The Good, the Bad, and the Dead

by Bruce Campbell

  The smell of after-shave tickled Harris' nose, breaking his train of thought. He sneezed voluptuously.

  Everyone else reacted with a jangle of nerves. The barber spun around, razor held high. The fat man, with his shaving cream beard, sat up abruptly. One of the old men bumped his knee against the game table. The checkers leapt into the air, then clattered to the floor. They skipped and scattered. Everyone jumped again.

  Muttering a profusion of apologies, the poplar rushed to gather them.

  Quickly, the barber uttered to Harris, "Bless you."

  "Gezhundheit," the pine added, jumping on the bandwagon.

  "Yah, bless you," the fat man said, one hand over his heart. He laid back in the chair again and closed his eyes.

  Finally, the poplar stood with two handfuls of checkers and choked out, "Go'bless ya."

  ***

  Sheriff Masters whispered, "I'll be goddamned." He stared down at the horse carcass. Flies had already discovered it and were ecstatically swarming the torn flesh. The horse, or what was left of it, lay at the bottom of a sink-hole approximately thirty-feet across and ten-feet deep. The hole had opened up in front of the Jacobs' house.

  "See? I toldjal See what I mean?" The horse's owner, Billy Jacobs, had just gotten married and started his own homestead. He had received the horse as a wedding present from his inlaws. Standing there beside the sheriff, he looked his age, 17, and had a hunger for proving his manhood that made Masters nervous.

  Squinting, the sheriff scanned the horizon. "Wolves," he offered.

  "Nope," answered the boy. "I was only gone long enough t'take a shit."

  The sheriff looked over at Jennie Jacobs. She stood at the door of their little, log cabin, holding a handkerchief to her lips.

  Tears streaked down her face. The sheriff thought her distress made her pretty.

  "You didn't see no wolves or nothin?" the sheriff asked Billy without taking his eyes off the young bride.

  Billy answered, "No, sir. No, sir. I didn't see nothin'. No wolves, no Injuns, nothin'."

  Masters suddenly felt old. "Injuns wouldn'ta done this." He finally dragged his gaze from the young woman and walked around the edge of the hole. "No tracks either, 'cept yer horse's."

  "No, sir. No tracks. I already checked." Billy followed on the sheriff's heels, taking quick, baby steps.

  "Welllp," Sheriff Masters drawled, "I suggest ya get it buried. I reckon it fell into th'hole an' some animal came outta th'woods over yonder. Coulda been anythin'. Cougar. Wolf. Wild dogs. Even birds. They work damn fast, ya know."

  "Sheriff...mah horse's head is gone! That weren't no bird!"

  "Jus' get it buried, Billy. I'll talk t'the preacher 'bout gettin' ya a new horse. I'm goin' back t'town. We got a situation there I gotta take care of. You tell yer pretty Jennie-girl not t'fret. I'll come back t'morrow an' take another look around. It's gonna be gettin' dark soon."

  "Yessir."

  ***

  Horse and his wife lay in the store-room's pitch darkness. No one had come into the store to interrupt them. Some days, Horse cursed the cow bell on the front door because it didn't ring enough. Some days, he cursed it for ringing too much. That afternoon, fate had smiled on him and his wife. It hadn't rung at all.

  "Lordy, girl. Y're gonna kill me one o'these days."

  "I'd rather ya went t'the Beyond in mah arms than any place else, husband."

  "Wife, ya know how ya do me when ya talk sweet like that."

  "What? Agin?"

  ***

  The creature heard the rhythmic thumping. The strange music called to it as surely as the frantic, web-trapped fly calls to the spider. Thump. Thump. Thump. The creature followed the sound waves to their source. It tunneled up underneath and bumped against a hard covering on the surface. With a hiss, it crouched down. The food was on the other side, it knew. The scent of meat taunted it. The creature tested the covering with a claw and learned that it could dig through the barrier.

  The rhythm quickened. Thumpthumpthumpthump.

  Food! In a frenzy of activity, the creature clawed its way through and emerged into more darkness. It didn't mind the darkness. It saw through the pitch. It didn't mind that it had made enough noise to alert its prey Food was no match for the predator.

  It did, however, mind the keening wail one of them made. Oh, that meat could screech! The creature shut that one up first.

  ***

  Harris exited the barber shop. A breeze hit his newly-shaved face and neck, renewing the tingles started by the after-shave. He felt alive for the first time in weeks. He felt like maybe his luck had changed. He turned his sights on the bordello, walking in that direction. The bordello squatted on the west end of Main Street, at the edge of town, still and welcoming. Behind it, the sun collapsed onto the horizon, wounded and leaking red-orange across the sky. Dark clouds loomed to the northwest, but Harris figured he had hours before he had to worry about rain. His gaze slid across the buildings of Harmony Gap. He noted the weathered front of the meeting hall and studied the white-washed steeple of the church. He silently appreciated the workmanship on the blacksmith's sign and admired the homey, calico curtains in the windows of the general store.

  A cowbell clanked, and much to Harris' surprise, a pale, bug-eyed woman stumbled out the store's front door. She tripped on the stairs and sprawled in the dust at Harris' feet. She was babbling something about horses and their wives, blood and death.

  Harris looked down at the woman with a lift of one eyebrow. For a moment, he watched her wrestle with her skirts. Then, abruptly, he reached down and grabbed her by the armpit. He hauled her to her feet. She staggered slightly, then, without so much as a thank-you, hiked up her skirts and ran toward the jailhouse.

  "You're welcome," Harris muttered, shaking his head. "So, they call this place Harmony Gap, huh?" He sucked on his teeth, then directed himself toward the bordello.

  **»

  "This is Harmony Gap, by gum!" the man at the podium shouted. "Are we gonna let some stranger come into our town an' hex us?"

  "No!" the crowd shouted in unison. The reverberations knocked dust off the rafters. It drifted down on the packed room of milling citizens. Most of Harmony's residents had gathered in the one-room meeting hall.

  "Are we gonna let what happened t'Millsville an' Jack Creek happen t'our town too?"

  The crowd replied, "No!" A wave of whispers traveled through the room. Certain words knelled over and over: dead, destroyed, earthquake, and demon.

  The sheriff pushed his way to the podium. "Listen t'me, people. Listen t'me! We ain't got no proof Harris..."

  "Don't speak that name, Sheriff!" someone interjected.

  Sheriff Masters sighed, rolled his eyes, then raised his voice again, "Listen t'me! We ain't got no proof this man has anythin' t'do with these killin's. He was in th'barber shop. I got witnesses. Don't you be goin' off half-cocked an' make a mistake y'll regret."

  "I don't see no harm," someone piped up, "in runnin' him outta town!"

  "Yah!" someone else seconded. The crowd agreed with a unanimous cacophony of shouts. En masse, they moved toward the door.

  More dust fell down from the rafters and showered Sheriff Masters. He looked up, squinting to protect his eyes. Suddenly, the floor shifted and sent a ripple of vertigo through the crowd. Lanterns swung back and forth, casting mobile shadows across the walls. The tremor left a pall of utter silence in its wake. No one breathed. No one moved. Until someone screamed, "It's an earthquake!"

  A general panic ensued. More than one citizen of Harmony Gap got trampled in the crush at the door. Arms snapped. Noses broke. Blood flowed. Sheriff Masters watched from the back of the room, trapped there with the frenzied townspeople between him and the exit. He didn't bother trying to return any sanity to the crowd. He just hoped nobody got killed. From outside, he heard, "Git th'stranger!"

  ***

  Harris heard the shouts long before the first, insistent knocks came at the door. As he pulled on his trousers, he t
hought, At least they have the good manners to knock. Not every mob had been so considerate.

  "Stay over there," he told his redhead. "It's me they want." He buttoned his shirt.

  The door swung open and crashed into the wall. The deputy stood on the threshold, waving a gun, "Mister, it's time for you t'go."

  Harris glanced sideways at the bony man and nodded. He reached for his holster and belted it around his hips. "I'll leave peaceably," he announced.

  "He said he'd leave peaceably," the chain passed back through the bordello. Word traveled all the way to the street, "He said he'd leave peaceably... leave peaceably...leave peaceably..."

  Harris picked up his coat and hat. He draped the former over his arm and set the latter upon his head. Turning toward the door, he asked, "Someone get my horse for me?"

  "Yer horse is waitin' outside," the deputy replied, his voice fat with self-importance. He rounded on the crowd. "Awright! Git back. He's comin' out! Git back! Out! Out! Go!"

  Harris waited patiently.

  A loud crack, like the report of a rifle, but different, sounded in the street. It triggered another round of shouts and screams outside.

  The deputy moved into the hall, following the slow press of people back down the stairs to the first floor. He bounced from one wall to the other, in his bow-legged way, trying to see over the crowd and get someone to tell him what had happened. He lifted up on tiptoe, waving and shouting. Gradually word traveled from the street to the deputy. Someone reported, "Th'meetin' hall fell in a sink hole. It's on fire! Th'sheriff's dead!"

  Harris paused in the doorway to look back at his redhead. He tipped his hat and bowed, "Thank you very kindly, ma'am. You stay away from the fire and you'll be safe. You've got my scent on you." He smiled.

  The redhead sat down on the bed and smiled back. She and Harris had gotten along fine, and besides, it didn't pay for a woman in her profession to believe in curses. "Dorothy," she said.

  "Excuse me?" Harris replied, frowning in confusion.

  "Mah name's Dorothy. Ya kept callin' me Doreen, but it's Dorothy." She had a pretty smile.

  Harris watched her for a moment, then looked down at the floor. "Dorothy," he murmured, almost to himself. He nodded slowly. Doreen had also been able to knock the wind out of him—just like that. But... Doreen was dead.

  Turning on his heel, Harris left the room and made his way down the hall. He descended the stairs slowly, sliding his arms into his coat as he went. The sounds of chaos drifted in from the street outside, muffled. Harris crossed the deserted salon of the bordello. He buttoned his coat.

  Emerging from the building, Harris saw that the fire had spread. It leapt from structure to dry, wooden structure with glee. The people of Harmony Gap looked like ants trying to keep their hill from blowing away. They ran back and forth carrying buckets of water, shouting, and hauling the wounded out of harm's way. Harris watched as the front facade of the burning barber shop fell forward into the street. It toppled, breaking into several flaming and splintered parts before it hit the ground. When it crashed into the dust, it landed on a handful of people.

  Harris walked to his horse and checked its riggings. He inserted his foot in the stirrup and mounted. Putting the inferno behind him, Harris rode away. At the edge of town, he paused to look at the sign that said, "Harmony Gap. Strangers Welcome." A smile spread across his face, chasing away the pain. It felt good. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a tattered piece of paper and a sliver of soft coal. Using the glow from Harmony to light the words on the sheet, Harris crossed out one of the names: Jason Masters. That left only one entry on the list.

  Caw! Caw! The crow flew down and landed on the sign. It ruffled its feathers and watched Harris with the fires reflected in its black, button eyes.

  Without hesitation, Harris drew his six-shooter and turned the bird into a fleshy firecracker. Blood spattered the sign. Black feathers flew up into the air, then floated down again, dead slow. Harris put the gun back in its holster and twisted in the saddle to watch Harmony Gap burn. The inferno painted the hovering bank of storm-clouds with the colors of Hell. Heat lightning flashed at the thunderhead's core, adding a celestial chorus to the mystery play.

  Harris let the image burn itself into his mind. He enjoyed it. "This Lightnin' doesn't strike twice," he chuckled to himself. "It doesn't have to." With a self-satisfied smirk, he turned back around, set his horse in motion, and rode off into the hills. The screams and crackling timber became distant echoes.

  ***

  The tentacle pushed upward through the dirt and emerged into the open air. It swayed hypnotically and opened its eye. The pupil adjusted to the soft glow of the campfire, contracting then expanding again. The creature blinked.

  "Evening, son," Harris greeted it with an affectionate smile.

  The creature chittered back at him.

  NO GOOD DEED

  by Timothy Brown

  "Pa, I can't see the trail no more! Pa!"

  Jeb Carter pulled his leather collar tight against the stinging rain and adjusted his grip on the cold leather reins. He, too, had lost sight of the muddy trail since the last light of day failed away to their left and the low, gray clouds blew in to obscure the sliver of the waning moon. His mare plodded and splashed gently forward into the misty darkness while his last remaining son's roan kept close behind.

  "We'll get along a bit and make a camp before long, Zach," he called reassuringly back over his shoulder. "Don't fret none. We'll be home in a few days I reckon."

  "Yeah," his boy answered, his voice muffled through scarf and glove. "Besides, we got the medicine, and that's all that counts!"

  How right he was, Jeb thought, reaching back to pat his hand on his saddle bags. 'Don't forget us,' they all asked, the schoolteacher and her sister, the grocer and the ranchers, all the townsfolk who had succumbed to the fever back home. Headstones were going up like weeds when the two of them had left three weeks ago, the last two healthy men, a ranch hand and his boy, to get medicine in Laramie. Travel in these strange days was dangerous, everybody knew, but it was the only chance to save their small Montana town. But for all their voices only one rang in Jeb's head day after day on the trail, the tiny voice of his fever-stricken little girl Emily, clinging to him until the last, bawling when they took her away. 'I'll be waiting for you daddy! Don't forget me either, daddy!"

  "I won't forget you, sweetheart," Jeb mumbled beneath his breath, thankful for the frigid rain and darkness masking his tears.

  "Hey, there's a light up ahead!" Sure enough, Jeb thought, there were a couple of lanterns ahead along the trail, dim through the rain and mist but growing brighter as they approached. The lanterns were hanging from the back of a small black carriage that had one wheel well off the track and stuck between some large stones. A woman in a drenched skirt and shawl took her frustrations out on the horse still hitched up, beating its rump with the shaft of her whip and cursing like a saloon keeper so loudly that she didn't hear them approach.

  "Damn weakling animal! Move your bloomin' arse!"

  "Should we go around, pa?" Zach inquired.

  "No, son. Even in these strange times, we cannot be so afraid of one another that we cannot help strangers on the road. What kind of people would we be then?"

  "Can we be any help, ma'am?" Jeb called, and the woman started when she turned, slipping in her mud-caked heels and falling on her posterior with a loud splash. Zach quickly dismounted and helped her to her feet.

  "Well, gracious, thank you gentlemen," she began, suddenly taking a much gentler tone. "Why, I must have driven right off the road in this wretched rain, silly me, and now the wheel's stuck there. My name's Louise Granger. Can you help lift it out?" The rain had had its way with her make-up and curls, the former running down black from her eyes and red from her lips, the latter stretched and flat where they stuck out from beneath her bonnet. Still, she was a handsome woman, trying to appear a bit younger than the lines around her mouth and eyes indicated, Jeb saw
, but she'd certainly caught his son's attention. Zach barely took his eyes off her while they heaved the carriage wheel loose and back onto the rutted road. His boy was every bit of fifteen, he figured. By the thickness of her make-up, heady aroma of her perfume, cut of her blouse, and her brazen vulgarity, Jeb guessed her for a working girl.

  "Bearville, that's my town, is just ahead a mile or so. You all can come and get dried out if you want." She stepped up to the carriage and put out her hand so Jeb could help her in, then leaned to his ear and added quietly "Why, when we get into town I might just have to give you boys a free one."

  "A free what, Miss Louise?" Zach's eyes widened, but Jeb interjected quickly.

  "Just a dry place to sleep will be more than enough, ma'am, thank you."

  "Are you sure?" She kept her voice low and put her muddy, lace-gloved hand up to her mouth. "You're about the strongest man to come through here in weeks and I could use something more than the old shopkeepers around town. I'm sure I could get one of the other girls to entertain your boy and..."

  "No, thank you!" Jeb insisted, grabbing Louise by the waist and setting her in the carriage.

  "Well!" she said, dejected, turning up her nose. "Suit yourself, then. Still, you two look like you could use a night off the trail." And with that she snapped her small whip and guided the carriage forward.

  "What was she talkin' about, pa?"

  "Nothing, son. Come on, we could use a dry night." They mounted and ambled down the trail, easily keeping up with the small black carriage moving through the mud. The rain lessened as they approached the outskirts of a small town. Houses, dark and shut tight, lined the road, growing larger and more frequent until the riders came to an open square in the middle of town, dimly lit by large torches hissing against the raindrops. Not a soul walked the streets.