He set down the Yeeth on the ledge. He struck down at the relic with a two-handed grip on his sword, swinging the blade’s edge into the center tooth. Sparks flew. Jacob’s strike had barely scratched the artifact.
Jacob raised his sword and, gathering up his strength, swung again. A thunderous crack of sheer power echoed over New Orleans as the Teeth broke into a thousand shards. A staggering wave of energy slammed into him. Windows all over the city block shattered in a rain of glass.
The feverish heat began to leave his body.
Shaken, Jacob sheathed his sword and looked down at his hands. A sickly, amber-colored film seeped out from his skin. He watched as it evaporated into a fine mist and drifted into the air.
He walked back over to the ledge, stumbling over his own feet. He recovered and leaned out over the edge, looking down.
Christopher and Charlotte were examining Potestas’s body. A half-dozen soldiers stood around it, rifles at the ready. They weren’t taking any chances. Good.
Jacob stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled weakly.
Charlotte looked up and waved over her head at him. Christopher glanced up, gave a cursory nod, and went back to watching the corpse like it was a snake he’d just found under a rock. Jacob waved back to Charlotte. He couldn’t help but smile.
Jacob watched as Christopher stood and drew his sword. He motioned Charlotte back, then, bringing the sword back over his head, decapitated the corpse in a single stroke.
A piercing, keening wail rose up from the body. The horrible noise echoed all over the city, off the buildings, down the alleyways in between them, and through the streets. Jacob covered his ears, watching as Christopher, Charlotte, and the soldiers did the same.
A great, shadowy beast began escaping out from Potestas’s stump of a neck. It didn’t come as a mist, or as smoke. Instead, the demon-thing clawed its way out from within the corpse.
Black talons shredded the neck, tearing the orifice open and rending the skin and muscle beneath. Jacob’s fellows downstairs stumbled back from the creature as it clawed free. It reached a hand as big across as a serving platter out into the institute’s grassy turf and began to pull itself out into the New Orleans air, shedding the body like it was just a used up cocoon husk.
The keening wail continued, increasing in pitch. Jacob fell to his knees, his vision darkening. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced.
Jacob struggled against the fade and rose to his feet, legs trembling. He leaned out over the ledge, right hand over his ear and left on the pommel of his sword. The thing drew itself up to its full height.
The amorphous shadow towered over Jacob’s fallen companions and the ruined corpse below. The creature must have been two-stories tall. It seemed to look up at Jacob.
A chill ran through Jacob all of a sudden. The chill made him desperate and full of rage. The thing stared long and hard at him, the keening wail rising as it did so.
Whatever it was took flight with a mighty vertical leap, rushing up past, and through, Jacob’s head before he could step back.
Visions of a small frontier town flooded his mind. A wide thoroughfare lined on both sides by wooden buildings. A drugist on the left, two general stores, a livery at the end. He’d been there before, Jacob knew. He recognized the general store. That was where his pa had bought seed every season before the war. He’d buy penny candy for Jacob and his brothers when they went with him.
It was Lawrence, Kansas.
Jacob saw the town on fire. He heard people screaming. He saw men in mismatched, irregular clothing riding through town, setting the buildings afire and shooting down the inhabitants. It was a massacre.
It was the Lawrence Massacre, to be exact.
Next he saw a vision of a cold land of grey, blasted rock. Smoke and ash filled the skies. Armies of creatures marched and processed across the space, their numbers so great that to enumerate them would be like counting snowflakes falling in a blizzard. Impenetrable cold bore through him, numbing him down to his bone. This was a level of Hell.
The Ninth, to be exact.
The visions faded and so did the wail. Jacob shook his head and searched the skies, looking for the grave-cold shade on the New Orleans skyline. Nothing. His left ear felt warm. He reached up and felt something wet. He looked down at his hand.
Blood.
That wasn’t good.
He shook his head again and looked down at the grounds between the back alley and the institute. The others all stood and hollered at each other. The soldiers looked to be in a tizzy. Jacob turned around and left the ledge.
He walked back to the hatch that led to the institute’s third floor. He eased himself down the ladder, grunting with the effort. Corpses of the irrevocably afflicted packed the little closet. When the curse left them, they had just died. Jacob crawled over the fleshy pile in a daze. He heard sobbing coming from the hallway.
He crawled over the pile of bodies and climbed down to the floor. He poked his head out the door and looked left. A young, white lady, naked to the waist, sat on the floor with her back against the wall and her legs tucked beneath her. She wept into her gore-covered hands. Her greasy, blonde hair hung down around her head in an untamed mess. Jacob walked over and squatted down next to her.
“You alright, ma’am?” he asked softly. He considered putting a hand on her shoulder, but thought better of it. She was half-naked, after all. Wouldn’t be seemly.
She uncovered her face and looked at Jacob with puffy, red eyes.
“I killed all them people,” she said, tears streaming down her face and a trail of snot dangling from her nose.
“No, ma’am,” Jacob said, sighing. “No, you didn’t. That wasn’t you. I was in the war. I killed people. You didn’t. This ain’t on your shoulders. A man was controlling you. He did those things, not you. It’s on him.”
She kept crying. Jacob sighed, turning his head away.
She reached out and wrapped her arms around Jacob’s neck before he could pull back. She hugged herself to him.
“Hey,” Jacob said, struggling at first, “what are you . . . ?” But he just stopped trying when she wouldn’t let go. What was he going to do? Shoot her? Beat her? She’d been through plenty already. He tried a different tack. “Alright, ma’am, we’re gonna get you some help now. Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
“That’s good. I don’t reckon I can if we gotta go too far,” Jacob said. “Gotta let go if I’m gonna stand, though.”
“Okay,” she said, letting go of him. Her tears began tapering off, too. That was good. “Oh, Lordy,” she said, looking down at herself with wide eyes. “I’m naked.”
Jacob stood first and helped her up. He took off his great coat and draped it around her, saying, “Now you ain’t. Your virtue’s intact, ma’am.”
“You a soldier, mister?” she asked.
“Nah,” he said.
“What are you, then?”
“Reckon I’m a knight.”
“Shouldn’t you’d be a bit shinier, then?”
“Ain’t how it works, ma’am.”
They helped each other walk down the long hallway to the stairs. Along the way they found more of those who had been cured of the curse. Most were corpses now, but they encountered a handful of survivors.
They roused most, but a few didn’t respond. Instead, the survivors just stared off into nowhere with wide, indifferent eyes. Jacob had seen it on the battlefield. They wouldn’t be coming back for a while, he reckoned.
“Leave them, ma’am,” he said. “We’ll send help up when we get outside.” In the end, there was a trail of seven men and women, a mix of both white and colored, following behind Jacob and the young woman when they reached the stairs. Their little, ragged procession stumbled down to the second floor.
They met Charlotte at the foot of the stairs. A small detachment of soldiers escorted her and Dr. Beckett. Charlotte’s eyes went wide at the sight of the young woman leaning against Jacob.
“Ain’t what you think,” Jacob said to Charlotte. She shot him a look. Jacob sighed. “Found her in the hallway.”
“Oh, honey,” Charlotte said, going to the young woman, “we gotta get you and these folks some help.” She wrapped an arm around the blonde’s shoulders, looking suspiciously at Jacob’s jacket. “They’re setting up an aid station downstairs. We should get you folks there. Corporal, you and your men take these folks down. They’re fine, as I’m sure Dr. Beckett will confirm.”
The soldiers and Dr. Beckett took over taking care of the folks, checking them over and leading them downstairs. Jacob sat down on the stairs as the soldiers led away the recently cured. He sighed.
Charlotte sat down next to him.
“He’s dead,” Charlotte said.
“I saw.”
“Then you also saw the shadow?”
“I did. Flew right through me.”
“Through you?”
“Yup.”
“What was it?”
“Dunno. Certain it’s some sort of devil, though. A powerful one.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said, her voice distant, “it was powerful.” She turned and looked at him. “Your ear, it’s bleeding.”
“I know. It was. It’s stopped, I think.”
They sat silent for a minute or two. No more gunshots filled the air, just the sound of soldiers bustling in the meeting chamber. The cleanup effort had begun.
“What about Father Rousseau?” Jacob asked.
“Jacques? I don’t know. I don’t think he knows, either.”
“We should get Christopher and go see him.”
Charlotte sighed. She was as tired as Jacob, he realized. It had been a long week. They picked themselves up and walked down the hallway, Jacob leaning on Charlotte for support.
“Do you think,” Charlotte began as they turned the corner to the stairs, “that the curse left everyone?”
“Yup. Those that weren’t used up probably made it, just like the woman from upstairs.”
They walked out onto the landing and looked down at the clean-up effort. Soldiers pulled the corpses of the afflicted from the stairs and dragged them out into the street. Christopher and the surviving delegates had started identifying and claiming their compatriots’ bodies. Jacob and Charlotte walked down the stairs together.
They walked over to Christopher together. “Glad you made it,” Christopher said to Jacob. “Was worried.”
“I was too. Reckon I should thank you for that last shot on Potestas. Likely saved my life.”
“Welcome, but it wasn’t me,” Christopher replied. He pointed at Charlotte. “You should thank this little sharpshooter right here.”
Jacob looked down at her, smiling wanly.
“Told you I was from Texas,” she said, looking up at him.
Damn, she was beautiful in more ways than one.
“Well,” Jacob said, “I appreciate it. Thank you.” He looked back to Christopher. “Any word on surviving Kukluxers?”
Christopher shook his head. “Most were killed or run-off. Baird’s men won’t let me near the ones that were captured.”
“Think he’d let me?”
“Might,” Christopher said, considering. “But it’s doubtful. He’s outside in the street.”
“Reckon I should find out for sure. Charlotte, would you help me outside?”
They went out to the street, passing through the entryway. The corpses had been cleared already, but the walls and floor were dark with drying blood. Bullet holes pockmarked the stone. Boot prints crisscrossed the crimson floor. Outside, Jacob and Charlotte surveyed Common Street.
A circus of activity had overtaken the battlefield, and Maj. Gen. Baird served as the ringleader. Jacob watched him directing the disparate groups of soldiers on the hundred different tasks which needed doing. Jacob saw Maj. Overman talking to some of the surgeons. Charlotte and Jacob walked over to him.
“Maj. Overman,” Jacob called, walking slowly to the throng of men. Maj. Overman turned and looked at Charlotte and Jacob. Jacob could see the strain on the major’s face.
“Jacob?” Overman asked. “You still kicking?”
“A word, sir?”
Maj. Overman came over. He and Jacob shook hands.
“This is Miss Gibson,” Jacob said. “Saved my life today.”
“Helped save the city, too,” Charlotte added.
“That too.”
“Well, we’re obliged for that. What can I do for you?”
“Wanna talk to them Kukluxers, Major,” Jacob said.
“I’d love to,” Maj. Overman replied, “but I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“They’re already gone. Maj. Gen. Baird immediately shipped them off to Fort Jackson.”
“Well, let me see them there, then.”
“No,” the major said, his voice flat.
“Joey,” Jacob said, lowering his voice, “I thought we were friends. Old war buddies.”
“We are,” the major said. “And, I’m deeply sorry, but this came from the top.”
“The top? Who?”
“I am not at liberty to say,” Maj. Overman replied, shaking his head.
“But,” Charlotte said, “what if we could get in for just a—”
“My final answer,” the major interjected, “is no. I will not risk a court martial so you can see those men. I told you, my hands are tied and I have no recourse in this matter. Respect that I have ironclad orders, Miss Gibson, which specifically state no one is to speak to the prisoners.”
“Not even you?” Jacob asked.
“Not even the major general. And, especially not you or Mr. Freeman, Jacob.”
“What? By name?”
Maj. Overman paused a moment, looking around, before saying, “Those are my orders.”
Jacob cursed. “Fine. Thanks for the aid today, anyway. Couldn’t have fought all them off without you and your boys.” Charlotte and Jacob shook hands with Maj. Overman again and walked back up the steps to the Mechanics Institute. Christopher waited for them at the front doors.
“Figure we need to see Father Jacques,” Christopher said.
“Jacob and I,” Charlotte replied as the two of them walked up, “were thinking the same thing.”
“Then let’s get,” Christopher said, heading in the direction of Common Street. “It’s a long walk back to Chartres, and the afternoon’s almost over.”
Jacob and Charlotte followed after him.
The three of them stood around Father Jacques’s bed. The other priests had moved him into one of the small monk’s cells in another building on the grounds. Father Pierre Cavey stood off to the side.
“How you feeling, Father?” Christopher asked.
“Could not be better,” Father Jacques replied.
To say the priest didn’t look good would have more than just missed the mark, it would’ve been like firing in the opposite direction. Black bruises circled his eyes, and his face was already thin. Containing the demons ate at his core. The room was warm, almost hot, but the priest lay beneath a pile of blankets and quilts, shivering as if it was on a mid-winter night.
“We wanted to let you know the fever’s stopped,” Christopher said. “The city’s safe.”
“Potestas?”
“Dead. Killed by Jacob.”
Father Jacques nodded silently.
“Are they still . . . inside of you?” Jacob asked quietly.
“Oui,” he said. A shadow shaped like a large slug passed under his skin, traveling from his jaw and down to his collar bone. “They writhe, attempting to make their escape.”
“We’ll fix this,” Jacob said. “Somehow, we’ll fix it.”
Father Jacques tried to shrug, but it required too much effort. He just sighed instead. The sigh turned into a cough.
“I believe,” Cavey began, starting forward, “Father Jacques needs his rest now. You may speak to him later.”
The Templars, Charlotte, and the priest stepped o
ut into the hallway. Father Cavey shut the door gently behind them.
“I am sorry, gentlemen,” Father Cavey said, turning to them, “but Father Jacques cannot stay here.”
“What?” Christopher and Jacob asked in unison, their voices raised.
“Christopher,” Charlotte snapped. “Jacob. I’m sure the father has a good reason.”
“It’s not my reason, Miss Gibson. It is Archbishop Odin’s. I have no say in this matter.”
“But why?” Christopher asked, hands spread. “That man saved all our lives.”
“Helped save the city, too,” Jacob said.
“He is a powder keg,” Cavey replied. “Do you realize what would happen if those demons escaped? We couldn’t protect this city.”
The Templars, silent, looked at each other. Christopher crossed his arms and shook his head.
“So the Church wants us to take him?” Jacob asked.
“Yes. At least, at the monastery, he’ll be safe. You would be capable of containing the demons should they escape.”
“Fine,” Christopher said, looking at Father Cavey. “It’s not that I don’t want to take Father Jacques. He’s a good man, and I see no problem obliging him peace and protection. The Church not wanting to help him is what gets to me.”
“As I said,” Father Cavey replied, “it is not my decision to make.”
“Fine,” Jacob said. “You’re clean on this one. We’ll take him with us as soon as we leave.”
“When will that be?” Father Cavey asked.
“As soon as we get passage on a steamer. A couple days at least. Army has the city locked down. Port’s closed for a week while they guarantee the city’s free of fever. No ships in or out.”
“Until then, you should stay as our guests,” Cavey said, walking past them and down the hallway. He stopped near the end of the hallway. “Please, enjoy the comfort of our hospitality.”
“Sure you don’t just want us around to kill demons if they pop out of the father?” Jacob asked.
Cavey didn’t reply. He just turned and continued down the hallway, shaking his head.
“Was that necessary?” Charlotte hissed.
“Yup,” Jacob said. “They abandoned Father Rousseau.”
“It’s the archbishop who made that decision, not Father Cavey.”
The New Orleans Zombie Riot of 1866: And Other Jacob Smith Stories Page 24