by Jason Brant
The back of Stanley's head exploded, showering his desk and the window beside it with skull fragments and brain tissue. His limbs stiffened as he fell back, crashing into the desk and crumpling to the floor.
McCall watched the corpse closely, looking for any signs of movement. There were none. Content with the result, he turned to the woman, pointed the pistol at her head, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
After opening the cylinder, McCall tipped the bullets into his palm. Only casings remained, all of the rounds spent. McCall tried to remember how many shots he heard the deputy shoot in the street, and the number he used on the sheriff just now.
Throwing the pistol to the ground in frustration, he grabbed the tomahawk and stood in front of the woman and the deputy. Knowing what he had to do didn't make it any easier. Shooting someone was one thing, but hacking at them with an axe seemed more personal.
Drawing a deep breath, he grasped at reassurance by telling himself they weren't people anymore. They were no more than mindless beasts. If the boy could eat his uncle alive, then there couldn't have been any part of who he used to be inside the shell of his body.
Using his left forearm, he battered the woman’s outstretched arms down, giving him a clear path to her head. With all his strength, he brought the tomahawk down in a shallow arc, embedding it in her skull. Strands of long blond hair, sliced by the axe, drifted to the floor, catching rays of light along the way.
The woman slumped down, landing on her ass and pulling the axe with her. McCall kept a tight grip on the handle, afraid of losing his last weapon. The weight of the body drifted away from the cell, pulling McCall shoulder deep between the bars. Realizing how exposed his outstretched arm was, he heaved on the tomahawk, trying to wrench it free.
What used to be Deputy Aaron looked down at the tantalizing limb and dropped his chomping mouth for it without pulling his arms free of the bars first. McCall gave one last tug on the axe, felt it give slightly, before releasing it as the deputy's teeth snagged his sleeve.
A shred of his clothing tore away as he retracted his arm, flapping loosely from Aaron's bloody teeth.
The woman's body fell over, landing on its back. The axe sat two feet past McCall's reach.
"Shit."
McCall slumped against the wall, cursing himself for not anticipating the turn of events. His eyes darted over the room again, searching for anything that could help him. Nothing sat within his reach.
Looking at the two men to his right, McCall remembered the broken arrows sticking from their backs. His movement was a blur as he grabbed the nearest man's extended arm and pulled him tight against the bars. Moving to his right, he reached his arm into the other cell. Careful of the man's gnashing jaw; he grabbed one of the arrows and tore it free. Fortunately, it wasn't buried deep in the muscle, making it possible to liberate without much force.
Releasing the man's arm, McCall jumped back to the middle of his cell. He flipped the shaft in his hand, angling the spade shaped arrowhead out of the bottom of his fist.
Aaron had resumed his mindless reaching by the door. McCall threw his body into the deputy’s arms, driving the arrow into his eye. The puncture produced a distinct pop as the shaft drove forward until McCall's hand rested against Aaron's cheek.
The deputy's hands, which had encircled Mad Dog's neck, clenched tighter before slumping to his sides. McCall let the arrow slip from his hand as Deputy Aaron's body collapsed on top of the woman in the flowered dress.
Crashing into his cot, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the cell next to him. He was beginning to question what was more important to him; escaping the damned moaning, or saving his own life.
Dropping to his hands and knees, he reached through the bars, trying to grab a hold of the pant leg of the sheriff. The key sitting in his front pocket was McCall's only hope. Extending his shoulder as far into the gap as possible allowed him to just reach the bottom cuff.
Wrapping his fingers around it, he pulled gently, fearful of tearing the fabric. If Sheriff Stanley's body had been intact, it would have been impossible to slide him across the floor using the cuff of his pants. But because his nephew had an early lunch, he weighed significantly less.
Even at its new, smaller size, McCall's muscles strained under the weight of the corpse. The process proved slow and agonizing as the body inched closer. McCall paused several times, switching arms due to cramps in his hands.
After what seemed an eternity, the leg was close enough to get both of his hands around it. Sliding the legs through until the crotch jammed against the bars allowed McCall to reach into the pocket and fetch his salvation.
The click as the lock opened was the greatest sound he'd ever heard. Not even the sight of the bodies blocking the door could take away his elation. Throwing his shoulder against it, he pushed with all of his strength.
The men in the other cell continued their never ending groans as the door gradually eked open. After snagging his hat, he slid through the small opening and stuffed it on his head. Straightening his legs, he took the first steps of his renewed freedom.
Standing in the center of the jailhouse, in a pool of the sheriff's blood, McCall looked at the guns strewn around the room and smiled.
Chapter 9
By the time Ellis had finished nailing the table to the door frame his clothes were drenched with sweat. Now he was working on the windows with Anthony, but his pace had slowed considerably.
Rob and John were tending to their collapsed father, stretching him out on the floor.
"He ain't breathing!" Rob said with a panic strewn voice. He kept caressing the old man's head, petting the bald area like someone might do to their pet.
The doctor had partially regained his wits, what was left of them, and switched to his reverend manner.
"What kind of devilry is this?" he asked over and over again.
Thumps surrounded them, as the people outside beat against the walls, windows, and tables. Their intensity increased with every passing second, forcing everyone to question the safety provided by their makeshift fortifications.
Karen tried her best to keep calm as she stacked bags of flour and barrels of beer against the tables securing the door. Anything that had weight to it was thrown on the pile.
She'd been attempting to analyze the situation for the past few minutes, but couldn't make any sense of what was happening. Her friends and neighbors were walking the streets with missing limbs and bite marks on their skin, oblivious to their wounds.
Only they weren't her friends anymore; they attacked anyone they encountered that didn't suffer the same ailment. What could turn common people into such ruthless murderers?
"Don't start preaching, Doc. We need to figure out what's going on, not get a sermon," she said.
"This is Satan's work, I'm sure of it!"
Karen ignored him and looked at Ellis. "Could it be some kind of disease?"
Ellis stopped hammering the nails for a moment and considered her. "You're the one who reads all the books. You ever hear of a disease that makes people eat each other?"
"No," she said, her shoulders slumping.
"That's because there's only one book that explains evil," Randy said.
"They had arrows sticking out of their backs. Maybe they're Injuns," Anthony said, ignoring the doctor.
"They were white men, not red. Maybe it's an Injun curse?" Ellis asked.
"It's a curse, but it's not Injun," Doc Randy said.
"Curses aren't real," Karen said. "But those arrows do point to them coming from the reservation. Maybe the Sioux are suffering from the same thing."
Everyone stood in silence, contemplating the situation.
"Rabies!" Karen shouted.
"What the hell do babies have to do with anything?" Anthony asked.
"Not babies, rabies. With an r. Have you ever seen a dog go mad? Frothing at the mouth and biting anything in its way? That's rabies. Maybe this is some kind of variation."
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She could see that nobody was following her.
"Did anyone recognize the woman they were eating? Was she a local or did she come with them?" Karen asked.
No one spoke up.
"Dave, where did you put her?" Karen asked. The woman had slipped her mind during the chaos.
Dave's head lolled to the side. He looked worse with each passing minute.
"I carried her upstairs and put her in one of the girls’ rooms. She was so eaten up; I couldn't bear having her down here where I'd have to see her. Hurt my leg getting her up there too."
"We should take a look at her. Maybe there's some kind of−"
A scream from the second floor cut Karen off.
"That was Lauren!" Ellis said. He dropped his jar of nails, scattering its contents, and started across the room to the stairs.
"He's getting up," John said from behind Karen. "I knew he was going to be okay."
Zed sat up with a groan, as if the movement took a great effort. He pivoted his head in a slow, fitful manner and looked at Karen. His appearance resembled the people outside trying to force their way into the saloon; black, dead eyes and translucent skin.
"Get away from him!" Karen looked around for a weapon and saw nothing. "Ellis, wait! We need you over here!"
"What are you talking about? He's my father," Rob said. "Come on, Pa. Let's get you a drink."
Swaying around, Zed turned his lifeless gaze at his son.
In that instant, recognition spread across Rob's face. He was struck by the realization that his father wasn't right, but that moment of clarity came too late.
Zed pounced on his son, sinking his rotting teeth into the unshaven tissue of Rob's neck. Blood arced through the air, spurting out of the wound as Zed pulled his head back, shaking the flesh hanging from his teeth like a dog with a toy.
John grabbed his father by the shoulders and pulled him away from his marred brother. When Zed bit at his hand, John shoved him away, sending him to the ground, and turned back to his sibling.
"Robbie?" he asked. He had an odd confusion in his mannerisms, as if he didn't understand what was happening.
Rob had managed to crawl a few feet away, but was now lying motionless on the floor as blood squirted rhythmically from his gashed throat.
Karen sidestepped across the room, standing between Zed and Barbara, protective instinct guiding her.
"Watch out!" Ellis said, stomping past them.
Zed had stumbled back to his feet and was advancing at his boys again. Ellis dropped his shoulder into John, throwing him aside, before falling on Zed with the hammer.
Ellis' momentum and heft bowled the older man over, sending him to the floor once again. The sun flashed from the head of the hammer as it rose and fell, over and over on Zed's chest. The reports of splintering bones filled the room.
John, recovered from his shove, grappled with Ellis, trying to pull him away from his father. The massive men looked like two bears wrestling on their hind legs.
"Get off me! He ain't your old man anymore! Look at him!" Ellis pointed at Zed, who was struggling to a standing position. His chest had caved in from the hammer blows, his ribcage bowing inward.
Karen couldn't understand how he could still be alive. None of his organs could have been functioning properly, yet he continued to move about.
Ceasing his struggle, John gaped in horror as his father approached them with his mouth nipping at the air.
"He killed your brother! That ain't your father!"
Ellis descended upon the elderly man again, this time sinking the claw end of the hammer in the top of Zed's head.
One last groan escaped him before his body fell to the side and lay silent on the floor.
"Pa!" John said, fumbling at the hammer. "You killed him!"
Ellis looked down at the man whose entire family had been killed in the past thirty seconds. "He's not getting back up... "
Karen watched Zed's body, waiting for it to stir.
"What's keeping him down this time?" Ellis asked.
"You hit him in the head instead of the body. Is that it?" Karen asked.
"What kind of devilry is this?" Randy screamed from the back of the room. His voice would soon hit notes that humans couldn't hear.
"Shut up, you damned fool!" Karen said.
There was enough going on without having to deal with that idiot.
"You killed my father," John said again, defeat in his voice.
Karen stared at Zed, unable to fathom what could turn a man feral in a matter of moments. And why only him? If it was a disease, how did that translate into surviving his chest being caved in?
Anthony had edged to the bar by Dave, giving a wide berth to the decimated family. "Get up. There's too much going on for you to keep lying around."
Dave didn't move.
"Get up, damn it," Anthony said, cuffing Dave on the side of his head.
Even though Karen was on the other side of the room, she could see that something wasn't right. "Anthony, I don't think I'd−"
Dave's eyes flashed open. Turning his head, he settled his inanimate gaze on Anthony.
"Dave?" Anthony took a tentative step back.
Lifting his arms in Anthony's direction caused him to roll from the bar, bouncing off the stools that sat beside it, and land on the floor.
The raspy, wheezing sounds coming from him made Karen's heart drop.
Dave plodded toward Anthony, his black eyes devoid of anything human.
Ellis reached for the hammer embedded in Zed's head, but John fought against him.
"You don't touch him!" John wailed as he pushed Ellis' arms away.
Anthony moved backward, trying to distance himself from Dave, but tripped over a chair and fell on the shattered glass of a bottle.
Excruciating cries escaped him as he tried to roll away from the jagged pile.
The fresh blood sent Dave into a frenzy. He seized his boss, gnawing at the front of his shirt, forcing Anthony further into the alcohol covered glass.
"Dave! No!" His cries turned to whimpers as the pain in his back sapped his strength. Dave would overpower him within seconds.
Karen felt a surge of energy flow through her as she moved across the room. The sounds of turmoil surrounding her were drowned by the thunder of her racing heart.
She grabbed the back of Dave's shirt, attempting to yank him away from Anthony. Dave's derangement proved stronger as he continued crawling forward.
"Dave, stop! Please!" She kicked at his arms and back, frantically trying to get Anthony free. Dave ignored her as he might a fly buzzing past him.
"Help me!" Anthony was losing the battle; Dave was inches from his throat.
Spotting the leg of a broken table, Karen snatched it from the floor and noticed a long, bent nail protruding from the top. Lifting it above her head, she took a position by Anthony's shoulder.
She hesitated.
Even though he wasn't the smartest man in the world, she had a soft spot for Dave. He'd spent most of his life being pushed around and looked down upon, but never let it sour his spirit. If anyone in Gehenna didn't deserve this fate, it was him.
"Dave, please!"
"Do it!" Anthony cried.
"I'm sorry, David." Karen heard herself speaking, as if the words came from someone else. She swung the table leg with both hands like she was splitting a log. The nail punctured the back of Dave's head; a thunk reverberated in the saloon as wood connected with skull.
Barbara was screaming somewhere behind her, but the sound was dull and distant. Looking down at Dave, a man that was her friend only minutes before, caused bile to rise once again. This time she couldn't stop it.
Her midsection contracted so hard she thought she'd never breathe again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued to dry heave long after her stomach was empty.
Ellis and John stopped fighting. Their shocked faces followed Karen as she stumbled around.
The knots entangling her insides loosened enoug
h for her to take a seat at the bottom of the stairs. She watched through watery eyes as Ellis dragged Dave's body away from his boss.
Anthony whimpered as he tried to roll away from the glass. Judging from the amount of blood soaking his shirt, the cuts must have covered most of his back. Ellis carefully led him over to where Doctor Randy sat against the wall, babbling scripture to himself.
"Barbara," Ellis said over his shoulder.
The sound of his voice cut through the fog that was descending on Karen.
"Get some sheets from the closet and cover these poor bastards."
John stood in the center of room, gazing stupidly at the increasing amount of bodies.
While Barbara busied herself with that task, heavy sobs still racking her body, Ellis ripped the back of Anthony's shirt open to expose his lacerations. Fortunately, the doc stopped blathering long enough to inspect them.
"Bring me my bag; I need my instruments," he said. "And bring another bottle of your finest."
Ellis walked across the room, but didn't get the doctor's bag. Instead he grabbed a stool and carried it behind the bar.
"Get it yourself. I got business to take care of."
Standing on the stool, he reached above the mirror mounted on the wall opposite the bar and grabbed the two Civil War swords mounted on a plaque. They would have been of great use a few minutes ago, but there had been no time to fetch them.
"Where are you going?" Karen asked.
"Lauren hasn't come downstairs since she screamed. We're going to check on her."
"We?"
"You're coming with me. Everyone else is hurt or lost their mind," he said, stepping from the stool with a sword in each hand. "These are older than dirt, but they're still sharp as hell."
"And what good do you think I'll do?"
"You're handling this madness better than any of us. I'll take care of anything we come across, but I need someone watching my back."
Karen looked back at Barbara. She had resumed huddling in the corner, her sobs devolved to quiet weeping.
"She'll be okay. We won't be long," Ellis said.
Karen took one of the swords from him, surprised at how light it was, and started for the stairs, uncertain of what lay ahead.
