Drovers and Demons: A Weird Tale of the Old West (Murphy and Loco Book 1)

by Scott Langrel

  The thing darted its head forward, its gaping maw seeking to rip into the flesh of Murphy’s throat. He was able to get his left hand free just in time to catch the demon’s neck right under its elongated jawbone, temporarily halting its attack. Grasping desperately for his revolver, he succeeded in jerking it out of its holster. He shoved the gun’s barrel into the thing’s ribs and pulled the trigger, feeling the satisfactory kick as the .44-40 round punched its way through the demon’s body. The nightmarish thing jerked as the bullet tore into its decaying flesh, but it did not fall away from Murphy. If anything, it seemed to redouble its efforts.

  Murphy’s wrist and shoulder began to burn as he used all of his strength to keep the snarling hag at bay. Just as his arm began to quiver from the strain, the demon arched backward and emitted an ear-splitting howl. Murphy felt the strength ebb out of the creature’s body as it began to sink toward the floor, all the while continuing to produce a shrill, warbling keen. It finally collapsed and lay still, the handle of Loco’s knife protruding prominently from its back.

  “That was a close one,” Loco remarked as he pulled his blade free. It tore loose from the body with a sickening sucking sound. “Might I suggest you retrieve your weapon posthaste? There’s likely more of these things lurking up here.”

  Wordlessly, Murphy hurried down the stairs, grabbed the Exterminator, and bounded back up the steps two at a time. When he reached the upper landing, he turned to Loco and nodded.

  “I owe you one,” he said softly.

  “Best we don’t start keeping score,” Loco replied with a shrug. “I have a feeling it’ll be impossible to keep track of.”

  “You’re likely right,” Murphy said as he moved cautiously toward the nearest closed door. “You ready to clear this place out?”

  “Lead the way,” Loco replied, pausing to light a lamp on the wall.

  With his free hand, Murphy gently tried the doorknob. It turned easily in his grip. After checking to make certain Loco was ready, he pushed the door open and squinted into the dark void on the other side. Though nothing moved to rush out at them, the room didn’t feel quite empty, either.

  Holding the candle he’d been using to light the lamps, Loco eased past Murphy and entered the room, being mindful to keep his back pressed against the wall. The weak light did little more than force the nearest shadows back somewhat, but it was enough to give them a general idea of the room’s layout. It was a typical working girl’s room, with the bed being the most prominent feature, followed by a small vanity with a large wooden-framed mirror attached to it. The bed was still made, but the comforter was ruffled as if someone had been sitting on it. The room was otherwise sparsely furnished. A door set into one of the inside walls suggested either a closet or an entrance into the adjoining room.

  “Not many places to hide,” Murphy observed quietly. “If anyone’s here, they’re either under the bed or in the closet.”

  “You take the closet,” Loco whispered, already moving toward the bed. He stopped a few feet away and carefully lowered himself to his knees, being mindful not to hog all of the candle’s light to himself. Murphy eased toward the door to the closet, or whatever was on the other side. Stopping in front of the door, he reached for the handle but paused long enough to shoot a quick glance in Loco’s direction. The Apache was peering under the bed, his posture alert but not alarmed. Apparently, the space under the bed was clear.

  Murphy wasn’t counting on being so lucky. Setting the butt of the mare’s leg firmly against his hip, he gripped the knob and slowly twisted it. When the knob stopped rotating, he took a breath and jerked the door open. The expected attack, however, didn’t occur, and Murphy gazed into the darkness of the closet as he tried to separate the shadows from one another.

  “You find anything?” he called over his shoulder.

  “Nope,” came the reply.

  “Then bring that candle over here. It’s darker than mud soup in this closet. I can’t see a thing.”

  The light brightened as Loco approached from behind, and Murphy saw that the closet was small and cramped, hardly the likely hiding place he’d imagined it to be. There were a few articles of clothing—either the working girl who rented the room wasn’t obsessed with her attire, or she simply couldn’t afford any more clothes than she actually needed. Murphy suspected it was the latter; even in larger mining towns, the girls didn’t make much profit because the hotel owners upped the rent depending on the amount of business. Which was why you rarely saw any rich whores, he supposed.

  “There’s nothing in there,” he said to Loco, relaxing his grip on the Exterminator. “Guess this room is a bust. Come on, let’s move to the next one.”

  “I’d have sworn something was in here,” Loco muttered, shaking his head as he turned to follow Murphy.

  “Just nerves, I reckon,” Murphy replied. “Sometimes your gut misses the mark.”

  They made it halfway to the door before the demon, which had been perched silently on the ceiling like a giant housefly, fell upon them, knocking both men to the floor.

  Chapter Eleven

  The thing landed with one knee planted firmly in Murphy’s back, forcing him to exhale violently as the air was knocked out of him. Loco fared slightly better, as he managed to roll to the side before crashing into a vanity. A ceramic water pitcher was jolted from its perch atop the table and came tumbling off, spilling its contents onto the floor.

  “Get it off me!” Murphy wheezed as he squirmed under the creature in an attempt to keep it too off-balanced to mount an efficient attack. The thing was straddling him like a bronco buster attempting to ride a spirited colt. It had just enough weight about it to keep the hired gun pinned to the floor, his weapon trapped uselessly beneath him.

  Loco struggled to his feet. He’d had his knife in his hand when the demon had set upon them, but he’d lost it when he hit the floor and now it was nowhere to be seen. It must have slid underneath the bed; he didn’t see anywhere else it could be hiding, and there was no time to go looking for it, in any event. The Anasazi on top of Murphy hadn’t managed to find a firm hold yet, but it wouldn’t be denied for long. Loco reached under his shirt and plucked another knife from its sheath. The markings on this knife weren’t as powerful, and he didn’t think it would kill the creature outright, but it would definitely do some damage.

  Loco leapt at the Anasazi and buried the knife to its hilt between the demon’s shoulder blades. It emitted an ear-piercing wail and jerked around, catching the Apache with an outstretched arm and sending him hurtling into the wall. Loco hit hard enough to lose his breath, and for a moment he saw nothing but bright lights intermingled with total darkness. By the time his vision cleared, he saw that Murphy had been able to use the distraction to his advantage by bucking the demon off and freeing himself from his previously pinned position. The hired gun scurried to his feet, fed a round into the Exterminator’s chamber, and fired into the thing. A hole appeared in the front of the demon’s chest, followed immediately by the appearance of a second and much larger hole in the thing’s back. This was accompanied by a spray of dark, viscous blood, and produced the end effect of the demon pitching forward on its face, where it twitched once and then lay still.

  “Damn,” Murphy said, walking over to help Loco up. “Somebody should have said something about those things being able to climb walls and stick to the ceiling like a spider.”

  “Well,” Loco replied, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs, “it’s not like there’s a handbook or anything on how the Anasazi behave. I wasn’t quite aware of that aspect of their nature, either. Until now, of course.”

  “I guess we’ll consider it a lesson learned, then,” Murphy said. “From here on out, we check the ceilings first. I’m not anxious to get waylaid like that a second time.”

  Loco walked over to the demon and pulled his knife free. He kicked at the dead thing and rolled it over.

  “That’s Ford Earheart,” he remarked. “Or it used to be, anyway.” />
  “That makes three,” Murphy commented, counting on his fingers. “The one back in the mine, the one at the head of the stairs, and Ford here. I sure wish we knew how many escaped from that hole back at the mine in the first place.”

  “Well, we don’t,” Loco said. “The best we can do is to finish clearing out Vulture City and hope we get all of them.”

  “I don’t like not being absolutely sure about things,” Murphy said. “If you’re not absolutely certain a job is done, it usually isn’t. And jobs that aren’t done have a way of coming back to bite you in the ass.”

  “I’m not arguing the point,” Loco explained. “I’m just saying that we need to finish what we’ve started here. We can be absolutely certain about Vulture City. After that, we’ll have to play it by ear.” He looked down at his knife and remembered the one he’d lost. “Help me find my other knife. It’s the most powerful one I have, and I lost it when the demon jumped us.”

  They located it under the bed, which was—as Loco had correctly assumed—pretty much the only place it could have been hiding. With the knife back in Loco’s possession, they went through the rest of the upstairs rooms, finding nothing but two dead prostitutes. The women had apparently been attacked while they were still abed; neither showed any signs of having put up much of a fight.

  “That clears this place,” Murphy remarked as they descended the stairs back to the ground floor. “Only a dozen or more buildings to go.” He gave Loco a weary look. “You realize this is going to take up most of the night, don’t you?”

  Loco shrugged. “We don’t have anything better to do. I don’t know about you, but I’m not about to sleep until we’ve cleared this town of the Anasazi. Even then, I probably won’t rest until daylight.”

  Murphy saw his friend’s point.

  They checked the dry goods store next and found it to be deserted, though Murphy did avail himself of several strips of dried jerky and a couple of the most expensive cigars. Loco rolled his eyes and said nothing, but Murphy noticed and pointed out that there was likely no one left alive to pay for the goods, and that the town would likely soon be ravaged by outlaws and renegade Indians, anyway. Loco found that he couldn’t argue the fact, but he left without taking anything, just the same.

  The chow house was next, and that was where a lot of the wet work occurred. Apparently, many of the town’s residents had either been eating when the Anasazi arrived, or they sought refuge in the mess hall when things started to go bad. There were dozens of bodies in the chow house, and there were also several former citizens of the town who’d unwillingly lent their bodies to the spirits of long-dead Indian tribal leaders. These, Murphy and Loco dispatched with cold-blooded efficiency; the open layout of the building lending itself well to bloody combat. Murphy ended three of the demons with the Exterminator, while Loco put two more down for good with his magically enhanced blades.

  When it was over, they both agreed that a short break in which to rest and recover themselves was in order. They retreated to the White Dog. Murphy went behind the bar, procured a bottle and two glasses, and poured a generous shot into each.

  “You think it’s wise to drink?” Loco asked. “I mean, what with the work ahead of us, and all.”

  “I think one shot will do wonders for my nerves,” Murphy replied. “I won’t force it on you, though.”

  “I appreciate that,” Loco said as he grabbed the remaining glass and downed his shot. He noticed Murphy’s look. “What?” he asked. “Apaches have nerves, too.”

  “Never said they didn’t.” Murphy considered the bottle, then put it away. “You’ve been doing this for a while. Have you ever been this knee-deep in it?”

  Loco studied his glass. “No. I’ve never been partnered up, so most of my jobs have been more one-on-one. I took out a werewolf in San Antonio a year or so back, and a banshee in Arkansas eight months ago. Professor Roop usually utilizes me for surveillance work and research. That’s what I was doing here when you showed up, surveillance. And then you rode into town. Coincidence?”

  “I don’t see how it could be anything else,” Murphy shrugged. “I wasn’t even sure I was going to take this job until a week or so ago. And if I didn’t know, Roop sure as hell couldn’t have.”

  “You might be surprised,” Loco said with a grin.

  “See, that kind of thing bothers me,” Murphy said. “I believe in all of this supernatural stuff. Well, most of it, anyway. But pre-determined fate? That’s another matter entirely. I tend to believe I control my own destiny.”

  “It’s a free country,” Loco replied. “You can believe anything you want.”

  Murphy wished Loco would talk like a normal man, but the Apache had a habit of making you think he was agreeing with you when he really wasn’t. It was like having an itch somewhere you couldn’t scratch; it was annoying as hell. Other than that, though, Murphy genuinely liked the Apache. As far as partners went, Murphy figured he could do a lot worse.

  They left the saloon and headed to the next row of buildings, all of which were boarding houses. Murphy himself had secured a room in one of them only a few days before, though he’d only slept there for one night. He still had a few possessions in the room, but very little. He tended to keep most everything he had on him at all times. It discouraged thieves.

  The first boarding house was empty except for a few unanimated bodies, so they quickly moved to the next one. They found nothing in this one, except that one door which led to a room at the back of the building was locked. Murphy found this strange, as they had not previously come across any locked doors in the town.

  “Should we bust it open?” he asked Loco.

  “We need to know there’s no Anasazi hiding in there,” the Apache reasoned, “so I figure we’d better.”

  Murphy nodded. “Ok, then. You kick it in, then jump back out of the way. I’ll cover the door with the mare’s leg, just in case one of them tries to come running out.”

  “You’re bigger,” Loco argued. “You could kick the door in easier.”

  “But I’ve got the gun,” Murphy explained.

  “Then give it to me. You open the door, and I’ll cover you.”

  “You don’t use guns, remember?” Murphy said, exasperated. “You’re liable to shoot me in the back.”

  “I’m proficient in the use of firearms,” Loco said. “Just because I prefer knives doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a gun.”

  Murphy grunted. They were wasting time.

  “Fine,” he said, handing the Exterminator to Loco. “I’ll kick the door. But you’d better not shoot me. God only knows what one of those bullets would do to a normal man.”

  “In your case, it could only be an improvement,” Loco muttered.

  Ignoring the Apache, Murphy squared up and kicked at the door. The heel of his boot connected solidly just below the knob, and the flimsy latch busted out of the frame with a splintering of wood. Loco held the gun at the ready, prepared to chamber a round and blast anything that came rushing through.

  Nothing did.

  The room was dark. Loco tossed the Exterminator back to Murphy, and they entered cautiously. Loco found an oil lamp on a small table just inside the door and lit it, casting a pale, flickering light around the room’s interior. The room was neat, and it had the look of having been used very recently. It was deserted now, though, or at least it seemed to be. There were no dead bodies, at least, and no smell of curdling blood. In Murphy’s estimation, that was a good start, anyway.

  They checked the ceiling first, both of them determined not to fall for that trick again, but nothing clung there except maybe a few cobwebs. Something, lightning quick, scuttled into the shadows of one of the corners, but it was too small to be noteworthy. Probably a small mouse or a large click beetle. Murphy wasn’t particularly fond of either rodents or insects, but neither was very high on the list of things he was presently worried about and, in any event, you tended to see plenty of both when traveling across the frontier. For L
oco’s part, he considered all living things to be part of the Great Wheel of Life, and generally harbored no prejudices, though he had developed a dislike for rats while studying in New Hampshire.

  Similar to the rooms above the White Dog, the rooms in the boarding house were small and economical, affording little in the way of hiding places for a grown person, or a demon inhabiting the body of a grown person.

  “You want the bed or the closet this time?” Murphy asked.

  “I want to check the window,” Loco replied, and moved across the room holding the lamp high.

  “You think someone’s hiding outside?” Murphy asked.

  The Apache didn’t answer. Instead, he held the oil lamp close to the window.

  “It’s locked,” he announced after a brief inspection.

  “So?”

  “So, if the door was locked, and the window is locked, then someone’s still in here.”

  “Not if the someone in question locked the door with a key when leaving,” Murphy pointed out. “I have a room at the next boarding house down, and the owner gave me a key when I paid down my rent for the month.”

  Loco sighed. “Your powers of observation seem to be on par with your fluency in the Apache language. Check the door again. It was chained on the inside when you kicked it in. The plate ripped off the door when you busted it, but the chain’s still secured to the plate.” He held the lamp in the door’s general direction, which provided enough light for Murphy to see that the Apache was, in fact, correct.

  Murphy silently cursed himself for the lapse. While it was true he hadn’t been a paranormal wrangler for more than a day or so, he felt he was neglecting to hold his end of the team up. Loco had been obliged to pull Murphy’s fat out of the fire on at least two occasions so far, and now he was missing obvious clues and possibly putting both of them in danger. He wasn’t used to feeling like a tenderfoot; he’d been taking care of himself for years, and had always managed to come out on top in any situation he found himself in. Until now, anyway. Murphy felt like he’d just put on a new pair of boots, walked outside, and promptly stepped in a pile of dog shit.