Hell's Highwaymen

by Phillip Granath

  With that, the Cavalryman drew his heavy revolver in a smooth well-practiced motion. It didn’t have the flare or the lightning quick speed that Jamie’s draw had when the gunfighter drew his Schofields. Cort’s movement was different, it looked as if it had a weight to it, an authority of purpose. Anyone who watched this man pull his gun knew he intended to use it and that he would allow nothing to stand in his way, even a friend.

  Cort shot Oliver twice in the back, and the big man slumped forward against the gravestone he had been trying to read. The Dragoon gave a wet cough spraying dark blood across the front of the weathered stone. Cort strode forward and stood over the dying man. Oliver looked up at him trying to speak, but his words came out only as a bloody hiss.

  “I know, I know, but I just don’t have time for this right now,” Cort replied and then shot the Brit once more in the head. Oliver’s body slumped to the ground, but Cort was already turning towards the other riders.

  “Greenhorn! Jerry or whatever your fucking name is getting over here!” he yelled.

  Jerry took a step forward and then hesitated, he glanced back at the other riders.

  “Don’t look at me,” the priest said holding up his hands.

  “It’s Best not keep the Lieutenant waiting, especially when he’s in one of his moods,” Jamie cautioned.

  Jerry turned back to the graveyard and shaking his head he trotted in towards the waiting Cavalryman and his dead friend.

  “Help me pick him up,” Cort ordered.

  Then a moment later the cavalryman added, “And don’t you dare touch his skin. If I catch you draining him, I’ll shoot you next.”

  Jerry nodded too scared to trust his voice to respond. He bent down and was careful to grab the dead Dragoon by the cuffs of his tunic. Across from him, Cort grabbed the dead man by the boots, and together they hoisted the big body off of the ground.

  “Where to now?” Jerry asked.

  “Towards the fucking horses’ greenhorn or were you planning on carrying him piggyback across the rest of eternity?” the cavalryman snapped in reply.

  Jerry shook his head lamely and then nodded as he and Cort began to awkwardly carry the dead man out of the graveyard and towards the rest of the waiting riders. The Dragoon’s horse stood by silently with seemingly no care that it’s rider, it’s very reason for existence was a bloody corpse. With a heave, Jerry and the Cavalryman tossed Oliver’s body over the back of the saddle.

  “Won’t he come back, I mean if we just wait?” Jerry asked looking at the corpse.

  “He will, but we can’t just sit around and wait. The longer it’s been since a feeding, well, the longer it takes to come back around. I mean to grab them souls up while we can. Either way, we can’t just sit here, when Oliver wakes up he still won’t want to leave this place, easier if we get him out of here when he is still dead,” Cort explained.

  The cavalryman then reached over Oliver’s slumped body and removed the dead man’s sword belt and flintlock pistol; he held them out for Jerry to take. The Insurance adjuster mechanically accepted them and then looked down at the offered weapons in his hands with his mouth slightly open.

  “Mount up. You’ll take Oliver and his horse until he comes around,” Cort said simply.

  “Whhh…?” was all Jerry could manage to say in reply.

  The highwaymen thundered across the plane a cloud of reddish dust rising in their wake. As always Cort led them at the center, with Jamie riding just at his left and Shinji next to him. This time the Mongol warrior rode closer to the group and kept glancing over as if uncertain. Oliver was there also just at Cort’s right, the big man’s corpse slung over the back of the ghostly steed. Jerry held tightly to the reins with both hands, only letting go to occasionally reach back and place a hand on Oliver’s corpse, trying to keep it from sliding off of the galloping horse.

  Jerry wore the dead Dragoon’s sword belt. The only problem was the thick leather belt had been too large for his slim frame, so he had been forced to wear it over his shoulder and across his chest. The heavy bladed saber now bounced awkwardly across his midsection, and the ancient looking pistol dug into his armpit. Still unable to abandon his briefcase even if he would have wanted to the thick leather belt held the case snuggly in place across his back.

  “What the hell am I doing here?” Jerry asked himself aloud.

  Father Callahan pushed his horse forward to ride just at Jerry’s right. The terrified Insurance Adjuster glanced over and caught the priest watching him.

  “Why did he give me Oliver’s weapons? Why not you?” Jerry shouted.

  “I’m a Priest!” the holy man shouted back in reply.

  “That was sent to Hell!” Jerry pointed out.

  “Go fuck yourself!” Father Callahan shouted in reply.

  Ahead of the charging band a single lane of black pavement cut across the otherwise barren landscape. Then a single building appeared ahead of them, a gas station that looked as modern as any that Jerry had ever seen in the living world, but here appeared decrepit and ran down. Just down the road from the station, an older Lincoln could be seen slowly being pushed down the street. The car had obviously been in a wreck; its front end was a rusted and mangled mess. Behind the wheel sat an older woman in a yellow housecoat, she had a deep cut across her forehead and blood was running down one of her cheeks. Upon seeing the riders, she began to shriek.

  “Dale! Dale! Look, men on horses!” she said pointing.

  A balding and overweight man stepped from the rear of the vehicle. He wore a brightly colored polyester shirt; it was a shade of red that nearly matched the color of his face. He took a step forward and then leaned heavily against the side of the car before gripping his chest in obvious pain.

  “What? What are you yelling about now Mother?” the man shouted in reply.

  Jerry glanced over and realized both Jamie and Cort had their pistols in hand, while Shinji had a fresh arrow nocked to his bowstring. Following their lead, Jerry tried pulling to Oliver’s ancient-looking flintlock. It took several tries but eventually, the big gun came free of its crude strap, the weapon’s weight surprised him, and Jerry nearly dropped it. Carefully hefting the big gun up, he struggled to keep it pointed skyward. To Jerry’s left Cort raised a clenched fist and the other riders slowed their horses to a walk. The riders approached the damaged car forming a rough circle around the two souls.

  The man in the polyester shirt watched them approach and warily he started to back away until he bumped right into the side of the Lincoln. The blood had drained from Dale’s face turning it from red to pale. The men regarded each other curiously for a moment in complete silence, the riders kept their guns in hand, at least for the moment none of them were shooting. Then a metallic click broke that silence. Jerry glanced down and realized the old woman had locked the car doors.

  “Dale!” she shouted, “Ask them what they want and where we are!”

  “What do you want? Where are we?” Dale mimed.

  “You’re in Hell compadre,” Jamie replied with a grin.

  “Have you seen anyone else? Anyone else following this road?” Cort asked.

  “What? No? Hell?” Dale replied in confusion.

  “Just the two of you then? Well, that’s just too bad,” Jamie said.

  Jerry’s heart was pounding hard in his chest as he realized what was about to happen, what he would be party too. The taste of blood like iron filled his mouth so strongly that he began to wonder if he had bitten his tongue on the wild ride in. Any moment he knew the scene would break into violence. These people were about to be shot down, and then they would be “fed” upon. Their desiccated corpses left to rise and stagger toward that distant place that pulled at Jerry even now.

  He looked over awkwardly to where Father Callahan sat and found him staring intently at the ground. Just past the Priest stood the derelict gas station. Cort began to speak, but Jerry cut in trying desperately to delay what was about to happen.

  “The gas station, is
that where you were going?” Jerry asked drawing every eye.

  “Gas station?” Dale asked.

  The man turned in confusion and then looking past the riders seemed to see the building for the first time.

  “No, I, I didn’t know it was there. We were only a few miles from Mother’s bridge game when we, we went off of the road.”

  “You mean when you wrecked us!” the old woman shouted from inside the car.

  Dale sighed heavily not bothering to look at her “I don’t even know where here is anymore,” he admitted.

  “So, if the gas station isn’t part of their Hell?” Jerry asked.

  Trailing off he turned to face the building, and Cort’s gaze followed him. The Lieutenant’s expression shifting from one of confusion to that of concern. Cort gave Jamie a look and then nodded towards the gas station.

  “You gotta be shitting me,” Jamie grumbled.

  The gunslinger gave Jerry a look filled with venom before he begrudgingly dismounted and began to make his way over to the gas station.

  “Careful Jamie,” Cort called after him.

  “See if they have a phone?” Dale added.

  “What the fuck is a phone?” Jamie asked himself.

  About a dozen paces before the gunslinger reached the glass doors they swung open. A man rushed out, he was wearing a leather jacket and carried a sawed-off pump shotgun. The man’s head was squeezed into a pair of pantyhose. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared blankly at Jamie in obvious surprise. His mouth forming an oddly shaped O, on his hose distorted face.

  “A cowboy?” the man asked in confusion.

  “What in the fuck did you call me?” Jamie demanded and then added, “Why do you have ladies stalkings on your head?”

  Before the man could answer the glass doors swung open again and a second man rushed out. The new arrival gripped a MAC 10 submachine gun, his face wrapped in hose as well.

  “Jimmy! Where is the fucking car? We gotta get out of here bro, that clerk looked fucking pissed!” the new arrival shouted.

  “I don’t know, but look at the cowboys,” Jimmy replied gesturing to the riders.

  “Stop calling me a Cowboy!” Jamie shouted reaching for his Scofields.

  But before Jamie even touched the gun’s grip a shot shattered one of the glass doors. An older man with gray hair and wearing a green apron now stood in the doorway; he was gripping a large silver revolver in a pair of trembling hands. The man with the submachine gun spun around and began to wildly spray the front of the gas station, peppering the building with automatic fire. Jamie, being Jamie did what came naturally to him and drew on the other man. The shotgun-wielding robber already had his weapon pointed at the gunslinger but Jamie still nearly beat him.

  The men traded shots, Jamie shooting the robber in the stomach and in return his legs were peppered with buckshot. Then gunslinger fell backward still fanning his pistol, firing wildly at his attacker. The man ran towards the gas pumps gripping at his bloody midsection with one hand as he tried desperately to pump his shotgun with the other.

  Cort and Shinji exploded into motion, Cort racing around the front of the station firing from horseback. His rounds slammed into the wall all around where the submachine gun-wielding robber cowered below the edge of the windows, fighting to reload his weapon. The clerk seeing the cavalryman firing in his general direction raised his pistol and fired the big gun awkwardly as Cort raced pass.

  Shinji then appeared around the side of the station releasing a volley of arrows, his stocky little horse never breaking stride. A pair of his arrows struck and shattered against the side of the gas pump where the wounded robber cowered. In reply, the wounded man lifted himself up and propped against the pump fired his shotgun at the Mongolian warrior. Shinji leaned over in the saddle using the horse's body for cover, he turned the animal's head and rode for cover, back behind the building again.

  Jerry kicked at Oliver’s horse awkwardly, and he and the dead man raced towards the gas station. He gripped Oliver’s heavy flintlock and raised it to point at the kneeling robber as the man locked a fresh clip into place.

  “What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?” Jerry repeated through clenched teeth.

  Jerry looked down the smooth sightless barrel, then he took a breath and jerked the brass trigger, he flinched, but the ancient gun did nothing. He turned the pistol in his hand looking at it in shock and to his disbelief realized he had never cocked the thing. At that moment a distinctive metallic click broke through Jerry’s terror as his target cocked his weapon. Without looking Jerry pulled the horse’s head sharply to the right and kicked the animal into a run desperately trying to reach the cover of the edge of the building. The quick move caused Oliver’s corpse to shift, but Jerry had bigger concerns as the body slid off of the back of the horse, rounds began to cut through the air around him.

  Jerry cleared the edge of the building and immediately fell from the horse. He landed hard on his right side, the impact sent lightning dancing up his arm. He rolled over with a groan and to his complete shock found that he had been shot three times in the arm. He starred adown at his wounded limb as black blood began to flow freely on to the ground.

  Jerry snatched up the large pistol from where it had fallen in the sand and leaning to his left risked a glance around the corner. The split second allowed him to see the machine gun-wielding robber stalking towards him. The man laughed and unleashed a fresh burst of fire that forced Jerry to scurry back around the corner.

  “I’m fucked, so fucked,” he mumbled to himself.

  Desperately Jerry pinned the flintlock between his legs and used his good hand to cock the hammer back. He lifted the heavy gun and pointed it at the corner hearing the heavy footfalls that carried his would be killer closer with each step. A half of a heartbeat later the man burst around the corner the submachine gun leading the way. Jerry took a breath and then jerked the trigger, but to his shock again nothing happened. He looked down at his palm and found it empty; the gun had simply vanished.

  “End of the road asshole,” the man said with a smirk.

  In desperation, Jerry raised a hand out towards his killer and squeezed his eyes shut. In that split second of terror, he realized he was no longer afraid of death. He was afraid of being drained, of walking towards the horizon as a mindless corpse and most of all he was terrified of the nameless thing that awaited him there.

  When the shot came, it was somehow louder than Jerry expected. He immediately felt blood splash across his face. He found his eyes watering, his nose and mouth now filled with the smell of burning gunpowder. Jerry forced his eyes open and found his killer standing over him still, but his submachine gun now lay in the dust at his feet. Jerry could see straight through a huge hole in the man’s chest, and he stared down at it in confusion. A moment later the man dropped to his knees, and a familiar faced appeared behind him.

  “Well, looks like I missed a spot of fun, eh?” Oliver asked still gripping his smoking pistol.

  Jerry blinked up at the big Dragoon still in shock. Oliver stepped forward and placed a hand on the dead robber’s neck. The man’s eyes flickered open, and he began to scream as Oliver began to drain away what remained of his life. As he drained him Oliver’s color improved, his smile widened, and as he looked at Jerry, a glimmer returned to his eyes. The helpless man’s color rapidly faded and his skin began to tighten, his body shrinking as he drained away before Jerry’s eyes. Oliver released his grip and let the nearly drained man fall forward onto his face. He landed at Jerry’s feet and moaned into the dusty ground red ground not even attempting to roll himself over.

  “Well come on now little brother, have a taste” Oliver prompted.

  “No, I, no It’s your kill,” Jerry stammered.

  Looking down at the dead man he found himself suddenly terrified of the prospect of feeding on the helpless soul.

  “Nonsense, share and share alike I say, besides I have the feeling you’re the one I have to thank f
or dragging me along,” Oliver replied.

  Then lifting the dead soul by the collar of his jacket, Oliver casually tossed the man on top of Jerry. The little man turned away in disgust, but with his wounded arm, he was all but helpless to push the withered man off of him. The moment their skin touched the life began to flow between them. Jerry felt it then like a rush of liquid life filling him, a flow of color that for the first time in a long time made him feel somehow whole. He felt it then a faint ebb to the flow, a struggle, as the man tried desperately and quite feebly to reverse the current. Jerry pushed the resistance down with little effort, as an adult would push away the outstretched hands of a contemptuous child. Then suddenly the flow was gone, the well of life had gone dry, and Jerry opened his eyes realizing the dead man that lay on top of him was now just a drained desiccated corpse. Oliver pulled the corpse off of Jerry and tossed it to the side like he would a piece of dried cord wood.

  “Come on now mate, let’s go find us some more,” Oliver said, offering Jerry, a hand.

  Jerry was still in a daze as big man’s hand took hold of Jerry’s shirt and pulled him to his feet. He looked down and found his wounded arm was now completely healed, the bloody sleeve now pristine. He nodded his thanks to Oliver and then retrieving his briefcase from the dusty ground followed him around the corner and towards the front of the gas station.

  The shotgun-wielding robber was face down near the gas pump where he had made his last stand. Three arrows protruded from the man’s back, his body riddled with bullets holes. Jamie was on the ground with his back leaning against one of the pump holding his wounded leg.

  “Well looky here, it's sleeping fucking beauty! Welcome to the party!” Jamie called.

  Cort stood nearby examining the temporally dead man and keeping a wary on the storefront. He looked over and for a moment met Oliver’s gaze.

  “I’m sorry about that, I mean back at the church,” Oliver said.

  Cort just shook his head in reply, “It wasn’t nothing, wasn’t the first, probably won’t be the last.”