by Brant, Jason
"Watch out!" Ellis said, stomping past them.
Zed had stumbled back to his feet and was advancing at his boys again. Ellis dropped his shoulder into John, throwing him aside, before falling on Zed with the hammer.
Ellis' momentum and heft bowled the older man over, sending him to the floor once again. The sun flashed from the head of the hammer as it rose and fell, over and over on Zed's chest. The reports of splintering bones filled the room.
John, recovered from his shove, grappled with Ellis, trying to pull him away from his father. The massive men looked like two bears wrestling on their hind legs.
"Get off me! He ain't your old man anymore! Look at him!" Ellis pointed at Zed, who was struggling to a standing position. His chest had caved in from the hammer blows, his ribcage bowing inward.
Karen couldn't understand how he could still be alive. None of his organs could have been functioning properly, yet he continued to move about.
Ceasing his struggle, John gaped in horror as his father approached them with his mouth nipping at the air.
"He killed your brother! That ain't your father!"
Ellis descended upon the elderly man again, this time sinking the claw end of the hammer in the top of Zed's head.
One last groan escaped him before his body fell to the side and lay silent on the floor.
"Pa!" John said, fumbling at the hammer. "You killed him!"
Ellis looked down at the man whose entire family had been killed in the past thirty seconds. "He's not getting back up... "
Karen watched Zed's body, waiting for it to stir.
"What's keeping him down this time?" Ellis asked.
"You hit him in the head instead of the body. Is that it?" Karen asked.
"What kind of devilry is this?" Randy screamed from the back of the room. His voice would soon hit notes that humans couldn't hear.
"Shut up, you damned fool!" Karen said.
There was enough going on without having to deal with that idiot.
"You killed my father," John said again, defeat in his voice.
Karen stared at Zed, unable to fathom what could turn a man feral in a matter of moments. And why only him? If it was a disease, how did that translate into surviving his chest being caved in?
Anthony had edged to the bar by Dave, giving a wide berth to the decimated family. "Get up. There's too much going on for you to keep lying around."
Dave didn't move.
"Get up, damn it," Anthony said, cuffing Dave on the side of his head.
Even though Karen was on the other side of the room, she could see that something wasn't right. "Anthony, I don't think I'd−"
Dave's eyes flashed open. Turning his head, he settled his inanimate gaze on Anthony.
"Dave?" Anthony took a tentative step back.
Lifting his arms in Anthony's direction caused him to roll from the bar, bouncing off the stools that sat beside it, and land on the floor.
The raspy, wheezing sounds coming from him made Karen's heart drop.
Dave plodded toward Anthony, his black eyes devoid of anything human.
Ellis reached for the hammer embedded in Zed's head, but John fought against him.
"You don't touch him!" John wailed as he pushed Ellis' arms away.
Anthony moved backward, trying to distance himself from Dave, but tripped over a chair and fell on the shattered glass of a bottle.
Excruciating cries escaped him as he tried to roll away from the jagged pile.
The fresh blood sent Dave into a frenzy. He seized his boss, gnawing at the front of his shirt, forcing Anthony further into the alcohol covered glass.
"Dave! No!" His cries turned to whimpers as the pain in his back sapped his strength. Dave would overpower him within seconds.
Karen felt a surge of energy flow through her as she moved across the room. The sounds of turmoil surrounding her were drowned by the thunder of her racing heart.
She grabbed the back of Dave's shirt, attempting to yank him away from Anthony. Dave's derangement proved stronger as he continued crawling forward.
"Dave, stop! Please!" She kicked at his arms and back, frantically trying to get Anthony free. Dave ignored her as he might a fly buzzing past him.
"Help me!" Anthony was losing the battle; Dave was inches from his throat.
Spotting the leg of a broken table, Karen snatched it from the floor and noticed a long, bent nail protruding from the top. Lifting it above her head, she took a position by Anthony's shoulder.
She hesitated.
Even though he wasn't the smartest man in the world, she had a soft spot for Dave. He'd spent most of his life being pushed around and looked down upon, but never let it sour his spirit. If anyone in Gehenna didn't deserve this fate, it was him.
"Dave, please!"
"Do it!" Anthony cried.
"I'm sorry, David." Karen heard herself speaking, as if the words came from someone else. She swung the table leg with both hands like she was splitting a log. The nail punctured the back of Dave's head; a thunk reverberated in the saloon as wood connected with skull.
Barbara was screaming somewhere behind her, but the sound was dull and distant. Looking down at Dave, a man that was her friend only minutes before, caused bile to rise once again. This time she couldn't stop it.
Her midsection contracted so hard she thought she'd never breathe again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued to dry heave long after her stomach was empty.
Ellis and John stopped fighting. Their shocked faces followed Karen as she stumbled around.
The knots entangling her insides loosened enough for her to take a seat at the bottom of the stairs. She watched through watery eyes as Ellis dragged Dave's body away from his boss.
Anthony whimpered as he tried to roll away from the glass. Judging from the amount of blood soaking his shirt, the cuts must have covered most of his back. Ellis carefully led him over to where Doctor Randy sat against the wall, babbling scripture to himself.
"Barbara," Ellis said over his shoulder.
The sound of his voice cut through the fog that was descending on Karen.
"Get some sheets from the closet and cover these poor bastards."
John stood in the center of room, gazing stupidly at the increasing amount of bodies.
While Barbara busied herself with that task, heavy sobs still racking her body, Ellis ripped the back of Anthony's shirt open to expose his lacerations. Fortunately, the doc stopped blathering long enough to inspect them.
"Bring me my bag; I need my instruments," he said. "And bring another bottle of your finest."
Ellis walked across the room, but didn't get the doctor's bag. Instead he grabbed a stool and carried it behind the bar.
"Get it yourself. I got business to take care of."
Standing on the stool, he reached above the mirror mounted on the wall opposite the bar and grabbed the two Civil War swords mounted on a plaque. They would have been of great use a few minutes ago, but there had been no time to fetch them.
"Where are you going?" Karen asked.
"Lauren hasn't come downstairs since she screamed. We're going to check on her."
"We?"
"You're coming with me. Everyone else is hurt or lost their mind," he said, stepping from the stool with a sword in each hand. "These are older than dirt, but they're still sharp as hell."
"And what good do you think I'll do?"
"You're handling this madness better than any of us. I'll take care of anything we come across, but I need someone watching my back."
Karen looked back at Barbara. She had resumed huddling in the corner, her sobs devolved to quiet weeping.
"She'll be okay. We won't be long," Ellis said.
Karen took one of the swords from him, surprised at how light it was, and started for the stairs, uncertain of what lay ahead.
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 scream
s. 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.