Gunsmoke Blues

by Balogun Ojetade

  “Tighter!” Mr. Howard yelled.

  Grant pulled the rope tight. “Do you have a plan?” he whispered in Keith’s ear.

  “Just to get the girl away from him,” Keith replied. “As soon as he releases her, you get her out of here as fast as you can. Don’t worry about me.”

  Grant nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Good luck,” he said.

  Keith turned to face the Principal. “Okay, release the girl.”

  “Not so fast,” the Principal said. “First, you come over here and sit on the floor.” He pointed at a place a few paces in front of him.

  Keith walked slowly, his eyes fixed on Mr. Howard. When he reached the spot the Principal had indicated he dropped to one knee, then onto both knees, and sat on the floor. The body of the dead girl lay splayed out nearby, her clothes ripped. Her torso was covered in bite marks.

  Mr. Howard twitched his mouth into a crude mockery of a smile, revealing four sharp incisors—two upper, two lower, saliva dripping from his tongue. All his other teeth appeared to have fallen out, leaving dark spaces in his mouth. Close up, the veins beneath his skin bulged and pulsed alarmingly. The whites of his eyes were visibly yellow, and his already full lips seemed engorged with blood. “Very good, Mr. Gaston. Aren’t you an obedient little puppy? I wish all my teachers were as tractable as you.”

  “Let Ava go now,” Keith said. “I’ve done what you asked.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Howard agreed, but he seemed reluctant to release the girl.

  Grant took a step forward. “Release her now, man! You’ve got what you wanted.”

  “Yes I have, haven’t I?” Mr. Howard said. A sly look flashed across his face as he spoke the words and he spun forward, bringing his leg up.

  Keith rose to his knees but the ball of Mr. Howard’s foot impacted with his forehead, flinging him back against the wall. Pain exploded in Keith’s head, and his ears filled with a loud ringing. He collapsed onto his side and sprawled on the floor, unable to move with his arms tied tightly behind him. He looked up at Mr. Howard as if through a red mist.

  The Principal stood tall, an insane glee in his eyes. His mouth opened and closed, but the noise in Keith’s head blocked out the words. A smile spread across the Principal’s face. He pulled Ava’s neck toward him and opened his jaws wide to bite.

  As Keith watched helplessly from the floor, Grant shouted something. Then everything unfolded in a flash.

  Ava kicked her heel backward like a mule, striking the Principal in the shin. He roared in fury and relaxed his grip on her long enough for her to twist out of his grasp.

  Grant rushed forward to take her, but he was too slow. Ava had already pulled a sharpened piece of chalk out of her pocket, and before the Principal could react, she plunged the chalk into his left eye.

  The Principal staggered backward, the alabaster chalk protruding from his bulging eye. Blood spurted from the wound. His arms flailed helplessly in front of him.

  Grant dropped his head and barreled straight into Mr. Howard, sending him crashing to the floor.

  The last thing Keith saw before he passed out was the Principal writhing like a dying insect, still trying to draw the piece of chalk out of his ruined eye.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Jardins de Fraises, waxing moon.

  Erica Brigitte was perfectly aware that she spent too much time reading trash, but she had become addicted to it. She’d started reading penny dreadfuls she borrowed from her neighbor Adele Barber, who had recently moved to New Orleans from England and possessed an extensive collection. She read them when she was home with just Pépé for company. But since the old man’s company counted for very little and was tending toward zero, she had stepped up her diet, becoming an avid consumer of gothic thrillers such as The Castle of Otranto or The Monk, as well as stories about famous criminals, like The String of Pearls: A Romance, which introduced Sweeney Todd, “the Demon Barber of Fleet Street,” The Mysteries of London, and Varney the Vampire. She knew she should stop, but somehow the number of hours spent with her face in a penny dreadful had grown, steadily becoming the central focus of her life.

  All day long now, whenever Pépé was quiet, she read.

  If only she could get out of the house and meet new people, she could change. But the idea filled her with dread. It took all her courage to answer the door to delivery boys, or exchange a few words with the postman. After accept a delivery, she would have to sit quietly alone for half an hour, reading a book to recover.

  She knew she had a serious problem. She didn’t need her sister to point it out to her. Anthropophobia, it was called. Fear of people. She had started reading books about her condition, which led to an obsessive interest in self-help and psychology books. And despite Erica’s pleas, Freda was spending more and more time out with her men, sometimes leaving Erica alone for days at a time.

  And so, she read.

  The newspapers and news from the children was pulling her attention more and more, even though when the children delivered it to her by mouth, she had to read, of course. First the creature known as the Beast of Back of Town had drawn her in. The Tremé was only a few miles from where they lived. She shuddered to think that a savage monster stalked the area after dark. She’d experienced a guilty thrill when that Black Dispatch had been attacked by the Beast.

  The lunchtime news had been filled with wild speculation, with members of the public spreading crazy theories about the creature. More sightings of the Beast had been reported in other parts of New Orleans, too. Commentators wondered aloud how one Beast alone could be responsible for so many different appearances right across the city. “Does the Beast have a Stanley Steamer?” One journalist quipped.

  Bizarrely, similar sightings of a Beast had been reported in other countries and other parts of the United States—in the Jardim Botânico de São Paulo, in Brazil, and throughout New York City and Chicago.

  But the Beast had been pushed aside once the serial killer known as the American Ripper had begun his gruesome work. Erica had spent hours reading the Picayune’s coverage of his murders, hungry for more details. She’d always had an interest in psychopaths and serial killers—an unhealthy interest, according to Freda; perhaps even an obsession. The Ripper killings fed that obsession and Erica had been secretly, guiltily pleased when the Ripper murders continued even after his apparent arrest.

  But that evening, news had broken of two more arrests in the ongoing Ripper search. Two More Men Arrested in Ripper Hunt screamed the headline of the evening edition of the Picayune.

  Erica intently read the Chief Constable’s statement to the press, announcing the arrests. It seemed that two separate arrests had been made at different locations and times. In both cases, the men arrested had been caught in the act of devouring their victims. Erica shuddered with a curious mixture of horror and delight. The first man was an unemployed New Orleans transplant from Chicago, the other a respectable principal at a high school in the Tremé. It seemed that each man had been responsible for several horrific murders.

  The constables were at a loss to explain why apparently unconnected men should be involved, but the Chief eagerly reassured the public that with three men now safely in custody, their reign of terror had ended.

  That didn’t seem to satisfy the journalists however. Many questions remained unanswered.Were the three men known to each other? Were they working as a team? Was there a connection to Chicago?Were any other people involved? Could the constables guarantee that there would be no further killings? The Chief Constable declined to answer any of their questions.

  Erica longed for her sister to return home. Much as she had enjoyed the thrill of the Ripper murders, she’d been terrified for Freda’s safety too. And no matter how many times she had begged Freda to put her “work” on hold, it had been no use. Her sister needed to be free in a way Erica had never quite understood. It wasn’t as if they even needed the money any more. Freda’s hauls had put plenty of money into the bank. They had enough. And yet for
Freda it seemed, enough was a word that didn’t really exist.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Marais Street, full moon.

  When the time for the change finally came, Robert found that the trepidation and nervousness of the previous week had all but vanished. It was as if he was about to go into an exam where he already knew all the answers. He felt nothing but anticipation and impatience. He had watched the moon wax steadily over the previous nights, feeling its inexorable pull. The way it dragged at every atom of his being had become almost unbearable. He yearned for its purifying pain, and the fire that cleansed.

  Before going out he said a prayer, but as always since he’d been bitten, God’s voice remained still. No matter, he knew what he had to do. He felt as if he had known it all his life. All that he had lived through, everything he had learned, experienced and felt—his brief but intense training under the iron-fisted tutelage of Harriet Tubman—had simply been in preparation for that night. All his dreams and yearnings were about to be fulfilled. If God—or “the Lawd,” as Harriet called the Creator—really was listening, He, or She, or It would answer Robert when the change came. He wondered if Harriet would now consider him Brushed by the Lawd… or by “the Other One?”

  Mary and Mose would be going out later. They had already changed so many times that the thrill had become commonplace. But Robert was eager to taste it as soon as the full moon rose.

  Virginia laughed. “You’re like a six-year-old on Christmas Eve, waiting for Santa to come.” But the laughter was just her way of putting Robert at ease. Virginia understood. She knew how much the change meant.

  The two of them went out together, just before sunset, when the sun had lost its power to burn his eyes. The sky was clear that evening, perfect conditions for the coming change. Already the moon had risen, but it made a pale face against the light western sky. Not until the fiery sun had relinquished its hold over the day could the cold silver orb begin to bathe them in its pure rays.

  They headed out to the park adjacent to Place Congo, where Virginia thought they would have the best chance of privacy. No one would be fool enough to go there with the stories of the Ripper and the Beast still circulating. She had never seen any constables go into the park after dark either. They ought to have the place to themselves, apart from any other rat-kin they might chance upon.

  They entered together, holding hands. Robert glanced behind at the darkening street, but no one had seen them enter the park.

  “Come on,” Virginia said, heading across the clipped grass. “Let’s get into the trees before anyone comes.”

  They jogged along together, following the curve of a stone path that wove between trees and bushes, the canopies of the trees mostly bare now, standing tall like columns in a cathedral, supporting the heavens in their outstretched arms. Above them, the moon rose slowly, becoming brighter as the sun dropped down beyond the horizon and twilight made its entrance. They continued on into the very heart of the park, the light fading as the sun set in a last orange blaze, until the sky began to lighten again as the moon lifted above the trees.

  Robert stopped to look up at it, his eyes narrowing reflexively, but not turning away. The moon smiled back, its mottled face familiar, its bright reflective surface transmuting the steady light of day into a shimmering and magical firelight. As it rose higher, it became blindingly bright, forcing Robert to look away.

  Moonbeams fell against him like the burning rays of the summer sun. His skin and eyes began to prick. “I think it’s beginning,” he said.

  Virginia stood beside him, alert and watchful. “You’ll probably feel it before I do,” he said. “You’re fully sensitized.”

  “I do,” Robert said. “I feel it now.”

  With a growing rush the fire took Robert in its hot embrace. From head to toe his body shuddered as his skin turned first to flame and then to ice, and back to hot, molten lava. He stared at his hands, but was shocked to find not fine hairs erupting from them, but scales.

  The power coursed through his veins, and his muscles writhed within him like snakes uncoiling. He felt his clothes tear and fall away as his chest and shoulders grew broad, his arms and legs flexing and bending, as he stooped forward onto all fours. He pawed the wet grass, enjoying the feel of mud and grass between his fingers and toes. Webs of flesh grew between each scaly digit as he dug them into the soft ground, and his nails grew thick and sharp like talons. He padded forward purposefully, enjoying the ease of walking on four legs.

  Finally he felt a blistering thrill as his teeth pushed through his gums, twisting and sharpening as they readied themselves to kill. A soft growl came from his mouth, turning to a deep-throated bellow, and he sprang upright once more, standing tall on thickened hind legs to gaze back at a moon that watched silently overhead.

  He had changed, just as Virginia had promised. But not into any rat. He was now something much greater than any rodent. He was a crocodile—brother of the dragon; child of Sobek, the crocodile-headed Egyptian deity of pharaonic power, fertility, and military prowess. He had long had a fascination with crocodiles, alligators and other reptiles and Baas Bello had taught him all about the creatures—and Sobek—when he noticed that Robert had an interest. Now, he realized he was learning about himself. Who he really was.

  The cleansing transformation left him wordless with wonder. Never had he experienced such pure and simple joy.

  He remembered Virginia then, and saw that she too had changed. As a rat she was perhaps even more beautiful than in human form, her fur jet-black, her strong, features flowing with fluid grace under the silvery light. Virginia looks good enough to… eat, he thought. He shook his scale-covered head. No, I love her!

  “You’re… a god,” Virginia said, creeping toward him.

  “Sobek,” Robert said, raising his nose proudly. “I thought the condition would turn me into a rat like everyone else.” He noticed that his voice, normally a rich baritone, was now much deeper—a powerful, slightly gruff bass.

  “I thought so, as well,” Virginia said. “But the Zulu say the first shape-shifters were reptiles. We must manifest the animal spirit linked most closely to our ancestors when we transform.”

  “So other species can exist,” Robert said. “Lions… bears… dogs?”

  “I suppose so,” Virginia said. “Mary is going to be fascinated. There is so much to learn.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  “Ready?” Virginia asked.

  “Yes,” Robert said.

  “Come on,” Virginia said, bounding forward away from the path.

  The park at night assaulted his crocodilian senses. Human language simply did not have the words to describe it; it could only be experienced. A thousand distinct scents presented themselves to him, and he instinctively knew the source of each. A fresh, open breeze laced with the smell of steam, iron and pralines; a decaying mildew tang of dead leaves and rotting vegetation; a lingering trail of smoke from a smoldering bonfire. And beneath it all, faint but rich, the slightly cloying aroma of fresh meat that roused his appetite and made saliva drool from his light pink tongue. Their prey was still distant, but they covered ground quickly.

  Robert’s nose guided him as much as his eyes. Prey was close, and in some numbers, and his hunger seemed almost boundless.

  The streets were familiar, but he saw them differently now. Darkness held no mysteries anymore; it had become his ally. He moved silently from dark space to dark space, clinging to shadows, invisible beneath the shroud of night, Virginia following soundlessly in his wake.

  Together they crossed street after street, drawing ever closer to their prey.

  Robert knew their destination. The omnibus station closest to the park. There would be commuters there, exiting the steam-powered omnibus, or waiting to board it to return home after work. Dozens of them, waiting. Waiting for him.

  He ran faster, his heart pumping, the fiery blood coursing, the scent growing ever more intense. Blood lust had come on him, pushing consci
ous thoughts aside. He moved purely on instinct. He had no need to think. His teeth, his claws, his jaws thought for him.

  They arrived at the station together, leaping easily over the low wall and fence that ringed it, landing on the hard platform concourse out of nowhere. Crowds of people milled about like sheep before him. His vertical-slit eyes delighted at the surprise that turned to horror on their stupid faces.

  And they were slow. So slow.

  He flew at the nearest, a young man in coveralls with a sweater underneath, and sank his razor sharp, hooked teeth into the young man’s neck, clamping down on his throat, and tasting the iron-rich blood that gushed into his mouth.

  Robert released his prey and turned to the next. This one was smaller, a woman in a smart green raincoat, her eyes wide with terror. Robert killed her too, chomping off her head and swallowing it whole. He stopped to savor the woman’s taste, watching the others flee in panic. They rushed in terror, tripping over each other, stumbling, directionless. Robert watched them, laughing.

  After that, he forgot how many he killed or maimed. He didn’t stop until Virginia’s voice broke through the frenzy that had taken him. “The constables are coming, Robert. Run! Run for your life!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Charity Hospital, full moon.

  Doctor Laveau yawned. After working an eighteen-hour shift he was reaching the limit of his endurance. Not since his days as a junior doctor had he been so overworked, and he had been a lot younger then. The number of patients requiring Intensive Care grew almost day by day. Never mind beds—there simply weren’t enough doctors to treat them all. Whatever this thing was, it was spreading at epidemic rates.

  Susie was right. The bite cases needed to be kept away from other patients. Doctor Laveau had already asked the Medical Director for a dedicated ward, but the hospital was stretched to full capacity. He would have to deal with the outbreak with the resources already at his disposal.