Doc Holliday_The Sky Fire Chronicles

by Paul Summerhayes

  “A female law dog,” said Broken Nose. “How cute.”

  The men around him chuckled.

  “We want no trouble,” he continued. “This man has wronged us and now he’s taking his punishment.”

  The thug’s quarry lying in the dirt raised a hand in feeble protest. Unable to hold it up too long, he dropped it again. Even covered in dirt she could see the hand was unusually pale.

  Doc Holliday?

  “Keep your hands where I can see them,” she ordered. “Get them up, and no one gets hurt.”

  “There are four of us. We’ll gun you down where you stand, Law-dog.” Broken Nose went for his gun, drawing it swiftly.

  Instinctively, Pat fired. The bullet struck Broken Nose’s revolver, blowing it clean out of his hand.

  “Shit! You crazy bitch!”

  The other men hesitated, looking to each other for support. No one wanted to make the first move against this marshal. She had proven herself with a gun.

  “Who’s next?” Pat said, palming back the gun’s hammer.

  The men remained motionless, eying her and waiting for her next move.

  Now what?

  “Get out of here. Before I change my mind.” She waved her revolver back and forth, indicating the direction they should leave by.

  The four men slowly complied and vanished around a building. She moved to Holliday’s side, kneeling beside him. His clothes were dirty and torn, his face was bloody. His glasses were missing and an eye was swollen shut. He tried to sit up, but groaned and dropped back down again.

  “Lay still. You’ve taken a beating.”

  “I’ll live.” He closed his good eye, it was almost colorless. “My glasses, if you please.”

  She looked around, spotting his tinted glasses and walking stick nearby.

  “Wait here.”

  “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

  Pat walked over and picked up his glasses and walking stick and returned to him, placing the glasses over his eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  “Let’s get you a doctor.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Holliday raised a feeble finger and pointed skyward. “In a few hours I will be my old self again. Well, better.”

  He started chuckling, but it quickly turned into a racking cough. Pat assisted him to sit and wiped the blood from his lips. When he stopped coughing, she helped him to his feet. He was surprisingly light.

  Pat was taller than Holliday so she stooped a little to assist him to walk. It surprised Pat he accepted her help—a southern gent wouldn’t want to show weakness in front of a woman. It just wasn’t the done thing. But Holliday was beyond social expectations and leaned on her as they hobbled toward the saloon.

  “I have a room in the boarding house,” he said, pointing the opposite way.

  “Which gets demon visitors. No, it’s safer if you stay in the saloon with Roberts. He’ll enjoy the company.”

  “You’re not a good liar.” He smiled, but another coughing fit put an end to it. When he regained control, Pat noticed fresh flecks of blood on his lips.

  He doesn’t look so good.

  Pat helped him through the saloon doors and past the bar. Both of Holliday’s ivory-handled revolvers sat on the dark-timbered bar. They paused and Holliday holstered them both, tipping his hat to the woman behind the bar. The woman didn’t make eye contact with them and continued cleaning glasses. The old half-breed watched as they traversed the stairs to the second floor.

  In Roberts’ room, Pat sat Holliday on the edge of the bed and he dropped stiffly back onto the mattress. She lifted his legs onto the bed, and then proceeded to remove his boots.

  “You are too kind,” he said softly.

  “Rest now. You’ll be safe here.”

  Pat removed his gun belt and he slipped one revolver out of its holster and laid it on the bed beside him.

  “For any…unwanted callers.”

  Pat nodded, placing his gun belt on a small table beside the bed, along with his walking stick. She moved to the window and opened it. The softest of breezes flowed in, barely moving the yellowed, stained curtains. It did little to cool the room.

  Pat poured a glass of water from a jug and assisted Holliday to drink a little. Then she placed the glass on the table and turned to go. Holliday stopped her by grabbing her wrist.

  “Find my Kate for me, Miss Garrett. She’s all I have.”

  She patted his hand gently. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

  “I know you will,” he said, letting go of her. He lay back down and his labored breathing slowed and got quieter. After a few moments, Pat thought him asleep and opened the door to leave.

  “And then, I will kill every last one of them.”

  Chapter 11

  Pat gazed out the restaurant’s dirty window and into the main street. It was after midday and she sat at a round table opposite Roberts. Steaming cups of coffee sat before them, but Pat had barely touched hers, she was deep in thought.

  “You did your duty,” said Roberts, after she told him she had to kill the sheriff and his deputy. Pat knew that would be all the sympathy she would get—he wasn’t one for showing emotions.

  Roberts didn’t react when she relayed Holliday’s run in with the thugs from the saloon and that some of them were the men that accosted the gambler the day before. He seemed interested in the information, although he said nothing. She could only guess what he thought.

  “Find anything at the stables?”

  “Not much more than last night,” he replied. “There are signs a wagon was loaded there by several people, but I found no more traces of Sky Rocks. I’m not that surprised. It would be priceless to those demons.”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently they use Sky Rocks for their magic. Or so smarter people than me believe.”

  “Magic?” Pat sat up a little straighter. “Is that why the hunchback is here?”

  “I’m not sure, but this stinks of his handy work.”

  “Was there any signs of where the wagon might have gone?”

  “I followed its tracks a ways, but this damn wind has scattered what little tracks I could find. I think its headed east.”

  East? Why east?

  “Could this have anything to do with our mission in Tombstone?”

  “Tombstone?” His yellow eyes narrowed and he shot her a sideward glance. “I guess you should know.” He looked around the room to make sure they weren’t being overheard. There was no one else in the restaurant. “The Agency has an enchantress in its employ, an Egyptian called Merneith. They say she’s a high priestess of sorts. Some at the top are listening to her crazy ideas…and she believes a hell gate will open somewhere near Tombstone. And you know what that will mean.”

  “A hell gate? At basic training we were taught the opening of the hell gates caused the Sky Fires. A gate opening near Tombstone…will cause destruction and create another wasteland…and it will also allow more demons to enter our world.”

  They both had travelled through the southern wasteland and had witnessed the aftereffects of the Sky Fires first hand. The fires had cleansed the land of all life, drying up rivers and the heat was hot enough to reduce locomotives to unrecognizable slag. The heat was so intense that nothing could have survived.

  “How does this priestess know all this?” asked Pat. “How could she know what the demons are planning?”

  “That, I don’t know. They call her a seer. Apparently she gets visions, and can commune with the gods or something like that. Hell, I get visions if I drink too much as well, but no one takes my visions serious.” Roberts wasn’t joking, he was just stating the facts as he saw them.

  “When will this hell gate open?”

  “She can’t tell for sure, but she thinks soon.”

  More demons loose in our world…I don’t like the sound of that.

  “What about the government?” Pat asked. “Surely, they will send the army.”

  “No doubt the a
rmy will be nearby, waiting for whatever crawls out of the ground. But our Agency has deemed a few good agents could do more to stop the gate from opening than a thousand men. We will also use Eddie Stein to detect where the demons are hiding and stop them before they open the gate.”

  “Eddie’s a child!”

  “We all have a job to do in this war.”

  This sounds like suicide.

  “And if we don’t stop the gate from opening?”

  “The demons will have another foothold and they will continue pushing across our country.”

  Pat let this information sink in. It sounds dire. “You’re saying,” she said. “That you, me, Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp have to put a stop to all this?”

  “Technically, Holliday and Earp haven’t agreed to help.”

  “You told Holliday that Wyatt Earp was working for the Agency.”

  “I lied.”

  “So, it’s just you and me?”

  “And that kid, Billie.”

  Billie? How will that poor girl help? She has been through a lot and now she has to look after her mother.

  “Well, that’s all right then,” said Pat. “For a moment I thought it was going to be easy.”

  The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the arid landscape. Alone in a room, Holliday lay on a bed, his clothes damp with sweat and stained dark with his dried blood. He had slept little, tossing and turning for hours as the day wore on.

  He was awake, his breaths coming in faint, shallow wheezes. There was little pain now, just a dull ache throughout his entire body—a sign he was weakening. Not that he was overly concerned with dying. He had been on death’s door before and didn’t fear it.

  His destiny wasn’t to die in an uncomfortable bed in some two-bit town. But death would come sooner than he wished, that he was certain of, and when it did, he would die on his own terms. He fancied when his time was up, he would be drunk, with a handful of aces and pockets full of poker chips.

  A faint smile touched his battered lips and he muttered something inaudible to the growing darkness. He wasn’t praying for deliverance or a quick release from this world for he had no religion. Doc Holliday, the gambler and gunman, was talking to himself—a sign of his mental state?

  Gradually, the wounds on his lips started to close, mending themselves as if by magic. Abrasions and gashes on his face knitted together and beneath his skin, two broken ribs moved back into their original positions. The swelling and bruising around his eye also reduced, and then disappeared entirely. In mere moments, all of his physical injuries had vanished and he now appeared unscathed.

  “Hello darkness, my old friend.” Holliday’s smile widened, exposing perfectly straight white teeth. He sat bolt upright on the bed. “My beloved Georgia, you may be gone…but I’m not!”

  Holliday stood and moved to a free standing cupboard, opening one of its varnished doors. “Marshal, you have no fashion sense at all.” He pulled out one of Roberts’ clean shirts and dropped it onto the bed. Unbuttoning his blood-stained shirt, he let it fall to the floor, exposing his pale skin to the night air. There was no visible evidence of his recent beating. He pulled on Roberts’ shirt and did up the buttons. Once dressed, Holliday moved to the table and snatched up his gun belt. He was comforted with the weight of his two ivory-handled revolvers hanging from his narrow hips.

  Heaven help anyone that stands between me and my Kate.

  Humming a tune, Holliday picked up the walking stick sword and exposed several inches of its blade. Satisfied with what he saw, he sheathed the blade with a click and gave it a playful twirl. Without a backward glance, he moved past the room’s only mirror to the door. In the gloom, the mirror reflected only a wisp of a shadow and a twirling walking stick.

  Kate opened her eyes and blinked. It was pitch black, but it didn’t feel like night. She lay on a hard surface and when she moved, ropes dug into her wrists and ankles. The ropes also restrained her so it was difficult to lift her hands higher than her waist without bending her legs.

  “Az istenit!” she muttered in Hungarian.

  The air tasted dusty and stale, making Kate believe she was in a cave of sorts. Rolling onto an elbow, she struggled into a sitting position—scraping her elbow on the hard, uneven flooring in the process. A feeling of panic bubbled up inside her and it took all her self-control not to scream.

  “Where am I?” she whispered.

  The blackness was silent.

  Would shouting help? No, she reasoned. It might bring the monster that killed the old lady. She was a kind old woman and didn’t deserve to die like that. They were a nice couple, ignoring her profession and treating her with respect.

  What was that? A distant sound alerted Kate and her mind went wild. Was the monster returning? Was it coming for her? To kill her, drink her blood and tear her apart?

  Kate held her breath and waited. She knew she was already dead. Time was the only thing keeping her alive now.

  “Please, merciful God. Save me,” she muttered, wriggling away from the sound as best as she could.

  “He’s too busy to help the likes of you.”

  Kate recoiled. The speaker was close—she felt his putrid breath on her cheek.

  “Nem!”

  A yellow light flared beside Kate, causing her to jump. An ugly, twisted face appeared from the darkness—it wasn’t the monster from the boarding house, but a deformed man, a hunchback. A strange expression appeared on his twisted features and she looked away. He seemed pleased with her reaction and chuckled. His foul breath wafted over her, overpowering her senses—it smelled of unearthly things. Things she didn’t want to know about.

  “Please…”

  “Don’t beg for your worthless life,” the hunchback said. “It’s a waste of your time.”

  Although terrified of what she would see, Kate opened her eyes. The deformed man was standing back from her now, looking down on her with cruel dark eyes that glinted in the light from the lamp he held. After regarding her, he turned away and walked across the small underground chamber. The chamber was carved from rock and earth and had a low ceiling, supported by thick timber beams. It appeared to be a mine of sorts.

  “What do you want with me?” Kate had endured much in her life and was close to tears, but she wasn’t going to give this man the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  “Now I know why the dying man likes you. You have spirit.” He placed the oil lamp on a nail driven into one of the timber supports before facing her again. He smiled, exposing non-human teeth. “My masters believe your doctor friend could hinder their plans. You, my Hungarian friend, will sit here and help me ensnare him.”

  “He will kill you.”

  “I’m sure he will try, in fact, I would be disappointed if he didn’t. Don’t worry, you won’t see him die. I’ll kill you as soon as he shows up.” The hunchback loomed over her. This time, she didn’t flinch. “Good, you are strong. I’ll kill you slowly. And savor your death.”

  “Szornyeteg!”

  “I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds appropriate.” He grabbed her by her hair, yanking her to her feet. She didn’t scream, but clenched her jaw, tasting her own blood in her mouth. “Oh, I wish I could keep you. You would make a great host.”

  Kate spat bloody spittle into his face. He laughed and she pulled back from him, but his grip was like iron.

  “We are wasting time. I must lay my trap.” The hunchback started dragging her down the tunnel. “When I have your friend, I will ask my masters to make you a host. I think you might enjoy it.”

  “I’ll see you die first!” she cried, digging in her heels, but it had little effect on the hunchback’s progress.

  “I do love your spirit.”

  Chapter 12

  Roberts stood up from the restaurant table. “It’s time to get Holliday.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” replied Pat. “He’s busted up pretty bad.”

  “I think you underestimate the power the night has
over our dentist friend.”

  The old marshal headed for the door and Pat settled their bill, joining him outside. He stood smoking a thin cigar and watching the last dying rays of sunlight vanish from the western sky. It was dark now, and the main street was lit only from the light from nearby windows.

  Pat glanced in the direction of the saloon. The barwoman lit a lamp hanging by the front door and she turned to look up and down the street. There was no one to be seen apart from them, the town looked uninhabited.

  “Evening, Marshals,” said a voice from the shadows.

  Pat jumped and went for her revolver. She had it half out of its holster when the man spoke again.

  “No need to pull iron, Miss Garrett, it’s just an old friend.” Holliday stepped from the shadows into the light of the restaurant’s window. “But keep that revolver handy all the same.”

  Not requiring the assistance of his stick to walk, Holliday carried it as he strolled toward them. His two ivory-handled revolvers were openly displayed at his hips and not obscured by his long duster. Dark glasses hid his eyes and his face showed no evidence of the bruises that were present earlier. In fact, he looked positively healthy.

  “Nice shirt,” said Roberts with barely a glance in the dentist’s direction.

  “A little old and stiff,” said Holliday, picking at an imaginary piece of fluff on his sleeve. “But it will do.”

  “It’s…good to see you on your feet again,” said Pat, releasing her grip on her gun.

  “My pappy always said, ‘You can’t keep a good Georgian down.’ Can you believe he’s a mayor now? My father, an upstanding member of society. I must be such a disappointment to him.”

  “There’s something going on here,” Roberts said, ignoring Holliday’s last comment. “Something we can’t see.”

  “Any news of my Kate?”

  “Not yet.”

  “We must find her. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Not yet, but these are the facts as I see them.” Roberts inhaled and the end of his cigar glowed orange. He blew out smoke as he continued speaking. “The hunchback and his henchmen were holed up in the stables. No doubt, up to no good. Then, last night two innocent people were murdered and Kate mysteriously disappeared. And today we discover several locals have vanished without a trace.”