Hope's End: Ancient Enemy 3

by Mark Lukens

  ​In fifteen minutes they would find out. In fifteen minutes the monstrosity from upstairs might snap the ropes, crash through the door, and come down here. Or the dead townspeople might come crashing through the saloon doors and windows.

  ​How could they stop that thing upstairs or the dead people in town? They couldn’t shoot them, that wouldn’t slow them down—they were already dead. Chop them up? Burn them? Maybe they could splash lantern oil on them and light them on fire. But they would probably burn the saloon down at the same time. Maybe even the whole damn town. And that creature would still be out there. The Ancient Enemy would just bring more dead people. Somewhere out there in the desert, Red Moon was waiting. And Dobbs. And Roscoe. And David’s family.

  ​The saloon was safe for now, but deep down inside Jed knew it wasn’t. Esmerelda had said as much. What did she know that he didn’t? What did Billy know about this that he was keeping hidden?

  ​The answer seemed close. It seemed like Jed should be able to see the answer. He was overlooking a vital clue or two, a piece of the puzzle that would bring the whole picture into view.

  ​If Esmerelda and Billy really knew what was going on, if they really knew what that Ancient Enemy was after, then why were they keeping it to themselves? Why not talk about it so they could all put their heads together and come up with a plan to beat that thing out there? The Ancient Enemy was powerful, there was no doubt about that, but it was also hesitant about coming inside the saloon. Something in here scared the Ancient Enemy.

  ​Jed felt like the answer was almost there, like something was materializing out of a fog and he could almost make out the edges of it, almost see it.

  ​“No!” Esmerelda screamed.

  ​Jed heard the clatter of the shotgun, the scraping of a chair on the floorboards, the chair tipping over and crashing to the floor. He turned around and saw Moody running at Sanchez with the shotgun in his hands, the weapon aimed at the outlaw.

  CHAPTER 26

  Jed drew his Colt and pointed it at the back of Moody’s head.

  ​Moody stood in front of Sanchez, his shotgun aimed down at the man, his finger on the trigger.

  ​“Don’t do it,” Jed growled at him. “What you’re doing right now is murder, and I’ve got the legal right to gun you down for it.” Jed felt a moment of calmness washing over him, a feeling he hadn’t felt in days. He was back in his element now, dealing with a problem he knew well, dealing with a problem he knew how to solve.

  ​Moody trembled a little, but he still aimed the shotgun at Sanchez. “We need to do this,” he said without turning around to look at Jed.

  ​“You kill him and we can’t use his tongue anyway,” Esmerelda said. “Don’t you see that?”

  ​Jed figured Esmerelda was trying to rationalize with Moody. He didn’t look at her, but he could tell by the sound of her voice that she was still a few feet away from them. He also heard the sly movements of Billy getting into position with Karl’s Smith & Wesson. Jed knew Billy could be as silent as a cat if he wanted to, but he was letting his movements be heard not only by Jed, but by Moody.

  ​“I’ll just shoot him in the legs until he lets us take his tongue,” Moody said.

  ​“You fire that shotgun and you’ll have to reload,” Jed reminded him. “I’ll put a bullet through your brain before you can do that.”

  ​Sanchez drew his legs up close to his body so Moody would have no choice but to kill him if he pulled the trigger.

  ​That was smart, Jed thought.

  ​Sanchez waited there, still showing no fear as he stared up at Moody without blinking, his dark eyes never wavering. He didn’t beg or cry; he just watched Moody. Jed wondered if Sanchez would walk up the gallows steps like that, silent and cold, confident that he’d done nothing wrong.

  ​“We have to do this,” Moody said. He was trembling more now, beginning to cry.

  ​“Just lower the shotgun,” Jed said in a softer tone of voice. “We’re all under a lot of pressure. We’re all scared.”

  ​Moody started crying harder, lowering the shotgun in defeat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I don’t know what else to do. I—”

  ​Moody’s words were cut off as Jed struck him in the back of his head with the butt of his Colt. Moody dropped to the floor with a thud, already unconscious.

  ​Esmerelda stifled a scream. Jed glanced back at her and saw that she had her arm around David, both protecting him and comforting him.

  ​Billy stood a few feet away, backing Jed up with Karl’s pistol. He swooped in and grabbed Moody’s shotgun from the floor.

  ​Jed hadn’t hit Moody that hard; Moody would be waking up in a few minutes so Jed went to work quickly. He dug the key to the handcuffs out of his pants pocket and unlocked the cuff from the foot rail of the bar, and then he unlocked the cuff from Sanchez’s wrist.

  ​Sanchez looked shocked, but he didn’t say anything. He remained seated there in front of the bar.

  ​Jed turned Moody over onto his stomach, wrenching both of his hands behind his back. Moody was already waking up, grumbling, but still too weak and stunned to fight back as Jed shackled his hands together. Jed stood up and holstered his Colt.

  ​Moody flipped over onto his side, fully awake now and panicking, blinking in shock as he stared up at Jed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  ​“Placing you under arrest for attempted murder,” Jed told him.

  ​“I wasn’t trying to kill him, just wound him,” Moody argued. “I was trying to save our lives!”

  ​Jed looked at Billy. The Navajo seemed to know what Jed wanted from him—he helped Jed get Moody up to his feet. They walked him to the table and sat him down in his chair.

  ​“This is outrageous,” Moody said. “You can’t do this. I’m going to get a lawyer in Smith Junction and bring charges against you.”

  ​Jed didn’t reply.

  ​“This is my saloon,” Moody said. “My hotel.”

  ​“It’s also American soil,” Jed told him. “American land with American laws.”

  ​“He’s a murderer!” Moody yelled, rocking in his chair, nearly tipping it over as he turned around to stare at Jed.

  ​“Do I need to tie you to the chair?” Jed asked him.

  ​Moody stared at Jed like he was ready to catapult up out of the chair at him, but he remained seated and quiet, breathing heavily, his fleshy face red with rage and exertion. There was no blood in his hair from the blow Jed had landed from the butt of his pistol.

  ​“Good,” Jed told Moody and then turned his attention to Sanchez who was still in the same spot in front of the bar even though he was free now. “You going to be trouble?”

  ​“No,” Sanchez answered.

  ​“Good,” Jed said again. “We’re all in this together. We’re not hurting each other or killing each other. Agreed?”

  ​Sanchez nodded. Jed looked at the others. Billy and Esmerelda nodded.

  ​“You,” Jed said, turning back to Sanchez. “Come over here and sit down at the table. You’re still a wanted man.”

  ​Sanchez got up slowly. He stood for a moment on unsteady legs, like he was trying to get the circulation going in them again. Then he walked over to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

  ​Jed wasn’t sure if Sanchez would be trouble or not, but at this moment he felt that he could trust Sanchez more than he could trust Moody. As long as Sanchez didn’t get a gun in his hands or run. But it didn’t look like Sanchez had any intention of running outside with that thing out there.

  ​“Marshal,” Esmerelda said.

  ​Jed looked at her. She had Moody’s pocket watch in her hand. “It’s noon.”

  ​The saloon was silent.

  ​Jed walked over to the window to the left of the door. Billy had slipped Karl’s pistol down into his belt among the layers of his clothing, and he still had Moody’s shotgun in his hands. He went to the other window and looked outside.

  ​“What
is it?” Moody asked. “What do you see out there?”

  ​Jed stared out the window, keeping to the side of it as much as possible. He looked out at the street, at the buildings on the other side of the street, up and down the street as much as possible, but there was no one out there.

  ​“You see anything?” Moody asked.

  ​Jed turned around and looked at Moody, then at Esmerelda. “Nothing yet.”

  ​“Unchain me!” Moody snapped. “You can’t leave me like this. I have a right to defend myself, damn it. This is my saloon.”

  ​Jed looked back out the window, his hand on the butt of his Colt.

  ​“I’m better now,” Moody said in a softer voice, turning to Esmerelda. “I swear it.” He looked at Sanchez across the table who was watching him with an expressionless face and cold eyes. “That outlaw’s going to grab a gun and shoot me.”

  ​Several minutes passed as Jed stared out the window, watching for any sign of movement, listening for any sounds from out there. He also listened for any sounds coming from upstairs. But there was nothing but silence and stillness. He continued watching the street. When the pastor showed up, or whatever else might show up, Jed wanted to see which direction they came from. He wanted to see where they were hiding right now. Were they in the church down the street? He couldn’t see the church from the saloon windows, but he watched that direction, waiting for someone or something to come walking down the dirt street.

  ​The saloon was silent again. No sounds except for Karl who had started moaning louder, rolling back and forth on his blanket.

  ​“Something’s wrong with Karl,” Moody said.

  ​Jed hated to move away from the window, but he walked back to the table. Billy followed him, standing beside him with the shotgun. They all stared at the Swede as he tossed and turned on the blankets, his eyes squeezed shut, his hands on his belly, his face redder now, sweatier.

  ​David jumped to his feet from the chair beside Esmerelda. He ran around the table to Jed, clinging to him.

  ​“What’s wrong, David?” Jed asked.

  ​The boy didn’t answer. He stared across the room, watching Karl like he was afraid of him, like he was waiting for something to happen.

  ​“Moody’s right,” Esmerelda said, standing up from her chair and backing away from all of the blankets spread out across the floor. “Something’s wrong with Karl. Look at his belly.”

  ​Jed saw it now. Karl was a thin man. When he’d been out on the walkway this morning, his abdomen had looked sunken in while he held it. But now it looked bloated.

  ​“Help him!” Moody shouted.

  ​Esmerelda walked around the table, joining Jed and David, getting as far away from the moaning man on the blankets. She looked at Billy.

  ​Billy walked past the table and crouched down beside Karl. He laid Moody’s shotgun down on the floor.

  ​Karl was moaning louder, a scream caught in his throat. He thrashed back and forth, his hands clutching at his swollen belly.

  ​As he drew a knife from the sheath on his belt, Billy whispered words in Navajo that sounded like a prayer.

  ​“What the hell are you doing, Injun!” Moody screamed. He looked at Jed. “Get that savage away from Karl!”

  ​For just a moment Jed thought Billy meant to scalp the Swede, even though the Navajo weren’t known for scalping. Besides, Karl didn’t have much hair left to scalp.

  ​“We need to see,” Billy said without turning to any of them. He kept his head down, his eyes on Karl.

  ​Jed started towards Billy and Karl, but then he felt a tug at his waist. He looked down at David who stared up at him—the boy shook his head no slowly.

  ​“You keep away from him!” Moody yelled at Billy as he stood up from his chair, knocking it backwards onto the floor.

  ​Jed was about to tell David that he needed to go and help Karl, but David kept his small hand on Jed’s belt, his fingers curled around it, trying to hold him back.

  ​Billy used his knife to cut Karl’s shirt open, pulling the torn fabric aside to reveal Karl’s distended belly. It looked like Karl was pregnant.

  ​There was something moving around inside of Karl’s belly, things moving around just underneath his skin . . . lots of things.

  CHAPTER 27

  “You keep your filthy hands off of him!” Moody roared as he stood beside the table, right in front of his tipped-over chair.

  ​Billy continued whispering in his language, but he had backed away from Karl as he slid his knife back into the sheath on his belt.

  ​Karl was still on his back on top of the blankets. He thrashed, but it seemed like it was too painful for him to roll over onto either side anymore. His belly swung back and forth with each movement like it was full of liquid. The pain seemed unbearable to Karl now as he groaned and grunted. Veins and tendons stood out on the sides of his thin neck like cords. His eyes bulged, threatening to pop out of his face. He gritted his teeth, spittle flying out from between his lips. He tried to form words in his groans—they sounded like gibberish, a mixture of English and Swedish.

  ​Jed couldn’t take his eyes off of Karl’s belly—that distended mound of pale flesh. The skin of his belly rippled, sucking in for a moment in some places and then pushing back out, like rats were squirming around under there.

  ​And Jed knew what might be underneath Karl’s skin because he’d seen this before when Red Moon had come to visit him in the desert. He’d seen Red Moon sitting there in the darkness as the beetles moved underneath his skin; he’d watched those beetles bore out through holes, dropping down into his lap, melting together, becoming some other kind of animal, forming into something much bigger.

  ​“Help him!” Moody screamed again, but he backed up a step.

  ​“I don’t know what to do!” Esmerelda yelled back, close to tears.

  ​With a roar, Karl sat straight up, his eyes wide, his mouth open in a scream. Then he flopped back down onto his blankets, his head crashing onto the floor, the blankets barely buffeting the back of his head. The movement inside of his belly was now traveling up to his chest, then up to his neck which bulged like an overfilled sausage casing. Karl’s mouth opened wide again, and even his face seemed fatter now, like pressure was building up inside of his head, pushing against his flesh. His eyeballs were close to popping out. He no longer made a noise, unable to scream because something was blocking his throat. Karl retched, his mouth open so wide it looked like his bottom jaw had come unhinged and was ready to detach from the rest of his face. There were loud popping sounds of snapping joints and bones, a sound like dry chicken bones breaking. A clear, foamy fluid spilled out of Karl’s mouth followed by large dark wriggling shapes in the thick liquid. The shapes unfurled their legs as they escaped his mouth in a torrent, becoming tarantulas as they crawled all over each other in the mucus. Some of the spiders landed on Karl’s chest, others on the blankets, and then they skittered away, leaving trails of shiny ooze behind.

  ​Esmerelda screamed and backed away from Jed and David.

  ​Sanchez shot up to his feet, knocking his chair backwards. He backed away from the table, joining Billy who was near the window now with Moody’s shotgun in his hands.

  ​“Help me!” Moody yelled as the spiders darted across the blankets towards him. He tried to back up, but he tripped over his fallen chair and crashed down to the floor onto his side. He kicked his legs, trying to push himself back as dozens of spiders raced towards him.

  ​For a moment Jed was paralyzed with shock, unable to take his eyes off of Karl. The Swede’s belly was small now, but still a lot bigger than it should have been. There were still more tarantulas inside of him—maybe hundreds more.

  ​Karl had passed out, or maybe even died. His eyes had rolled back, only showing the whites. His head was turned to the side as more mucus and spiders poured out of his wide-open mouth. There was a wet ripping sound as Karl’s belly split open from the waist of his pants almost up to his sternum, lik
e an invisible knife had cut his flesh open from the inside. Through that large slit, hundreds of tarantulas squirmed out, crawling all over each other and dropping down his sides to the blanket, crawling down his pants legs.

  ​“Help me!” Moody cried. He’d given up on trying to stand with his hands cuffed behind his back; he was still trying to push himself away, kicking at the floor as the wave of spiders crawled towards him.

  ​Jed sprang into action. He raced over to Moody and got behind him, grabbing him underneath his armpits and pulling him backwards across the floor away from the quickly advancing spiders.

  ​Moody struggled in Jed’s hands, kicking at the first of the spiders that had reached him. Some of the spiders crawled all over his shoes, and a few of them crawled up underneath his pants legs. Moody kicked his legs, stamping his feet, managing to crush a few of the spiders, but there were too many of them. The spiders seemed to be working together like a hive mind, like ants or bees, all of them with a singular purpose.

  ​The other spiders skittered across the floor towards Esmerelda, Sanchez, and Billy.

  ​“Hold still,” Jed told Moody.

  ​“Help me,” Moody squealed, still kicking his legs at the floor.

  ​Jed had the key to the handcuffs in his hand, trying to unlock one of the cuffs to free Moody’s hands, but the man was thrashing and panicking too much.

  ​“One’s under my pants leg,” Moody screamed. “It’s biting me!”

  ​Jed almost lost the key in his fingers as Moody bucked back against him, but he held on to it. He managed to stick the key into the handcuff on Moody’s right wrist, unlocking it. Moody’s hand sprang away like an uncoiled snake striking.

  ​Esmerelda had backed up towards the doors, stomping on the floor with her low-heeled ankle boots as the first of the tarantulas reached her.