by Brant, Jason
The area around her grew brighter, shortening her shadow. Snapping around, she was confronted with the burning, scuffing corpse of Doctor Randy.
His skin had blackened and split, revealing the red muscle beneath. Pieces sloughed off, leaving gobs of burning meat trailing behind him.
She set upon him like a feral beast. Swinging the rifle over her head, she struck him dozens of times, cutting him to his knees. The stock of her gun cracked after the third strike, but her fury wouldn't allow her to stop.
The last burning remnants of his black robe, dislodged from her attack, landed on her skirt.
When he finally stopped moving, Karen backed away, her chest heaving. She swatted at her smoldering clothing, smearing bloody hand prints across it.
A hand latched onto her shoulder, pulling her backward and off balance. She jammed the butt of the rifle against the ground, attempting to break her fall but the crack in the wood split open, sending her sprawling in the dirt. From her back, Karen watched as they closed in around her. She caught a glimpse of the starry sky in a small break in the tower of smoke.
As hands descended upon her, she closed her eyes and visualized the beautiful stars.
Chapter 16
McCall could see the tracks just ahead of him as he cut through the last of the moaners. His ammo belt had a handful of rounds left in it and he wasn't sure that it would be enough to stand his ground until the train arrived.
Reloading his pistols emptied the belt, which he took off and threw at the nearest walking dead man.
Looking down the tracks, he saw the train approaching. Only a few hundred feet stood between him and his freedom.
Then he heard the woman screaming. She didn't sound all that close.
Spinning around, he looked for Ellis and Karen, but couldn't see anything through the maze of moaners. He'd been concentrating on pushing through to the tracks with such intensity that he never noticed them fall behind.
Ellis loosed a death cry in the distance.
Looking down at the pistols in his hands, McCall weighed his options.
He had twelve rounds left, plus his Colt. He hoped that would be enough to defend himself until the train arrived, but doubted it was enough to help them. The smart move was to stand his ground and wait by the tracks. Too bad no one had ever accused him of being an intelligent man.
Jumping back into the fray, McCall waded through the moaners, carefully picking his shots. Only those who were close enough to endanger him were put down.
Heading into the growing crowd in the middle of the street, McCall watched as Karen fought against the swarm of the dead around her. She swung the rifle he'd given her with a fury that surprised him.
Admiring her spirit, he thought once again that he'd never met a woman like her before.
As he approached, a moaner got a hand on her shoulder and pulled her over. Four others closed in, tearing at her clothing and hair. She'd stopped struggling, seemingly accepting her fate.
McCall shot the closest man in the back of the head, sending his body crashing into a woman ripping away pieces of Karen's skirt.
Karen's head snapped around at the shot, her eyes locking on McCall's. He saw the fire reignite in her.
She kicked an elderly moaner in the chest, lifting him away from her. McCall shot away his jaw. Pistol whipping another man away, he reached down and heaved Karen to her feet.
The shrill train whistle came again, catching the attention of many of the creatures in the street.
McCall used the distraction to their advantage, cutting through the expanding crowd.
"I thought you'd left me," she said, panting as she tried to keep up.
"I almost did. Damn conscience got the better of me."
Squeezing the trigger of his pistol produced a dry click. Raising his other arm, he aimed the second gun and got the same result.
Throwing the six shooters to ground, he pulled the Peacemaker from the waist of his pants and shot through the eye of a naked man blocking their path. The man, hobbling on a stump where his foot used to be, showered the area with a red mist as his head exploded.
The train emerged from behind the last house on the street. It was still moving too fast to stop, but had slowed enough that McCall hoped they could hop aboard.
Grabbing Karen's hand, he sprinted forward, throwing his shoulder against a man wearing an expensive looking suit.
Firing his remaining bullets, he blasted through the last of the moaners, leaving nothing but space before the train.
Four passenger cars were pulled behind the engine car, with the freight in the rear. Shoving the Colt into an empty holster, McCall turned and ran along the tracks in the same direction as the train.
The engine car pulled past them as they raced forward with most of Gehenna's citizens chasing them. The brakes squealed as the locomotive continued to slow down.
McCall looked into the first window of the passenger car as it pulled beside them. A young man stared at him with wide-eyed bewilderment. Apparently the sight of two people being chased by thousands of mutilated townsfolk wasn't a common occurrence for him.
"Open the door, asshole!" Karen said between huffs.
The young man looked at them for another second before running down the length of the car to the door. McCall slowed his pace slightly, watching the man pass the windows.
The door opened and the teenager stuck his head out, the perplexed look still in full display.
"What's going on? It looks like the entire town is burning!"
Instead of answering, McCall grabbed the back of Karen's dress and threw her into the doorway. She landed on the stairs before scrambling to the top of them.
McCall looked over his shoulder at the shambling mass of cannibals trailing behind. A few of them wandered into the side of the train only to be knocked to the ground, their limbs severed under the mighty locomotive.
Jumping onto the bottom step, McCall boarded the train as it continued to slow down. Soon it would reach a full stop, their hope of escape with it.
Karen was two steps ahead of him as they marched through the car. Many of the passengers gasped at the sight of their bloody, torn clothing, and shrank into their seats. Others fixed on the anarchy out the windows, watching Gehenna and its citizens burn.
Opening the door to the engine car, Karen burst in with an intensity that made the conductor wilt. He was a small man of advancing years. A tiny, perfectly knotted bowtie sat against his neck, and thinly framed glasses hung from the end of his nose.
"Don't stop the train!" Karen had to shout to be heard over the rumble of the engine.
"You can't be in here!" the conductor said, gaping at her. "Do you have a ticket?"
McCall freed his Peacemaker from its holster and jammed the end of the barrel into the conductor’s crotch, forcing him to bend at the waist.
"Speed up," Karen said.
"But−"
"Listen to the lady, or become one," McCall said.
The man backed away from the gun, staring at McCall's face.
"You're Mad Dog McCall! I thought you'd be y−"
"Don't even say it."
The conductor didn't like what he saw in McCall's eyes. "Yes, sir," he said as he turned to the boiler.
Shouting behind them caused McCall and Karen to look back into the passenger car.
"Now what?" Karen asked.
McCall wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know. He had had enough excitement for the day. Maybe he'd already died and this was his eternal torment in Hell? No matter what he did, he fell into one never ending chaotic event after another.
The weight of the train shifted, signaling their acceleration.
Opening the cylinder on his Peacemaker, he checked his ammunition. Nothing. At least he still had the gun.
"Empty?" Karen asked.
McCall gave her a slight nod before holstering the gun.
"So much for your good luck charm."
"That gun is empty?" the conductor asked.
McCall turned back to him. "I don't need bullets to put a hurt on you."
"We're going to see what the shouting is about. If I feel this train slowing down, you'll answer to my friend here," Karen said, bobbing her head at McCall.
The conductor held her gaze for a moment before lowering his eyes in submission.
McCall went into the passenger car, leery of the next turn of events. A boy of no more than fifteen charged up the center aisle with blood smeared all over his shirt. He held his left hand tight against his chest.
"What the hell is the shouting about?" McCall asked
The kid was nearing hysterics. "He bit me!"
"Who?" Karen asked. McCall could tell from the tone of her voice that she was thinking the same thing he was.
"The man we let onto the train!"
"What? Who did you let on?" she asked.
"He was stumbling around, just outside the door to the car behind this one. We opened the door and tried to pull him in, but he bit my hand! The guy is shithouse crazy! He was injured real bad! His nose is gone! It's just gone!"
"Where is he now?" McCall asked.
"They've got him tied up back there, but he bit eight or ten of us before we got the ropes around him."
McCall and Karen looked at each other, their shoulders slumping simultaneously.
"Goddamn it..." Karen said.
*****
Tartarus (West of Hell #2)
With Gehenna burning behind them, Karen and McCall had hoped to escape by using the railroad. When one of the moaners is pulled aboard by concerned passengers, the unlikely duo have to survive a train ride from Hell.
As they head further West, toward the mighty Tartarus River, the outlaw and the prostitute must deal with not only an ever increasing army of the dead, but also with the machinations of the living.
Chapter 1
“Yes, I’m Mad Dog McCall. Yes, I’m old. No, you don’t want to piss me off.”
The boy standing in front of him took a step back in shock at the outlaw’s name, his wounded hand forgotten. McCall would have been amused if he wasn’t so exhausted. A few of the other passengers in the car whispered amongst themselves, but no one dared say anything to him outright.
“Everyone stay in your seats,” McCall said, placing his hand on the butt of his Peacemaker. “If I see anyone move so much as an inch, my little friend here is going to start barking.”
He looked over the people still sitting in their seats, making eye contact with any that would dare look back at him. Several of the men gave him hard glares. He made mental notes of those that he deemed the most likely to cause him problems. One man in particular, sitting in the back row with a gray hat atop his head, seemed ready to fight.
“How many people are in the other car?” Karen asked. She stood a step behind McCall and peered around his shoulder at the teenager.
The boy took in her blood soaked visage with something between bewilderment and fear. It wasn’t every day that a legendary criminal and a woman covered from head to toe in gore boarded a train while it was still moving. McCall could see people’s eyes gravitating toward her as she stood there, but kept his focus on the boy.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” the boy asked.
“I’m fine. How many people are in the other car?”
“I don’t know; fifteen maybe,” he said without taking his eyes from her red stained dress.
Drops of blood plopped to the floor from his bitten hand, pattering in a slow rhythm. McCall could see that a large part of the boy’s palm was missing. He had to admire the kid’s courage and composure in the presence of what had to be quite a bit of pain.
“You and I are going to take a quick walk back there,” McCall said. His tone left no doubt that he would be calling the shots. “I want you to point out every person that was attacked when we get back there.”
Karen put her hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him around. “Are you sure you want to go back there?” Her eyes flashed down to his Peacemaker, and he knew that she was referencing his lack of ammunition.
“I won’t be long. Make sure everyone in here stays in line.” He pulled the pistol from his waistband and handed to her. “Shoot anyone that moves.” He said it loud enough so everyone in the car could hear him.
He followed the teen down the center of the car, walking on the balls of his feet in case anyone made a move as he went past. A family of three sat off to his left. Two boys, both under the age of ten, stared at him in awe. Their mother had an arm around each of them and she pulled them close to her when he looked their way.
As he walked past the last row, McCall made sure to glare at the man in the gray hat. They locked eyes like two dogs struggling for dominance, jockeying for the alpha role of the pack. He stole a quick glance at the man’s hip and saw the handle of a pistol sticking out of the open front of his coat.
“Don’t even think about it,” McCall said. “That’s a mistake you won’t get to make twice.”
The man looked vaguely familiar to him. He had a hard, weathered face that had a lot of miles on it. Graying hair was visible under his hat that made him look older than he probably was. His eyes betrayed an intelligence that put McCall on edge far more than his rugged appearance did. He decided to nip this problem in the bud.
In one explosive movement, he pushed the boy in the back, sending him against the door at the end of the car, and punched the armed man in the jaw. The hat flew from the man’s head as he slumped over in his seat semi-conscious. McCall reached down and pulled the pistol free.
A few other people scattered throughout the car all stood, preparing to lunge at him. Karen pulled the hammer back on the Peacemaker and pointed it at the forehead of the one closest to her. He was an elderly man, and he stopped in midstride, taking in the gun pointed at his face.
“Sit down,” Karen said. She hoped he didn’t look too closely at the pistol or he might see that the cartridge chambers were empty.
McCall popped open the cylinder of his new weapon and inspected the ammunition. It held six full rounds. He closed it with a flick of his wrist and turned back to the injured boy in front of him.
“After you.”
The man he’d punched stirred as he began to wake back up, groaning as his eyes fluttered several times. McCall ignored him and followed the boy through the door. He stepped in between the cars and was hit with a blast of rushing air. His hat lifted off his head and threatened to float away before he grabbed it and crammed it back down.
Only about three feet of space stood between the cars, with the connecting joint below their feet. The boy continued onward, not slowing as he opened the door to the second passenger car and stepped inside. McCall followed him inside, firming up his grip on the pistol in anticipation for what would happen next.
The smell struck him immediately. The gangrenous, foul odor of the infected people seemed amplified in the small space of the train. He tried to breathe through his mouth, but found that didn’t help much. Though the car wasn’t near capacity, there were more people than McCall had hoped.
A few women sobbed in their seats as they tended to their wounded husbands or sons. One of them appeared to be dead, his throat torn open, blood still slowly pulsing from the flayed flesh. Half of the room looked like it had been painted red.
McCall wanted to put down everyone that had been bit, but he now realized that he didn’t have enough bullets. He wished he could spare them their impending misery before they turned on their loved ones. That and he didn’t want any of those things anywhere near him ever again if he could help it. His muscles were nearing exhaustion and he knew he only had a limited amount of fight left in him.
Looking around the passenger car, he realized that his original plan wouldn’t work. He counted at least eight wounded and one dead. Most of the other people in the room were covered in blood and he had no way of knowing whether they were infected or not. The deputy in Gehenna had changed, and he had no visible injuries. Could co
ming in contact with the blood be enough to turn? At this point, he couldn’t be certain.
He didn’t want to take the chance either way. Though he hated the idea of it, McCall knew what he had to do. Everyone in this room was a potential cannibal in waiting and he didn’t have the time to try and figure out who was safe. All of the people in this compartment would have to be killed, locked in, or thrown from the train. The idea horrified him, but he couldn’t see another option.
One of the creatures writhed in the back, its arms wrapped tight to its body by a length of rope. Blood ran down its mouth, streaming over the front of its filthy shirt. A deep, oozing crater inhabited the spot where his nose should have been; McCall could even see a piece of his skull.
Seeing such a large group of people in pain and anguish because of an outbreak no one could explain brought his anger to the surface. He brushed past the boy and stalked down the aisle toward the beast. He cocked the hammer of the pistol with his thumb, intent on scattering its gray matter all over the floor.
“We need help, mister,” one of the women said as he walked by.
“That’s Mad Dog McCall,” the boy said. He spoke in a hushed tone, as if uttering the name would get him in trouble.
“Mad Dog McCall? Him? Can’t be – he’s too old.”
McCall sneered, but didn’t answer – he was too intent on making the cannibal pay. It looked up at him as he approached, its mouth chomping in a pattern that had become all too familiar to McCall. He pointed the gun at its head without saying a word.
“What the hell are you doing?” a male voice asked from behind him. “You can’t just kill him!”
He was about to pull the trigger when he reconsidered. With this thing being incapacitated, he didn’t need to waste a bullet on it. He could just throw it out the door and be done with it. Saving ammunition would be of the utmost importance if he planned to get through this alive. He holstered the gun in a swift, effortless motion.