The New Orleans Zombie Riot of 1866: And Other Jacob Smith Stories

by Craig Gabrysch

  “Must be.” Christopher dismounted. “Keep a sharp eye. This place has got some bad juju. Gives me the willies.”

  “You know, last person said that to me was Henry Bennett? We both know how that turned out.” Jacob got down from his horse and hobbled it. Christopher did the same for his. Jacob grabbed his shotgun from the saddle sheath. He cracked the barrel and made sure it was loaded. He snapped it closed.

  “Ready?” Jacob asked.

  Christopher led the way into the ruins.

  “So what are we looking for?”

  “My guess is anything out of place. If this actually is related to them Kukluxers, there’s probably going to be some evidence left behind.”

  The wind blew softly, rustling the trees. Jacob’s finger inched towards the trigger. Christopher drew one of his pistols. A building to their left groaned as it shifted and settled. They kept walking, eyes scanning their surroundings.

  “I don’t like this,” Jacob whispered.

  “Think I do?”

  They walked through the small collection of cabins and out the other side again. Jacob looked back through the small township. Their horses were still there. He breathed a little easier. That was a good sign.

  “Would you lookie there?” Christopher asked.

  “What?” Jacob asked, turning back around to face Christopher’s back.

  “That, there.” Ahead of them, set a piece away from the town, was the elm they’d seen before.

  The dying tree looked to have been lightning struck multiple times. It towered above the small clearing at its roots. A murder of crows perched in its branches, and their caws filled the air. A dozen weathered and worn grave markers covered in indistinct carvings and writing surrounded the tree’s base. No two leaned the same way. Mounds of mud and dry, brittle grass covered the ground below the tree’s low-hanging branches.

  “Well, I’ll be.”

  “Let’s take a closer look,” Christopher said, holstering his pistol and striding out to the dug-up burial grounds.

  “Think this is where they came from?”

  “As likely a place as any.” They stopped below the tree and looked down into the nearest open grave. They were only a few feet deep. Graves of dead soldiers buried in haste.

  “We got some open graves. Don’t prove anything, though.”

  “You’re right,” Christopher said. He circled around to the back of the tree while Jacob glanced back towards the horses. They still grazed where the Templars had left them. “Jacob, come here.”

  Jacob circled around to the back of the tree.

  “Look here,” Christopher said, pointing down at a little hollow where the roots dug into the ground. “What do you reckon that is?”

  “I don’t know. Looks like something burnt it, though, whatever the hell it is.”

  “Might be a piece of bone.”

  “Yup.” Jacob squatted down in front of the object, “think you’re right. Looks like a finger or something.” He reached out a hand.

  “Don’t touch it. No telling what it is.”

  “It’s probably just a bone. What’s the worst that can happen?” Jacob asked, reaching forward and picking it up. It was warm to the touch. Not quite as warm as a human being, but still warm enough to be a little disconcerting.

  “Jacob, no!”

  Nothing happened. Jacob pushed up the brim of his hat with one finger and looked at Christopher. “See? Nothing,” he said. Holding the finger-bone between two fingers, Jacob looked at it. “Feels a lot lighter than it should be. Like it’s mostly charcoal now.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “How so?”

  “Bones don’t burn easy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Believe me. I know.”

  Jacob stood and offered the bone to Christopher, but Christopher declined with a shake of his head.

  “Reckon this had something to do with whatever happened here?” Jacob asked.

  “Certainly a possibility,” Christopher said as he looked around. Day’s last light began fading away. “Getting dark. We should get back to Washington’s soon.”

  “Think the Kukluxers’ll show up there again?”

  “If they’re dead Rebels they will. Not going to take to being sent scurrying by a Colored man,” Christopher said, walking back around the tree.

  “Likely right,” Jacob said. He placed the burnt bone in his shirt’s breast pocket and followed Christopher. “Or a ‘race-traitor.’”

  They stopped in their tracks as they came within sight of where they’d left their horses. The riderless coal-black mounts of the Kukluxers stood between the Templars and their grazing horses. The early evening light retreated from their presence, the shadows around them becoming longer and darker. Jacob gripped his shotgun tighter. Christopher grit his teeth and drew his revolver.

  “Come on,” Christopher said, striding towards the horses and into the settlement. Jacob followed him, finger on the trigger of his shotgun.

  They weren’t five paces from the tree before they heard the calls coming from the abandoned buildings. Both men had heard them before, years and years ago, out on the battlefields of the war between the states. It was a curious yipping, howling, almost warbling, bark.

  It was the Rebel yell.

  The yell had chilled Jacob during the war, that wild and inhuman noise, but not now. He’d seen and fought demons, had even looked into the tentacled maw of madness itself, and survived. Some dead soldiers doing some yelling and yipping like bird dogs? This was nothing.

  He and Christopher kept walking, their eyes on the surrounding buildings.

  They were just about to pass the first building when Jacob heard movement behind him. He spun, saw a swath of white cloth, and fired both barrels from the hip. The Kukluxer couldn’t have been more than a few good strides away and caught both loads of shot mid-chest. He flew back in a cloud of smoke and dust, his arms thrown wide and his feet clearing the ground. He landed on his back inside the tumbledown building, swearing loudly.

  Jacob cracked the barrel and reloaded his shotgun. He turned back around and followed after Christopher, who had already drawn a bead on one of the white-cloaked men on their right. Christopher fired twice, hitting the Kukluxer in the head and shoulder, driving him back under cover.

  “You fine?” Christopher asked as they kept walking.

  “Yeah. Only got these two shots, then I’m down to my pistol and sword.”

  Christopher nodded and fired a shot ahead at one of the men on his right. Jacob shouldered his shotgun and kept pace.

  Two of the white-cloaked men appeared from buildings on the left with rifles in their hands. Jacob shot down one. Robes flared out as the creature spun to his right and fell to the ground in a tangle of white. Jacob only grazed the other, though.

  The Kukluxer fired, hitting Christopher in the left shoulder with the dull thud of metal hitting meat. Blood misted into the air, spraying Jacob’s right side. Christopher stumbled back a step, grunting, right hand covering his shoulder.

  “Dammit,” Jacob swore, throwing his shotgun aside and drawing his pistol. “You alright?”

  “Graze. Hurts like a sumbitch, though.” Christopher raised his gun again and fired, missing his target. He fired again and, this time, hit.

  A pistol fired from somewhere behind Jacob, and he felt the bullet tear into his left calf. He took a knee, a curse on his lips. Christopher spun and fired at the attacker, the Kukluxer Jacob had first shot. Christopher holstered his pistol and drew the second one from below his left arm.

  “Can you stand?”

  “Yeah,” Jacob said, “reckon I can.” His boot had already begun filling with blood. “Gotta bandage this. Bleeding bad.”

  Still on one knee, he drew the straight knife from his belt and cut his left sleeve at the upper seam. He ripped the cloth off his arm and wrapped it around the boot as tight as he could. He stood and put some weight on it. The leg wouldn’t take all the weight, but it would take
some. He hobbled along beside Christopher.

  “Can you make it to the horses?” Christopher fired ahead of them into the growing night.

  “Hope so.” Jacob grit his teeth against the pain as he limped forward. He again shot down the Kukluxer that had winged Christopher. “This is useless,” Jacob said, fanning his revolver and gunning down another. “They just keep getting back up.”

  “Yep.” Christopher shot another. He reloaded his revolver. They’d gotten nearer to the horses than they had been before, though. That was something.

  “Were they just sleeping here all day?”

  “Might have been. Maybe they’re not active in the daytime? Maybe the magic doesn’t work?”

  Christopher fired two more shots. The Kukluxer stumbled backwards, but righted itself in record time.

  “They gotta be getting their energy from somewhere, though. If that finger-bone was the source, it ain’t anymore. Thing was almost burned up.”

  Christopher fired two more shots.

  The coal black horses ahead looked balefully at the Templars as they drew closer. They didn’t move, they simply followed the two men with their eyes as Jacob and Christopher limped and walked past. Jacob hadn’t ever considered horses to be capable of hate, but, then again, these weren’t your normal horses.

  Their own horses were, though. Thankfully, Christopher and Jacob had hobbled them before they’d gone into the settlement. If they hadn’t, the gunshots would have driven them to flight by now.

  “Get the horses ready,” Christopher said, wincing as he reloaded, “I’ll cover you.” He opened fire on the Kukluxers and their horses as Jacob limped around releasing his and Christopher’s horses. “Don’t think I can hurt their horses, Jacob, which means you gotta hurry up if we wanna get ahead of ‘em.”

  “Hurrying.” Damn his leg. With every step or jostle, it felt like someone dug a hot poker into his calf. He finished releasing the horses and climbed on his. His shot up leg throbbed painfully as he swung it over. The makeshift bandage he’d made had soaked through already. “Come on,” he shouted, pulling his horse around.

  “Goddamn,” Christopher swore as he swung up and into the saddle. The Templars spurred their horses, bullets streaking through the air and whizzing past as they rode through the trees to the main road.

  Darkness covered all of Grace, except the saloon. The Templars drew their horses up in front of the sheriff’s office. Jacob felt lightheaded, and was having trouble staying upright in the saddle. He could still wiggle the toes of his left foot. That was good. But blood also soaked into his sock and the bandage. That wasn’t so much so. His boot was heavy with blood.

  Christopher shouted for the sheriff to come out. When there was no answer, he dismounted and walked to the front door of the office. He peered through the window with both hands cupped to keep off the glare from the lanterns across the street. Seeing nothing, he tried the door. It was locked. He came back and looked up at Jacob.

  “You going to be alright if you get down?” Christopher asked. Jacob nodded. “Good. We gotta get you into that saloon and see if we can find someone to clean that leg while I head to Washington’s.”

  “No. You ain’t going anywhere without me. We get this boot cut off and a new bandage on this leg, then we’ll ride out there together.”

  “Got the first part right,” Christopher said, leading Jacob’s horse around to the saloon. He hitched Jacob’s horse and helped Jacob down from the saddle. Jacob, leaning on Christopher’s good shoulder, hobbled up and into the light.

  The saloon was almost empty. The bartender stood behind the counter. John Ketch, the general store owner, sat at the counter drinking a cider. A saloon girl, dressed in all her finery, lounged around at one of the tables. It was a slow night in Grace.

  “Need some help here,” Christopher called out.

  “Well goddamn!” the bartender shouted. “What in the hell happened?”

  Ketch got down off his stool and came towards them.

  “Kukluxers ambushed us at the old settlement outside of town,” Christopher said, helping Jacob to a long, rectangular table not far from the door. He helped Jacob get on the edge. “Jacob got shot in the leg. Need someone that can take care of the wound.”

  “Mattie,” the bartender hollered at the saloon girl, “go see if Ms. Reid is at the livery.”

  “But why do I gotta go, Josiah?”

  “Cause I’m here minding the place, Ketch is gonna go get some of that magical patent medicine of his, and I got a goddamn man bleeding on my table. Ain’t telling you twice, woman.”

  Mattie left in a stomping, huffing flutter of silk and lace.

  “Did it get the bone?” Ketch asked, coming over.

  “No, don’t think so. I can put some weight on it.”

  “Good. If anyone can help you, it’ll be Reid. I’m gonna get some of those medicinals Mr. Dench was just speaking of.” He left the saloon at a jog.

  “You seen the sheriff?” Christopher asked.

  “No. Ain’t seen him since before sundown.”

  Christopher nodded, lips pressed together.

  “He’s probably just down at the house, though. Coleson closes up at sundown, lest he’s got a prisoner in there with him.”

  “I’m gonna go get the sheriff,” Christopher said to Jacob. “You let these people help you best they can. I’ll be back. Dench, you get him some whiskey and some clean water to wash that wound. Get some bandages too.”

  Christopher left the saloon. Dench went and got the materials as Christopher had ordered. He set the water and bandages to the side and popped the cork on the whiskey bottle. He offered the bottle to Jacob. Jacob took it and had a long pull.

  A few minutes later, John Ketch arrived with his pills.

  “Don’t take more than one,” he said, giving them to Jacob. “It’ll get you higher than Monk’s Mound, you take more than that with whiskey.”

  Jacob put the pill in his mouth and washed it down with another swallow of the liquor.

  Mattie and Eliana Reid walked in the saloon.

  “Told you settling up old scores was a bad idea,” said Eliana, walking over to Jacob’s makeshift operating table and drawing her big hunting knife. “First thing, we gotta get this boot off and get that wound cleaned out.”

  “We don’t think the bone was hit,” Ketch said.

  “That’s good, Mr. Smith. Might still be able to walk the land when everything’s said and done. Now roll over on your stomach.”

  Jacob rolled over.

  Eliana began by removing with a quick snick of her blade the makeshift bandage Jacob had made from his shirt sleeve. Next, she started cutting up the outside lining of Jacob’s trousers with her knife. The razor sharp blade parted the heavy cloth like butter. When she finished, Jacob’s trouser leg hung open from the mid-thigh down.

  The men looked at Mattie, the saloon girl, who stared with open curiosity.

  “What?” she asked. “I seen it before, boys. I just ain’t ever seen it all shot up, that’s all.”

  Eliana started cutting through the upper tube of the boot. It had been tooled from tough leather, so Eliana had to put in some effort. Jacob winced at the jostling. Pretty soon she had the upper-half peeled back from the blood-soaked wound and surrounding skin. She whistled low.

  “Pass that bowl of water here,” she said.

  Ketch passed her the water and she soaked some of the clean towels in it. Jacob hissed as she gingerly cleaned the wound with gentle but firm dabs from the edge of the cloth.

  “Well, Mattie, today ain’t your day. He ain’t shot up too bad. I can see it, Mr. Smith. Ball must have bounced off the ground and flattened fore it hit you.” She dabbed a little more. “We’ll have to get it out. Your boot slowed it. That’s good, but like I said, the ball can’t stay in.” Eliana picked up her knife again, saying, “This is gonna sting a bit.” She began digging into the wound, trying to get the ball out.

  Eliana was wrong; it hurt like hell. Jacob s
ucked in a breath, held it, and grit his teeth.

  Christopher came back just as Eliana dropped the flattened lead ball on the table.

  “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” she asked as she started to bandage the leg again.

  “Any sign of the sheriff?” John Ketch asked Christopher.

  “No,” Christopher replied, shaking his head. “If he’s home, he ain’t coming to the door. Ms. Reid, I hate to impose further on you, but reckon I can rent a horse? Mine’s exhausted and I need to get to the Washington place before them Kukluxers.”

  “Make it two horses, Ms. Reid.”

  “You’re not going, Jacob,” Christopher said.

  “I am. It’s what I joined the order for. Pack the wound and cut me loose, ma’am.”

  “You two are imposing a mite on me, ain’tcha?”

  “We wouldn’t normally,” Jacob said, looking back over his shoulder, “but we gotta be quick or the Kukluxers’ll get there first.”

  “Fine,” Eliana said after a long pause. “I’ll get you the horses. I got two real runners who’ll beat anything in the county. Don’t want some receipt. Just give me your word and we’ll be done with it.”

  Eliana went and got the horses as Jacob cut the rest of his trouser leg off. He felt a fool for having his leg exposed, but there wasn’t much to be done for it.

  Dench and Mattie found him an old push broom for a crutch. He hobbled outside while John Ketch and Christopher changed saddles and gear between the horses. When the two men finished, the Templars mounted their fresh horses and rode from Grace.

  Jacob and Christopher reined up their horses in front of the Washington’s barn and dismounted. They went inside and pulled the sack from the Kukluxer’s head.

  “Hello, boys,” the head said, the dry skin of its hollow cheeks stretching queerly from its rictus grin. Its eyes were bright red coals. “Back so soon?”

  “What is this?” Jacob asked, pulling the burnt finger-bone from his shirt pocket and holding it out in front of the head.

  “Got the Finger-Bone of Lazarus, do you? So what? Damage has been done, boys, and cats are out of their bags. We’re out of the grave, and we ain’t going back in one.”