by Jake
The concerned old woman looked up at her with an undeniably calm demeanor. “It's his heart. I'm afraid all of this commotion has affected him badly.” The old woman caressed his fine gray hair and rubbed his shoulder gently. “This always happens when he gets over excited,” she said as she tucked his hair behind an ear. “Do you know where the doctor is?”
“He'll be back soon.” Rose got up from the bed and touched the old man’s shoulder. “Everything will be okay,” she said, and left the woman and her husband alone in the darkened room. She wondered if her words to the old couple had been true, and how safe they were to remain on the second floor.
Rose approached the railing and looked over into the parlor. The entire first floor was throbbing with undead. Their numbers had drastically increased as they continued to cram themselves into the saloon. As she watched, an undead man began to climb on top of another undead. It pushed itself upward and the others slowly started to pile on top of each other, getting closer to the second floor.
The undead man reached up toward her and bit at the air, snapping its cracked teeth together. Elijah stepped next to Rose and looked over the railing. Concern washed over them both.
“We need to get out of here,” she told him.
“Sure do, Miss Dawsen. And soon.”
• • •
The Gunman and the others slipped along a building and hid in the shadows as they crept out of sight from several undead. They waited behind a stack of wooden boxes on the boardwalk until a few undead at the far end of the street lumbered away aimlessly into the darkness. The Gunman watched them for a moment until they were out of sight, and then moved a little farther along the building, shuffling in silence. Suddenly, an undead woman passed by the end of the boardwalk, only a few feet in front of them. The Gunman held up his fist, and nobody moved, or breathed for that matter. The undead woman paused and stared into the distance. The Gunman drew his knife and readied himself to attack. He knew that he would have to be as silent as possible, but the streets crawled with undead in all directions, and any action would risk everybody’s lives. He waited and watched as the undead woman slowly turned toward them. He gripped the knife tighter in his palm, knowing that he would have to take her down with a single blow. But the undead woman turned back and moved on, shuffling away down the muddy street, and left them behind in the shadows. Cutler took a deep breath and the others relaxed. The Gunman sheathed his knife and led them to the end of the boardwalk.
“We'll have to cross the street here,” Pickett told him.
The Gunman craned his neck around the corner and saw dozens of undead busily feasting in the middle of the street, paying attention to nothing other than bits of raw human flesh they clumsily placed into their mouths. “Is there any other way?” the Gunman whispered.
“Yes. But this is the fastest way back to the saloon,” Pickett said.
The Gunman thought for a moment. He didn’t like the idea of taking any unnecessary risks. But the sooner they returned to the saloon the better. He shook his head and was about to start sneaking across when Cutler grabbed his arm.
“Wait…I have an idea,” he told him.
• • •
A large wooden barn door, ripped from its hinges, moved slowly across the street. On the other side, holding up the barn door and walking step-by-step, the gang of men cleverly hid from the undead.
“God, I hope this works,” Eric whispered.
Cutler grunted and shifted his weight under the immensely heavy door. “Let me know if you have a better idea,” he responded.
“Shhh--,” Pickett hissed at them.
They kept shuffling across the street, moving as slowly as possible, not wanting to attract any attention from nearby undead. But several stood up anyways and began moving toward the barn door, drawn toward it out of curiosity. Clay peeked through a knothole in the door and saw the undead approaching.
“Shit.”
“Faster,” Pickett told them.
They approached the far side of the street near an alley, but the barn door was getting heavy, really heavy. Aaron and Clay began to loose their grip and their fingers slipped from the door.
“Shit.” Clay’s hand slipped farther. “Shit!” The corner of the door scraped the ground, the others lost their hold, and the door dropped, splintering into a few large pieces, revealing everybody. The undead saw fresh meat and moved toward them even faster, more joining their ranks as they closed in on them.
“Into the alley!” The Gunman yelled, no longer remaining quiet in the face of death, and he led the way as they charged off the street.
Several undead followed, beelining straight toward them. Aaron drew his revolver and fired, striking an undead in the chest, but Pickett grabbed the barrel of his gun and stopped him before he could fire again. “Let go old man!”
“You idiot! You'll bring more!” Pickett brandished a large knife and turned to Caleb. “Get behind me, son.”
More undead entered the opposite end of the alley and they had become completely surrounded by the ravenous undead. Everyone started to attack, hacking and chopping with their blades. Cutler wielded his axe, swinging wildly. The Gunman used his butcher's knife, slicing with precision. Jack, Clay and Aaron all used large hunting knifes, stabbing brutally. More undead entered the alley and everyone got bloody as they hacked, slashed, chopped and stabbed at the undead. Pearce wielded his poker and smashed an undead's temple, and then rammed the poker deep into its brain to finish the job. He stood up from his kill, covered in blood, with his white clerical collar now stained black, no longer looking like a priest, but rather an undead slayer.
“Move!” the Gunman demanded as they edged closer to the end of the alley and continued to slice their way through, trying desperately to escape as the undead bodies piled higher around them. Suddenly an undead woman lunged at the Gunman, ready to bite him in the leg, but Jack stabbed it in the head just before she could grab him, and her twitching body fell at his feet. The Gunman turned to him in surprise. “Thanks.”
Jack nodded and continued to fight, slashing an undead across the chest. The Gunman was taken aback by how brutally he fought, a true survivor.
Aaron lodged his knife into an undead's head, but couldn’t remove it from the bone. As he worked to pry it loose, another undead attacked and bit his arm, ripping away muscle and exposing bone. Aaron finally managed to dislodge the knife from the first undead's skull and stabbed the second in the eye. He had become separated from the others and was helpless against the onslaught. Another undead attacked and bit his shoulder. Aaron stabbed it in the forehead, but another undead bit into his stomach. He plunged his knife deep into its neck, but it lunged again, plunging its fingers into Aaron’s stomach and ripping open his abdomen. He withdrew the knife and stabbed the undead in the eye socket, instantly dropping it to the ground, but two more undead bit into his chest and a third tore into his neck.
Clay stood only feet away, but there were too many undead in between them, and he was helpless to stop them. Aaron fell to the ground, warm blood flowing from his neck as he held his own intestines. He pulled his gun with a bloody hand and blasted two more undead before they could reach him, and then turned the gun on himself, pointing it at his temple. He pulled the trigger, but the revolver was empty. The undead horde closed in around him, ready to feast. Clay fought his way through two undead, smashing one in the forehead with the butt of his gun and stabbing the other one in the neck, but it was too late. Aaron lay in the dirt with his neck ripped open and stomach torn apart, breathless from shock. His eyes bulged and slowly turned back into his skull as his life slipped away.
Clay stood over Aaron’s body watching him die as the others finished off the remaining undead. When the killing was over, the alley was carpeted with the remains of dozens of undead, some still twitching and moving as they clung to life. Even the fingers on a dismembered arm moved and clawed at the dirt. Cutler stepped over the brutalized body of an undead woman, still clinging to life
, and chopped into its forehead with his axe. Its eyes twitched briefly as Cutler dislodged his weapon. He stared at it for a moment longer, making sure it was completely ‘dead’.
Clay was still standing over Aaron’s body when Jack walked over next to him, raised his gun, and blew Aaron’s brains out. Without hesitating he reloaded his gun and started walking toward the end of the alley. “I expect all of you to do the same for me. For any of us,” he told them as he holstered the revolver. “There are enough of those things wandering around already.” Clay stood there for a moment longer, stunned by what Jack had done. But shook it off, knowing that it was for the best.
The men crossed the next street with ease and found their way back to the general store. They climbed up to the roof through the storeroom and jumped from one building to the next until they reached the Bucket of Blood. They had returned, but not without blood loss.
• • •
Rose and Elijah held the bedroom door shut, pushing their backs against it with all of their weight. The door rattled and shook violently as the undead from the other side pushed against them with incredible force. Elijah dug his heels into the floor, leaving black boot marks on the wooden surface as he threw his body hard against the door. He tried frantically to keep it barred, but the door began to crack open and an undead hand managed to push through the thin opening, clawing and scraping on the doorjamb. More undead continued to shove their way into the hallway and push against the door, wrenching it open a little farther. Rose used her free hand to grab the shotgun and shoved it through the crack, and then blasted the undead in the head. The hand retreated from the opening and they managed to slam the door shut again. Elijah reached up and held the door handle, trying desperately to prevent them from coming through again.
Everybody from the Bucket of Blood had crammed inside the room when the horde of undead had overtaken the second floor, and this was their only refuge. Two men grabbed a desk and wedged it against the door as best they could.
“What are we gonna do?” Elijah asked.
“They'll come back for us,” Rose said, just as more undead surged against the door, and it began to splinter down the middle from their weight.
“It can’t hold much longer,” he said, struggling to keep the door shut.
The two men grabbed the bed and slid it against the desk, but it was no use, the door cracked farther and undead began to crawl through. At that same moment, an axe slammed through the roof, breaking through boards and crushing the plaster. It chopped again and again, until a hole appeared through the roof and Cutler popped his head down.
“Rose! Hurry!” he yelled.
Cutler and the Gunman reached down and began hoisting people through the small hole, first women and children, then the rest. Rose stayed with Elijah and tried to hold back the undead. She reloaded her shotgun and blasted another undead in the chest as it crawled through the cracked door. She fired again and blew off the undead’s head, but more quickly took its place and continued to push their way through the door.
“Rose, go!” Elijah commanded. “I'll hold them off as long as I can!” More undead piled against the door and the furniture slid forward, allowing the door to open a few inches farther. Elijah leaned even harder against the door, digging and kicking his boots into the floor, pushing back against the immense weight. The undead fingered his shoulders and clawed at his collar. “Go Rose…now!”
“Rose. Hurry!” Cutler yelled through the hole.
The undead grasped Elijah’s neck and were only moments away from overtaking him. “I can't hold it much longer. Go!”
Rose leapt forward and jumped toward the hole, and Cutler grabbed her forearm and lifted her to safety. As soon as Rose disappeared through the hole, Elijah lunged forward and the door exploded open behind him, and undead flooded into the room. They rushed him, biting into his arms, digging at his stomach, and ripping flesh from his neck. He screamed in agony as the undead ate him alive. Rose reached down through the hole trying to grab his hand as he fought his way closer, their fingers touching for a brief moment, but it was too late, and the undead pulled him down to the ground.
“No! Elijah!” She yelled as Cutler held her back.
Rose fell to her knees, panting hard as Elijah screamed from the room below, still clinging to life. His frantic screams were followed by silence, and nothing but the insatiable undead could be heard in the room below. Rose embraced Caleb and pulled him into her chest as he cried out for his best friend, tears streaking down his swollen cheeks.
The Gunman turned to Jack with no time to waste. “How do we get to the mineshaft?”
“It runs underneath the church,” Jack responded.
“That's right,” Father Pearce added, “The church was built over it…years ago.”
“Let's get these people out of here,” the Gunman told them. "We have no time to waste."
“All of them? Women? Children? Everybody?” Jack asked.
Gunman checked his revolvers and looked at Rose. “Everybody.”
• • •
Cutler and Eric stole around a corner and hid behind a railing. They saw the church perched across the street, sitting ominously in the moonlight and shrouded in darkness. They looked both ways, checking for the undead as the Gunman and Sheriff Pickett waited nearby in the shadows.
“Alright,” Cutler whispered, “Let’s go.” Cutler waved them forward, and the Gunman and Pickett started to lead people across the street, keeping low and moving as quick as they could. They reached the church and the Gunman peered through a dark window, studying the inside. He unholstered a revolver and cracked open the immense front doors, which groaned and shuttered under their own weight, in desperate need of oiling.
He paused in the doorway and studied the inside. The church was empty, nothing but darkness penetrated by faint pillars of lamplight that filtered through the clouded windows from outside. “Okay. Everyone in.” He stood there and carefully watched the street as the townspeople filed into the church. It was a safe haven for now, but the Gunman wasn’t sure how long that would last. Even if they made it out of town, it was hard to say how far this sickness had spread. He had watched how the undead killed needlessly and without purpose, and how everyone they touched would eventually rise again. He pushed these thoughts away and went back to watching the street.
One-by-one, the people found places to sit. Elderly lay down in the pews. Women and children found seats on the floor. As soon as everybody had made it into the church, Cutler and Eric pushed a heavy wooden pew toward the door. Andrew jumped in at the last second and helped to slide the pew against the door. Cutler barred the door shut with a candlestick, and then grabbed another pew and slid it into place. They continued pushing pews against the front doors until a mound of them blocked the entrance.
Deeply satisfied with his minor contribution, Andrew wiped his hands and sat in one of the pews, watching as Cutler and Eric continued to block the windows and worked to reinforce the inside of the church.
The Gunman stood near a window, keeping watch while people around him began to fall asleep from exhaustion. Pickett sat down next to him and rested his eyes for a moment. It was now well past midnight, and many people had gone without sleep since the day before. The Sheriff's head rested firmly against the wall, but he was too restless to get any more than a few moments of peace, and was soon awakened by his own thoughts.
He turned to the Gunman, who hadn’t taken his piercing eyes off of the street outside. “Now what?” he asked him.
The Gunman holstered his revolver and looked at Cutler, and watched him drag another pew toward the growing stack in front of the church doors. “We dig.”
Into the Darkness
Early morning sunlight fell through the church, bathing a huge stack of pews that had been piled against the door. Andrew lay in one of them, trying his best to get a few more minutes of sleep, but at the opposite end of the church, Cutler and Clay were already hard at work. They stood neck-deep in a hole, su
rrounded by ripped up floorboards and a huge pile of dirt. Cutler swung a huge pickaxe and made a tremendous amount of noise as he repeatedly beat against the ground, breaking into the rock-hard dirt. Clay used a shovel to remove the loose dirt out of the hole in between Cutler's blows.
An effigy of Jesus hung on a cross above them and supervised their work, watching them desecrate His church. Jack sat nearby, staring at the rising sun through a crack in the window while finishing the remnants of a tattered cigar.
At the other end of the church, Caleb lay on a pew next to Rose, cuddling closely and dreaming hard as she caressed his head and ran her fingers through his dirty blonde hair. The Gunman kept watch by a window and squinted hard into the rising sun. He saw an undead wandering down the street, but it was no threat at the moment. Pearce was sitting on the floor reading a pocket-sized bible, one that he had always kept with him whenever he traveled.
“Where's your god now, Father?” the Gunman asked him.
Pearce marked his spot in the Bible and tucked it away, exchanging it for a small silver flask hidden on the inside pocket of his coat. He took a short swig. “Oh…he's still out there, son.” He took another drink.
“Don’t tell me that he ‘works in mysterious ways’,” the Gunman responded.
“No. His ways are always clear to those who look for them. But somebody sure pissed him off,” he said smiling, and then took another drink and tucked the flask away.
On the other side of the church, Cutler and Clay continued to work, standing even deeper in the hole than before. Cutler swung the pickaxe, clunk, and struck a solid surface, reinforced hard wood. He beat against it again. “We're there!” he yelled as he threw the pickaxe out of the hole and grabbed his axe. He began swinging and chopped through the hard wood like butter.
