The Good, the Bad, and the Dead

by Bruce Campbell

  Dex's guards led him around the front of the train to the other side. What he saw shocked him, but he never lost a step. Fifty yards from the train was a wide, marshy river. Hellstromme troopers were posted along the edge of the water, where a small boat burned with impossible fury. On the shore near the boat was a crumpled figure in a tattered robe. The figure's bones poked through tears in the cloth, and its skull lay in fragments a few feet away.

  On the far side of the river, Dex could make out an immense wall. The wall was broken only by a gate with great, bronze doors flanked by enormous towers. The wall and towers glowed with the same sullen redness as the inscription on the ring. A fire burned at the top of one of the towers.

  A scream caused the huckster to look back toward the train. He saw a number of Hellstromme troopers lying on the ground nearby. Most had curled into small, fetal balls and moaned quietly to themselves while others stared into the distance and rocked slowly back and forth. One man was screaming as two troopers held him down. A third man with a doctor's bag was attempting to force a bubbling concoction down his throat.

  Dex was prodded in the direction of a small clump of men standing at the base of another gargantuan tower on their side of the river. He instantly recognized Hellstromme from before, as well as the two officers by his side. With them were two newcomers, a man in a conservative black suit and clerical collar, and a man in the robes and miter of a Catholic bishop. Hellstromme was gesturing wildly at the river as they approached.

  "Blast and damnation," he bellowed, "How could my calculations have been this far off? We should have arrived on the other side of that wall!" The doctor glared at his companions and then walked away with his head down, muttering angrily. The others tried to assume looks of innocent disinterest.

  Dex and his captors marched up to this group. One of the officers turned to the troopers and said, "What is it? Now is not a good time." He cast a meaningful glance at Hellstromme.

  "Uh, Captain Robertson," said one of the troopers quietly, "We found this man hiding in the turret of our car."

  "You what?" responded Robertson louder than he had intended.

  "Well sir, we opened it up and he just sort of fell out."

  "I can explain," Dex began. Hellstromme appeared in front of him before he could continue. The man's face had transformed into a mask of fury, his face was flushed an angry red, his temples throbbed, and his eyes bulged from their sockets.

  "You!" he growled, as he grabbed handfuls of the huckster's shirt. "You!" he spat again as he lifted Dex from his feet with surprising strength and slammed him against the wall of the tower. The hexslinger's head made contact in the same spot as before, and he slumped limply in the scientist's grasp.

  "You are the reason we are here rather than on the other side of this accursed river!" screamed Hellstromme as he shook the huckster like a rag doll. "I spent years preparing for this moment," he spluttered.

  The scientist moved his face only inches from Dex's and continued in a low voice that trembled with rage. "The calculations alone took nearly five years. Then the months and years of experiments, the many failures, the eventual success, the months of preparation for this attempt, all wasted because of you!"

  Streams of the doctor's spittle ran down Dex's face but he dared not wipe them away. "The formulas were calculated to the last decimal place; every piece of equipment and every man on this train was weighed to within a fraction of an ounce; I even accounted for the fuel that the engine would consume while making its run at the gate. All of that effort was wasted because you were too damn cheap to buy a train ticket!" Hellstromme slammed the huckster against the wall again and released him. Dex's legs buckled and he slid down to the ground.

  Hellstromme wiped his hands on his lab coat and turned away. "Kill him," he ordered.

  Robertson drew his pistol. The man in the clerical collar began to say something, but Hellstromme stared him into silence. The officer thumbed back the hammer.

  "Wait," said the doctor, an icy calm in his voice, "He may be of use to us later. Tie him up and post a guard."

  The troopers who had escorted him to the tower moved in to carry out the order, but before they could grab the dazed huckster a scream of rage sounded from across the river. Everyone turned to look. A trio of winged creatures launched themselves from the top of the wall and swooped low over the water. They were met by a hail of gunfire from the troopers along the shore. Two of the creatures crumpled under the fire and cartwheeled into the river where they quickly disappeared from sight.

  The third came through unscathed and grabbed a soldier who was struggling with the nozzle of his flamethrower in its massive talons. With a few strong beats of its wings, the creature soared upwards, the hapless trooper dangling beneath it. There was a high-pitched whine and a blast of steam from one of the boxcars. A stream of bullets poured from its turret and caught the creature at the apex of its climb. The hail of lead ripped through the creature and it plunged to the ground, still grasping its victim. Both the beast and the trooper vanished in a bright ball of flame.

  "So much for the Furies," muttered Hellstromme.

  Okay, time to go, thought Dex. He spied a large rock on the ledge above him that cast a substantial shadow. His mind reached out to the Hunting Grounds and met surprisingly little resistance. He summoned a manitou to himself and readied his cards. Nothing appeared at the table, but he felt hot breath on his face. He opened his eyes to see a drooling creature with enormous claws that dragged the ground standing above him. It grinned down at him with a mouth that had more fangs than a room full of vampires. Venom dripped from its teeth and made small smoking puddles on the ground.

  "In the name of all that's holy, I command you to depart," intoned the preacher while holding forth a large cross. The creature recoiled from the holy symbol but showed no intentions of leaving. Instead it snarled and snapped at the man of God.

  The troopers who had been about to grab Dex had scattered, but the preacher's timely intervention bought Robertson enough time to grab a few of them by the collars and arrange them in a ragged skirmish line. The troopers cut loose with their Gatling rifles and the creature staggered back under the impact. The beast decided that maybe the preacher's idea was a good one and it turned to run. It took only five steps before a second volley cut it down.

  "You fool!" cried Hellstromme as he advanced on Dex again. "What were you thinking? Or do you think? Don't you know where you are?"

  Dex thought of a few places he'd like to suggest Hellstromme go, but he remained silent.

  Behind the scientist Robertson chuckled. "Welcome to Hell, son."

  ***

  Dex was bound hand and foot and dragged to a spot out of the way of the laboring troopers. Four guards were posted around him with orders to shoot if he so much as twitched. All he could do was bide his time and look for another opening to escape.

  A few hours passed. Dex watched as troopers dug the locomotive free and laid tracks. The armored vehicle was eventually righted, and it was used together with the derrick to drag the steam engine and the boxcars onto the newly laid rails. The Hellstromme mechanics finished patching the locomotive's boiler and attached new rockets to the side of the engine.

  During that time Robertson came over to speak with the huckster. He dismissed the guards and made himself comfortable on a flat rock. "So, what were you doing onboard my train?" he asked.

  Dex thought for a moment, and then decided on the truth. He knew Hellstromme had no love for the Agency. He briefly described his escape from the operatives in Des Moines and how he had fallen asleep in the boxcar. He must have sounded sincere, because Robertson seemed to accept his story.

  "Well," said the grizzled captain, "I'll see what I can do for you, but I doubt it'll be much. The old man's ready to use your guts for fiddle strings."

  "So, where are we, really?" inquired Dex.

  "I told you before, son, we're in Hell."

  "Why the He—. Why would anyone want to take a trai
n ride to Hell?" asked the huckster.

  "This is more than just an experiment for Dr. Hellstromme, it's personal. It may be hard to believe, but he was married once to a woman named Vanessa. This was a while back, when the old man was still an engineer with the British army. He was stationed in India, where his unit fought the Sikhs. His wife was stationed there with him."

  "She died while he was there. For years he told everyone she had been killed by the Sikhs when they overran his garrison, but the truth was she took her own life. She was unhappy in India. The doctor became so absorbed in his work that she rarely saw him, and only a few months after arriving in the country she came down with some tropical disease which left her bedridden. Hellstromme was too busy inventing to pay her much attention, and it eventually became more than she could bear. She swallowed a bottle of poison and left the doc alone in India. To this day, Hellstromme can't forgive himself for her death."

  "So all of this," said Dex with a nod toward the train, "he's doing out of love for his wife?"

  "Yup," responded Robertson.

  Both men sat silently for a moment.

  "This doesn't look like any Hell I've ever heard of," Dex said finally. "I thought Hell was all fire and brimstone and souls burning in torment."

  "That's how I always heard it too," chuckled Robertson. "You ever read a book called the Divine Comedy?"

  "No."

  "Me neither, until just recently. It was written by some Italian fella by the name of Dante. I can't claim to understand it all, but according to Dr. Hellstromme, it's all about using the intellect to know God and his truth. That's the kind of thing that's exactly the doctor's cup of tea, although sometimes to hear him speak, you'd think he was God. "

  "Well, in this book, Dante visits Hell. The way he describes it, it's a nice orderly place with all the sinners sorted by type. Hell has nine levels, each one a circular ledge below the one above it." Robertson reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, and scanned it for a moment.

  The captain pointed toward the river. "That over there is the river Styx. That jumble o' bones beside the smoldering boat is Phlegyas, the ferryman who takes the souls of the dead across the river. Those walls over there are the Walls of Dis, the city of Hell. That's where we're headed, once we get everything under control here."

  "What?" crowed Dex.

  "Beyond that wall, and down a ledge or so, is the Wood of Suicides. That's where we'll find Hellstromme's wife, and that's where this train was supposed to arrive. That's why the bishop is here. Hellstromme convinced him to absolve her of her mortal sin or somesuch religious mumbo-jumbo."

  "But the Divine Comedy is just a book. Are you saying that this Dante actually traveled to Hell and recorded his trip?"

  Robertson sighed. "Look son, I'm just an old soldier making a living the only way I know how. I don't know that I understand or believe any of this stuff, but here we are. I'll tell you what the doctor told me. When you die, your soul leaves your body and goes to some place called the Hunting Grounds. Some people's souls go on to Heaven, other people wind up here, and some just wander around somewhere in between."

  "According to the doctor, because the Hunting Grounds is a 'spiritual realm' as he puts it, the reality here is subjective-for the most part you see what you want to see. A person with a strong will can actually mold the reality of this place to meet his expectations. The spirits who live here can fight a person's perception, but they usually don't, because they can kill you just as dead whether they look like that thing you conjured up or a small, furry bunny"

  Dex nodded enthusiastically. This was the first thing he had heard all day that made sense. "That's why when I contact the Hunting Grounds I normally see a poker table and a game of cards," he said.

  "Well, I'm glad it makes sense to one of us," grinned Robertson. "All I'm worried about is killing anything that gets in our way." The captain motioned to where troopers were busy fastening towropes between the armored vehicle and the rowboats salvaged from the flatcar wreckage. "We brought that stuff along in case we were unable to repair the train and needed to fight our way out to the entrance near the top ledge. Now it looks like we'll need it to fight our way in."

  A trooper approached the pair. "Sir, the train is now operational. Dr. Hellstromme wishes to dispatch our expeditionary force at once."

  Robertson got to his feet. "Time to earn my pay." The officer made his way over to where the troops were assembling. Dex could see that the mechanics who had repaired the locomotive were now busy erecting a smaller version of the ring the train had passed through earlier.

  The huckster also noticed something moving behind the workers in the darkness beyond. He squinted hard and made out the forms of some large beasts milling around just out of range of the train's guns. Word of their arrival must have gotten out.

  Two troopers approached his guards. "The prisoner is to come with us." One of them cut the ropes around his wrists and ankles and yanked him to his feet.

  The soldiers led him to the bank of the river where twenty troopers stood at attention behind the line of rowboats. The armored vehicle was already awash in ankle-deep water.

  Dex's escorts directed him through a hatch in the side of the vehicle. Inside were Hellstromme, the preacher, the bishop, Robertson, and six crewmen. One of the latter slammed the hatch shut after the huckster was inside.

  "I don't know if you've noticed, Captain, but it looks like the natives are getting restless," said Dex.

  "Yes, I've seen them," responded Robertson. "We'll have to make this quick."

  Hellstromme turned away from his conference with the preacher and addressed Dex icily, "The captain informs me that you are one of those modern day warlocks I've heard so much about. We're at a bit of a disadvantage thanks to you, so I've decided to give you a chance to make amends."

  "I..." began Dex.

  Hellstromme continued without waiting for a reply. "If I understand the nature of the 'magic' you perform, casters of your ilk make mental contact with the Hunting Grounds, subdue a manitou, and force it to channel spiritual energy to you, which you then manipulate for your own ends. Am I right?"

  The scientist plunged on before Dex could answer. "As you may have noticed from your last exhibition, that does not work here because we are in the Hunting Grounds. The spiritual energy you need to perform your parlor tricks is all around you. All you need to do is simply open your mind to this energy and use it. In theory, at least." With that the doctor turned his back on the huckster and resumed his conversation with the preacher.

  Dex looked around the cramped interior of the vehicle. In the front was the driver and a gunner for the bow-mounted steam Gatling. Two crewmen manned each of the two 12-pound, breech-loading cannons mounted in side sponsons.

  Robertson motioned Dex to a bench seat bolted to the wall. "You might want to strap in. It could be a bumpy ride." The huckster did as he was instructed.

  The captain ascended a short ladder into a turret atop the vehicle. He turned back to the waiting troopers. "Mount 'em up!" A few moments later, he pounded on the vehicle's roof. "Ahead slow," he shouted down to the driver as he grabbed the handles of the steam Gatling mounted in the turret.

  The vehicle lumbered forward with a great grinding of gears and a snort of smoke. Its bulky mass sent a wave rippling across the water. The steam tank's tracks slipped for a moment in the muddy river bottom but then caught again. The vehicle surged forward with a splash.

  The tank waddled through the shallow river like a great metallic hippo, the small line of rowboats trailing in its wake like a line of ducklings. The vehicle had nearly reached the midpoint of the stream when the chattering sound of Gatling weapons fire erupted behind it.

  "Full speed ahead," shouted Robertson as he rotated the turret. Dex heard dull thuds against the hull and then the whirring roar of both steam Gatlings drowned out all other noise.

  Dex unstrapped himself and began to move forward to where he could see through a view slit.
Before he reached it, the starboard cannon fired. The recoil rocked the vehicle, and water sloshed in through the port around the cannon on the opposite side. The hexslinger was thrown off balance and fell.

  As Dex struggled to sit up, Robertson plunged down from the turret. He was wrestling with two muddy, naked people. With no other weapon, Dex reached out with his mind and found the power waiting for him just as Hellstromme had described. It took only a split-second to form it into a hex he had used many times before. A fan of cards appeared in his hands and a wispy stream of energy shot from his fingertips, slamming the nearest figure back against the wall. It slumped soundlessly to the floor.

  There was a muffled bang and a hole appeared in the back of the second attacker. Robertson rolled the corpse off him and his still-smoking pistol. Dex noticed that the captain's right leg was bent at an unnatural angle. The man struggled to get up, but slipped back to the floor in pain.

  The huckster heard a thump above him and looked up. He could see a muddy face looking down through the open hatch. Dex shot another stream of energy from his fingers and the face disappeared.

  He clambered up the ladder and poked his head out of the turret. A muddy arm locked itself around his throat. The huckster tried in vain to get a grip on the slime-covered limb. Energy flared from his fingers a third time and the arm went limp. A muddy man slithered down the side of the tank and landed in the water with a splash.

  Dex looked back toward the rowboats. Most had capsized and the troopers were locked in hand-to-hand combat with a horde of mud-encrusted attackers in the waist-deep water. The huckster seized the grips of the steam-Gatling and hosed down the water around the troopers with a steady stream of lead, but for every muddy body knocked down by his fire, two more emerged from the muck.

  The tank rocked hard as both cannons fired to the rear. Dex was thrown hard against the edge of the hatch, knocking the wind out of him. A scythe of canister pellets cut a huge swathe through the slimy crowd, tossing limbs and mangled torsos in all directions. A few troopers were caught in the deadly swarm of pellets also, but many of the rest took advantage of the temporary pause in the fighting to grab onto a towrope.