Brotherhood of Evil
Page 27
Smoke didn’t want to shoot, but he had no choice. The Colt roared again. A slug ripped through the meaty part of Dan’s right thigh. Smoke waited for the leg to go out from under Dan and spill him to the floor.
But other than a twitch of the leg, Dan didn’t show any reaction. He didn’t fall, and he didn’t slow down. He kept barreling at Smoke like a runaway train.
It felt about like a runaway train when Dan crashed into him and drove him over backwards.
They landed on a divan, which toppled over from the impact. Dan’s long, sausage-like fingers groped at Smoke’s throat. Smoke twisted away from them. The collision had made him drop the gun, so he had to fight barehanded. He smashed a right and a left into the man’s broad face.
Dan didn’t seem to feel the punches any more than he had the bullet in his leg. Smoke tried to writhe away from him, but he was pinned against the wall. Dan’s right hand closed around Smoke’s throat.
The man’s strength was incredible. Dan would crush his windpipe in a matter of seconds. Smoke’s hand fell on the barrel of the fallen gun. He swept it up, smashed the butt across Dan’s face. Bone shattered under the blow, but Dan didn’t let go. Smoke hit him again and again, pounding until Dan’s face barely resembled anything human.
Finally, the terrible punishment began to take a toll. Dan’s grip loosened enough for Smoke to pull free. He lifted his leg, planted his boot against Dan’s chest, and shoved hard, sending Dan flying through the air for a short distance before the big man crashed to the floor. Breathing hard, swallowing to work some of the soreness out of his neck, Smoke started to get to his feet.
In shock and disbelief, he saw that Dan was clambering up, as well. The man’s broken, bloody face still showed no real emotion.
Smoke was so horrified he almost didn’t notice Jonas Trask lunging at him.
Lamplight flashed on the scalpel he held as he slashed at Smoke’s throat with the razor-sharp instrument. Smoke threw up the Colt in time to block the attack, but just barely. The scalpel glanced off the gun and raked a fiery line down Smoke’s forearm.
Smoke ignored the pain and shot a left into Trask’s jaw. The crazed doctor wasn’t as big as Smoke, but he was fighting with the strength of madness. He shook off the punch and swiped at Smoke with the scalpel again. Smoke jerked back just as the blade swept in front of his face. Trask bored in on him, hacking wildly.
At the same time, Dan reached for Smoke again, still following the last order Trask had given him. The big man got in the way of one of the doctor’s wild swings. The scalpel bit into his throat and ripped across it. Blood geysered from severed arteries. As Dan staggered, for the first time he showed a reaction to something. His eyes widened as if he realized something terrible had just happened. One hand went to the blood welling from his ruined throat, and he made a grotesque gurgling sound.
“No!” Trask yelled as he stepped back. “Dan, I didn’t mean—”
Dan’s tree trunk of an arm swept out with blinding speed and smashed into Trask’s head. Smoke heard a sharp crack. Trask flew backwards, slammed into the parlor wall, and dropped in a crumpled heap.
Dan swayed back and forth for a second, then fell. The floor shook a little as he landed.
In the eerie silence that followed, a tiny whimpering sound caught Smoke’s attention. He reversed the Colt so that he was holding it normally and turned toward Trask. The man lay motionless, but his eyes were open and he was conscious. His head was twisted at such a gruesome angle on his shoulders that Smoke didn’t see how he was still alive.
He stared up at Smoke and whispered, “Jensen . . . Jensen, you have to . . . help me. . . . You have . . . deft hands.... You can . . . perform surgery. . . . I’ll tell you what to do. . . .”
Smoke checked the gun’s cylinder—two rounds left. The shooting had stopped outside. He swept the curtains back. The sun had started to peek over the horizon. In the wash of reddish-gold light, he saw Preacher, Matt, Pearlie, Cal, and Monte Carson walking toward the house. They had a few new bullet grazes, but Smoke could tell they were all right.
The battle for Sugarloaf was over.
“Jensen . . .” Trask rasped behind him. “You can . . . save me. . . .”
Smoke turned his head. “You want me to perform surgery?” He swung around. “I reckon I can do that. I can remove the thing that caused all the pain.”
The Colt roared once in the parlor.
Smoke walked out into the morning sun to meet his family and friends. They would have a lot of work to do, cleaning the place when he brought Sally home.
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Copyright © 2015 J. A. Johnstone
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PUBLISHER’S NOTE
Following the death of William W. Johnstone, the Johnstone family is working with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Mr. Johnstone’s outlines and many unfinished manuscripts to create additional novels in all of his series like The Last Gunfighter, Mountain Man, and Eagles, among others. This novel was inspired by Mr. Johnstone’s superb storytelling.
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ISBN: 978-0-7860-3599-1
First electronic edition: October 2015
ISBN-13: 978-0-7860-3600-4
ISBN-10: 0-7860-3600-1
Notes
1 See The Family Jensen: Massacre Canyon.