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Praise
Title Page
Copyright
Heritage
Empty Bodies
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“Zach comes out with suspense that will haunt you, and you won’t be able to look away.”
J. Thorn, Amazon Top 100 Horror Author
“Few horror writers work as hard as Zach Bohannon. Turn the lights low, and don’t let the blood splatter hit you.”
Dan Padavona, author of Storberry
“Zach Bohannon takes dark thriller and suspense to a terrifying new level, with spine tingling tales of the macabre that will keep you turning the page deep into the night.”
David J. Delaney, Author of The Vanishing
HERITAGE
A SHORT STORY
Zach Bohannon
HERITAGE
Zach Bohannon
www.zachbohannon.com
Copyright © 2014 by Zach Bohannon. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction of this publication in whole or in part without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
Proofread by Jennifer Collins
Cover by Johnny Digges
www.diggescreative.com
Heritage
The day was warm and fresh in the small mining town of Victor, Colorado.
Merchants worked their tents. Horses drank from their troughs. And the whores sat on the upstairs patio of the brothel, soaking in the sun, while men walked by smoking their cigars, staring and whistling at them.
While it was business as usual on the streets and alleyways, there was an escalating scene inside the bank.
Three men on horses—foreign to Victor—had managed to get into the town, unbeknownst to the residents, and sneak into the backside of the bank undetected.
“I am going as fast as I can,” the teller said.
One of the outlaws, a scrawny fellow with blonde hair coming down almost over his eyes, pumped his shotgun and pointed it at the teller.
“Bullshit, you are,” he said. “Faster!”
The teller, a middle-aged dark haired man, sighed and kept piling the pieces of gold and coins into the large sack.
In the middle of the bank, a second man stood holding a revolver. He was surrounded by a mixed group of men and women lying facedown on the floor.
He was making eye contact with one of the women being held hostage. She was young, 17-years-old at most. He lifted the bottom of the bandana covering his face and shot her a toothless grin, then he raised his eyebrows to her.
The young girl looked away, trying to ignore him.
He kneeled down to her.
“What’s your name, darlin’?” He asked.
She didn’t respond.
“I asked you a question!”
She looked up at him, crying now.
“S-S-Shay,” she said.
There was no need for him to pull the bandana up again. She could see the imprint of his worn smile embossing the material.
He took his revolver and placed it into its holster.
“Shay,” he said. He reached out to run his hand down her cheek. “That’s a pretty name.”
A voice came from the other side of the room.
“Shut the fuck up, Grady.”
Grady turned from the girl and rose to his feet. The third masked outlaw stood near one of the windows, looking back at him.
“Why the hell did you say my name?” Grady asked. He looked back down at the young girl and winked at her. “I’m just talking to the pretty girl.”
“Well, stop. We aren’t here to make friends. Besides, she’s disgusted by you.”
The outlaw looked back out the window.
Grady looked down to the girl again.
“You disgusted by me, honey?”
Again, she didn’t respond; just continued to cry.
Grady knelt down and made contact with her this time, as he ran the back of his dirt stained hand down her silky cheek.
“Don’t touch her,” said the man lying next to her.
Grady pulled his hand away and looked at the man. He was hardly a man, only a few days over eighteen. Grady remained in his squat and rested his forearms on top of his knees.
“Yeah? What you gonna do about it, hoss?” Grady asked.
The young kid spit on Grady’s shoes.
Grady brought his hand across the kid’s face, drawing blood at the corner of his mouth.
“Hey,” said the head outlaw, moving away from the window. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Grady stood and turned. When he did, the young man jumped to his feet and pushed Grady to the ground.
As the kid reached for something in his back pocket, the outlaw near the window drew his revolver from its holster and fired two shots into the kid.
Everyone in the bank screamed.
The outlaw looked over toward the main counter.
“Samuel, we gotta go. Grab what ya got.”
Samuel took one of the bags from the teller and signaled Grady to grab the other.
“Thanks, Boss,” he said to the teller, and brought the butt of his shotgun down to the teller’s skull, knocking him unconscious.
The three men ran out the back door right as the sheriff jumped off his horse at the front of the bank.
***
The three outlaws rode through the barren lands outside of town.
“That was a close call. That asshole was gonna gut you, Grady,” Samuel said.
“Yeah, yeah. Ole Addison saved my bones,” Grady replied.
“Again,” said Samuel.
Addison Canter remained silent. He was a well-built man with broad shoulders, dark hair to his shoulders, and not much more pepper than salt in his full beard.
“At least we got out without a hitch,” Grady said.
A bullet soared past them.
The three men looked back and saw the sheriff and one other man following them.
“Shit,” Grady said.
Another shot rang by them.
Grady pulled out his revolver and fired multiple shots behind him.
Samuel, only carrying his shotgun, was unable to fire back without the risk of recoil throwing him off of his horse.
The sheriff fired another shot. This one caught Samuel in the leg and nearly threw him off the horse.
“God damn,” Samuel yelled.
The sheriff and the other rider were only about thirty yards back now.
Addison drew his revolver, turned, and fired at the deputy.
He watched as the man fell off the horse and rolled through the sand.
The sheriff kept firing.
Addison turned again and fired another shot. He hit the sheriff’s horse in its front left leg.
The animal stumbled to the ground and the sheriff went over the front of the horse.
The outlaws stopped.
Addison jumped off his horse and walked toward the sheriff. His right arm was broken at the elbow, crooked and turned the wrong way. He held his cracked ribs with his other hand. When Addison approached, the sheriff was crawling toward his gun.
Inches away from the revolver, Addison brought his boot down on the sheriff’s hand, who let out a squeal.
The sheriff rolled onto his back and looked up. He laughed through the blood coming out of his mouth.
“Canter,” he said. “You’re a lot uglier in person than on those wanted posters.”
Addison cocked his head, smiled, pointed his revolver between the sheriff’s eyes, and pulled
the trigger.
Then he turned back and looked toward Samuel.
“Can you ride?”
Samuel nodded. “I think so.”
“Okay. We’ll get you patched up at the next town we approach.”
Addison pulled a poncho out of his pack. He tore off part of it and wrapped it tight around the wound on Samuel’s leg.
“Thanks, Boss.”
Addison nodded.
The outlaws jumped on their horses, and continued their ride through the open plains.
***
A couple of hours later, Grady was the first to notice the buildings from a distance.
“Looks like a town up ahead,” Grady said.
They stopped.
“What if they know who we are, Addison? What if there are posters of us posted everywhere?” Samuel asked. The burn in his leg had subsided some. “That sheriff knew who you were. Who’s to say these people won’t?”
Addison spit on the ground to his left and then looked over to his partners. He shrugged with a small smile.
“Guess we will find out,” Addison said.
He gave his horse a kick of the heel and continued to ride toward the town.
Grady and Samuel gave each other a look of concern, a shrug, and then reluctantly followed.
***
They approached the town about twenty minutes later. The sun was starting to come down and the sky was revealing all its beauty.
Addison was staring at the crooked sign when Grady and Samuel rode up behind him.
They cocked their heads to read it.
“Welcome to Blackwater,” Grady said.
They looked down the main street of the town. No one was outside. There was no light.
“It looks abandoned,” said Samuel.
“Who the hell would just leave this here?” Replied Grady.
Addison spit and then steered his horse forward.
Samuel looked over to Grady. “I don’t like this.”
Grady shared his partner’s worry.
“Come on, you pussies,” Addison said.
Samuel shrugged his shoulders, gave his horse a soft kick with his spur, and moved behind Addison. Grady followed suit.
They rode down the main road that went through the middle of the town. None of the men spoke, and it was quiet enough to hear the wind begin to pick up the dust from the ground and throw it around in the air.
Blackwater had all the standard amenities for a western mining town. On the left side of the street, there was a post office, a barber shop, and a blacksmith. On the right, there was a brothel, a saloon, and a general store.
One thing that caught Addison’s eye was the large wooden platform in front of the sheriff’s station in the middle of town. At the top, there was a crossbar that spread across the width of the platform, with a noose hanging from the middle of it. He stared at the executioner platform. The emptiness in the town brought a certain ominousness to the empty noose dangling in the wind. He looked away and refocused his concentration on scavenging the town.
Addison pointed to the general store.
“Go check in there and see if you can find some supplies to patch up Samuel,” he told Grady.
Grady tipped his hat and steered his horse to the building.
“There’s gotta be an inn in this town. Doesn’t look like anyone is here so I’m sure we could find us a place to sleep for the evenin’.”
Samuel clutched his leg and grimaced. The burn was picking back up.
“I don’t know, Boss. Something seems odd here,” Samuel said, speaking through clenched teeth.
Addison noticed the hotel the next block down.
“Just keep your eyes peeled for anything strange or any movement,” Addison said.
Samuel pulled out the shotgun that hung at the side of the horse. He held it in two hands, ready to fire, and continued to follow Addison toward the hotel.
They came to a stop in front of the Blackwater Inn. It was one of the larger buildings in town. The upstairs rooms shared a large patio and there were five rocking chairs sitting on it, gently rocking back and forth in the wind. Downstairs, one of the windows had been busted out. The wood that held the building together hadn’t rotted out yet, but it didn’t look like it was too far off from its inevitable fate.
Addison raised his eyebrow and smiled at Samuel.
“Looks like they have vacancy.”
Samuel looked away from Addison and stared at the inn. The sky was getting darker and it was turning his nerves into fire.
Addison began to swing his legs over the horse, and his spurs rattled as his boots hit the ground.
Their heads jerked around when they heard the scream come from the general store.
Addison drew his revolver and ran to the shop.
When he was fifteen yards away from the front of the building, Grady came running out with his arms holding as many bottles of liquor as they could. He was laughing uncontrollably. Addison stopped and sighed.
“We gonna have us a party tonight, boys,” Grady shouted.
Addison rolled his eyes.
“Did you find any medical supplies?” Addison asked.
Grady nodded.
Addison reached and grabbed a bottle of whiskey out of his hands.
“We are gonna need this, too.”
***
They entered the empty lobby of the hotel. Samuel had his arm around Grady and was using his shotgun as a cane in his other hand. They stopped in the middle of the lobby and looked around.
To their right was the unmanned front desk. There was a sign on the counter, covered in dust, that read No Vacancy.
On their left, there was a fireplace with two chairs and a small table in front of it. Above the fireplace was a painting of a man with a large mustache. Presumably, he had owned the inn when it was open.
Grady and Samuel shook as a loud ring came from their right. They looked over and saw Addison laughing. Two more times, he hit the small, silver bell sitting on the counter.
“I guess they’re closed,” Addison said with a grin.
Samuel shook his head.
“As if I’m not enough fucked up, you gotta jolt my damn nerves,” Samuel said.
Addison looked at the wound on Samuel’s leg. He lifted up the front of his hat and gave him a nod.
“Yeah, well, we’re gonna take care of that.”
All the color flushed out of Samuel’s face.
“I’m gonna run upstairs and see what we got going on here,” Addison said.
He walked to the staircase at the end of the lobby. The first staircase went up for eight steps and then provided the option to go either left or right. The balcony above the lobby surrounded the entire room. Addison went left and started checking the rooms.
Samuel looked over to Grady.
“He’s gonna dig this damn thing outta me, isn’t he?”
Grady removed his hat, threw it on the main counter, and nodded.
Samuel looked to the ground and started to tear up.
“Ah, don’t be a pussy,” Grady said. “We all get fuckin’ shot up sometime.”
Addison came out of one of the rooms. He leaned over the railing on the balcony.
“Think we can get him up here?”
***
Grady stood at the head of the bed next to Samuel. On the table next to him, there was a lantern illuminating the room, and two of the bottles of whiskey that he had found at the general store. He opened one of the bottles and handed it to Samuel.
“You probably wanna start takin’ some of this down,” Grady said.
Samuel was sweating. He sat up and tipped the bottle back, letting the whiskey sting his throat on its way down.
Near the end of the bed, Addison was examining the gunshot wound. He looked to Grady.
“You got all the wash rags you could find?”
Grady nodded. Addison returned the gesture.
He looked up to Samuel.
“You ready for this?”
“What the fuck do you think?” Samuel asked. He took back a large shot of the liquor. Then he let his body fall and rested his head on a pillow.
Addison gave Grady a nod.
Grady took one of the rags and handed it to Samuel.
“Bite into this,” he said.
Samuel took the rag, folded it in half, and bore down on it with his teeth.
Addison pulled his Bowie from its sheath. He took a deep breath and leaned in toward the leg.
“Hold him down,” Addison told Grady.
The anticipation grew and Samuel’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession.
Addison took one more deep breath, and then stabbed the point of the knife into the wound.
Samuel arched his back and screamed. Grady tried holding him down by putting his arms on his shoulders and shifting his weight onto him, but it didn’t help. He laid his whole body over Samuel’s to keep him down.
Addison continued to dig. Blood flowed out of the wound and down the leg, turning the white sheets to a sea of red. Even through the screams, his concentration on the wound allowed him to hear the knife grinding the fat and muscle inside the leg.
“Boss, you gotta hurry,” Grady said.
“Shut the fuck up. I’ve almost got it,” Addison replied.
He could feel the bullet on the tip of the knife, but had to get under it.
“Make sure you got him real good. This ain’t gonna be pretty,” Addison said.
He took a deep breath, and pushed the knife deeper into the wound to get the tip under the bullet. Samuel let out his biggest scream yet and began to squirm, as if Addison was drawing a demon out of him.
“Hold him! I’ve almost got it.”
Addison could feel the bullet on its way out of the wound.
And then the bullet birthed from the hole, covered in blood.
Addison grasped it in his hand and held it up for Samuel and Grady to see. Samuel stopped screaming and wiggling, and only heavy breathing and tears persisted.
When he saw the bullet and the smell of the iron from his blood hit his nostrils, he passed out.
Addison took the bottle of whiskey from Grady. He tipped the bottle to his mouth to help relieve some of his stress. Then he poured the rest of the bottle over the seeping wound to help prevent infection.
Heritage: A Haunting Short Story Page 1