by Jason Brant
"What's going on out there, boy? You don't look so good."
The deputy didn't have a chance to answer before Sheriff Stanley strode through the door and pulled Aaron away from the cell by the collar of his shirt. Taking the keys from his nephew, the sheriff opened the cell door before stepping clear.
Coming in behind him were two men and what looked like a person who had been stampeded to death—except he somehow wasn't dead. McCall didn't understand how the man could still be alive in his condition, let alone struggling with such ferocity. Part of his skull was exposed, and a hanging flap of skin covered one of his eyes. He didn't have any lips.
"Hold him over by the door, but don't let go of him yet," Stanley said.
Two more, and much larger, men dragged in yet another crazed man, this one with an axe buried in his chest. He fought against their hold despite what should have been a mortal wound.
"Throw both of them in at the same time and I'll get it secured," Stanley said, taking a position behind the open cell door.
The first group to come in the jailhouse threw their butchered prisoner in the cell and quickly stepped aside. The second group did the same and the sheriff slammed the door as fast as he could.
McCall watched the mangled prisoners as they stumbled over one another, slowly getting back to their feet. They pushed to the front of the cell, their arms extending through the bars, and tried to grab their captors. Broken arrow shafts protruded from their backs.
A putrid smell permeated from them, like a dead animal that had been in the sun all day.
"You boys go on back to Ellis' place; Deputy Aaron and I will take it from here."
"What're you going to do with them?" the large, balding man asked.
Stanley considered the new prisoners for a few seconds before responding. "I don't know yet. We still need to figure out what the hell is going on with them. We're going to do a quick search around the town to see if anyone knows who they are. We'll check on you at the saloon as soon as we're done."
Not wanting to take their eyes off the strangers, the four men backed out of the front door, leaving it open behind them.
Walking back to his desk, Stanley opened the top drawer and took out a bottle of some dark booze. After taking a long pull from it, he handed it over to the deputy.
"You aren't looking so good. Take a swig of this, it'll clear you up."
To McCall's surprise, Deputy Aaron looked even worse than he had when they entered the jailhouse only two minutes before. His skin was taking on a sallow, thin appearance.
Grabbing the bottle, Aaron started to drink from it only to spit it back out, covering the sheriff's desk.
"That tastes like kerosene!"
"I made it myself."
"With what? Kerosene?"
"Only a little."
"Anyone care to explain what's going on here?" McCall asked from his cot. "How is a man with an axe in his chest still walking around?"
The sound of McCall's voice grabbed the attention of the lipless man, who turned and tried to reach through the bars to McCall. He was short a good two feet so McCall didn't bother moving.
Stanley walked around his desk and stood in front of the second cell, out of reach of the moaning men.
"Who are you?" They didn't acknowledge the question, just kept trying to grab onto him. "Where did you come from? Why were you attacking that woman?" No response except more moans.
"Aaron, you're telling me that you shot this guy three times?"
Wiping the alcohol and spit from his lips, Aaron turned around. "Yes, sir, three times at less than five feet. He just kept coming forward, trying to take a bite out of me."
When the deputy had arrested McCall at the general store yesterday, he'd been frightened. Now he seemed petrified.
"No man could live through that. It just ain't possible."
"Look at the front of his shirt; three bullet holes, and three more arrows sticking out of the back. The other one looks like someone mistook him for a tree and tried to chop him down."
"He ain't no man. Neither of them are," McCall said. "At least not anymore. No one can live through that."
A startled look swept across their faces. Stanley recovered after a few seconds and laughed it off. Aaron didn't.
"What are they then? Demons? Why don't you leave the investigating to those of us who are still men of the law? We don't need advice from an outlaw in a jail cell," Stanley said.
The sheriff knew the one part of McCall's criminal history that wasn't fabricated − he had once been Sheriff McCall before Mad Dog. He'd presided over a sleepy hamlet back east, spending most of his days at one of the few pubs in the area.
A caravan, passing through on their way to Philadelphia, was held up on the outskirts of town. Hearing the gunshots from his perch at the bar, McCall had been able to catch up to the bandits before they could escape. The gunfight was short, with Sherriff McCall putting two men down before three others escaped. Though he lived in a small town, he'd always been an incredible marksman.
The marshals arrived the next day with a warrant for his arrest. He was charged with robbing the caravan, killing its occupants, and the murder of two federal officers. As soon as they walked through the door, he recognized three of them as the men who'd escaped him the day before.
The corruption of the marshal service had caught McCall completely off guard. Though he pled his case, they were intent on having his head. After gunning down another agent, he fled, abandoning the life he'd built. It wasn't a week later that his face began appearing on wanted fliers up and down the east coast.
"It doesn't look like he's going to be capable of standing soon, let alone investigating anything," McCall said, nodding at the deputy.
Aaron was sitting against the edge of the desk, his hands placed on his knees to support his weight. His body began trembling, shaking the entire desk supporting him.
"Aaron?" Stanley asked.
Abruptly falling to his knees, he pitched forward, cracking his head against the wood floor. He never raised his hands to protect himself from the fall.
Stanley dropped to his haunches beside Aaron, placing a hand on his back. McCall stayed in his cot, reclining against the wall, watching. He'd seen even the biggest of men fall apart after a gunfight, but had never heard of someone having such a visceral reaction.
"Come on, son. We need to get you over to Ellis' saloon and have the doc take a look at you."
The trembling stopped. Aaron lay motionless on the floor, his uncle kneeling over him.
"Aaron?"
A moan escaped Aaron as he slowly leaned backward, his black eyes looking over his uncle.
"Aaron? What's wrong wi−"
The young deputy lunged at his uncle, chomping down on Stanley's right ear. The sheriff howled as he fell backward, pushing his nephew away. The combination of his weight falling back, and violently shoving Aaron in the opposite direction, tore his ear free.
Stanley scampered away until his back bumped against the kegs of black powder. His shocked face was ashen gray as he pressed a hand to the gaping hole on the side of his head. Streams of blood seeped through his fingers, coursing down his forearm.
Aaron chewed on the ear with slow, deliberate bites. McCall could hear the cartilage crunching.
After a large and pronounced swallow, he crawled forward, eager to get another piece of his uncle.
Chapter 5
"Asshole?" Karen called into the vestibule of the church. The only thing she hated more than being around Doc Randy was being with him in his church. She avoided it at all costs.
"Doc, the sheriff needs your help. Several people are hurt back at the bar."
No answer. Bastard was probably drunk, as usual. For a doctor and reverend, he didn't seem to mind partaking; even though he had constantly railed against the sins of Ellis' Saloon and its workers over the years.
Never mind that she knew for a fact that the good doctor had purchased the services of at least two of the women
who worked there. Or that he had an illegitimate child of his own. Or that he drank and smoked himself stupid every day.
Karen may have been a prostitute, but at least she accepted her faults. Doctor Randy had convinced himself that he lived without sin, despite all of his vices. How he managed to have a congregation, as small as it was, remained a mystery to Karen.
Stepping into the dark entrance, she let her eyes adjust before walking down the middle of the nave. Because Gehenna was a relatively small town, the church didn't have an abundance of pews – only six on either side of her.
Beyond the front bench, sitting on the floor with his back against the podium, sat the doc. His eternally red cheeks stood out in stark contrast to his otherwise pale skin and bulbous nose. A bottle of some kind lay beside him, tipped over, with most of its dark contents drying on the stone flooring.
"Jesus Christ," Karen said. She knelt down in front of him, unconcerned with her blasphemy. "Wake up, you drunken dolt."
With no response forthcoming, she tapped on his cheeks. After a second she recognized the golden opportunity and cocked her arm back.
With a grin that felt like it spread from ear to ear, she slapped him in the face as hard as she could. The crack echoed through the room, making it all the more fun for her.
The impact sent his body off to the side, landing on top of the bottle. The booze soaked through his black robes and hair. Karen hoped it might make him smell a little better.
"I'm awake!" He rubbed his cheek, which was turning a brighter shade of red. "What'd you have to hit me for?"
Pushing himself back into a seated position, he glared at Karen with a deep-seated disdain.
"How dare you enter this holy place, whore. What are you doing here?"
"Trying my best not to catch on fire," she said. "Though it doesn't look like I'm any more sacrilegious than you are."
Sneering at her, he reached around for his bottle. His shoulders slumped when he noticed that most of it had spilled on the floor.
Karen wondered if she could get away with slapping him again.
"Get out of here and leave me in peace, whore."
"The last place I want to be is here with you. The sheriff sent me down to collect your sorry ass. Some people are hurt back down the street and they need you to look at them."
Judging from his appearance, Karen wasn't sure that he was capable of taking care of a dog right now.
"If you think I'm going somewhere with a filthy—"
"Yes, we know I'm a whore, but your services are needed, as sad and pathetic as they may be."
The doc looked like he was formulating a retort, so Karen decided to appeal to his needs rather than his heart.
"The injured are waiting for you at the saloon. Ellis will most likely be obliged to take care of you while you tend to the wounded."
Randy perked up at that, his eyes alight with anticipation. "Well, if people are in need, the Lord demands I offer my services."
Karen really wanted to slap him again.
"You said 'people'. How many are we talking?"
"At least five, maybe more though."
"Five? What happened to them?"
"Two of them were bit, one was eaten alive, and the others were attacked with arrows, guns, and a tomahawk."
The doc, who was still struggling to get to his feet, stopped and gave her a disbelieving look. "Don't toy with me, heathen. I haven't time to play games."
Karen sighed and looked to the ceiling of the chapel, as if looking for guidance. "Knowing that I can't stand the sight of you, why would I lie, as that would only prolong the agony of your company?"
The doctor smirked as he straightened out his black clothing. "What you're saying doesn't make sense. Two people were bit and one was eaten alive? By what, wolves?"
Turning, Karen started walking back to the entrance. "By two strange men that no one recognized. They were the ones that were shot and axed."
She could hear Randy plodding down the aisle behind her.
"Two men are running around eating people?" he asked. "Your whoredom has rotted your mind."
"No more than booze and stupidity has rotted yours."
While Doctor Randy retrieved his medical supplies, Karen decided to wait outside. Standing in the dusty street, she looked in the direction of the railroad tracks. The rail sat about two hundred yards away, at the end of the town. Squinting against the setting sun, she could see four people walking out of the front door of a brown home.
Staggering was more like it though; they seemed to meander around the street aimlessly. A scream burst through the silence, forcing her nerves back on edge. The voice had come from a home much closer.
The wandering people turned in a slow, jerky manner and plodded in the direction of the scream. Two doors down, a child and an elderly woman emerged from a faded house and teetered in her direction. The entire scene gave Karen an uneasy feeling.
"Let's go, hooker," Doc said from behind her. She jumped at his voice, not realizing how entranced she'd been by the bizarre situation.
"Did you hear that scream? It sounded like a child."
"I didn't hear anything. Let's get going, I need a dri... I mean, people need my help."
Turning around, Karen walked toward the saloon at a brisk pace. Another scream, much closer, gave both of them pause.
"Don't tell me your holy ass didn't hear that?"
"I won't stand for back talk from whores," he said, his voice brimming with indignation. "I heard it, but there are other people that need me first. I'll come back when I've finished at the bar."
When you've finished drinking at the bar, that is, Karen thought.
As they walked back to the saloon, Karen kept looking back over her shoulder, trying to keep an eye on the people behind them.
By the time they arrived, she'd seen more than twenty people crowding into the street. She had a feeling things were about to go from bad to worse.
Chapter 6
McCall had witnessed some horrible things in his life, but watching a nephew eat his uncle topped the list. The viciousness with which the boy killed his own kin shocked McCall to his core.
The sheriff hadn't died easy or quick. After several minutes, his screams began quieting as he choked on his own blood.
When the boy first went to work on his uncle, McCall had yelled and banged on the bars, trying to get the attention away from the sheriff. No man deserved to die like that.
As it became clear that nothing would distract the deputy, McCall sat on his cot and watched the scene play out while he tried to deduce a means of escape.
Blood and gore covered the surroundings. The young deputy didn't seem to believe in dining room etiquette while he ate people. He'd dug into the sheriff's stomach, pulling out his innards, which now decorated the walls, floor, and weaponry.
Shortly after the last of Stanley's dying gurgles, his nephew abruptly stopped. Slowly turning, he looked at McCall with his black, soulless eyes. McCall didn't flinch, and returned the intense look. During their brief stare down, McCall wondered if fear and intimidation would work on the boy, or whatever it was he had become, the way it did on animals and people.
It didn't. The deputy rose and staggered toward the cell, his outstretched arms reaching through the bars like the two men to the right. A loop of intestines hung from his left shoulder, sprinkling its foul contents with every jarring step. The entire room smelled of copper and shit.
Looking back at the boy, McCall felt he had been right to say these were no longer men. Something had changed them, and it didn't look like they would ever be the same again.
Over the deputy's shoulder, through the door to the jailhouse, McCall spotted a few people meandering by the door. Though the jail was filled with the moans of the three monsters surrounding him, he could hear similar sounds coming from the street.
If there were more people like this outside, then McCall wasn't so sure that escape was his best option. Maybe he should ride this out until so
meone came and took care of Deputy Aaron, and whoever else was wandering the streets.
His cell, which seemed like a death trap only moments before, could be his salvation. All things considered, he was relatively safe in here. When he'd first been locked up, he'd checked every bar, shaking them vigorously as he looked for any weakness. He didn't find any.
What if no one came before the marshals arrived tomorrow afternoon? What good would the protection of his cell do if he'd be hanging in the gallows tomorrow anyway?
Besides, who was going to save him from these things in an unarmed town? Without guns, he wasn't sure anyone could defend themselves, let alone mount a rescue to save a jailed outlaw.
McCall rose from his cot, coming within a few inches of Aaron's reach. Moving to his left, he kept a close eye on the kid, studying the boy's reaction.
Instead of retracting his arms and moving closer, the deputy tried to stretch through the gaps in the bars even further. He was acting like an animal and didn't seem to have any kind of problem solving capabilities.
Spotting the gun sitting against Aaron's hip, McCall squared off in front of him, just out of his reach. If he moved fast enough, he could remove the gun from its holster and shoot the deputy down. That would solve one problem.
Unfortunately, McCall had watched Sheriff Stanley put the cell's key into his pocket. The lawman's body was a good ten feet away – there was no chance of reaching him.
The setting sun had begun casting long, dark shadows across the floor and walls. The angle of the light made it difficult to see the other side of the room for McCall.
When a woman stepped into the doorway, McCall couldn't make out any of her features. She stood in the door in silence. Her silhouette didn't betray any information as to her mental state.
"Lady, I suggest you run on out of here just as fast as you can," McCall said.
