sound of the shooting crept into town. Outside the window a man with a rifle took aim and fired four shots. He yelled a slurry of curses and fled.

  Duane had had enough adult conversation. He jumped a pew and shut and locked the doors. “Where can we hide?”

  * * *

  Two of Jeremiah Pruitt’s gunmen rode up the hill to the Weinberg’s sun-beaten shack.

  “Hurry up,” Ricky said.

  “What are we up here for anyway?” Leonard asked as he guided his horse around the pieces of broken mining equipment, rough timber, and piles of scattered coal that littered the property.

  “The shooter wasn’t in town and this is the way he went. Mr. Phillips said we had to check every cabin, shack and shed between Gothic and Marble.”

  “I ain’t going all the way to Marble tonight.”

  Still in the saddle, Ricky pointed at the sloppy shack. “Shut up and check it out.”

  Leonard, with a pistol in hand, moved slowly toward the door.

  “What are you scared of? Hurry up.”

  “Great. Why don’t you tell them we’re out here?”

  “If anybody is in there they already heard the horses, you idiot.”

  The door opened and Frederick Worthington stepped outside. His clothes were disheveled. “Oh, evening, gentlemen.”

  “What are you doing here?” Ricky asked.

  “I was ah, ah...” He tucked his shirt in his pants.

  “If you two want some action give me a couple minutes.” In only her undergarments, Susanne leaned against the door frame.

  Worthington grinned at the men. They’re going to have to buy this.

  “We got time, Ricky?” Leonard asked.

  “Yeah, make it quick.”

  “I’m sure he usually is.” Susanne waved Leonard inside then shut the door.

  Ricky laughed.

  Worthington walked over to Ricky and reached for a hold of the horse’s bridle. He placed himself below the rider’s left side next to his leg. “Are you returning to town? I could use a ride.”

  “No, we’re going the other way. You walked all the way out here to get laid? There are places right in town, you know.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Worthington palmed a ball of thick twine.

  “City folk, huh. Just get here?”

  “I’ve been here a few days.”

  “Well, you’ll find your way around soon enough. What she charging?” He gestured toward the shack.

  “Ten dollars.” The professor slid around to the right side of the horse.

  “You got screwed twice.” He laughed. “Hope Leonard makes out better.”

  “What’s the usual price around here?”

  “That depends on where you go. Miss Katy Lee’s place is the nicest in town. So you’ll pay a bit more. But out here, it should be cheap. Unless, you ordered her to come out here?”

  “No. I was walking by and there she was.”

  “Hurry up in there, Leonard!” Ricky laughed under his breath.

  “This a fast horse, Mister?”

  “Yeah, pretty fast.”

  Worthington took a step back toward the rider. With his left hand he slashed the right stirrup with his Chinese dagger, cutting the man’s leg. In his right hand he held his willow-leaf saber and slashed the reins off the bridle right under the horse’s jaw. He followed through with his motion and spun around to his right and brought the dull edge of the blade hard against the back end of the horse. The mount bucked. Ricky lost his balance pulling on the dangling reins. The cut leather straps dangled from his hands. He yelled.

  Worthington struck the horse again. It leaped forward and took off down the hill. Ricky rolled back. The cut stirrup still clung to his right foot, which was up in the air. He fell off, but his left foot was tied to the other stirrup with the twine.

  Worthington took another swing and chased the horse for a short distance. Ricky screamed as his head beat against the rocks. The horse ran all the way down the hill and kept going with Ricky in tow.

  “I don’t think I could have done that any better.” Blair smiled at Worthington from the doorway. “Now get back in here. What’s with the sword?”

  “I learned in China. I also assist with the university’s fencing team.”

  “Pretty good actor, too,” Susanne said as he came in.

  “Thank you both. What shall we do with him?”

  Leonard lay on the bed unconscious and bound with twine. A large bump on the side of his head was matted with bloody hair.

  “If he wakes up any time soon, we’ll ask him questions. If not, we’ll leave him here,” Blair said. “He’s one of Pruitt’s guys.”

  “They’re looking for someone,” Susanne said.

  “They said the shooter,” Worthington said. “I’m guessing Mr. Tab.”

  Blair nodded. “Pruitt wants to be sure I’m dead.” He unbuckled Leonard’s gun belt and handed it to the professor.

  “I don’t really like using a gun.”

  “Put it on anyway. Point, pull the hammer back and squeeze the trigger. If nothing else, you’ll make a lot of noise.”

  Worthington reached for the belt, which only had one holster. Blair gave a quick demonstration of how to load the pistol. “Simple as that.” He handed it over. The professor examined the weapon, feeling the cold metal in his hand, then placed it in the holster. He wiggled his hips and jostled the holster. “I said I didn’t like using a gun, not that I didn’t know how to operate one. I can hit a target.”

  “What about a quick draw situation?”

  “I’d be better off running away.”

  Susanne giggled.

  Blair smiled. “You are as smart as I thought.”

  * * *

  Jonathan Blair checked Leonard’s horse. The animal was an older mare but still in good shape. He found extra ammunition and a shotgun, which he brought into the shack.

  “I’m going to send the horse on its way, so no one sees it here and gets suspicious,” Blair said.

  “A good idea,” Worthington said. “But it would be nice to have a ride.”

  “It will be dark soon.” Blair loaded the shotgun. “Do you want to chance it being spo
tted?”

  “That depends on our plan. Mr. Tab did not share his thoughts on that.”

  “He didn’t tell me anything either. Susanne, what about you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “May I suggest…” Worthington put his hand on Susanne’s shoulder. “Finding her a safe place to hide. If this night is destined for a battle, she’ll need shelter.”

  “I’m not hiding.”

  “Where do you suggest?” Blair ignored her.

  “The church,” the professor said.

  “I’m definitely not hiding in a church.”

  “Why the church?” Blair asked.

  “Thomas built a good structure, which should protect her.”

  “All right. Take her on the horse. I’ll head to town when it gets dark and meet you there.”

  “I’m not going,” Susanne said.

  Blair and Worthington said in unison, “Yes, you are.”

  She plopped in the chair and crossed her arms. “Men.”

  Heavy gunfire erupted in the distance.

  “Now what?” Blair said as he opened the door.

  Susanne and Worthington followed.

  “It’s coming from the Jollytime.” Blair pointed up the valley in the direction of the mine.

  The shooting continued.

  “It has begun,” Worthington said. “We need to move.”

  Blair untied the horse and brought it over. “Let’s go.”

  Worthington gracefully stepped into the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle.

  “Can you ride?” Blair handed him the reins.

  “Actually, I can. I spent a summer working for the Pony Express when I was a boy.”

  “Are you serious?” Susanne climbed on and sat behind him.

  “You’re full of surprises, Professor.” Blair stared in the direction of the hidden gunfire. “I’ll meet you in town.”

  “What about him?” Susanne gestured toward the shack.

  “I’ll leave him as is.”

  “That’s kind of cruel,” she said.

  “He keeps quiet, he may survive the night.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Shelter from the Storm

  Frederick Worthington and Susanne rode into Gothic to find a large crowd gathered around the main-street bonfire waiting for word on the gunshots. Questions came from every direction—what were people shooting at: vampires, Indians, or was it a mine revolt?

  “I would be prepared for anything,” Worthington told them. He didn’t want to start a panic or put people in such a position of disbelief they would ignore danger until it was too late to hide.

  “Some kid said there were vampires at the Jollytime,” a man said.

  “He could be correct,” Worthington said. He didn’t want to debate the difference between a vampire and a demon-possessed man. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t wait around to find out. Seek shelter. Seek shelter.”

  “What’s that?” a woman cried out.

  Town’s people started shooting at a figure in the spruce trees.

  “Get this horse moving,” Susanne said.

  Worthington glanced into the evergreen canopy, but could only see shadows. He accepted his own wisdom and left the area. He directed the mare to the church. Dim lantern light burned on the other side of the windows. They dismounted and let the horse wander.

  Worthington checked the doors. Locked. He slid a stolen key from his pocket. The professor put his hand on the grip of the pistol, an abnormal situation for him.

  “Let me go first.” He opened one of the doors and stepped inside. The lantern gave off enough light to see the empty pews and pulpit. “Come on.” He shut and locked the door.

  He paused. What if someone was lying in the pews? The idea scared him for a moment, and then he decided the possessed would not hide, but people would.

  “Anyone here?”

  * * *

  Jonathan Blair waited at the shack until dusk cloaked the landscape in ever-darkening shades of gray. He stayed off the main trail back to town, but didn’t try to hide. He worked his way through several side streets then through an alley that led to the main street. People gathered along both boardwalks and around the bonfire.

  Blair was directly across from the No Name Saloon. Are the Hungarians in, or have they already started cutting off heads. If they haven’t already figured out tonight was going to be a battle, he should give them a heads up—gain that trust Worthington spoke about. They were going to need the Hungarians help to get through this night. János Kovách and Sándor Varga stood outside the saloon with two of their American allies. With guns and axes poised for action, they stayed clear of the commotion on the street.

  Blair checked for spectators then ran across. “Don’t shoot.” He quickly jumped up to the boardwalk.

  “Gentlemen.” Blair didn’t wait for an invitation.

  “Mr. Blair?” Sándor Varga took a step backward. His American allies stared with wide eyes.

  “Who else would it be?”

  “We thought you were dead.” The big Hungarian leaned on the handle of his ax.

  “That seems to be going around.”

  “You got gunned down in the street,” János Kovách said.

  “Yeah, that’s a long story that I don’t have time for.”

  Sándor Varga stared at him with questioning eyes. “What do you want?”

  Blair leaned in. “Get your crew ready.”

  “Why?” János Kovách asked.

  “Look around. There’s going to be an attack tonight. It’s already started.”

  János Kovách pointed up the street. “My brother went to go see what is happening.”

  “Then he’ll tell you. Besides that, there are several miners missing.”

  “The number is up to at least forty, maybe more,” Sándor Varga said.

  “Forty? If they’re all vampires now, this whole town is going to be in trouble.” Blair stepped off the boardwalk. “Sharpen those axes.”

  The church was three blocks away, and he moved in that direction as the last bit of color left the moonless sky, revealing thousands upon thousands of stars.

  * * *

  “What the hell was that?” Sándor Varga slammed the head of the ax onto the boardwalk.

  Startled, János Kovách moved back. “What is it?”

  “That man should be dead.” Sándor Varga said through his clenched teeth. “Go get your uncle and brother. I think we found the lead vampír.”

  “But we’ve seen him in the sunlight,” János Kovách said.

  “You have also seen him shot up in the street. And yet he walks here unharmed.”

  “What about the professor?”

  “No one can be trusted.” Varga turned to the two Americans. “You, follow Blair. But be careful. And you, go gather the men.”

  “Bring them all here. Mr. Blair was correct. Tonight is the night to end this.”

  The three men left Varga alone. He raised a whiskey bottle to the night. “A kocka el van vetve.” He took a drink. “The dice have been cast.”

  * * *

  “Anyone here?” Frederick Worthington asked again. The church appeared to sit empty. But he wasn’t sure.

  “Professor?” Pastor Jones’ voice quickly settled his nerves.

  “Yes.”

  Pastor Jones stood up behind the large wood pulpit. “Over here.”

  Worthington and Susanne moved to the front of the church. “Ma’am,” he greeted Mary Collins. “I assume you are doing the same as we are—seeking a place to hide.”

  “Yes, sir,” Duane said. “The vampires are coming.”

  “Duane,” Mary lightly scolded him.

  “It’s all right, ma’am, we understand.”

  “Mrs. Collins, this is Professor Worthington, the man I told you about.”

  “Oh.”

  Worthington could see the disappointment in her eyes.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said.

  “This is her son, Duane,�
� Jones said.

  With an open palm, the professor gestured toward the woman next to him. “And this is Susanne Richmond.”

  Jones gasped. “You brought a prostitute into my church.” A vein pulsed in his narrow forehead.

  “The sexually deviant are today’s lepers, Pastor Jones. I expected you to have more decency as a man of God, to reach out to them.”

  Susanne stepped away from the men and covered her face.

  “It’s fine with me if she stays.” Mary extended her hand to the prostitute. “We are all scared, and this seems to be the best place to be. Please, sit here.”

  Susanne sat down and used the handkerchief the professor had given her at the shack. “You really are a gracious woman, Mrs. Collins.”

  “Thank you. This is my son, Duane.”

  “Hello, ma’am.”

  Susanne chuckled through her tears. “I know.”

  Mary cocked her head. “Have we met before?”

  “You three stay here.” Jones grabbed Worthington by the arm. “I need to talk with the professor.” He urged Worthington down the aisle and sat him in a pew. “What are you doing here?”

  “Like I said, seeking refuge.” Worthington kept calm, though he really started to like the idea of punching the pastor in the throat. “If you truly want us to leave, we will.”

  Jones bit his lip and shook his head.

  “If it is such a difficult decision for you, we’ll go.”

  “No.” Jones paused. “Stay.”

  “Thank you.” Worthington gave a slight bow of his head.

  “Do you know what is going on out there?”

  “We have already been through this, Pastor. There is nothing more for me to say.”

  * * *

  Jonathan Blair hadn’t gone far before hell broke free in Gothic. He knelt down next to an empty wagon, which blocked an alley. People ran in every direction seeking a place to hide from those who craved their blood. The possessed, the vampires, roamed the streets. Citizens fired into the bodies of those who would not die.

  András Kovách and his nephew, Péter, swung axes, lopping off heads of demonized miners. Their American crew members brought the fire power with shotguns, rifles and pistols. They aimed for heads and hearts, dropping the possessed miners. The Hungarians didn’t waste any time decapitating the fallen. János Kovách and Sándor Varga joined their kinsmen in battle.