Portlandtown: A Tale of the Oregon Wyldes
Page 30
The beat grew louder.
Henry stepped off the boardwalk and waded into the darkness.
25
Six blocks from the plaza, Kate and Maddie turned down an alley that cut between Stark and Washington Streets. A few moments later, Joseph made the turn, nearly slipping as he stepped off the boardwalk and into the flooded alleyway.
“Kate, wait.”
Joseph caught up to his wife and daughter halfway down the narrow backstreet. The water was only ankle deep, but rising. Two hours earlier, the alley had been bone dry.
Kate raised the firestone lamp they’d liberated from a telegraph pole, bathing the alley behind them in amber light. “Where’s Dad?”
Joseph glanced over his shoulder. “He’s coming,” he said, shifting his son’s weight onto his hip. “How’s your head, Kick?”
Kick thought for a moment. “Better. I can walk now.”
“No, I got you.”
Kate touched her husband’s arm. “Joseph, let him down for a moment.”
Joseph lifted his head to protest, but all at once he felt the strain of the evening catch up to him. He let Kick slide out of his arms and into the shallow water without a word. The boy landed on his feet but never let go, clinging to his father’s side. Joseph was glad for it.
A single gunshot echoed from around the corner. Soon after, the marshal joined the family in the alley.
“I think we’re clear of ’em. Last one was across the street and headed in the other direction. Haven’t seen any others for two blocks.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re safe,” Kate added.
Joseph listened. The events of the evening had taken their toll, dulling his perception, but he could still pull details from a block away, mostly splashing feet in the floodwaters. There was nothing to suggest any of them belonged to the shambling creatures that had attacked them.
“Marshal’s right. I think we’ve time enough to catch our breath.”
“I’ll keep watch,” the marshal said and strode back to the alley opening. The adrenaline rush that had propelled him since he’d first drawn his weapon remained. He felt good, energized. Every time he pulled the trigger, he felt more alive. Halfway down Stark Street, the marshal spotted a pair of young men running in the opposite direction of the plaza. They were no threat. He tracked them, just the same.
Kate watched her father for a moment longer, then turned to Joseph.
“In the dark, in this weather, we’re an hour from home, at least. Maybe we should make for the store.”
Joseph nodded.
“We can barricade the doors,” Kate added. “Shutter the front windows. I don’t think anyone could get in. If they don’t know we’re there…”
“They won’t try.”
“Yes. Then we can make a plan.”
Joseph looked up. “A plan?”
Kate didn’t explain—she didn’t have to. Joseph understood his wife’s intentions because he was thinking the same thing.
“You want to go back.”
Kate smiled. “Of course not, but if the kids are safe, don’t you think we should?”
He did.
“You’re going to leave us?”
Kate touched her daughter’s cheek. “Honey, you’ll be safe. One of us will stay. And your grandpa—”
“But we could come,” Kick said, only slightly groggy.
“People need our help,” Maddie added. “We can help.”
Kate looked at Joseph. He was just as surprised.
“No,” Joseph said. “No, it’s too dangerous. And you’re hurt.”
“I’m lots better,” Kick protested. “Besides, Maddie can hold me up.”
“Sure I can!”
Kick let go of his father’s waist and slipped an arm around his sister’s shoulders. Together they stood, side by side in the rising floodwaters, ready to walk back into the most horrifying night of their lives to help their neighbors. Joseph had never been prouder … or more terrified.
“No, we stay together—all of us,” he said. “Marshal? Come on, we’re going.”
The marshal trotted back to the family.
“All clear behind us.”
“Good,” Kate said, “because we need to backtrack to get to the store.”
The marshal nodded. Move toward danger? He liked that idea just fine.
Joseph opened his arms to his son. “Kick, let’s go.”
“I can walk.”
“No protesting, Kick. Come here before I…” Joseph’s words trailed off. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his perception an alarm was sounding, one he hadn’t heard for a very long time.
* * *
The Hanged Man stopped. It was close, now, very close. He could feel the vibrations and hear the soft hum of metal and wood. And more—the old man was with it still.
And he wasn’t alone.
The Hanged Man drew the useless revolver from his belt, a gun that would do no lasting harm as long as he was forced to pull the trigger, and stepped into the alley opening.
* * *
Kate couldn’t hear the alarm in her husband’s head, but she could read his face. Something was wrong.
“Joseph, what is it?”
Joseph recognized the figure that had materialized before him but refused to accept it. It didn’t matter. In his mind’s eye he saw only the truth. Joseph knew the man too well and would not be fooled by an impostor. It took only the dead man’s voice to make him believe.
“Marshal! You’ve got something of mine.”
The family turned as one to see the Hanged Man standing at the far end of the alley. He was more than a hundred feet away, but the dread that swirled around him like a cloud closed the distance in an instant. Kate drew back, sliding Maddie behind her as Joseph did the same with their son. The marshal slipped forward between the two, never taking his eyes off the demon before him.
“He wants it,” he whispered.
* * *
The Hanged Man could hardly believe his good fortune. Not only had he tracked down his weapon and the man who’d used it to murder him, but here, too, was his old partner, alive and well, and with the family that had cost them both so dearly. He would pay for his crimes.
They all would.
* * *
The Hanged Man swings again, landing a roundhouse right to the left side of Joseph’s already bloodied face. The bandages around the young man’s head have come undone, revealing a mask of seared skin and two sunken yellow slits where bright eyes should be. Both cheeks are swollen, nose likely broken. The Hanged Man’s fists are hard. He hits Joseph again, sending his old partner to his knees.
“Stop it!”
For a moment, the baby boy pressed to his mother’s bosom ceases crying, startled by her scream. The baby girl never stops. Her wailing has been constant since the Hanged Man took her in his arms. Held firm against his shoulder, she is the only reason Joseph has not felt the full force of the Hanged Man’s unnatural strength.
She is also the reason Joseph has not fought back.
“Surprised you made it,” the Hanged Man says. “Long way to suffer the dark.”
The Hanged Man looks at the child in his hand. He feels nothing.
“For so very little…”
Joseph raises his head, defiant.
“My life for theirs.”
The Hanged Man stares at Joseph, searching for the man he once knew. A stranger glares back at him.
“Made your choice then?”
“I made it a long time ago.”
The Hanged Man frowns. “Won’t be a rifle in the trees, not this time. We end it like men.”
The Hanged Man draws a pistol from his belt—not his, but a smaller revolver, one he’s never used. He flips it to Joseph, thinking nothing of the man catching what he should not see.
“Recognize it? You carried that pistol once, drew it beside me.”
Joseph turns the weapon over in his hands, testing its weight.
“Feels light.”
Joseph nods slowly, then fixes his attention on the Hanged Man.
“Let her go.”
The Hanged Man glances at the child in his arms. It would be so easy. He could set Joseph free, though his friend would not understand. He must be made to.
“Cross me again and I will kill them … beginning with this one, I promise.”
“I believe you.”
The Hanged Man hesitates before holding the child out at arm’s length.
The woman comes forward, snatching the child away quickly. Brought together at their mother’s breast, both infants cease their wails almost immediately. She turns to escape, but the Hanged Man’s hand is already on her shoulder.
“No, my dear,” he says, drawing the woman back. “You stand with me.”
* * *
“I made a promise to our boy, Marshal,” called the Hanged Man, raising his voice above the storm. “I’ll have my gun back.”
The marshal felt the pistol grow warm in his hand. Soon it was red hot. He didn’t care. It could blister his fingers until they bled. He would never let go.
“Have it, then!”
The marshal raised and fired the Hanged Man’s weapon. It felt good. He cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger five more times in rapid succession, each shot finding its intended target.
The Hanged Man never raised his gun.
The last bullet snapped the dead man’s head backward and then he went down, flat on his back in the water.
* * *
Henry was ten feet from the Hanged Man when the last bullet dropped the dead man into the shallow water. From his position at the edge of the alley, he couldn’t see who’d done the shooting and had no desire to step into view lest he become a target as well. What he wanted to do was run, in the opposite direction, as fast as he could.
(not yet)
Henry did as he was told.
* * *
The marshal cocked the hammer but did not depress the trigger. He waited, arm raised, site aligned on the dead man. Slowly, his hand began to shake. His breath became ragged. His vision blurred. The fire that had burned so brightly in his heart and in his mind since unleashing the weapon was doused, leaving him cold and exhausted and standing ankle deep in a flooded alleyway drenched in orange light.
A hand touched his shoulder. “Marshal?”
The marshal caught Joseph’s eye, felt it stare right through him, and knew his son-in-law was blind and had been for more than a decade. And still the man could see him, clearly, as he always did.
“I’m sorry,” the marshal said, lowering the dead man’s weapon.
Joseph opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
He was still alive.
There was no heart to begin beating, no breath to start breathing, but Joseph sensed the Hanged Man return to life moments before the dead man rose from the water.
“Oh my god,” Kate whispered. “Joseph…”
“I see him.”
The marshal swung his gaze forward again to see the Hanged Man striding toward them. He wanted desperately to raise the red-handled pistol and fire again, but suddenly it felt so heavy in his hand the marshal couldn’t begin to lift it. He stumbled forward, laboring to raise the pistol above his waist.
“Damn you!”
Kate reached for her father. “Dad, no!”
“Kate!”
Joseph made several decisions at once, the first being that they would not escape the way they had come before the Hanged Man opened fire. That left two options: stand and fight or hope that the door immediately to his left was as poorly secured as the back-alley entrance to the bookstore.
Joseph raised his foot and kicked the door, popping it open on the first try. Water poured through the opening and down a flight of stairs into the basement of the building.
“Kate, come on!” Joseph said, snatching up Kick.
Kate saw Maddie disappear through the open doorway, quickly followed by Joseph and Kick. She turned back to her father and grabbed his free hand.
“Dad, let’s go!”
The marshal pulled away from his daughter. “Leave me, Katie!” For a moment, the pistol was light enough for the marshal to raise it to chest height and take aim.
“You will not touch my family, you son of a—”
A gunshot rang out in the alley, although it was not the marshal who had fired his weapon. To his surprise, neither was it the Hanged Man. There was, however, no mystery as to the intended target.
“No!” Kate screamed as her father stumbled backward, gripping his right shoulder. She steadied him before he could fall into the water.
The Hanged Man halted. He didn’t raise his gun to finish the job but rather turned on the spot and yelled into the darkness behind him.
“They’re mine!”
When the dead man turned back, the world exploded in fire as the lantern struck his chest and shattered.
By the time the alley came back into focus it was empty.
* * *
Kate touched only the edge of the last step as she and the marshal pitched forward into the darkness. She let go of her father just before they both hit the floor with a wet thump.
The water was already several inches deep, with more continuing to pour in through the open doorway. Kate sat up and reached for her father, finding nothing. The room was dark, but the marshal had to be close. She blinked hard, trying to will her pupils wider.
She heard movement.
“Marshal?”
“I got him,” Joseph whispered.
Kate got to her feet. “Where are the kids?”
Joseph led Kate and her father past a series of shelves stocked with boxes and equipment. After several more twists and turns they came to a second stairwell, which climbed to a landing and a door. There was no one there. And then there was.
“Mom?”
Kate closed her eyes and put her arms around Maddie. Kick said nothing but found room in his mother’s embrace alongside his sister. When she finally opened her eyes, Kate was surprised by how well she could see in the dark. The pain on her father’s face was easy to see.
“How bad is it?”
The marshal coughed. “Stings is all.”
Joseph pressed lightly on the front of the marshal’s shoulder and the old man hissed.
“Bullet’s lodged in the muscle near his clavicle. Needs to come out, but I think he’s okay for the moment.”
“I’m fine,” the marshal said, gritting his teeth as he stood up. “I can walk. Where are we?”
“Jenner Hardware and Electric,” Joseph said. “Basement, by the looks of it.”
“There’s a front entrance on Washington Street,” Kate said. “We can cut back to Third and then the store is just—”
“No,” the marshal said. “You can’t hide from him. He’s not like the others. He’ll find me … he’ll find you.”
“He won’t find me,” Kate said. “If he’s not like the others, he’ll have the same blind spots as anyone else. I can hide in plain sight and he won’t see me.”
“Or us,” added Maddie. Kick nodded.
“Then we’ll split up,” Joseph said. “I’ll lead him away.”
The marshal shook his head. “Bastard doesn’t want you, he wants…”
The marshal reached to his belt and closed his hand on nothing.
“Oh, no…”
It was gone. The bullet had been a distraction, but now the pain in his shoulder was nothing compared to the empty feeling in his hand. How could he have lost it?
“Marshal?”
“I dropped it!”
“Dropped what?”
“The pistol! When I fell it must have slipped, somewhere in the water, by the door, I couldn’t … I have to go back!”
“Leave it,” Kate said.
The marshal didn’t understand. “We can’t let him have it.”
“It didn’t even slow him down, Dad. What good is it?�
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Joseph knew.
“It’s not what it does to him, but what he can do with it.”
Kate stared at her husband and saw he believed this to be true.
“I never reloaded, not once,” said the marshal. “If he … if he has it—”
“Marshal!” called the dead man’s voice from inside the basement.
Joseph pulled the kids behind him. He motioned for Kate to do the same, but she held her ground. It was the marshal who moved first.
“Don’t wait for me,” he said, and tried to move past his son-in-law. Joseph cut him off.
“I’ll go,” he whispered. “I’m better in the dark.”
The marshal shook his head. “My fault. I go.”
“You’re shot.”
The marshal didn’t care. He would take another bullet if he had to. It was his mistake, thus it was his mistake to fix. It was his.
“I don’t care,” he said, then realized Joseph was no longer paying attention to him. “Don’t turn your back on me, Joseph. You can’t take this on by yourself.”
When Joseph turned back, the marshal could see the man’s fear, even in the dark.
“Your daughter already did.”
* * *
The Hanged Man listened for the telltale hum of the red-handled revolver, but it was gone. He’d lost it after the woman had thrown the lantern in his face, but now that his head was clear he should have been able to pick it up again. The marshal couldn’t have put enough distance between them to quiet its call. Something had changed.
He peered down a row of shelves filled with boxes. Nothing. They were close, he was sure of it, but without the pistol’s voice to guide him, the Hanged Man moved more cautiously.
He wasn’t afraid—they couldn’t kill him, no one could—but the dead man was beginning to sense he might not be as indestructible as he’d once believed. The wounds he’d suffered at the carnival, while causing little damage, had refused to heal. He had no doubt the marshal’s assault would prove equally insignificant, but one of the bullets had struck his hip and now he could feel the bones grinding together unnaturally. If such a wound did not heal, would it ultimately render him lame? He couldn’t die, but could he be broken? That might be worse.