by Ben Brown
Chapter 19
Callum’s heart went to his mouth, and his hand moved in an instinctive blur. He would need to shoot on the run, which was always difficult, but not impossible. He ran hard, pulled his revolver and fired. Due to the speed at which he ran, his aim failed him and his shot clipped the monsters shoulder. Mercifully, it was enough to distract it from Izzy for the merest of moments, but it was all he needed.
He fired again, and his bullet grazed its cheek, spraying blood, teeth and bone all over the woman on which it now sat. He fired again, but the gun’s hammer just clicked down onto a spent cartridge; he was out of ammunition. He was now only a few yards from his target, and in a fit of desperation, he threw the gun at the creature. The gun flew through the air and smacked the ghoul between the eyes, and knocked it backward off of Izzy.
Callum saw his opportunity, and with both arms flailing, he threw himself onto the now prostrate Hunter. He drove his fist—closely followed by his handless wrist—down into its face. Completely heedless of the pain his blows caused his injured arm, he pounded the creatures face again and again. The Hunter clutched at him blindly, but it could not fight against the incensed thing now pummeling it.
Callum gritted his teeth as he felt wave after wave of agony flowing from his wrist. Still, he battered the creatures ever deforming features. As he felt the Hunter’s skull collapsing under his onslaught, he restricted his attack to his fist, and held his damage wrist away from the blood now issuing from the creatures half pulverized skull.
Callum drew back his fist for one last decisive blow, but a massive boot slammed down on the Hunter’s head before he could deliver it. He looked up and saw La Roux staring down at him. The Cajun offered him his hand, and he hauled Callum to his feet. Both men then turned and looked in Izzy’s direction. She in turn stared back at them unblinkingly, and then she too got to her feet. As she stood, she pulled up the hem of her dress and started wiping the ghoul’s blood from her face.
“Is it over?” Izzy asked shakily.
“Did any of that get in your mouth?” La Roux enquired as he moved closer to her.
“No, I realized what was happening and closed my mouth and eyes,” she said as she spat on the ground. “You didn’t answer me. Is it over?”
Callum cocked his head as he bent to retrieve his tomahawk. His keen ears had detected the approach of yet more trouble.
“No, I think the men from your camp will be here real soon,” he said as he looked toward La Roux. “Get your weapons, then take Izzy back to the cave. I’ll try to lead her pa and his men away from your tracks. As soon as ya can, start leading them down the mountain.”
“But what about you?” Izzy pleaded as she moved to his side.
“Just go, we don’t have time to discuss this.”
Izzy pulled Callum’s revolver from her belt and handed it to him. She then ran back to the log behind which she and Callum had concealed themselves. She grabbed up all the gear and then ran to La Roux. He had already retrieved his revolvers, and now he slung his pack onto his back. Without another word, La Roux patted Callum solemnly on the shoulder, and then led Izzy away at a full run.
Callum watched them leave, and then waited for Izzy’s male kin to draw near. He had to make sure they followed him and not La Roux and Izzy. This meant cutting things really close. He moved to one of the dead Hunters, then placed his gun against its head and waited. If blowing the head off one of their precious Hunters did not get their attention, then nothing would.
* * *
Jacob slowed to a halt, and dropped his hands to his knees. Thanks to all the exertion of the chase he could barely breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire and his muscles burned with equal ferocity.
“Go on,” he wheezed as he waved his men onwards. “I need to catch my breath, but the rest of ya go on.”
His men darted forward, and Jacob’s hand shot out and grabbed the wrist of the man closest to him. When he looked up, he saw it was his youngest brother, Eli.
“You stay with me.”
Eli nodded and holstered his gun. “Once ya got your wind back, will we be joining the hunt again?”
“Of course we will, ya stupid fool! I just need a few moments to catch my breath.”
Jacob moved to a nearby log and sat his large, overweight frame down. He then watched as the last of his men disappeared off into the trees. Eli approached and offered him his canteen.
“Would ya like some water?”
Jacob snatched the canteen from his fool of a brother’s hand and drank deeply of its contents. He then removed his hat and poured the remaining water over his head. Eli made no efforts to protest the waste of water. Instead, he simply stared off in the direction his kin had just headed. A minute or more passed, and then a single gunshot filled the air.
Jacob stood and looked off in the direction of the gunshot. He started to smile, but as sudden pain ripped through his chest and he dropped back down onto the log. Almost immediately, he heard his men shouting and again gunshots rang out.
His kinfolk had not only found the Hunters, but also whomever had been unfortunate enough to meet his undead. He guessed the Hunters had made short work of those who had stood in their way, and now his men were heading off in search of both the Hunters and the women alike. Another bolt of agony set his chest alight and he grimaced at the pain. He had over done things, and he needed a lie down.
“Eli,” he said as he massaged his sore chest. “Go tell the men I’m heading back to the camp.”
“But don’t ya want to see the women being punished by the Hunters?”
Jacob shook his head. “No, it’s God’s will that I head home.”
Eli looked at him with concern. “Are ya feeling alright? You look a might pale.”
Jacob’s anger rose. He hated being questioned by his people. “I told ya what to do,” he barked. “Now just do it!”
Eli ran off, leaving Jacob alone on the log. After a few moments, he got to his feet and headed slowly back down the mountain.
* * *
As soon as Callum caught sight of the men, he loosed a bullet into the Hunters head and then shouted, “Run, they’re here!”
La Roux and Izzy were long gone, but he hoped his shouts would complete his charade. With the words barely off his lips, he holstered his revolver and bolted from the clearing. Normally, he could move through the undergrowth without leaving a single sign of ever having been there, but that would not be the case today. As he ran, he made sure to break as many branches as he could. He wanted the men to look no further than his trail, and by being as clumsy as he could, he felt sure they would follow.
Several loud shouts erupted behind him, and then bullets whistled by his ear. He doubled he speed and yelled again. “Hurry, they’re just behind us! Keep the women well to the front!”
He could now hear the heavy footsteps of the men giving chase. He needed to stay just far enough in front of them to avoid being shot or captured, but not too far in front as to lose them. Callum ducked and weaved, but all the time he made sure his pursuers never fell more than a hundred yards behind.
For more than ten minutes, he led them away from the cave and toward the ravine. He knew the ravine would be a dead end, but he hoped to double back long before he reached it. Besides, the ravine was at least two hours away at a full run, and he had no intention of spending two hours running in a straight line. He would lead them away for another hour, and then he would take up a position where he could observe them. If he felt sure they had no chance of finding the women, then he would gradually make his way back to the cave. If he thought there was any chance of them finding his wards, then he would try to pick them off one by one.
Callum veered to his left and made sure to trample a fern as he went. As he hurried on, he looked back to make sure the lead men of the Maxwell clan followed. He saw a burly man turn in his direction, raise his gun, and then he fired. Callum bobbed nimbly to his right, and the man’s shot flew harmlessly by. Whatever th
ese men were, they were neither bright, nor good at anticipating their quarry. Callum thanked his lucky stars that the Maxwells were both incompetent woodsmen, and poor hunters.
He carried on this way for another hour, but his exertions were beginning to make him feel extremely hot and fatigued. Callum felt sure the sweat now drenching him was not the result of the temperate heat of the afternoon, but rather the result of the ever growing grips of a fever. His mutilated wrist felt as if it had been immersed in a bucket of coals, and no matter how hard he tried to control the pain, he failed. Even before leaving the cave, he had recognized the early signs of infection creeping up on him. Now those signs were impossible to either ignore, or block out. He knew that he only had a matter of hours before the infection really took hold, then he would be of no use to anyone.
Callum decided to hunker down, and wait for his pursuers to pass. Once they were well out of his way, he would double back to the cave and attempt to track La Roux’s and the women’s escape route. He quickly concealed himself and became all but invisible to even the sharpest of eyes. He was starting to tremble from the sweats, which in turn caused the foliage concealing him to shake. With more effort than he had ever before exerted—and through sheer will power alone—he forced his body to still.
A few minutes passed, and then the incompetent pile of humanity that made up Jacob Maxwell’s men, streamed by. Callum slowed his erratic breathing and waited patiently for them to pass. As the last two men reached his place of hiding, they stopped and shouldered their guns. Callum could not understand how they had spotted him, but there they stood, not more than two feet from where he hid. His hand slowly moved to his tomahawk, but he froze when he saw they were beginning to unbutton their pants. He then realized they had inadvertently chosen his hiding place to empty their bladders.
Two streams of warm urine hit the foliage just above his head, it then began to drench him from head to foot. For half a minute, the two streams of rancid smelling liquid flowed, and Callum began to think it would never end. In an attempt to stop the men’s piss from entering his eyes and mouth, he slowly lowered his head even farther. He now looked at the ground around his boots, and watched as the puddle in which he sat grew ever larger.
I feel like death warmed up, he thought, and to top it all off, I’m now being soaked in piss by two of the men I vowed to kill. Is there no justice in the world?
As if to answer his wayward thoughts, the men—whose bladders were now well and truly empty—began to speak.
“Who’s going to tell Pa Maxwell about the dead Hunters?”
“I know I ain’t. He’s libel to put a bullet in the head of whoever tells him his precious playthings are dead.”
“What do ya suppose is wrong with him? I mean, ain’t like him to miss out on a hunt. To just up and head back to camp all on his own like that … well I say he must be mighty sick.”
Despite the final dribbles of urine dripping off the leaves above him, Callum looked up at the men in sudden interest.
“Whether he’s sick or not, ain’t no matter to us. If we don’t find the women, then we may as well stay out here forever. If we head back home empty handed, he’s liable to feed us all to them there Lingerers back at camp.”
“He is the voice of God, so if he tells us to jump in with those things, then we must.”
“Voice of God my ass. You know the only reason any of us follow him? It’s because he keeps our bellies full and our peckers wet. Take away either the women, or the food, and I’m out of there.”
“That’s blasphemy!”
“Blasphemy be damned. If we don’t find those damn whores soon, then I’m heading out on my own. I suggest ya do the same.”
With that, both men buttoned their pants, and headed back to their futile hunt.
Callum waited several minutes to make sure they were well gone, then he pulled himself out of his hiding place. He took off his hat and shook off the worst of the piss. He then lifted the hat to his nose and sniffed, which caused his head to swim from the reek. His hat stank of their urine—as did the rest of him—and that combined with his ever decreasing state of health nearly caused him to throw up. As he worked to clear the thoughts of vomiting from his mind, he turned his attention to what he had just heard. Jacob Maxwell was back in the camp, and he was all alone.
Callum decided there and then what his next course of action would be. He would head to camp Maxwell, and he would kill the man responsible for this whole nightmare. He knew the added time it would take to carry out his plans decreased his own chances of survival, but he did not care.
It would take several hours to reach the camp, by which time it would be close to dark. Even at the best of times, and in the best of conditions, traversing the woods at night was hazardous. However, in his state it would be all but impossible. This meant he would need to stay in the Maxwell camp until daybreak, and those extra hours would cost his body dearly. He knew by morning the infection spreading up his arm would have full hold over him, but it was a price worth paying.
From what he just heard, if he killed old man Maxwell then it was more than likely his clan of maniacs would dissolve. It would then be a relatively easy task for the Rangers to hunt down all those involved, and deal with them as they saw fit. By killing Jacob Maxwell, the serpent would lose its head and thus die. His mind was made up. Next stop, camp Maxwell.
Chapter 20
Callum stood shivering on the outskirts of camp Maxwell, yet sweat covered every inch of his body. As he stared at the assortment of tents and huts, he struggled to remember the trek down to the camp. Somehow, he had managed to drive his faltering body in the right direction. He did remember the continual feelings of one moment being too hot, and then the next too cold. The fever that now gripped him felt like nothing he had ever endured before. His vision was becoming more and more blurred. Not only that, but he was beginning to hallucinate. He had seen his dead father twice on the trek down to the camp, and the encounter—all be it imaginary—had left him shaken. He had to bring things to an end soon, otherwise he would simply be too sick to do anything.
His teeth chattered slightly as he scanned the hodgepodge of tents, shacks and Lingerer pens. Apart from the undead milling about inside the pens, the place seemed deserted. Maybe he had misunderstood the men from back up the mountain. Maybe they never existed. What if they had simply been a figment of his fever stricken brain, but one sniff of his piss drenched clothes told him they had been real. As the dusk deepened, a light appeared in one of the larger shacks. To his relief, he had found Jacob Maxwell.
Callum moved as quietly as he could, but he knew his abilities for stealth and guile were greatly diminished by his less than responsive body. To him, it felt as if his every foot fall crashed to the ground with the same noise of a falling tree. In reality, he still moved with less noise than the average man was capable of. But he certainly did not move with his normal animal like grace. After what felt to him like forever, he found himself crouched beneath the window through which light now streamed. He looked up at the sky and guessed it would only be a matter of minutes before darkness took hold. With a shaky hand, he pulled his revolver and readied himself for his next move.
* * *
Jacob massaged his chest as he poured himself another coffee. Since leaving his men, he had had another two bouts of searing pain rip through his chest, the last of which had brought him to his knees. He had pushed himself too hard was all, and he needed to take things a little easier. After all, he was no longer a young man, and The Lord still had much for him to do.
Jacob headed to his rocking chair, and lowered his overweight frame into it. Both the chair and Jacob let out a low groan. His was one of pleasure, but the chair’s was one of being pushed ever closer to collapse. With his coffee resting on his rotund stomach, Jacob closed his eyes and began to rock. After a few seconds, he began to quietly sing his favorite hymn.
“When we think of chill starvation,
When we think sighs a
nd tears,
When we think of pale privations,
When we think of doubts and fears.”
Jacob began to rock a little faster as the lyrics of the hymn began to take hold of him.
“When we think of raging madness,
When we think of reckless beings,
When we think of death-like sadness,
Nature’s most distressing….”
Jacob abruptly stopped both his singing, and his rocking. Had something just banged against the outside of his home? He placed his coffee on the floor beside his chair, and slowly got to his feet. His hand moved to his revolver, and he edged toward the window. Maybe the men were back, or one of his undead had broken free. For some reason, he began to feel as if he was in imminent danger of dying. He had no idea why he felt that way, but the feeling was palpable and growing. He knew The Lord protected him from all the evils of mortal man, but still the feeling grew inside him. Something out there wanted him dead, and he would have to fight to stay alive.
* * *
Callum felt more exhausted than he ever had in his life. His limbs and eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. All he wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and forget. He listened to the fat monster inside the shack as he began to sing. How could someone so evil have such a clear and soothing voice? Callum listened, and his eyes betrayed him.
As if his eyelids had minds of their own, they began to close against his will. Within a second, Callum had gone from a fragile state of wakefulness, to deep sleep. His head lulled forward, and with a lurch that was beyond the control of his slumbering mind, he threw it back. His skull slammed against the side of the shack, and the impact woke him instantly. His eyes went wide as he realized two things: he had given away his position, and the fat monster inside had stopped his crooning. It was time for the killing to start.
