“Hmm. Look here,” he said, poking something on the ground.
The two marshals moved to the gambler’s side and Roberts stooped to pick up a shard of black rock the size of a coin. He held it near the lamp light, green and purple colors playing along its edges. There was no mistaking Sky Rock.
“…Their choicest treasures then display,” sung Holliday. “Hurrah. Hurrah.” He scooped the black rock from Roberts’ hand. “Are they transporting Sky Rocks?”
“Who knows what that demon is up to,” said Roberts. “If he is here, we need to stop him. What do you say, Holliday, do you want to collect this demon’s bounty?”
Holliday faced the old marshal and despite the stable’s dark interior, his eyes were still covered by his dark glasses. “No offense, Marshal, but I don’t see myself as ‘the law.’” The pale gambler stroked his moustache, a smile touching his lips. “In fact, the notion is quite laughable.”
“This hunchback is not a normal criminal. He’s a servant of the dark gods.”
“That’s a little melodramatic, isn’t it, Marshal?”
This is not his fight, thought Pat. He doesn’t want to be involved.
“Your government needs you,” said Roberts.
“Ha. I didn’t picture you having a sense of humor, Marshal. If that is all, I will take my leave. The cards beckon.” Holliday raised his hat, bowing his head slightly to the two marshals. “Roberts, Miss Garrett, I bid you both a good night.” He turned and humming a tune, strolled out of the stable and into the night. They could hear his walking stick tapping the ground as he walked away.
“He’s not going to help,” voiced Pat. “What do you know about him?”
“Nothing, except for his reputation. The Earps and Bat Masterson speak highly of his…abilities.”
“Well, he’s not going to help us here.”
“No, but he might one day.”
“When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah, hurrah…”
Not far from the saloon, Holliday stopped, glancing up at the moon. “Hello, my old friend. I hope you will bring me luck tonight.”
He resumed his humming and continued toward the saloon, spinning his stick as he walked. The main street was quiet and deserted, not that this scared Holliday. The night brought his mutant ‘gifts,’ giving him the upper hand, making him stronger and faster than any ‘normal’ person. At night he felt alive. During daylight his tuberculous weakened his body, making him sick and frail. He longed for the night and the changes it brought.
Lady luck, be with me tonight, he thought. I’ll fleece these locals one more time and be on my way tomorrow.
Holliday stepped onto the boardwalk in front of the saloon. Pausing, he glanced across the street toward the boarding house. It was devoid of light, a dark silhouette against the rising moon’s light.
“I’ll be with you soon, my Kate.”
He turned and stepped briskly through the saloon’s batwing doors.
“Gentlemen. Make room for one more, if you please.”
From a rooftop, a shadow watched the pale gambler disappear into the saloon. The creature cocked its massive head, focusing on the batwing doors swinging back and forth. The doors slowed, and then stopped.
Finally, the demon blinked.
Patience was one of its virtues. It could wait days or weeks watching its target. Then, when ordered it would attack, using its long talons and powerful jaw to rip its target to shreds. Killing was another of its virtues and this demon had yet to meet its equal.
With thick black claws, the demon clung to the timber wall like a giant spider. Turning its head, it cast its four black, soulless eyes in the direction of the boarding house. Its next victim was there, asleep and unaware of their fate.
The demon pressed its thin body against the weathered timber boards, compressing its long limbs in preparation to jump. Without hesitation the demon leapt high into the air, soaring twenty yards before landing on an adjacent roof with a dull thud, its long limbs absorbing the impact. If the demon had emotions it may have smiled, exhilarated by the night breeze flowing over its hairless skin. But it was devoid of such fragilities as feelings. It didn’t feel greed, pain or hate. The demon existed only for killing.
A second leap carried the demon high into the air, soaring thirty yards before it landed on the boarding house wall just beneath the eaves. Its thick claws dug deep into the timber, splitting the dry wood with a soft cracking sound. The creature clung to the wall and inhaled deeply. It tasted the air for its next victim and she was near.
Hand over hand, the demon crawled along the wall, sending splinters of wood raining down to the ground below. At an open window the demon stopped and peered into the building’s dark interior, scanning the room for life. Its four eyes picking out the dark shapes of a table, cupboard and bed.
And a person.
The bed covers rose and fell ever so slightly, more than enough to be detected by the demon’s exceptional sight. Someone slept. As slow as decay, the demon climbed head first through the open window, creeping inside on all fours—
“Goodnight,” said a muffled voice.
The demon froze, stopping halfway through the window.
A sliver of light appeared under the door for a few heartbeats and then disappeared, sending the room back into darkness. There were other occupants in the building still awake, people that could raise an alarm if the demon was discovered. That was of no concern for this assassin, but its job would be easier if it could get in and out without being detected. Any foolish mortal that got in its way would end up like everyone else it had encountered—deceased.
The demon continued climbing into the room and crawled insect-like across the floor. Without a sound, it rose to its feet, its head almost touching the ceiling. Towering over the bed, the demon stretched a clawed hand toward the unsuspecting sleeper. In one easy swipe, this mortal’s life would be extinguished.
Sniffing the night air, the demon sensed something was wrong. This sleeper smelled like a man, its bounty was a woman. Was this the wrong room? The demon’s razor-sharp claws froze inches from the sleeper’s chest. Its orders were to collect the woman and nothing more. Slowly, a thought entered its alien brain—it had no orders not to kill anyone else…
The demon’s massive fist slammed into the sleeper, smashing through flesh, bones and organs before splintering the timber bed beneath. Such was the force that the creature’s arm was buried in gore up to its elbow. The sleeping victim never knew what killed him.
Suddenly, light flooded into the room as the creature withdrew its blood-covered arm from the corpse.
“Albert.” An old woman stood in the doorway holding an oil lamp. “You asleep?” Her wrinkled features twisted in terror at the sight of the hideous monstrosity leaning over her husband.
The tall demon cast a disinterested look at the woman as crimson gore dripped from its arm onto the blood-soaked bedsheets. The woman locked eyes with the demon and screamed, dropping her lamp in her fright. The lamp smashed, sending flaming oil across the floor.
Alone in her room, Kate sat on a stool. She gazed into a dresser mirror and pulled a brush through her thick hair, reflecting on the day’s events. Brushing her hair before bed had been her nightly routine since she was eight.
Ninety-one.
In Hungary, her mother would say, ‘One hundred brush strokes a day to stay pretty.’ Kate certainly didn’t feel pretty. Her oval face was dominated by a long nose, a gift of her heritage and she didn’t like it. Each time someone called her Big Nose Kate she cringed. She hated that name. Thankfully, Doc never called her Big Nose Kate or even mentioned her nose.
That’s why I love him, she thought, dragging the brush through her hair again.
Ninety-two.
But he’s still a bastard.
Ninety-three.
“What’s that?” she muttered, pausing mid-stroke. She listened to the night.
Nothing.
Kate resumed brushing. “Now. Where was
I? Ninety-four—”
A scream slashed the silence and Kate jumped up from the dresser.
What the hell was that?
The scream sounded close and ended as quickly as it had started.
A woman is in trouble!
Kate retrieved her small Derringer from her purse on the dresser. She had been on the rough end of a man’s hand before and she wasn’t going to let it to happen to someone else. A man doesn’t have the right to hurt a woman. She pulled back her revolver’s hammer and crept to the door, pressing her ear against the painted wood.
Thud!
It sounded like someone had been knocked to the floor.
“Oh, no you don’t!”
Kate threw open the door and stormed out into the corridor, determined to defend the mistreated woman. “What the…”
Further up the corridor, a small fire licked along the timber floor. The flames sent dancing lights along the corridor and a motionless body. By her clothes, it looked like the old woman from the next room.
In the shadows behind the dead woman towered a dark-skinned creature, its head almost touching the ceiling. Kate staggered back, grabbing the doorway for support. It was hideous—a monster. The demon made a strange slurping sound as it turned slowly to face her. It was sucking on the old woman’s severed head.
Hell!
The demon dropped its gory snack, the head hitting the floor with a wet sound. Bloody saliva dripped from the creature’s mouth as it stepped over the growing flames toward Kate. Unbridled fear rooted her to the spot. Her mind swam, she couldn’t move.
The demon extended a bloody hand, reaching for her as it moved forward. Finally, her fear turned into action and she turned and sprinted away from the monster, heading toward the stairwell leading down to the ground floor. With no concern for her safety, Kate threw herself down the stairs, taking several at a time in her haste to get away from the horror that followed. She passed through the entrance hall without slowing, heading for the kitchen and the back door.
The boarding house was quiet, except for the noise she made as she stumbled through it wildly, knocking over things in her haste to escape. By some miracle Kate found the kitchen and hurried to the back door.
Too scared to look over her shoulder, Kate grabbed and turned the door handle. The door didn’t open—it was locked. “Come on,” she said, shaking the door and cursing. After what seemed like forever, she fumbled with the latch and it slid open. Kate threw open the door with all her strength and leapt outside, running away from the boarding house as fast as she could. In her haste, Kate collided with something unseen in the darkness and it sent her sprawling into the dirt.
What?
She looked up and the silhouette of a twisted man filled her vision. The man leaned over her, his sour breath filling her senses. “Such spirit,” he said, his voice deep. “Maybe I’ll keep you alive.”
Kate tried to stand, but the man’s strong hand held her down. She was powerless to move.
He laughed—a chilling, unnerving sound. “This is for your own good,” he said, and then something struck her head.
Kate fought hard to remain conscious—she had to get away. She had to find Doc.
Doc…
Despite her efforts, Kate’s vision blurred and gradually, she sank into total darkness.
The hunchback’s rough hands gripped Kate’s arms, lifting her limp body over his shoulder. “You have just become bait, my dear.”
Chapter 5
Billie Bonney sat on a low stool beside her mother’s bed. Catherine’s eyes were closed and she lay motionless under a light blanket. Thin red veins snaked along one side of her neck, like the branches of a river, making their way across her pale cheek and stopping under her eye. She hadn’t moved or opened her eyes for weeks and the doctor said her condition was weakening. Billie knew in her heart this was true, but didn’t want to accept it.
At sixteen, Billie was slowly coming to the realization that her mother wasn’t going to last much longer. It filled her heart with sorrow. In her short life, she had lost everyone she had ever cared about. She couldn’t lose her mother as well.
Why? she asked herself many times since that fateful day. Why did the hunchback kill her stepfather and do this to her mother?
Why?
And why was her kind-hearted brother, Joey, murdered—murdered after they escaped the demons’ lair and made it out of the wasteland alive? They were safe. Joey deserved to live.
Why did he have to die?
“—Miss.”
Billie didn’t hear. She was staring at her mother’s face, oblivious of her surroundings.
“Miss Billie, it’s time to go,” said a gentle voice.
Without turning to see the speaker, Billie knew who it was. It was the doctor. He had been so kind to Billie these past weeks, the only person she had. The old man had also cared for Catherine—feeding her like a baby, giving her medicine and checking her vitals. He was a saint and he hadn’t asked Billie for a dime. In fact, he treated Billie more like his long-lost granddaughter than a patient.
“The government men are here.”
“What…?” asked Billie without taking her eyes from her mother’s face.
“Two agents are here, to take you and your mother to Tombstone. Remember? There is a specialist there who might be able to help your mother.”
“Tombstone?”
“Yes. Tombstone.”
A week ago, Pat Garrett arrived out of the blue, informing Billie the Agency would transport them both to Tombstone so Catherine could be cured—Pat had used the words ‘hopefully cured.’ The tall marshal said there was a doctor there who specialized in a type of medicine called science. If anyone could find a cure it would be him. Billie had doubts, but what choice did she have?
She was young but not naïve. The government wasn’t going to all this effort just to help Catherine, no, they wanted Billie to join their Agency. Marshal Roberts had witnessed Billie’s power—her speed with a gun and the lightning she could summon. He told her that she would be a great asset to the government for the unholy war that was coming. Soon, the whole of mankind would have to battle the demons that would spew from hell and Roberts believed she could help—‘one person and her gun could make a difference,’ he said.
“—Gather your things,” said the old doctor. “I will assist the men in carrying your mother to the wagon.”
“I will help, too,” Billie muttered.
“All right. But you must go now. You have a long journey ahead.”
Scooping up an old battered hat from a table, Billie pulled it down over her straight, brown hair. Next, she picked up a gun belt and buckled it on. The weapon looked too large on her small frame and the doctor raised an eyebrow. He didn’t approve.
“…the coin,” she muttered to herself, checking her pants’ pocket. It was still there. She once thought it was a good luck charm; now, she wasn’t so sure.
Moving to her mother, Billie lightly brushed her fingertips over Catherine’s cheek, tracing the red vein beneath her skin. She felt cool—almost corpse-like. Billie sighed and her eyes started to water, but no tears fell. There were no more. She had cried too much in the last few weeks and it had left her emotionally numb and physically exhausted.
Billie crossed the room, avoiding the old doctor’s eyes. In the doorway, he stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, his face full of concern.
“It will be all right soon,” he promised.
Slowly, Billie looked up into his eyes and he was taken back by what he saw. Her eyes were cold, hard—they weren’t the eyes of an innocent child.
“This will only be over when they’re all dead.”
Chapter 6
It was early morning and Pat sat opposite Roberts in the town’s only restaurant. Sitting beside the front window gave them a clear view of the main street and both the saloon and the boarding house. The restaurant was small as it was the front room of an elderly couple’s house. The sign out front
said ‘Good Taste,’ and it almost lived up to its name.
Pat leaned back in her chair and sipped strong, black coffee from a white porcelain cup, enjoying its bitter flavor. She glanced at Roberts. He stared silently into the street. Yesterday, he seemed in a hurry to leave, but today she wasn’t so sure. It was like he was waiting for something.
Waiting for Doc Holliday to change his mind about Tombstone?
During yesterday’s ride, Roberts mentioned rumors of attacks along the southern and eastern roads. It worried her. They were still close to the Wasteland and only God knew what crawled out of that desert to attack innocent travelers.
The boarding house front door opened and a thin man exited. Leaning heavily on a walking stick, the man traversed the porch stairs and started across the street toward them. Even with his broad-brimmed hat pulled low, there was no mistaking Doc Holliday.
“Here comes your old friend,” said Pat.
“He has no love for the law, or me. He won’t take kindly to your suggestion that he and I are friends.”
I understand why he doesn’t like Roberts, but why the law?
“Do you know him well?”
“No. This is my second encounter with him,” said Roberts before he swallowed a mouthful of coffee.
“Is he a vampire?”
“What?” Roberts put down his cup, staring at her. “No. He’s not a vampire. And I wouldn’t ask him about his gift. It’s likely to get you killed.”
“I just thought…”
“Stories of vampires and other undead are just that, stories. When you die, you are just dead and nothing can bring you back. Holliday is just a mutant, like you and me.”
“Are his gifts only active at night?”
“It seems to be a curse of his particular mutation. Sounds like you need a few more theory lessons. For now, just know that undead so far have just proven to be demon-possessed corpses.”
Just demons! He says that so casually.
Roberts looked past Pat toward the door. “He’s here. We’ll finish this later.”
Doc Holliday_The Sky Fire Chronicles Page 4
