Hope's End: Ancient Enemy 3

by Mark Lukens

  ​“What?”

  ​“I don’t know. His scream was cut short. And then it sounded like he was choking. Like someone was choking him.”

  ​“Did you see anyone?”

  ​“It was dark.”

  ​“Did you hear anyone besides the barkeep? Did anyone say anything? Did you hear other people walking around?”

  ​“No. Just the barkeep choking.”

  ​“That’s the only thing you heard?” Jed asked, leaning forward a little. “Think, Sanchez. Think back to that moment. Anything could help. You didn’t hear any other sounds?”

  ​Esmerelda got up and went to the bar. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey and a few more glasses.

  ​Moody grabbed the bottle when she set it down on the table, serving himself a shot first and downing it quickly. “For Lawrence,” he said, lifting his empty glass up in salute.

  ​Jed grabbed the bottle after Moody was finished with it and his toast. He poured another shot and slid it towards Sanchez, but he didn’t lift it up to him yet. “What else did you hear?”

  ​Sanchez shook his head slightly, his face still scrunched a little in concentration. “I think his feet were kicking at the floor. Like when a man gets hanged, his feet kick while he’s choking to death.” Sanchez stared right at Jed. “You’ve seen that before, am I correct?”

  ​Jed wondered if Sanchez was lying, concocting these details because he knew he would be hanging from the end of a rope soon. “Maybe the barkeep ran away,” Jed suggested to Sanchez.

  ​Moody looked suddenly hopeful. “You think there’s a chance he ran away?” He stared at Sanchez. “Maybe that’s what you heard, a man running, not thrashing.”

  ​“No. His feet were kicking at the floor.”

  ​“But things can sound tricky in the dark,” Moody said. “Your mind can play tricks on you.”

  ​“I know the difference between a man running and a man’s feet kicking at the floor,” Sanchez said, eyeing Moody for a moment. He looked back at Jed. “You wanted to know what I heard, that’s what I heard.”

  ​Moody turned his attention to Jed, not willing to give up the hope that had been kindled in him now. “You think it’s possible that Lawrence ran? Maybe he got away somehow.”

  ​Jed glanced at the bar, then down at the floor with the spots of blood on it. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s strange. Your barkeep is gone like the others were, maybe taken. But the saloon hasn’t been torn apart like the general store and the dining hall were.”

  ​Moody’s eyes lit up with surprise. “Yes, that’s true. There is a difference.”

  ​The church hadn’t been torn apart either, Jed thought. The church’s pews, podium, and piano hadn’t been destroyed, only the bodies that had been piled on them had been damaged. But he didn’t think he needed to mention that detail right now.

  ​“But there are the spots of blood on the floor to consider,” Jed said. “And there are a few spots on top of the bar. The line of blood leads from behind the bar, over the bar, and then towards the saloon doors.” He looked at the saloon doors. “But the trail of blood stops well before the doors.”

  ​“Maybe he hurt himself in the dark,” Moody suggested. “Maybe he panicked. Went looking for us. He wouldn’t stay here to protect the likes of him.” Moody nodded at Sanchez.

  ​“But how did all of the lanterns go out?” Esmerelda asked.

  ​Moody shook his head. “I don’t know. He said it was the wind. Maybe the doors blew open, a draft came in, blew the lanterns out.”

  ​“That ever happen before?” Jed asked.

  ​Moody didn’t need to answer.

  ​“There was no wind,” Esmerelda said. “No wind at all since that storm died down.”

  ​“Maybe Lawrence extinguished all of the lanterns himself,” Moody said.

  ​“That’s not what Sanchez said,” Jed reminded him.

  ​“Maybe he’s lying through his teeth,” Moody answered. “He’s an outlaw. A gunfighter. You said a band of outlaws killed your men. Maybe Sanchez is in that same gang of outlaws. You said that gang might have rescued Red Moon. Well maybe they’ve come here for another member of their gang. Him.”

  ​“If that’s so, then why didn’t they take him instead of your barkeep?”

  ​“I’m in no gang,” Sanchez said.

  ​“Maybe Red Moon is after you,” Moody told Jed, ignoring Sanchez. “Maybe he’s after you and that Navajo boy you’ve been riding around with. Maybe they are trying to kill off all of the witnesses.”

  ​“An entire town?” Esmerelda asked.

  ​Moody looked at her. “Red Moon killed twenty men, I don’t think forty more would bother him any.”

  ​“Men did not do this,” Billy said.

  ​Moody stared at Billy. “We’ve enough worries without your mumbo jumbo adding to it.”

  ​“You think men did this?” Billy asked with a smirk. “You think men took everyone in town to the church without leaving a drop of blood in the dirt? Without leaving a track in the sand? You think men pulled everyone apart like that?”

  ​Karl let out another low moan from the far table.

  ​“I don’t think some of us need reminding of the damage done,” Moody said and poured another shot of whiskey. He got up and took it to Karl, sitting down beside him, coaxing him into drinking it. Karl still didn’t take the drink; he looked close to passing out.

  ​Jed looked beyond Moody and Karl at the stairs that led up to the balcony and second floor. He looked back at Sanchez. “You didn’t hear the barkeep go upstairs?”

  ​Moody looked at the steps ascending into darkness.

  ​Esmerelda’s eyes grew wide with horror.

  ​“I told you what I heard,” Sanchez grumbled. “If I heard someone go upstairs, then I would’ve told you that.”

  ​“And you didn’t hear anyone come downstairs, either?” Esmerelda asked.

  ​“I didn’t hear anyone on the stairs,” Sanchez said.

  ​Esmerelda and Moody locked eyes from across the room, both realizing the same thing at the same time.

  ​“Rose,” Esmerelda said. “We forgot that Rose was up there. She went up to her room with that cowboy earlier.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Oh God, Rose,” Esmerelda whispered. “How could we have forgotten about Rose?”

  ​All of them watched the stairs that led up into darkness.

  ​Moody got to his feet with his shotgun in his hands. “We need to go up there and make sure she’s unharmed.” He rushed across the saloon and hurried around the bar to the wooden cubbyholes next to the mirrors. He pulled out a skeleton key attached to a flat wooden tab and hurried back to them.

  ​“We shouldn’t split up,” Jed said as he got to his feet.

  ​“Agreed,” Moody said as he joined them again at the tables.

  ​“What about me?” Sanchez asked. “You can’t leave me here.”

  ​“We can’t take him up there,” Jed said.

  ​“You can’t just leave him here,” Esmerelda said. “He’ll be taken while we’re upstairs.”

  ​“They didn’t take him before,” Jed argued.

  ​“Well, this time it could be different,” she said. “You said so yourself that we shouldn’t split up.”

  ​“You could untie his legs,” Moody suggested. “Leave his hands shackled, but untie his legs so he can follow us up there.”

  ​Jed nodded. “Fair enough.” He crouched down in front of Sanchez. He looked up at him. “You kick me or try to get away . . .” He let his warning trail off.

  ​Sanchez didn’t respond.

  ​Jed untied Sanchez’s legs. Then he untied the rope attached to Sanchez’s handcuffs. Sanchez got to his feet quickly.

  ​Moody had Karl on his feet. The thin Swede still looked like he was walking around in a stupor, living in a cocoon of sorrow and misery now. Moody had his lantern in one hand and his shotgun in the other, the barrel pointed down at the floor,
his finger on the trigger. He went to the foot of the stairs. “Rose!”

  ​No answer from upstairs.

  ​“Rose! It’s Moody! Answer me!”

  ​Still no answer from upstairs—no sounds at all.

  ​That queasy feeling was back in Jed’s stomach. He already had a pretty good idea of what they were going to find up there in Rose’s room—but, like a bad dream, he seemed to have no choice but to move forward, to go up those stairs and see the terrible sights that were waiting for him . . . waiting for all of them.

  ​Jed caught Billy watching him, but he ignored him, nudging Sanchez forward in front of him.

  ​Moody went up the stairs first, followed by Sanchez and Jed. Esmerelda and David were right behind Jed, and Billy and Karl brought up the rear. Karl was mumbling something in Swedish.

  ​The lanterns Moody and Jed held lit up the upstairs hallway when they were at the top of the stairs. Moody took a left, walking down the hall that ran towards the front of the building. There were three rooms down this hall, all of them on the same side of the hall. Each door had an even room number on them: eight, then ten, then twelve. All of the numbers were fancy brass pieces, probably ordered out of a catalogue. The doors were freshly painted, and there was more of the garish wallpaper covering the walls up here. The wall on the left-hand side had a few lanterns in sconces along with some framed paintings of desert landscapes. Moody didn’t bother lighting any of the lanterns up here.

  ​“Rose!” Moody called out when he was in front of Room Number 10, halfway down the hall. “Rose, answer me!”

  ​No answer from behind the door.

  ​Moody set the lantern down on the floor next to his feet and tried the doorknob. It was locked.

  ​The rest of them squeezed in around Moody. Jed held the other lantern and he already had his pistol out.

  ​Moody tapped at the door with the barrel of his shotgun—it was a loud sound. “Rose!”

  ​Still no answer. Moody tapped harder at the door with his shotgun. “Rose, if you don’t answer me, I’m going to have to unlock the door and come inside. A lot of people in town have been . . . they’ve been attacked. Killed. I need to make sure you’re unharmed.”

  ​Still no answer.

  ​Moody looked back at Jed like he had no other choice now than to enter the room. He slid the skeleton key into the lock below the doorknob, his hand shaking badly, the wooden tag with the number ten on it rattled as he twisted the key.

  ​As soon as Moody pushed the door open, the smell hit Jed—the smell of blood and gore.

  ​“Good God,” Moody said, backing up a step, almost bumping into Jed.

  ​The room was dark, and the light from their two lanterns only reached so far into the room from the doorway.

  ​“Wait out here,” Jed told Esmerelda, but what he was really saying was to keep an eye on David—don’t let him see what’s inside this room.

  ​Moody picked up his lantern from the floor and stepped inside the room. Jed followed him with the other lantern and his Colt. They stopped when they were a few steps inside the room.

  ​At first Jed thought there was only one person on the bed, but he immediately knew it couldn’t be right, because that person on the bed was larger than Rose or the cowboy had been. Had those two gotten away, and someone else was in here? The barkeep? No, this person was too large to be the barkeep.

  ​The bed with the person on it was all the way across the room against the wall, right underneath the only window. The curtains were drawn over that window. There was a small dresser on one side of the room with a washbasin on top of it. Next to the washbasin was a silver tray with an array of small glass perfume bottles on it. A plain wood wardrobe stood against the opposite wall, one of the doors ajar. There were a few framed paintings and photos on the bare, wood-planked walls.

  ​In the middle of the floor was a handwoven Navajo rug, and scattered across that rug and part of the floorboards were Rose and the cowboy’s boots and clothing, the clothes tossed aside in a fit of passion on the way to the bed. Both of the cowboy’s boots were lying on their side. Only one of Rose’s ankle boots was on its side, the other one standing up, just like the woman’s shoe in the church had been—the one with the shard of bone sticking up out of it.

  ​Moody and Jed moved closer to the bed, their lanterns now lighting up the whole room. Jed glanced back and saw Billy standing in the doorway. Jed hoped he was standing there to block this sight from David and the rest of them.

  ​Jed looked back at the bed and realized that it wasn’t one big body on the bed—it was Rose and the cowboy, both of their naked bodies twisted together like a big piece of taffy, impossibly intertwined, their flesh seemingly fused together. Bones had snapped in the twisting, sharp pieces of the shattered bones poking out through the flesh in some places.

  ​The stench was nearly overpowering. Jed pulled his bandana up over his face. He could taste his whiskey-tainted breath; he could smell the sweat and sand imbedded in the cloth of the bandana, but it was better than the smell of dead flesh, blood, urine, and shit in front of him.

  ​“Oh Mother of Mercy,” Moody whispered as he bent down a little to set the lantern on the floor so he could cross himself.

  ​Jed still had his Colt aimed at the human abomination on the bed. He knew the intertwined people were dead, but he couldn’t seem to lower his weapon just yet.

  ​There’s nobody else in this room, Jed told himself. Whoever did this, they’re gone now. They twisted these two naked people together somehow, and now they’re gone.

  ​But not gone. No, they were out there in the desert somewhere, just outside of town—somewhere close, waiting to strike again, but not gone.

  ​Nowhere was safe.

  ​He’s going to ask for things. Roscoe’s voice echoed in his mind. And you need to give him what he asks for.

  ​“How . . . how can this be possible?” Moody asked.

  ​Jed heard Billy walk up behind them, his moccasins soft on the floor. He was whispering, chanting something in Navajo, a prayer to his gods, just like Red Moon had done in the woods.

  ​And a lot of good it had done Red Moon.

  ​Jed brought the lantern in his hand a little closer to the bed, the light creating strange shadows across the thing that used to be two humans.

  ​“What are you doing?” Moody asked.

  ​“Making sure they’re dead,” Jed answered him.

  ​“Of course they’re dead,” Moody snapped.

  ​You don’t know that for sure, Jed thought. He’d seen a man’s severed head talk to him not even two days ago. He’d seen a skinned man still alive, still breathing.

  ​They won’t let you die. You just go on and on and on.

  ​If they weren’t dead, Jed thought, if they were still moving slightly, still twitching, still moaning, he was going to put a bullet into their combined heads right here and now, he swore to God he was.

  ​Now that he was closer, Jed saw this monstrosity more clearly. An arm of the cowboy was wrapped around the woman’s arm, shards of bone sticking out through the skin where the blood was dark and matted. Their fingers were twisted together. Their heads had combined into one large bulbous thing, both faces stretched and melted into each other. One of the mouths was wide open, teeth jutting out, the tongue swollen and purplish. There were tears along the skin where the violent twists had occurred; blood and other fluids had seeped out of those ruptures. Both sets of legs were twisted together to form two new legs, both ending with two feet at the end of each leg, the feet swollen and purple with trapped blood, the toes fat, like little sausage sections tied off from the foot. The toenails had either been torn off or turned black.

  ​Moody rushed out of the room.

  ​Jed followed Moody, and then Billy followed him, still chanting. Billy didn’t have his eagle feather in his hand now—he was still holding Karl’s Smith & Wesson.

  ​Jed and Billy stepped out into the hall. Jed slammed the d
oor shut.

  ​“What is it?” Sanchez asked from farther down the hall. “Are they dead?”

  ​“They’re dead,” Jed told him.

  ​“It’s more than that,” Sanchez said. “I can see it on your faces.”

  ​Jed imagined that his face was pure white with shock at the moment.

  ​“There’s no hope,” Karl wailed. “They’re going to get all of us. They’re going to kill us all.”

  CHAPTER 19

  “We need to check the other rooms,” Jed said. He looked at Moody. “We need to make sure no one else is up here.”

  ​“Like who?” Moody asked in a weak voice.

  ​“Maybe your barkeep’s up here.”

  ​Moody nodded like he hadn’t thought of that.

  ​“Are the rest of these doors unlocked?” Jed asked Moody.

  ​Moody hesitated for just a second, like he really had to think about it, like he was struggling to remember. “No one in the rooms except Rose. The others should all be unlocked.”

  ​Jed didn’t wait for the others. He moved down the hall to the last room—number twelve.

  ​He tested the doorknob. It was unlocked. He turned the knob and eased the door open.

  ​“U.S. Marshal,” Jed said through the crack in the door. “Is anyone inside?”

  ​No answer.

  ​Of course there was no answer. No one was up here, no one alive anyway. And he was sure these skinwalkers, whatever creatures they were, weren’t huddled up in a room together, waiting for someone to open the door.

  ​He didn’t need to worry about anyone shooting at him from the dark because from what he’d seen so far these skinwalkers hadn’t fired a single bullet or shot a single arrow. No, they killed in other ways.

  ​Still, it made him feel better to check each of the rooms, like he was ticking off items on a list, one less thing to nag at him when they went back downstairs.

  ​And yes, they would all be going downstairs together because who was going to stay up here in one of these rooms now after what had been done to Rose and the cowboy?