The moment the warmth hit his tongue he heaved and he had to clamp his lips tightly shut to avoid spitting the food out. He counted to five and then chewed. He found nothing hard in the concoction so, before he could taste anything, he swallowed, which required him to gulp heavily.
His stomach lurched and he gritted his teeth while snorting his breath through his nostrils. For a dozen rapid heartbeats, he willed himself not to vomit, and to his surprise the mouthful stayed down.
When Wickham nodded approvingly, he took a deep breath through his mouth and gripped the plate tightly as he prepared himself for the second mouthful. Then, with a shaking hand, he scooped up another portion.
As it turned out, this handful was easier to keep in his mouth than the first had been and he chewed properly before swallowing. Again, the food was soft and he reckoned he’d not eaten any meat yet, but he was unlikely to be lucky the next time.
Several chunks of fatty meat had created a greasy slick across the bulk of the plate. He winced and recalled how hungry he had been when he’d arrived in Endsville and how he’d wolfed down that first meal.
Then he scooped another handful into his mouth. He chewed twice and some of the concoction slipped down his throat, but then a gristly piece of meat caught between his teeth. He tried to chew it, but then gagged.
At the last moment he closed his lips and avoided spraying food everywhere. Then, for several worrying moments, he breathed deeply through his nostrils until he felt ready to chew the piece of meat again.
This time he was able to trap the gristle between his back teeth and after a quick chomp he gulped it down. Then, with the confidence he’d gained from his ability to stomach the stew, he got to work on the rest of the plate.
He managed the next two mouthfuls in quick succession leaving him with just one long strip of fat to eat. He took a deep breath, brought the strip to his lips and then sucked it into his mouth, an action that thankfully made it slither down his throat.
With the plate emptied he heaved, swallowed and then relieved the pressure with a rancid tasting burp. Using the back of his hand, he wiped the gravy from his lips and chin and then turned to Wickham, who chuckled.
“It’s a pity we didn’t bring some bread,” he said. “Then you could have mopped up the juice.”
“Perhaps the next time,” Jesmond said with his stomach churning as he again fought down an urge to vomit.
“I’ll remember that, now that you’re one of us.”
“I’m one of you,” Jesmond said. Then he forced himself not to say anything more for fear of the consequences.
“You sure are.” Wickham waggled a warning finger at him. “Don’t spit up any of your food. Only those who don’t enjoy the forbidden do that.”
Jesmond didn’t trust himself to reply, so he patted his stomach and mustered a thin smile.
“I guess you must be right because that food is staying down.”
“Don’t guess. Admit it. You enjoyed it, both times.”
Jesmond held out the plate to Wickham. “Rosemarie cooks up a great stew.”
“She does, so think about how that meal has changed you. Think about your new life and what that might bring. Think about the dead you’ve just eaten. Think about what they want to tell you now.”
“So you hope that because I’ve eaten a meal with Flynn’s and Yardleigh’s flesh in it, I’ll be able to receive messages from them from wherever they are now?”
“Be that heaven or hell or some other place, you’ve taken their flesh into your own body so now you’re connected to them, forever.”
Jesmond gnawed at his bottom lip to force himself not to shout at Wickham that he was insane and instead he sought a neutral reply.
“When will that happen?”
Wickham frowned. “It’s different for everyone. For some it happens quickly while others are never blessed, but we have a long night ahead of us and that was just your first taste of the unknown.”
“Then I’ll think about what you’ve said.”
Wickham nodded and then returned to the fire where he picked up a second plate. Despite his promise, Jesmond tried to avoid thinking about what he’d done and concentrated instead on working out how to use the opportunity afforded to him now that he’d appeased his captors.
Wickham appeared to be carrying through with his promise, as he no longer held a gun on him while the others stopped paying attention to him. But he couldn’t see what he could do, being unarmed and tethered to Bodie’s dead body. Rosemarie filled the second plate and Wickham moved on to stand before Cresswell.
“Now it’s your turn,” Wickham said, holding out the plate.
“Never,” Cresswell said with his upper lip curled in a sneer.
“Bodie said that and now he’s dead. Jesmond refused at first, but he saw the error of his ways.” Wickham thrust the plate closer to Cresswell so that the steam wafted across his face. “Eat.”
Cresswell’s mouth fell open in horror and he sneered at Jesmond with an equal level of disgust. Then he drew himself upright.
“I don’t care what they did,” he said. “You can go to hell.”
Chapter Fourteen
“WE WOULD GLADLY GO to hell, provided we could come back afterward,” Wickham said without concern. “Now eat.”
“I agreed to help Marshal Dobson and I’ve done that,” Cresswell said. “I didn’t agree to do this.”
“Except you’ve already eaten human flesh earlier today, and like Jesmond you enjoyed your meal.”
“I didn’t know what I was eating.” Cresswell gestured at Jesmond. “I guess that proves I’m nothing like him.”
Cresswell tensed, but in response Wickham shrugged, seemingly dismissing the need to force a confrontation. Then Wickham placed the plate on the ground in front of him.
“Maybe you’ll be hungry later.”
Cresswell muttered an oath under his breath, as Wickham turned away and returned to the fire. Rosemarie wasted no time in filling the other plates, as an eagerness to move on took over their actions now that Wickham had finished testing the newcomers.
With Rosemarie and Wickham occupied with their task and with Dobson and Hoyt following their progress, Jesmond put aside Cresswell’s apparent antipathy toward him and tried to attract his attention. He turned his way and then edged from side to side.
Cresswell either ignored him or he didn’t notice him, so Jesmond moved his chain aside. This activity made Cresswell turn to him, but he eyed him with so much contempt it destroyed any hope Jesmond had of gaining his help.
When Rosemarie had filled four plates, Wickham holstered his gun and took two of them out to Dobson and Hoyt using the usual route. When he returned, he and Rosemarie took one plate apiece.
Then they moved on to stand on either side of the fire, effectively covering the four compass points. This left Hoyt standing behind Jesmond and Dobson facing Cresswell, while Wickham stood before Bodie’s body and Rosemarie stood before Cresswell.
Everyone then turned to Wickham and when he nodded they started eating. They forked the first helping into their mouths slowly, carrying out their movements at the same time. Wickham uttered a long sigh of delight, followed by Rosemarie and Dobson, although Hoyt didn’t make a noise.
Then they sped their movements, gulping down the food with relish until every morsel had been consumed. Wickham even licked his plate when he’d finished. For long moments afterward everyone stood poised with their plates and forks held aloft, as if they expected something to happen.
Rosemarie was the first to act when with a sudden flinch she dropped her plate and raised her head. She thrust her arms up in the air and started murmuring, her voice gaining in volume until she was wailing and screeching.
The words ran into each other so Jesmond couldn’t work out what she was saying or even if she was speaking in a language he’d heard before. Rosemarie’s strange behavior didn’t perturb her fellow diners and everyone edged forward eagerly.
“What are
they telling you?” Wickham asked.
“There are too many voices in my head,” Rosemarie wailed, while pressing her hands to her temples. “They’re all talking to me at once.”
“Listen to the ones who have just arrived. Talk to them. . . .” Wickham frowned and then pointed past her at Cresswell. “Yardleigh and Flynn, wasn’t it?”
Cresswell opened his mouth to reply, but then closed it before turning to Rosemarie in wide-eyed horror.
“This is madness,” he said. “I’ll have nothing to do with it.”
“Yardleigh’s with me now and he has something to say to you,” Rosemarie cried out. “He says that—”
Whatever Rosemarie wanted to reveal remained unsaid as, with a cry of rage, Cresswell jerked up his gun arm and shot her in the back. Rosemarie screamed and then pitched forward to land on her chest.
For several moments Wickham didn’t react, but then he got over his shock and scrambled for his gun. By then Jesmond had thrown off his own surprise and he broke into a run. He pounded along for three paces before Wickham had even drawn his weapon.
Cresswell swung his gun toward Dobson while the marshal dropped his plate to go for his gun. Two gunshots ripped out as Dobson and Cresswell exchanged gunfire followed by Wickham tearing out a shot.
Jesmond didn’t see the result of these exchanges as he concentrated on taking on Wickham. He gathered up a length of chain and swung it to his side. The links shone brightly in the firelight attracting Wickham’s attention and making him turn his head toward Jesmond.
Wickham flinched and then turned at the hip, his gun swinging around to aim at Jesmond, who thrust his head down while hurling the chain at his opponent. The chain left his hand and, with him being close to Bodie’s body, it had enough slack to send a satisfyingly long length flying at Wickham.
Wickham raised his free arm in defense a moment before the metal hit him. A coil of the chain clipped his gun from his hand and then Jesmond reached him. Using all the pent up anger of the last few hours, Jesmond slammed a shoulder into Wickham’s chest and then drove him onward.
Wickham backed away quickly until his foot slipped and he tipped over dragging Jesmond down with him. Both men hit the ground and slid along for a few feet. Jesmond came to rest lying on his side with Wickham lying on his back beside him.
While Jesmond tried to shake off the jarring drop to the ground, gunfire blasted out as, presumably, Cresswell and Dobson continued to trade shots. Jesmond shook himself and then moved to grapple with Wickham, but his leading arm became caught up in the chain stilling his attempted lunge.
He shrugged the obstacle away and tried again, but by then his opponent had picked up the chain that had been lying across his chest. Then Wickham hurled himself at Jesmond with the chain held outstretched in both hands.
He aimed for Jesmond’s throat and brought a link down across his neck forcing Jesmond over on to his back. Luckily, the link pressed against the band around Jesmond’s neck stopping the metal from grinding into his skin and choking him, but Wickham still pinned him to the ground.
Then Wickham settled a knee on Jesmond’s chest and pressed down. Jesmond put both hands to the chain and tried to raise it, but he failed to move it from his throat, so he grabbed Wickham’s forearms and strained.
With Wickham’s weight set down on him, at first he failed to move his arms, so he bucked his body up in the air. The action had no effect, so he tried again and on the second attempt he dislodged Wickham’s knee from his chest.
The sudden movement made Wickham lurch forward and Jesmond added to his problems by kicking up with his legs. His knees slammed into the small of Wickham’s back, and to stop himself pitching over, Wickham had to release his hold of the chain.
Jesmond bucked again and this time he sent Wickham sprawling on the ground. Jesmond squirmed his way out from under Wickham’s body. Then he attempted to turn the tables on his opponent by rolling him over on to his back and settling his weight down on Wickham’s chest.
He gathered up a length of chain and, as Wickham had done, he slammed it down across Wickham’s neck to pin his head to the ground. Wickham squirmed without effect and when Jesmond pressed down his opponent started to choke.
Jesmond strained harder bringing color to Wickham’s cheeks, but then in a disorientating moment he went rising up in the air. It took him a moment to work out that Hoyt had grabbed him from behind and picked him up.
Jesmond kicked out and batted his arms from side to side, but he failed to make contact with Hoyt’s body as Hoyt raised him up above his head. Then Hoyt hurled him aside. The clearing seemed to swirl around him as Jesmond went spinning through the air before he hit the ground.
He rolled with the chain wrapping itself around his body, and then went skidding along until he fetched up lying on his chest next to the fire. He lay for a moment. Then he slapped both hands to the ground and tried to get up, but his arms shook and with a groan he flopped back down on his chest.
With his cheek pressed to the dirt he faced Hoyt, who advanced with long paces until he loomed over him. Jesmond couldn’t gather enough strength to raise his head so only Hoyt’s legs were visible to him.
“Leave him to me,” Wickham said. “Go and find the other one.”
Without making a sound Hoyt turned on his heel and strode away out of Jesmond’s view. Wickham’s comment suggested that after the gunfight with Dobson, Cresswell had escaped. With this hope giving him strength, Jesmond tried again to get up.
This time he managed to lock his elbows and rise up to a position where he was kneeling while holding himself up with his arms. He flexed his shoulders as he prepared to kick off from the ground and take on Wickham, but Wickham had reclaimed his gun.
Although Hoyt was striding toward the trees, closer to the fire lay Rosemarie’s hunched over form and beyond the fire Marshal Dobson lay on his side with a bloodied chest. These two people weren’t moving so Jesmond faced Wickham, who stopped ten paces away.
“So it seems that Cresswell didn’t want to join us, after all,” Jesmond said.
“He didn’t, but his disgust only strengthens my resolve,” Wickham said. “It shows what I can achieve and what you could have achieved if you’d joined me.”
“I did everything you asked of me,” Jesmond said, playing for time, but with a shake of the head Wickham raised his gun to aim at his chest.
“And then, despite my faith in you, you turned on me.”
Jesmond frowned. “So I guess it’s be eaten and not eat?”
“It sure is,” Wickham said with a slow lick of his lips. Then he tensed his gun arm.
Jesmond turned toward the fire in the hope he might find something to throw at Wickham. The only objects that were close enough for him to reach were two discarded plates so without much hope he jerked forward and scooped up the nearest plate.
Then, while getting to his feet, he moved to hurl the plate at Wickham, but he was already too late. Wickham fired. A clang sounded. Then Jesmond stumbled and pitched forward to hit the dirt.
Wickham didn’t fire again, but when several moments passed without Jesmond feeling any pain he accepted he must have been lucky. The bullet had taken a deflection off the plate and he had fallen because he was still weak after being hurled across the clearing by Hoyt.
He stayed still, lying with his back hunched up and his cheek resting on the ground as Wickham came closer. He avoided moving as he heard his opponent stop. Wickham murmured something to himself and then scraping sounded as he turned away.
Jesmond reckoned that this moment was his best chance to take on Wickham and he raised himself using one arm. Then he flicked the plate at Wickham’s head with his free hand. His aim was poor and the plate missed Wickham by a yard and then went gliding on over the fire.
Wickham turned toward the plate, clearly being unsure what had happened, but by then Jesmond was leaping to his feet. The rest had helped him to gather his strength and he gained his footing without trouble.
&
nbsp; Then he moved on for three quick paces before plowing into Wickham’s back. He twisted Wickham around and shoved him toward the fire. Wickham stumbled forward looking for a moment as if he would tumble headfirst into the flames, but he stuck out a foot and avoided that fate before side-stepping around the fire.
He still scattered burning logs and he dislodged the pot before he went to one knee. Then he turned around and raised his gun arm, but before he could take aim, Jesmond was on him.
Jesmond slugged his jaw with a round-armed blow that knocked Wickham’s head to the side and sent him sprawling over the pot. Wickham shook himself and then screeched when the hot metal scorched his skin.
Wickham tried to raise himself, but he used up precious moments as he tried to move without touching the hot metal again. By the time he levered his upper body off the pot, Jesmond had stepped up behind him.
He grabbed the back of Wickham’s head and thrust it down into the pot. A large portion of the stew was still bubbling away in the pot and when Wickham’s head hit the surface he sent up a splash of liquid that scolded Jesmond’s hand, but he ignored the pain and held on.
His opponent thrashed wildly, but that only encouraged Jesmond to thrust his head down even harder until Wickham’s entire face was submerged. Wickham flailed his arms twice more and then his efforts became too weak to dislodge Jesmond, but Jesmond still held on to him, keeping his head buried in the boiling mixture until Wickham had been still for a minute.
“You wanted to talk to the dead,” Jesmond said, raising his hands to let Wickham’s body slide to the ground. “So take the chance now to enjoy a long chat.”
He stood over Wickham and kicked him in the side. When Wickham didn’t move, he claimed his gun and then turned to the clearing. Hoyt and Cresswell weren’t here, so he moved on to kneel beside Bodie.
If he was going to join Cresswell in fleeing, he had to sever the chain that tethered him to Bodie’s body, so he played several links out over a small rock and stood back. He fired, but he only winged the metal.
Endsville Page 8
