The gunfighter kicked his horse back into a run following the fence line, eager to kill Cort again and be free of this place.
The thick smoke surrounded Danny and the screams of the wounded and dying echoed all around them. The riders raced past scores of bodies strewn across the ground, men torn apart by musket fire and left in unnatural positions. In places, the only color Danny could see in the midst of the gray haze was the crimson blood that soaked the ground. The sounds of fighting were on all sides of them now, men shouting and fighting, some screaming out the rebel yell and others just screaming.
Ahead of them, a solitary figure came into view, he was crouched amongst the bodies. Cort raised his pistol ready to fire, and the man stood as they came into view. He wore the blue on the Union but also a distinctive white collar around his neck, in his hand, he carried a canteen. Oliver raised his sword and moved to intercept the man.
“No!” Cort shouted.
Oliver reined his horse in short and narrowly missed riding the man down. Cort slowed their horses as they rode past the priest and the Lieutenant affords the man the briefest of nods before kicking his horse back into a run. Danny looked back and watched as the lone priest knelt to offer water to another wounded soldier. He turned then and found the wounded Father Callahan watching as well and in that moment Danny realized that he had perhaps learned something more about the Cavalryman.
Suddenly ahead of them, a long line of soldiers charged from the riders left, it seemed that they had found the main rebel line. With a shout Cort lead the riders back to the right and within a few moments they broke free of the smoke entirely, and the fence came into view again. Thousands of Union shoulders roared a battle cry and raised their bayonets as the riders rode from the smoke. The rebel yell came out of the smoke a moment later in response. Ahead of them, the smoke had cleared enough to see the leading edge of the charging army, like a sea of gray they swept up towards the entrenched Union forces.
“The gap, aim for the bloody gap!” Oliver screamed.
Heeding Oliver’s words, the riders raced into the quickly shrinking space between the opposing armies. Behind them, the first of the Confederate soldiers smashed into the Union line in a wave of steel and violence. Men on both sides went down screaming, impaled on steel only to be trampled underfoot a moment later. The riders were forced to run along the length of the fence in single file now, as the space separating the attacking forces quickly closed. Just inches separated them and the row of bayonets on their right. Ahead of the fleeing riders the end of the opposing line of soldiers came into view.
“Almost their boys, hold on!” Cort shouted.
A few strides later Oliver’s mount cleared the edge of the fence line, followed a moment later by the rest of the riders. Danny glanced back just in time to see the line of screaming rebels smash into the Union line like a wave of vicious steel. Most of the attack was thwarted by the rail fence and the fearsome soldiers defending it, but in places, up and down the line Danny could see where the attackers had made it over the fence and were now fighting in small desperate pockets.
The riders let their horses slow for the first time since fleeing the ruins, they rode at a gentle pace down a small grassy slope. They came to a stop in a small dell beneath the shade of an old oak, not far off another bank of thick smoke marked the edge of their current nightmare. Oliver tried to dismount and struggling awkwardly with his ruined arm, just managed to free himself and fall to the ground. But his escape came at the expense of his right boot, which was left dangling from a stirrup. Shinji, perhaps sensing that they were out of danger, at least for the moment, finally allowed himself to pass out. The warrior slipped off his blood splattered mount and landed in a heap in the tall grass. Cort Dismounted and moved to help Danny and the priest.
“I can get Father Callahan down,” Danny said.
“You’re not in any shape to…,’ Cort began.
The cavalryman then paused abruptly, looking Danny over intently.
“Your wounds have already healed,” Cort said.
Danny looked down at himself just as surprised as the cavalryman. He held up his hand and wiggled the three fingers that had been nothing but bloody nubs upon his last inspection. Looking down he found his knee was whole again as well. He realized that after the initial pain that he couldn’t remember the wounds hurting him or even slowing him down throughout the rest of the tumultuous ride.
“I guess so,” Danny replied.
“Help me get the Padre down,” Cort said.
“Shouldn’t we see to Oliver or Shinji first, they seem pretty bad,” Danny said.
“They have been through all of this before, pain doesn’t mean so much to men like us anymore,” Cort replied.
“Easy for you to say,” Oliver grumbled.
Danny could see what Oliver had meant, the Cavalryman wasn’t wounded, in fact, he was completely unharmed, free of the blood and gore that was splattered across everyone else. Cort looked up and reading Danny’s face he explained.
“This is my nightmare son. I can ride across that battlefield a dozen times over and will never get a scratch. But anybody that follows me in there, well, they catch hell,” Cort said.
“Was that from a battle you fought in, during the Civil War?” Danny asked.
“No kid, that’s a little bit of all the battles I fought in,” Cort replied.
Danny suddenly felt shame for even asking, so instead of looking at Cort he shifted his eyes down to the wounded priest. He found Father Callahan’s eyes were open and alert as they watched Cort intently. Danny could read the pain there in his eyes, but it took him a moment to realize that the pain wasn’t from his wounds, but in empathy for the cavalryman. Cort stood abruptly then and said, “I’ll see to the others.”
“That priest back there in the battle, that’s why you keep Father Callahan around isn’t it?” Danny blurted out.
Cort paused as if considering for a moment and then just when Danny thought he wouldn’t speak, he did.
“This world is full of hard men Danny, so finding a man that can fight and if need be kill, well that’s a good man to keep close. Men like Shinji and Oliver, men like me. But men like the Padre here, that’s something else entirely. A man like that walks through hell with only his wits and his faith. Now those men, with that kind of strength, they are truly rare. A man like that you protect at all costs because a man like would do the same for you.”
“Men like Jerry?” Danny asked.
Cort paused mid-step, “Yeah, men like that. Now start laying hands upon my men. I want to be back in the saddle and on the move again as soon as we can.”
Jamie slid forward through the tall grass on his stomach, dragging his crippled legs behind him and using the broken end of a musket barrel to pull himself along. His plan to avoid the worst of the fighting had nearly worked. He had been within sight of the end of the fence line when the wave of rebels had smashed into the defense. Jamie had immediately found himself surrounded by hundreds of men locked in deadly hand to hand fighting. And while his ghostly steed couldn’t be killed or wounded, in the thick of the action he discovered quite painfully that the beast could be pulled down by the sheer weight of numbers.
The fall had shattered both of Jamie’s legs. The gunfighter had barely managed to pull himself free, dragging his crippled legs. Luckily for him, most of the soldiers had been too intent on fighting for their ghostly lives to even look in his direction and Jamie promptly shot any that did. He watched Danny intently now as the boy leaned over the wounded priest.
“Well here we are all again my compadres,” he whispered.
Then Jamie raised his pistol and aimed at the boy. Just then he watched as Danny touched Father Callahan and the priest began to scream. Jamie couldn’t help but grin.
“That’s cold Cort, sacrificing your pet priest to feed the little junky,” he mused.
Father Callahan’s cries stopped abruptly then, and Danny helped the priest to his feet.
&nb
sp; “What the fuck?”
Jamie watched as the boy moved on to Oliver and then finally to Shinji, repeating the process each time. The Mongolian warrior, in particular, looked dead but as soon as the boy touched him the little man began to scream, then within moments was on his feet again. Jamie just shook his head in disbelief and lowered his pistol.
“Paradox you tricky bastard, what can’t this little fucker do?”
Jamie lay silently and watched as the riders quickly mounted and rode towards the smoky barrier. He rolled over onto his back smiling and enjoying the blue sky while it lasted, know this world would return to the hard rocky plain soon enough.
The Lake
Eager to be free of the bloody fields Cort led the riders out of the smoke and back onto the desolate plain. The cavalryman shook his head as if trying to shake free the memories those fields stirred in him. The battles it represented and the men that he had led to their deaths in them. He glanced back at his small group of riders as if to reassure himself that they were all still there and his eyes fell upon the boy. With Danny along losing someone wasn’t that much of a concern anymore, but Cort was now starting to realize just how dangerous the boy could be. With him in hand Paradox could raise an unstoppable army, one that could be healed over and over again, one that didn’t depend on fresh souls to drain. For as crazy as Paradox seemed the bastard’s plan may just work, perhaps he could bring the whole damn thing crashing down liked he planned. Cort reached up to touch the bandana around his neck. Though Danny’s touch had healed the rope burns, he still found himself tugging at it when he was irritated, perhaps some scars are more than just skin deep.
“Look,” Shinji said.
Cort’s head came back up, and his eye fixed on a dark point on the horizon. A tall pillar of dark smoke trailed lazily into the sky and even from here Cort could tell that it was massive. He reined his horse in so he and the rest of the riders could get a clear view.
“That would be it then?” Oliver asked.
“I don’t…” Cort began to reply.
“Yes, it is,” the Padre said.
Cort turned to look back at Father Callahan and after a brief pause asked.
“How do you know?”
“Just close your eyes and ask yourself, where do you feel the pull coming from?” he replied.
Cort turned and looked back at the dark plume. He didn’t close his eyes, but it only took him a moment to realize that the priest was right. Danny’s presence had blocked out the feeling before, but now it seemed to have returned. Perhaps here, so close to the center it was simply too strong a thing to overcome.
“That’s it, you’re right,” Cort said.
“What’s the plan then?” Oliver asked.
“Same as always, we ride in, figure out what we’re dealing with, then make our play. If this place is what we think it is, then we need to find the book and get Danny to it,” Cort said.
“How will we know what to look for?” Danny asked.
“I haven’t a clue, but it’s the book of life, where names are written in the blood of god and with it the pathway to heaven itself, I sort of doubt it will be hard to miss,” Father Callahan replied.
Cort chuckled at that and said, “Amen Padre.”
Cort kicked his horse into motion, and the group rode towards the towering pillar of smoke at a steady pace. Each man feeling the apprehension of what they were about to face building. They rode for a considerable time, the plume growing only marginally closer and truly showing its size.
“A soul,” Shinji said.
Cort looked to his left, the dead man was still just a dark speck against the plain. The thin figure walked at a plodding almost mechanical pace, towards the plume and paying them no mind.
“And two more over there,” Danny added.
To their far right, two more walked together closely. These too bound for the plume and presumably the lake.
“It makes sense, this is where everyone should end up eventually. We would have all made it this far ourselves if we wouldn’t have decided to dally along the way instead,” Father Callahan pointed out.
The riders continued on and the wandering souls grew more common as they neared the column of smoke. Cort could scan the horizon now and see more than a dozen of them at any given time. They were so frequent now that they stopped pointing them out. Ahead of them, the plume continued to grow, and the land at its base began to take shape. Gagged chunks of broken rock ringed its base, some dozens of feet high as if forced upward by a massive force. The plain around them began to change as well. Small fragments of broken stones began to appear on the plain as they approached, the ground behind each was scored as if thrown from a massive explosion. They began to grow in size and frequency as they continued forward.
“Must have been a hell of a bang!” Oliver chuckled.
The Dragoon glanced around nervously at the rest of the riders, but when no one responded his smile disappeared.
The closer the riders came to the massive plume the world steadily darkened around them, that omnipresent light they had all become accustomed to seemed to be choked out by the smoke. The field of stones around them now ranged from the size of a man’s head to the size of a wagon. Souls moved between them now all stumbling their way forward, all blindly following the pull. The eerie darkness, the movement all around them and the opportunity for ambushed all increased with each step. Cort found himself growing increasingly nervous by the moment, and he drew out his heavy revolver.
“Be on your guard,” he warned.
Finally, they reached the wall of broken stones that ringed the base of the plume. Here the plume choked out the sky and plunged the world into nearly total darkness. Withered souls moved now all around them, even slipping between the riders as they staggered forward.
“Watch them!” Cort shouted.
“No need, they're all drained,” Father Callahan said.
“Where in the fuck are they all going?” Oliver demanded.
“There,” Danny said pointing.
Ahead of them, a gap in the jagged ring of stones came into view. The outline of the staggering souls pushing forward momentarily outlined in a flickering orange glow before dropping out of sight. Cort took a deep breath and pushed his horse forward.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered.
Cort rode through the gap, a space perhaps wide enough for two wagons and his men followed behind him. The hard rock beneath their horse’s hooves was worn smooth here, polished by an infinite number of shuffling feet. Glancing around him now Cort could see that they were inside of a massive crater and it was lit by an orange light coming from below. Ahead of them, the path crested a small ridge before descending again, blocking his view of the crater floor below, there Cort led his men off of the path. Without a word, the riders dismounted and approached the edge to peer down. No one spoke for a time, and then Oliver summed up the feeling quite nicely for all of them.
“Well I’ll be buggered,” he said.
The riders stared down into the bottom of the crater, at a lake of liquid fire. Danny had seen pictures of lava before on television, and while this looked very similar, in truth, it acted strangely different. While lava rolled about lazily and usually downhill for that matter, this splashed and swirled like the sea in a violent storm. Its waves pounded against the blackened stone shores like an animal, desperate to escape its cage. The waves coming in with no particular pattern or direction, just a violent and constant churning.
“It looks bloody alive,” Oliver said.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Danny replied.
“It’s even making noise,” Oliver added.
“That’s just your imagination,” Cort said.
“No, he’s right, listen!” Danny demanded.
The riders went silent for a moment and watched as the fiery waves rose and crashed again. There was something there, some sound that rose with each wave Cort was forced to admit. It was a dull roar, but it was a sound that the cavalrym
an had heard before, on countless battlefields, something he could never hope to forget. The sound of thousands of voices screaming as one, crying out in bitter agony.
“Lake…of fire,” Shinji said with a nod.
“Yeah,” Cort replied.
“There’s souls down there,” Father Callahan said.
Cort saw them too now, a steady stream of drained bodies skirting the edge of the lake, moving to apparently join the others on the path. The souls staggered on as if oblivious to the burning waves crashing against the stone just a few feet away. As the cavalryman watched he realized that the lake was trying to reach them, lashing out with wave after wave trying to wash over the souls and drag them in.
“Where are they all going? Danny asked.
“Let’s go find out,” Cort replied.
The riders mounted up again and moved in single file back among the mass of walking souls. This time Cort kept them just off to the side of the worn path, still not comfortable with so many souls in such close proximity. The path led them further down and the closer the men came to the lake the brighter and hotter it became. They reached the level of the lake and here the path was intersected by souls staggering in from several other directions and joining the lifeless congregation. Ahead of them the path veered to the right and skirted the edge of the burning lake. There the souls were packed in nearly shoulder to shoulder, and their progress had slowed to crawl.
“Traffic jam,” Danny said.
“We’re not heading in there, follow me,” Cort said.
The cavalryman led his horse back up the slope a bit and leaving the path turned in amongst the broken stones and boulders. The riders trailed after him in a single file line, and the troop continued on, now following the path of souls from above. The rough trail forced them to slow down considerably, but it was clear they were still making better progress than the tightly packed mass of souls below them.
The highwaymen picked their way across the crater’s slope for some time, trying to keep an eye on the souls below but also on what lay ahead. The lake still raged wildly below them, and Cort had to assume that was its normal state of being. Then out of the swirling smoke and shimmering heat, a structure came into view.
Hell's Highwaymen Page 33
