The Shadow of Armageddon

by LeMay, Jim

  Everyone else was saddling up, loading the pack animals. Matt limped stiffly over to saddle Lady, hoping Columbia wasn’t far away. He was still sore, but the nap had been more restful than he had expected. Lady nickered a welcome; she also seemed fairly well rested.

  Matheson walked up. “Well, Mr. Jerry Johnson, y’ sure y’ can make it the rest of the way? I know y’ve had a rough couple days....”

  “It’s Jerry Jordan. And nothing’s going to keep me from going to Columbia. Boss Matheson.”

  Matheson’s eyes narrowed. “Then maybe we oughta git this business done so you can go home afore your pigs starve.”

  Matt glared at him for a moment before turning to tighten a cinch.

  They followed a road south, as the gloaming turned to dark. Beside Matt, Tim stayed quiet, having apparently decided that Matt was too fey for conversation. After a time they left the road and rode west through overgrown countryside. The sky grew increasingly overcast. The darkness made riding difficult, since the moon seldom peered through the clouds, but the darkness would be their ally during the attack. The leading horses stumbled a little through the undergrowth though their wake made progress easier for those that followed, including Lady.

  At last they came to a halt and waited for a moment in the dark. A brief appearance by the moon showed that two riders had approached Matheson from ahead and joined him in whispered consultation. Matheson must have sent them ahead to reconnoiter. His lieutenants gathered around them. Tim went forward and listened from the edge of the crowd around Matheson and the outriders. He returned a few minutes later.

  “Well ...?” said Matt impatiently.

  “Mark an’ Rusty rode up to where they could see the market and the front gate,” said Tim. “An’ just about dark here come Chadwick an’ ’bout twenty guys comin’ back t’ town.”

  Sure, thought Matt. They were out looking for me, hoping I’d lead him to Mitch and the gang. Chadwick’ll no longer trust anyone but himself to find us. Matheson, of course, will think Chadwick’s looking for him. Matt wondered if Chadwick and his men had been as far as Stanley Market. They could have gotten there and back if they had left before dawn. They might have reached there just after Matheson’s gang departed. Chadwick would not like to be away from Columbia for the night, of course, as long as the market was open. He must be extremely frustrated, believing his prey was so near and unable to spend all his time looking for them and unsure of Matheson’s intent.

  Quiet orders came from the front that they were to dismount, secure their horses, and gather around Matheson. Matt slipped off the horse, as the others were doing, and wrapped her reins around a sapling. He went up as close to Matheson as the crowd allowed. Matheson spoke quietly but in a voice that they could all hear.

  “We’re close t’ Columbia,” he said. “Rusty an’ Mark got as close t’ the gate as they could without bein’ seen an’ watched Chadwick an’ his boys comin’ back t’ town. ’Bout twenty of ’m. Lookin’ for us. ’Cordin’ t’ what the pig farmer here says, it must a been most a the men he had in town.”

  “So if we’d been a little sooner,” someone said, “we could a taken the town while he was gone.”

  “If we wait till tomorrow,” suggested another man, “he’ll prob’bly leave agin an’ we can waltz in an’ take over.”

  “An’ when he found out,” said Matheson, “he’d gather up all his boys from the toll posts an’ his patrols an’ come back. They’d be too many for us to handle. No, we gonna go in an’ finish this right now.

  “Here’s what we gonna do. We leave the horses here, with these two young boys t’ watch ’m, but leave ’m saddled – just in case. The truck’s too heavy t’ leave on the pack animals, but we’ll stack it right beside ’m. Then we’ll go t’ town on foot an’ slip ’round t’ the west fence. That’s the point fu’thest away from the market. We need t’ keep outta sight a the guards patrollin’ the market. It oughta be ’bout midnight by then. They’re all tired. The ones with Chadwick’s been ridin’ all day, prob’ly since afore dawn. Same for any that comes in from patrol. They’ll all be sound asleep.”

  “’Ceptin’ the guards inside the fence,” said one of Matheson’s lieutenants.

  Matheson glared at him. “We all been on guard duty so we know how it works. A guard circles ’round inside the fence. After he goes by, it’ll be a spell afore he’s back. We’ll have somebody slip over the fence an’ hide out – prob’ly Roberts here. He’s a sneaky little guy that’s used t’ slippin’ ’round where y’ can’t find him. Leastways when he’s needed for mess duty.” The man so acknowledged grinned a cocky grin. “Roberts’ll let us know when the guard passes an’ we’ll pry some boards loose an’ git in.

  “Once inside the fence, we’ll split in t’ two groups. The main one’ll shoot up the front a the house. Hartman’ll lead that one. Shoot from behind cover. Don’t try t’ attack the house itself. Me an’ a smaller group’ll go ’round behind the house where they ain’t many windows for ’m to shoot us from. We’ll wait till Hartman’s been firin’ for awhile so Chadwick’ll think we committed the whole force t’ the front a the house. Then we’ll break in t’ the basement an’ set it afire. Once that fire climbs upstairs, them boys’ll boil outta the front like bats outta hell.”

  “An’ we can pick ’m off like doves on a fence line,” someone said.

  “No,” said Chadwick. “The only ones we stiff is the bosses: Chadwick, Hauptmann, an’ the Thompsons. We holler for the rest t’ throw down their weapons. If they do, we spare ’m. We used t’ ride with ’m – we was all one gang – an’ we need ’m t’ help us run this town.”

  Some of the others nodded at the wisdom of this strategy.

  “Yeah,” somebody said. “Some a them is good ol’ boys. It’ll be good bein’ back with ’m.”

  “Well, git your shit t’gether then,” said Matheson, “an’ let’s git movin’. The night ain’t gonna wait aroun’ for us.”

  Matt was ready. Whatever the night brought, he wanted to face it and to have it over. Soon they were on their way, thirty-odd men, moving warily through the underbrush and saplings. Though walking was painful enough, it beat riding. Matt had brought his rifle, the one Mitch had traded him for the Kreutzer, and his machete. He had left the rifles taken from Chadwick’s guards and his pistol with Lady. He also carried a bundle of pitch-soaked pine boughs to be used as torches to set the house ablaze. Tim also carried a bundle.

  In a short time they reached the double lanes of the highway just north of Columbia. They crossed the highway around a bend in the road where they could not be seen from the town. Even then Matheson had them cross the two double lanes a few at a time in a crouch. Johnson would have appreciated Matheson’s caution. When they had all reached the other side, Matheson led them back south, through the nascent wilderness of brush and saplings and then across open fields and pastures. They crossed the open land even more carefully, running bent over in small widely separated groups until they met outside the west fence. It had taken over an hour from the time they crossed the highway. It was now a little after midnight.

  As they waited along the fence while the surreptitious Roberts scouted inside it, the clouds decided to let the moon roam free to fully bathe them in its cold light. The men huddled quietly, scarcely breathing, as closely to the fence as possible, feeling, Matt thought nervously, as exposed as he did.

  At last Roberts hissed an all clear through the fence and they began, as quietly as possible, loosening some of the boards as Matt had done at the south fence. After what seemed an interminable period, the men were crawling through the gap.

  Once on the other side, Matheson indicated without speaking those who were to go with Hartman to attack the front of the house and those who would accompany him. Most went with Hartman; Matheson chose only six: Matt, Tim, and four others. Apparently Matheson wanted Matt close enough to keep an eye on. Matheson and Hartman had already coordinated the timing of their attacks. Hartman’s group would at
tack at midnight which would be in about an hour. After Chadwick’s people felt relatively free from attack from the rear, Matheson, Matt, and Tim would break in through the back door and set fire to the basement.

  Matheson led his small group through the streets in a broad detour that brought them to the street that ran along the south side of Chadwick’s garden. They crouched behind a retaining wall two houses away from Chadwick’s house but within sight of it.

  “I’m goin’ ahead t’ check Chadwick’s back yard out,” Matheson whispered. “Don’t move till I git back.” Matheson left without a sound. He moved deftly for a big man.

  They waited for what seemed a long time. Matt began to fear Hartman’s attack would be well under way before they were in place. Then Matheson reappeared.

  “They’s two guardin’ outside the back door,” he whispered. “Settin’ on stools behind that wood screen. Shows how nervous Chadwick is now that our farmer’s gone missin’. They’s usually just one guard there. Wasn’t nobody at the sides a the house, though.

  “Here’s what we do. Gus an’ Reno hides in them shrubs at the southwest corner a the back yard, Butch an’ Blackie behind the maple tree at the southeast corner. From there y’ can watch for anybody slippin’ ’round from the sides a the house an’ y’ can cover the back door. Me an’ these boys – ” (he indicated Matt and Tim) “ – is gonna assault the back door.

  “I’ll shoot the guards through the screen. It hides ’m okay, but high-powered ammo goes right through it. Then we three, we rush the back door. But we watch out for the guards in case I only wing one an’ he ain’t dead. You two keep your torches ready. I light one a yours, Tim, outside the door with this here friction firestarter. Then we kick the door in an’ see if anybody’s inside. If they ain’t nobody there – prob’ly won’t be – we go in an’ put the branches that ain’t lit agin the inside wall, pile ever’thing that’ll burn on ’m an’ light it. Then we git the hell out.” He turned to the other four. “If they is somebody inside you-all come back us up.”

  They all nodded.

  “Simple, hunh? Simple plans is always best.”

  Tim didn’t look so sure. “What if somebody is in the basement?”

  Matheson glared at him. “What d’ y’ reckon y’r packin’ that weapon for, Timmy boy? If somebody is in the basement, we stiff him. Now c’mon. Hartman’s gonna start shootin’ after his hour’s up whether we’re still here beatin’ our meat or not.”

  Matheson led the way. The four went to their respective hidden vantage points at the corners of the yard while Matheson, Matt, and Tim took positions behind a compost pile at the edge of the garden. As Matt well remembered, the yard was deep; the back door and the screen concealing the guards seemed impossibly far away. Matt could hear the guards’ desultory conversation. Smoke from their pipes curled lazily above the screen though at that distance Matt could not smell their weed. Matt and the others remained very quiet.

  Matheson lay between Matt and Tim, training his rifle now on one of the hidden guards and then the other, locating them by the sound of their voices, as though trying to decide which to kill first. Matt could sense no tension in the man. Killing was only a game to him, as exciting any other game but of little more consequence. In that he was much like Johnson.

  Matt wondered why Hartman waited so long to attack. It must be midnight after all this time.

  Then he heard the staccato of gunfire from the front of the house, and the crash of glass. And a couple of larger explosions that he couldn’t identify which seemed to come from inside the house. Smoke no longer rose from behind the guard screen. Matheson lay as still as ever, his rifle still moving from one of his invisible targets to the other. The minutes slipped by as the sounds of violence continued from the front of the house. The tension building in Matt became almost unbearable.

  Then two shots exploded next to him, made his heart skip a beat. Matheson was jumping to his feet, yelling, ”Come on y’ fuckin’ slugs! Y’ can sleep forever when you’re dead!"

  Of course! Matheson had shot the guards through the screen and was now up and racing toward the house. Matt belatedly jumped to his feet and followed, a pace or two behind Tim.

  The back door opened, and a figure stood there aiming a rifle at them. Matheson shot him without slowing. Two others appeared in the doorway. Matheson fired at them but missed; the dark was treacherous. The two sought cover. One retreated into the basement, the other dived behind the screen.

  Matheson stopped and fired into the screen, eliciting a cry from behind it that indicated his target had at least been hit. He seemed to be fumbling with something in front of him out of Matt’s view. Tim also stopped, his rifle aimed at the door. Matt too, rifle likewise pointing at the door while he tried to think of something more to do. Standing in the open facing concealed armed adversaries was nothing if not suicidal.

  Then things happened very quickly. Matheson hurled something across the back yard and through the basement door. Then he yelled something that Matt could not hear, though he immediately knew that it meant something like “Get down!” because that’s what Matheson did. So Matt did, as did Tim. Just before a violent explosion lighted the interior of the basement and a blast of heat struck him. And something tore his cheek.

  Matheson had lobbed a grenade into the basement. That’s what had caused the loud explosions from the front of the house earlier. Hartman had assaulted it with grenades.

  Matheson was standing, yelling at him, something he could not understand because the explosion had deafened him. As Matt staggered to his feet, he saw Matheson yank Tim upright. Matt retrieved the bundle of torches he had dropped and stumbled after Tim who lurched along after Matheson carrying his rifle and torches.

  Then they were standing before the back door which the grenade blast had caused to hang awkwardly across the doorway by one hinge. Acrid smoke from the basement stung Matt’s eyes and made breathing difficult.

  After glancing at his latest victim behind the screen to make sure the man was dead, Matheson peered inside the doorway. Apparently satisfied that the interior was safe, he pulled out his firestarter and turned to light one of Tim’s torches. He wore a frown of concentration accompanied by the merest cold deadly smile.

  The son-of-a-bitch loves this, thought Matt.

  Matheson noticed Matt looking at him and allowed the smile to spread slightly.

  Matt’s hearing had returned somewhat. He could hear, just barely, Matheson say, “Thought we was a little too close t’ chuck a grenade, hunh pigfucker? Little too excitin’ for y’? Y’ ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” Matt found his quiet laugh chilling.

  Matheson suddenly swung his attention back to the basement’s interior, dropped the firestarter, and raised his rifle. He fired through the smoke-filled door and shouted, “Git away from the door!” He jumped to one side, Matt to the other. An automatic rifle and a shotgun fired from the interior. Tim was a little too slow. He moved far enough out of range that a discharge from the automatic rifle caught only one side of him, spun him about in a bizarre pirouette.

  Matt forced his attention away from Tim’s collapsing, disintegrating corpse, forced his gorge down. He stood with his back close to the wall beside the doorway, still clinging to his rifle, heart pounding madly. The pitch-soaked boughs lay forgotten somewhere on the patio.

  Gunfire erupting at Matt’s feet jolted him, sent him skittering along the wall away from the door. He looked down, heart pounding more madly than ever. Matheson had dropped to the patio floor; those inside would least expect him to fire from floor level. Matheson had aimed deliberately and fired twice. No sound came from inside. He leaped to his feet, weapon and attention still trained on the basement’s interior.

  “I fucked up,” said Matheson, more to himself than to Matt. “They was sendin’ a party out a the basement, prob’ly t’ slip ’round behind Hartman. I should a ’spected that.” Then he grinned at Matt. “C’mon, pigfucker. The fun’s just startin’. Bring the torches.” Mat
heson stepped around the broken door into the basement.

  Matt glared at him. Matheson’s new name for him was getting old.

  Though the basement was now quiet, Matt heard the sounds of firearms above, including at least one of the deadly Kreutzers, and men yelling. Trying to calm his racing heart, he gathered the torches and the firestarter Matheson had dropped on the patio, tossed them just inside the doorway. Rifle ready, he followed Matheson through the partially blocked doorway. At first he could see little. The smoke burnt his eyes, choked him. But worse than that was a ghastly smell that threatened to gag him. The smoke began to clear. A few small fires among the splintered fragments of furnishings made details of the disemboweled basement visible. And the source of the stench. He tried not to look at the torn, twisted forms strewn around the room or step in the dark greasy liquid splattered everywhere, over the floor, the walls, the shattered figures.

  Matheson swept the interior with gaze. A scraping sound escaped from a corner of the office. Matheson’s rifle swung immediately toward it. Matt followed with his weapon nearly as quickly.

  An instant before Matheson fired a quavering voice called out, “I got no gun! I ain’t one of ’m! Don’t shoot!” Matt knew the voice. Geraldo Grimes. What the hell was he doing down here? Probably trying to hide from the violence, not realizing he had moved right into it.

  “Stand up,” said Matheson. “Real slow. Hands up. Then we’ll see.”

  The trader rose up from behind an overturned anachronistic computer console, the only piece of recognizable furniture in the room, arms raised shakily above his head. His shadow, made giant by a small dying fire at his feet, danced like some mad denizen of hell against the wall.

  “So, little man,” said Matheson, “if you ain’t in Chadwick’s gang, ’splain why you’re here. Seems like I run in t’ some mighty strange folks lately.” He glanced at Matt with a brief speculative look. “Like farmers that know the where’bouts a folks I been huntin’ for months.”