The Color of Gothic

by Joel Q. Aaron

  Women and children cried.

  Others prayed.

  Worthington studied the vampire from a safe distance.

  “What do you think?” Blair asked without watching, keeping his eyes for Pruitt.

  “He’s not breathing.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  Blair put a bullet into the miner’s head. “Just to make sure.”

  Worthington closed his eyes. “That’s one way.”

  “The safe way.”

  * * *

  András Kovách had lost two men in the streets, one to a vampire and the other to their own gunfire. But more people joined their forces. The Hungarian Crew, now sixteen-strong, fought and killed its way into a saloon across the street from the burning block of businesses. András decided it best to take a rest.

  The brothers and two other miners entered first. A vampire feasted on the blood of a prostitute. Her ripped-open throat bled in squirts as her heart kept pumping. The creature held her tight. It did not notice the ax being swung at its neck.

  Péter Kovách put all his strength into his attack. The blade cut true doing double damage. The head of the vampire rolled across the billiard table, knocking a ball into the side pocket. The decapitated whore fell to the ground. János Kovách decapitated two dead men then declared the room safe.

  András and Sándor Varga waited by the window for the clear sign before coming in. Twelve men followed. Sándor directed the men to the windows and back door. “Guard them with your life.”

  There was no second floor to this building, which provided some protection from hidden dangers. András ordered the men to place tables as extra barriers next to the windows. Eight of them carried the billiard table to the main entrance and flipped it up on its end to block the door. The vampire’s head dropped from the stained felt onto the boardwalk.

  The fire filled the town with an orange glow that crept through the saloon’s half-covered windows. János Kovách’s face reflected the orange light as the blaze engulfed another building.

  “Time for a drink.” András sat on the bar. He, like the others, sweated from their fight. The street held more than two dozen headless corpses.

  “Uncle.” Péter Kovách handed him a glass of whiskey.

  “Köszi.”

  “You’re welcome.” Péter held up another glass. “Sándor?”

  “Nem.” He shook his head and pointed at the bottle. Péter poured his brother a glass, then gave the remainder to Varga. He set down his bloody ax on the bar and picked up the bottle.

  “Egészségédre!” he toasted. “If we can make it until dawn, we can live.” He held the whiskey to his lips and took a gulp. He cringed as he swallowed, then took a deep breath through his teeth, making a hissing sound.

  “Where’s Blair?” András searched the others for an answer.

  “He ran into the church,” János said.

  András took another drink. “Then let’s rest a while and be on our way to Mass.”

  * * *

  “Jeremiah Pruitt.”

  The refugees in the church focused on Blair.

  “Stay hidden, and we can settle this later. If you show yourself, you’re going to die.” Blair scanned the church. No one moved or gave a hint of Pruitt’s position.

  He kicked over the solid wood table used for communion and sat on the floor behind it. He rested against the wall below the large aspen cross. He glanced up. I guess we can beat all of them with something that big.

  “Jonathan.” Susanne slid over. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He checked his Remingtons. Blair pinched the lever on the bottom of the barrel and slid it out, which released the cylinder. He carried spares, pre-loaded, and switched them out—much faster than exchanging each bullet. He took the time to refill all eight of his spare cylinders before placing them back in his belt.

  She’d been crying. “Are we going to make it?”

  “I wouldn’t take any bets,” he said. “But ask the professor. He’s the expert.”

  Frederick Worthington rested behind the pulpit playing with a small piece of flooring the size of a deck of cards. He placed it in its slot in the floor and popped it out again.

  “Professor, what are our odds?” Blair asked.

  “I am afraid to calculate the terms of that deal.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I am sure it could be worse. At least the church is not situated on the side of town which is on fire.”

  “If it keeps burning, it might reach us.”

  “Mr. Blair, is that true?” Duane wiggled out of his mother’s hold.

  “It is. But it would have to burn all night. Once the sun comes up, we’ll be fine.”

  “Good.” Duane gave a half smile. “I put Skedaddle back in the stall and left his saddle on. In case you needed him tonight.”

  “Skedaddle?”

  “Yeah, your horse.” Pride filled Duane’s face.

  “You named him Skedaddle?”

  Duane’s smile faded. “Is that not okay?”

  “It sounds perfect for the beast.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. But….”

  Duane’s eyes waited for the hammer to fall. “But what?”

  “Does he like it?”

  “I think so. But I didn’t really ask him.”

  “Well, it works for me.” Blair smiled at his young friend.

  Duane grinned, showing all his teeth, then reached for his mother’s arm. “This is my mom.”

  The sound of an explosion swept through the church immediately before the building shook. Several people crowded the last window that was still free from a pew barricade.

  “They’re blowing up some of the buildings,” Mitch said.

  “What? The vampires?” someone responded.

  “No. Some of the townsfolk,” Mitch said. “They’re trying to stop the fire from spreading.”

  “There’s plenty of dynamite around,” another spectator said.

  “If they can create a big enough separation, they can stop the fire from burning down the rest of the town.” Mitch kept his focus outside.

  “Who’s crazy enough to be out there doing that?” a woman asked.

  “I can’t tell.” Mitch put his hand up to the pane to shade his eyes to see better.

  A second explosion rocked the church. The glass in the window shattered. Clawed hands dragged Mitch head-first through the opening. His shotgun went off hitting the man to his left. A vampire leaped through the empty frame, knocking over the four men at the window. Two more creatures followed.

  The crowd panicked. The people ran, pushing and shoving. They tripped over each other and the pews. Gunfire overcame all other sounds.

  Blair moved forward and started firing. Three vampires crawled through. He hit the last one leaving him hanging halfway inside. He switched cylinders.

  The crowd rushed the door. One of the riflemen fired a shot in the ceiling to halt the stampede, but he was crushed. The door gave way. Others tore the pine pews from the windows to escape.

  Blair couldn’t see. Gun smoke filled the room and only one lantern remained lit. Distinguishing human from possessed humans was impossible. Screams, hollers, and yells grew as the gunfire faded.

  A gust of wind blew through the building when the front door broke open. The breeze cleared the smoke in a trail straight to him. Pain stung between his neck and shoulder. A possessed miner buried his teeth. Blair stuck a barrel in the eye of the creature and squeezed the trigger.

  “He’s bit. He’s bit.” A man pointed through the smoke at Blair.

  “Shoot’em.”

  Gunfire followed. Two bullets screamed past his ear. He fired back. The professor and Duane were behind him, lost in the smoke. He ran to the window and dove into the street. He rolled and fired two shots, hitting the top windowsill.

  Where to now?

  * * *

  Jeremiah Pruitt was the third person out the door of the infiltrated
church. He had been hiding under a pew, waiting for a chance to shoot Blair, but the opportunity never arrived. Even in the close quarters, Blair played it smart. The vampire attack sent everyone into terror. Pruitt would be safer hiding by himself. Dawn was only a few hours away. He could survive. He always did.

  With pistols ready, Pruitt ran toward the only building he considered would be safe—the Colorado Mine and Exploration Company office. The walls were thick and locks were strong. The company safe was in a secure room. He had a key.

  Pruitt darted to the boardwalk and jumped the steps. He leaned his back against the office door and searched the street for vampires. All movement was near the church.

  He fumbled with the key and unlocked the door then opened it enough to squeeze through. He quickly checked the front room. The fire across the street gave plenty of light. The safe room was through Stone’s office, which to Pruitt’s surprise was open. The smell of smoke filled the building—not from the fire, but from a cigar.

  Pruitt cautiously moved to the office door and peeked in. Superintendent Daniel Stone leaned back in his chair. In his right hand he held a smoldering cigar, in his left a glass of brandy.

  “Welcome, Mr. Pruitt. Did you finish the task I assigned to you?”

  * * *

  Frederick Worthington said a quick prayer as Blair charged the vampires that crawled through the church window. The professor drew his Chinese sword. “Don’t move,” he told those hiding with him. “I’ll be right back.”

  Worthington fought his way through the panicked crowd to find Pastor Anthony Jones. The professor struggled against those fleeing. He called out, “Jones.”

  A possessed miner emerged from the gun smoke. It growled at Worthington. The professor brought the willow-leaf saber up from his left side and sliced through the creature’s arm. He hated the idea of having to kill someone, but he wasn’t willing to be torn apart, to let anyone else suffer such a death. Before its hand fell to the floor, Worthington came across the demon’s neck. Its head rolled into the lap of Jones, who sat on the floor crying.

  Worthington grabbed him under the armpit. “Get up. Get up.” The pastor didn’t move. The professor reared back then slugged Jones in the face, knocking him all the way to the floor. Worthington clenched his collar. “Get a hold of yourself.” He jerked him again. “Come on.”

  A scream drew Worthington back to the pulpit. Mary hung on to Duane, who lay limp in her arms. He was bleeding. Worthington checked on the pastor. He was coming. There was only one way to save them all or trap them for an easy kill.

  “Move.” He nudged Susanne over and popped out that small piece of flooring he played with earlier. He fingered a latch, which lifted a trap door disguised in the floor. “Get in.”

  Susanne crawled down the rough ladder. Worthington shoved Jones into the hole, then passed Duane’s body to him. Mary went next. The professor spotted Mitch’s family still in the corner—his son and his wife and their two children. He scanned the church for any immediate danger.

  “You too. Let’s go.” He waved them over. The couple checked with each other as though asking if they should. “Now or never. It will be safe.”

  The couple scooped up the boy and girl and crawled into the hole. Worthington looked for Blair, but he wasn’t visible. Gunfire continued near the window. Stay safe, my friend. He jumped into the opening, then shut the trapdoor. He flipped a latch on the underside to lock it.

  Mary Collins cried out. “Duane’s been bitten.”

  * * *

  Jonathan Blair ran to the nearest building and crashed through the front door. He landed on the floor of Mayor Burdett’s Gothic Mercantile and Co., then kicked the door shut. The broken frame wouldn’t stop so much as a young girl from coming in, but the building would at least appear empty.

  If anyone knew he had a bite, they would start shooting.

  Blair stayed low and away from the windows. Settling behind the counter, out of sight,he took off his shirt and examined his wounded upper shoulder. The pain came from the force of the bite, not the shallow puncture wounds.

  Blair let out a deep breath and leaned back against a bag of flour. Fatigue drained his muscles, his soul. Maybe he could wait here and let this whole situation pass. He was now a target. To survive he’d have to kill innocent people—those who saw him get bitten. Those who wanted to live.

  No more killing. No more deaths. Not by my doing. Not by my dirty, murderous hands.

  Blair dangled his hands in his lap—the instruments that destroyed lives.

  Not even in self-defense. He’d let the town’s people kill him before he took another blameless soul.

  The shadows shifted and danced in awkward patterns on the ceiling. The flames from the fire must be casting strange lights. But there wasn’t an orange glow or even a swinging lantern. Blair wasn’t alone. His heart jolted to a roaring piston. He stood to face it. The physical presence of evil brought shivers to his spine. His mouth went dry and goose bumps covered his skin. Blair didn’t know which was worse, that he could feel the evil or that the evil felt familiar. The shadows continued to stir. Demonic apparitions floated by, coming closer with each pass.

  Instinctively, Blair pointed a pistol, but lowered it knowing bullets couldn’t stop the bodiless forms which came to take his soul or foster his transformation into one of the possessed.

  They whispered in his ear.

  “Let us help you. We’ll protect you.” The voices were gentle, not threatening. Not the sharp or gravelly tone he expected. Not the voices in his dreams.

  “We’ll make all the pain go away.”

  The smoky shapes circled Blair, increasing their speed and taunts. He swatted at the dark spirits, his arm passing through them as through warm mist.

  “No more shame. No more guilt.”

  Blair, struck by the soft and sweet words, quit flailing around. Freedom from those emotional scars was a hopeless dream. Until now. There was power in the malevolent spirits. Could the demons release him from that endless torment, his personal curse?

  Could I be free?

  “Let us in, and you will see.”

  Anticipation bloomed until the question opened in his mind. What would they want in return? The glimpse of hope faded, draining his energy. Profit for my soul.

  “We’ll accept you for who you are.”

  “And who am I?”

  “You’re one of us.” A shadow touched Blair’s bare back and slithered around to his chest and neck. He twisted as if icicles caressed his skin.

  “No.” The plea was more of a whisper than a statement. “I’m not like that. I’m not… evil.”

  “We know you. We know what you are, what haunts your memories.”

  “No.” His voice was stronger, a facade over his weakening spirit.

  “We can make your past disappear—those poor children who died in your wake.”

  Blair covered his ears, but he could still hear them.

  “You are meant for us. You were created to serve our god.”

  “No.” Anger powered his second wind. He searched for a leader, a main spirit, something to confront. The dark silhouettes—humans, bats, and ghosts—swarmed around him. “You can’t have me. At least not yet.”

  “Yes, we can, Johnny.” A smoky shadow dug into the bite on his neck.

  Blair jerked away from the icy burn. If what the professor said was true, he could fight them off, not with weapons, but with his will. With faith. Faith he didn’t have.

  “Join us now, before you die, and we’ll make eternity bearable for you.”

  An allegiance with the Devil would only mean more destroyed lives and more blood on his hands. More shame. More guilt. His stomach knotted wanting to purge his soul.

  “I’d rather suffer hell than take part in any more of your lies and death. The whole world is not profit enough. Leave me alone.”

  “It’s not that easy, Johnny.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.” Blair raised his arms and shouted, “You hav
e no authority to claim me.”

  “Your sins give us the authority.” Laughter, like thunder, filled the spaces between the words.

  Blair bowed his head. His stomach crawled up his throat. “No, they don’t.” He poked his finger at his chest. “Only if I allow it. And I don’t.” He wasn’t sure if his sins were washed away, but he knew enough to stand in opposition to the enemy. “Heaven has the final say. Not you. Not me. If you are what I think you are, you fall under that authority. Now, be gone.”

  The demons hissed and retreated momentarily. “Heaven’s interference postpones the inevitable. We’ll be waiting for you, Johnny.”

  “It won’t be long because I’m coming for you.” A sense of strength filled his heart and mind. “Tell Stone I’m coming for him.”

  The dark shapes circled Blair one more time, each touching him, violating him. He cringed at the demonic embraces. “We’ll be waiting for your soul.”

  They vanished, faded into the natural shadows of the room. Blair spun around searching for any movement. He dropped back to the floor and tried to regain his composure. He needed his wits more than his emotions to survive the night.

  We’ll see if the professor is right. He rubbed a finger over his teeth to check for growing fangs.

  Blair found a crate of whiskey and opened a bottle. The uncorked lip invited his kiss. The whiskey would burn so good going down his throat. “Not now.” He poured the alcohol on the vampire bite. “Ahh.” He tore his shirt to make a rag. He covered the top of the bottle and tilted it, soaking the cloth.

  This is gonna hurt. Blair rubbed the bite hard, causing it to bleed. He poured more whiskey on the wound.

  Blair searched for clean fabric to make a bandage. Footsteps on the boardwalk halted his quest. He aimed a pistol and waited for silence. He let out a sigh of relief.

  The stillness disappeared with another explosion, rattling everything in the store. Racks and shelves of merchandise fell to the floor. The front windows cracked and shattered. The broken door swung open. Sacks of coffee fell on Blair. He smelled the aroma of the beans and imagined a warm cup in his hand.

  “I got to get out of here.” Promptness overcame stealth—Blair found the material and cut strips. He wrapped his shoulder in a crisscross pattern under his arms. He also found a new shirt and put it on. He moved behind the counter and searched out three boxes of .45 cartridges and another pistol. He loaded the weapon and stuck it in his back waistband. He reached for a new shotgun on the shelf above the display of pistols.