by Jason Brant
The continuous pounding of the infected surrounding the building didn't help her confidence.
Chapter 10
Mad Dog McCall was loaded for bear.
Two gun belts crisscrossed his waist, each holding a six shooter. A lever action Winchester rifle sat against his back, held in place by its leather sling. He held a beat up double barrel shotgun in his left hand. The tomahawk, which he'd wrenched from the woman's head, was secured in a hoop hanging just below the pistol on his right.
Two ammo belts, one over each shoulder, overlapped in the center of his chest. One held shotgun shells, with bullets for his pistols resting in the other. He'd stuffed his pockets full of rifle rounds.
His Peacemaker, tucked inside the front of the pants, felt as reassuring as always. He'd need all the luck he could get to flee this town, and his Colt had always brought him the best of it.
After freeing himself from the cell, he'd closed the front door as quietly as possible. He'd snuck a peak outside first and didn't like what he'd seen.
Hundreds of people staggered around the town in the aimless, drunken stupor that he'd come to recognize. Even with all this firepower his chance of survival in the street was slim.
Checking the situation at the back door yielded the same result; monsters everywhere. While stocking up on guns and ammunition, he'd spotted a trap door above the sheriff's desk that led to the roof. It didn't have any steps, but was only seven feet above the desk.
Taking the tomahawk from its loop, McCall walked over to the barrels of black powder and started hacking at the closest one. Three or four swipes opened a hole several inches wide.
Dropping the axe back into its place, he kicked the barrel over, spilling gunpowder on the floor. Walking to the other side of the jailhouse, he grabbed a lantern that he'd already lit and jumped onto the desk. Reaching through the open door in the ceiling, he placed the lantern on the roof, followed by his shotgun.
Hopping to the floor, he grabbed the open barrel of gunpowder and led a trail from the other kegs to the desk. Throwing the barrel back with the others, he grabbed boxes of ammunition and dumped them all over the floor and the powder kegs. After emptying everything in sight he gave the room one more cursory glance, confirming he had everything he'd need.
Satisfied, he lifted the tomahawk from its loop and proceeded to the front door. Easing it open, he peeked out, ensuring nothing stood too close. Only one, of what he now thought of as 'moaners', walked within a dozen feet.
Throwing the door open, he stepped through and brought the axe down on the crown of the nearest man. The corpse dropped to the ground, kicking up billows of dust that McCall could barely make out in the darkening street.
"Who's hungry?" he shouted into the coming night.
Every moaner in sight turned at the sound of his voice.
"Come and get it!"
Hundreds of men, women, and children teetered in his direction, intent on doing just that.
McCall struck down the first two that arrived in quick succession, waiting as long as possible to spring his trap. As more closed in, he turned and marched back into the jailhouse.
Jumping onto the desk, he grabbed the door's frame and began hoisting himself through the opening. The wood under his hands felt spongy; it suffered from severe rot and immediately crumbled under his weight.
His legs swung out from under him as he fell to the sheriff's desk, the rifle slung across his back digging into muscle and bone. Air whooshed from his lungs upon impact, sending bursts of light across his field of vision.
Three moaners ambled through the front door, one after the other, as Mad Dog writhed on the desk, sipping in air. Forcing himself to his feet, he grabbed another section of the roof and felt it break off in his hands.
He tried to curse, but he didn't have enough of a breath to form the word.
Clutching at the other side of the door's frame proved more successful. His strength hadn't recovered though, and he struggled to pull himself up. The moaners clawed at his pants, their nails snagging on the seams.
A young boy, no more than twelve, tried to take a bite out of his calf. He couldn't get a grip on Mad Dog's legs because one of his arms was missing. It appeared to have been chewed off. McCall kicked him in the face and pulled himself up with what little strength he could muster, succeeding on willpower.
Rolling to his back, he stared at the star filled sky, trying to remember how to breathe. A light breeze blew across his face that he normally would have found refreshing, but today it brought the smell of death.
Finally able to take a few breaths, McCall rolled to his side and looked through the hole in the roof. The jailhouse was stuffed with moaners. They were wall to wall, tripping over one another and sliding on the bloody floor.
A few shambling feet kicked at Mad Dog's custom black powder fuse, alarming him as it rapidly thinned.
Grabbing the shotgun and lantern, he stood over the trapdoor. Sneering at the monstrosities below, he raised the kerosene lamp.
"See you in Hell."
Hurling it at the desk, he watched the smashed lantern send fire three feet in every direction. A dozen of the closest people were set ablaze. Turning on his heels, McCall sprinted across the roof, vaulting onto the adjacent building.
The explosion was larger than he anticipated. The concussion from the blast propelled him through the air, crashing him against the chimney on the far side of the next building.
What remained of the jailhouse burned like wildfire. Flaming debris flew in every direction, landing on the neighboring homes and shops. The buildings on either side of the jail, and the one across the street, were already afire with plumes of smoke clouding the night sky.
The deafening roar of thousands of firing rounds of ammunition shook the town like an earthquake. Bullet riddled wood collapsed in on itself, causing a porch across the street to crumble in burning ruin.
The flames illuminated the entire area, displaying the chaos in the street. Many of the moaners careened around as fire devoured them. Streaks of blood and unrecognizable piles of tissue were scattered in every direction, shredded by the munitions.
Despite severed limbs and dismembered bodies, several of the man-eaters continued to drag themselves along. Beyond the spreading fire, McCall could see even more approaching, attracted by the explosion and the flames.
He'd wiped out a large group of them but attracted a giant horde in the process.
Getting to his feet, he checked the mobility of his shoulder, unsure of the damage the chimney had done. Everything seemed to work properly, but he could already feel stiffness in the joint.
Typically the streets would be dimly lit with lanterns, but tonight was an exception as everyone was preoccupied with eating one another. The massive fire McCall started had the fortunate, if unintended, consequence of illuminating much of the town.
Continuing across the rooftops, he worked his way down the street. He did his best to avoid detection by sticking to the shadows and keeping his footsteps as light as possible. The weight of the armory strapped to his body made the process difficult, but he refused to relinquish any of his weapons.
Reaching the end of the block, he stopped at the edge of the last building and sat on the peak of the sloped roof.
Escaping the cell bought him some time, but the situation in this town had gone to hell. The moaners moved in a slow, jagged style, making it possible to outrun them. But there were just too many; he wouldn't get more than a few hundred feet before the sheer number of them overwhelmed him.
Damage to their head seemed to be the only viable attack, making it much more difficult to shoot his way out. The scattergun would be devastating at close range, but it only handled two shells at a time, rendering it ineffective in a group of them. The rifle would be great at a distance, but lousy up close. The pistols were his best bet if he got surrounded, but he wouldn't hit anything beyond twenty feet.
McCall didn't like his chances. Even if he could get clear of the
town, without a horse he wouldn't make it far. When the sun rose he'd be no better than meat roasting on a spit.
Then he heard the woman's screams. They were coming from across the street, in the saloon.
Chapter 11
Shadows flicked across every surface, playing tricks on Karen's eyes.
The candle in her hand shook uncontrollably as she inched down the hallway. She tried to calm herself by taking deep breaths, but her hand quivered away, and the shadows continued their horrible dance.
The second floor consisted of two hallways that were connected by another that ran perpendicular to them. The stairs joined that third hall in the middle, where Karen now stood, trying to block out thoughts of what she had done to Dave.
There were six bedrooms upstairs, three to the left and three to the right. Ellis had insisted that she stand at the intersection of the hallways, watching to the right, as he checked the rooms to the left. He had proceeded down the hall and around the corner before she could argue that they couldn't help each other if they weren't together.
She was still standing there, waiting for his return, when she heard it; a clicking sound, like someone biting their nails. Karen angled her ear forward, listening, trying to ignore the perverse shadows. Silence. The sound had been so quick and unexpected that she couldn't tell where it came from.
She looked toward the corner Ellis had gone around, hoping he would return soon.
"Ellis?"
Click.
It came from the hallway to the right.
Was that Lauren? The bloodcurdling scream from earlier didn't suggest all was well with her. What if she died while Karen stood here, waiting for a man to come and take care of a friend in need?
Hating her pigheadedness, she moved to the end of the hall, peeking around the corner. Even with the flame of her candle, she couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her. Edging into the next hallway, she slowly moved toward the closest door.
Click.
She tried to control her breathing, which came in short, loud bursts. There wouldn't be much point in sneaking around if she sounded like a snorting bull.
Slinking the last few feet, she arrived at the first bedroom. The door was pulled most of the way closed, but not far enough to latch in place.
Holding the candle as close to the opening as possible, she tried to see inside. Only a slice of light made it through, shining across the top of a bed.
Using her foot, Karen eased the door open. The line of light expanded, showing the rest of the bed and a battered dresser in the far corner. Her legs stiffened as she tried to step into the room, refusing to go further. Her nerves were shot, and her body was reacting to the stress.
She cursed her weakness. Playing the helpless woman always pissed her off. Lifting the sword in her right hand, she stepped across the threshold.
The room used to belong to another working girl, Charlotte, but no one had seen her in months. One morning everyone woke up and she was gone. She'd packed up all of her things and skipped town sometime during the night. The room had been empty ever since.
Dust covered the dresser and bedding. A dank, moldy smell seemed to permeate everything. Lifting the candle around the room, she inspected all the corners and behind the door.
Then she spotted the footprints on the dusty floor. She'd partially obscured some of them as she searched the room, but could still follow their course. They stopped beside the bed. A path cut through the dust, with one foot appearing to drag slightly with every step.
Click.
Her hand shook so violently that hot wax spilled across her wrist.
"Damn!"
This time she could tell it came from further down the hall. She turned to leave the room before deciding to examine under the bed anyway.
The creak of the floorboards made her jump even though she was the one that made them do so.
"Stop being a coward, Karen," she whispered to herself.
She knelt beside the bed and threw the blankets from the side, cringing at what she might find. Nothing.
Click. Several of them.
Closing the door behind her, Karen crept down the hall to the second room. This was Lauren's.
A couple of months earlier, a client offered to whisk Karen away from Gehenna and take care of her on his ranch. He was a good man with a lot of land and a decent business. It would have been a good life.
As usual, her stubbornness kept her from making a smart decision. She refused because she couldn't bear the thought of relying on a man to take care of her. Everyone in the saloon, shocked by his proposal, admonished her for weeks over the decision.
Now, instead of drinking sweet tea on a beautiful ranch, she was wielding a sword and trying not to piss herself.
The door to Lauren's room stood ajar. Karen caught a whiff of something rancid. The stench smelled like a combination of blood, perfume, and shit.
An explosion rocked the building, vibrating through the floor and into her legs. The shock of it nearly caused her to drop the candle.
"What in God's name was that?"
Something landed on the roof above her with a thud. She instinctively ducked her head, bracing for more. A couple of smaller bangs hit a few seconds later, before the eerie silence returned.
Karen could hear Barbara shrieking downstairs. Regaining what little composure she had left, Karen pushed on. As she approached the doorway, she gagged from the putrid odor. She could see thick blood covering the bed from the hallway. Not wanting to go any further, she looked down the hallway in the direction she'd come from.
"Ellis?" She tried to keep her voice low, not wanting to disturb whatever had caused the bloodshed. He didn't respond. "Damn."
Gathering her remaining courage, Karen stepped into the room. She was squeezing the handle of the sword with such force that her fingers ached.
Advancing to the bed, she could see the unkempt blankets were soaked through. Rivulets of blood ran down the side of the bed, pooling on the floor, and running with the cracks in the boards.
On the far side of the room, barely visible above the bedding, Karen saw a piece of fabric the same color as Lauren's skirt.
Rounding the bed, she gasped at the sight of Lauren's disfigured body. The throat hadn't just been ripped apart; it was gone entirely. Her head didn't appear to be attached by much more than her spinal cord and some skin.
Click. Much closer this time. Inside the room.
Karen spun wildly in the direction of the sound, extinguishing her candle in the process. As the light blinked out, she caught a glimpse of the woman they'd saved in the street, lurching through the door.
Dropping the candle, Karen held the saber with both hands, swinging it back and forth to ward off the monster.
"Ellis!" she screamed, her voice cracking from the force.
Clicking, drawing closer.
"Ellis!"
Closer.
"Get your fat ass in here!"
Her last swing struck meat, the tip of the sword slicing through and exiting the other side. Karen kept swinging.
Click. Right in front of her face.
The sword sunk in, lodged in what Karen assumed was the woman's torso. Hands clawed at her throat as she tried to pull the saber free.
"Karen?" Ellis' voice came from down the hall.
Trying to retreat, Karen stumbled over Lauren's legs and fell onto her body. Her fingers plunged into the depth that had been Lauren's throat, touching a viscous substance. Crying out in revulsion, she withdrew further until her back landed against the wall.
Light flickered from the doorway, dim at first, but rapidly growing brighter.
Click. By her feet.
"Karen? Where are you?"
"In Lauren's room!"
Enough light seeped through to reveal the woman's silhouette. She was almost on top of Karen. Pulling her legs to her chest, she thrust them at the barely visible head.
Her right foot connected with the woman's face, knocking her back.
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Ellis appeared in the doorway, the flame of his candle dangerously close to going out. His chest heaved from running through the halls. His eyes nearly bugged from their sockets when he saw the woman attacking Karen.
"How can this be?"
As the candle flame lengthened, Karen saw the source of the clicking. She had seen one of the men tearing away at the woman’s left cheek, revealing her teeth. Without the muffling effect of that skin, her teeth produced a loud click as she hungrily chomped at the air.
"Don't ask questions, help me!"
Ellis crossed the room in two strides, his ample belly jiggling as he went, and swung the sword. The top of her head flew across the room, sliced away by the powerful blow. The crown bounced off the wall above Karen and landed on the floor beside her.
The woman's body fell forward, straddling Lauren's.
"Oh, Lauren," Ellis said, noticing her for the first time.
Karen sat against the wall, shaking uncontrollably. Tears poured down her cheeks, leaving clean streaks on her dirty face.
Ellis stepped across the corpses, set the candle on the bed, and held his free hand out to Karen. "Come on; let's get you out of here. Don't look at them."
Karen tried to speak but couldn't find the words. Hooking her arm around his, she stood on unstable legs, eyes everywhere but her butchered friend.
After moving her away from the mess, Ellis grabbed the candle from the bed and handed it to her.
"I'm sorry it took me so long. Every time I tried to run the candle almost went out."
The shakes hadn't left Karen yet and she was having trouble keeping a grip on the small candle holder.
"Stay right here. Don't run off again." He turned back to the room.
Karen grabbed his arm. "Don't leave me out here!"
"I need to cover Lauren. She deserves better, but that's the best we can do for now."
Karen stood in the hall, watching the shadows waltz over the walls. She felt numb all over.
Ellis emerged from the room a few moments later with both sabers. The realization of what had just happened seemed to be settling in; his face was drained of its rosy color.