by Carl Hose
“That the only damn song you know?” Frank called to the ivory tickler.
The man at the piano didn’t acknowledge him.
Frank poured a shot of whiskey and took a swallow. It left a trail of fire in his chest, but it was the best whiskey he’d ever tasted. He took another drink and wiped his mouth with the back of one hand.
“Got any suggestions for a good time?” Frank asked, directing his question at the barkeep and frowning when the man didn’t bother with an answer.
Frank looked around the saloon again before turning back to his whiskey. He glanced up just in time to see a piece of the barkeep’s ear plop onto the bar.
“Uh, you lost somethin’ there,” Frank said, but the barkeep went right on polishing his glass.
Frank shook his head slowly, at a loss. “Hope everybody in town’s as friendly as you,” he said to himself, knowing he was the only one listening anyway.
He tossed two bits on the counter, grabbed his rifle, and left the saloon.
His mare needed tending, so he took her to the livery across the street.
“Where’s the best place for a fella to get some food and a bed?” Frank asked the short, pudgy blacksmith, who wasted no time with his answer.
“Hanley House at the far end of town is your best bet,” he said, spitting into the dirt, then slurping back the drool that didn’t quite make the trip. “Best damn cookin’ you could ask for. Clean rooms too, so long as you got money.”
A talker. Frank decided to press on. “What about a woman?” he ventured.
“Red Rose is where you oughta look for that sorta thing. Sits right behind the saloon there. Ain’t a thing you can’t get at the Red Rose.”
Frank paid up, adding a tip to boot. “’Preciate the help,” he said.
The blacksmith glanced at the extra two bits in his palm, then leveled his eyes at Frank. “Give ya a piece of advice, feller?” he said.
“Reckon if ya feel the need,” Frank replied.
“Ride outta here fast as ya can, and don’t look back.”
Frank unfastened his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder. “Well, now, I been ridin’ a long time,” he drawled, “I’m lookin’ forward to sittin’ a spell, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Your choice,” the blacksmith said. “Least ways, I’d hang on to that rifle everywhere ya go. Wouldn’t even answer Mother Nature’s call without it.”
“I ’preciate the warnin’,” Frank said. “You take real good care of my horse, you hear?”
The blacksmith nodded and turned away, taking the mare by the reins.
Frank left the livery and headed in the direction of the Hanley House. The Red Rose was second on his list. A warm woman sounded awfully appealing, but the thought of a thick beef steak and fried potatoes made more immediate sense.
He rolled a smoke on his way, taking his time, stopping off at the dry goods to treat himself to a supply of cigarillos. He ambled past the jail afterward, feeling his gut tighten as he waited for a lawman to cut him off at the pass.
Frank was a drifter. Folks didn’t take kindly to drifters, especially if those folks happened to be peace officers. More times than not, peaceful was a far cry from the way confrontations with the law turned out for Frank.
The front door of the jail was open. Frank peeked inside as he walked by. The man behind the desk was asleep. His hat was down over his eyes, his feet were propped on the desk, and his hands were clasped together on his round gut. The star on the man’s chest told Frank this sleepy fella was Deadtown’s law. The buttons on the lawman’s shirt seemed damn near ready to pop, and Frank had a feeling that even if the sheriff had the inclination to get up, his body wouldn’t follow suit.
Frank smiled wryly and continued on his way, crossing the street to get to the Hanley House. The place was a two-story building in much better repair than the rest of the buildings in town. In fact, it looked downright regal. Red with white trim, its front doors made almost entirely of glass so clean a man might accidentally walk through it. Neat hand lettering on the windows proclaimed the name of the establishment in fancy cursive style.
Frank found the same class act inside. The lobby was done up with lots of red velvet, and there were marble statues sitting on pedestals. Behind the sign-in desk was a skinny kid with freckles and teeth like a beaver. He was reading a yellowed newspaper. He yawned as he took notice of Frank.
“Evening, sir,” the kid said. “What can I do for ya?”
“I’d like a room,” Frank said. “Prefer one that faces the street.”
Frank believed in caution. He never kept his back to a door, he always took a room facing the main street, and he always slept with one eye open.
“You plannin’ to stick around for long?” the kid asked with some genuine concern in his voice.
“What is it with you people?” Frank asked. “You got a real funny way of makin’ a feller feel welcome.”
The kid shrugged and scooped up Frank’s money. “Top floor, all the way down to the end of the hall,” he said, avoiding Frank’s hard gaze.
Frank headed for the stairs but stopped when he caught the scent of food. The dining room was off to his right. He’d considered a hot bath first, but the smell of meat and gravy and fresh bread won out.
There were maybe ten tables in the dining area, each covered with red velvet cloth. In addition, each of the tables featured fine china and silver utensils. It was a little fancy for what Frank had in mind, but he was hungry. Still, he wondered how much of the sizable wad in his pocket the meal would set him back. The room had already set him back twice the going rate.
He took a table facing the street. A slip of a girl came to take his order. Her eyes were crystal water, her hair was shiny as new gold, and her skin had the glow of fresh cream. Whatever this meal set him back, it would be worth it as long as he got to take in an eyeful of the girl while he ate.
He ordered a thick steak, a bowl of chili, a basket of rolls, and a piece of apple pie. The girl scratched his order down without glancing up at him one time. When Frank finished ordering, the girl hurried off to the kitchen to place his order. Frank watched until she disappeared from sight, then he redirected his attention to the street outside.
Traffic was thin. He noted an occasional man or woman strolling aimlessly along the sidewalks. None of them seemed likely to frequent a place like Hanley House. Most of the few folks he saw looked pale, overworked, and poor. It didn’t seem right to have such a fine establishment as the Hanley House in a town that was essentially lifeless and poor.
The girl returned with Frank’s meal.
“You do much business?” he asked. “Here, I mean. I ain’t seen many folks look like they could afford to frequent the place often.”
The girl shifted her eyes nervously around the room, then she said, “The place belongs to the man who owns this town. Jacob Hanley. He don’t really need the money, and he don’t care what folks can afford.”
She looked like she might have something to add, but she clammed up suddenly and hurried off. Her skittish behavior struck Frank as odd, but he wasn’t about to lose his appetite over it. He finished his meal in record time, then lit a cigarillo and leaned back to enjoy it, once again turning his gaze out the front window.
The sheriff was standing outside now. Frank wondered if maybe the lawman had gotten wind of his presence and decided to come looking for him. Didn’t seem likely with the way he’d been snoozing at his desk.
“Gonna have to wait ’til I get me a nap, lawman,” Frank mumbled, collecting his rifle and heading upstairs.
First thing he did in the room was try out the bed. It was damn comfortable. He pulled his hat over his eyes. His Winchester rested against the wall right beside the bed and his gun belt hung over the post, well within easy reach should the situation call for it. With a half-finished cigarillo clamped between his teeth, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander.
He couldn’t let go of the things he’d seen in D
eadtown so far. Something was wrong. Most of the folks he’d seen wandered aimlessly up and down the street in a glassy-eyed trance. If that wasn’t enough, a piece of a feller’s ear had fallen clean off. Frank had seen quite a few towns in his time, but not one of them ever struck such a sour note on his guitar as this one did. He’d planned on riding out at first light, but that sweet little girl downstairs had him thinking otherwise.
He finished his smoke and settled in for a short nap. He was just starting to doze when a furtive knock on the door brought him up out of bed.
The sun was all but gone. Frank snatched his gun belt and strapped it on before answering the door. He wasn’t expecting visitors and had no intention of being caught off guard.
The girl from the restaurant stood in the hallway, scared as all hell. She seemed more than relieved when Frank opened the door.
“Can I come in?” she asked in a nervous whisper, looking over her shoulder like she half expected someone to snatch her up.
Frank wouldn’t have said no under any circumstance, but he certainly wasn’t going to turn her away when she seemed desperate for his help.
He stepped aside and waved her into the room.
“If I get caught talkin’ to you, mister, I’ll be next.”
“Next for what?”
“Next to get the change.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“There’s only four of us left that ain’t been changed,” she explained. “The sheriff, Garv Potter, who’s the blacksmith, little Josh down at the front desk, and me. Well, Jacob Hanley ain’t been changed neither, but that’s ‘cause he’s the one that puts ’em the way they are. And he’s got a couple men that are still normal, but everybody else is dead and still walkin’”
“Are you plum outta your mind?”
“It’s true, mister. Can’t ya see it? People walk around, but they ain’t one of us no more.”
Frank frowned and scratched his chin.
“You gotta believe me,” she said, right on the edge of tears.
“Okay, I’ll play along,” he said, lighting a fresh cigarillo. “Everybody’s dead, ’cept for a few of ya, but everybody’s still walkin’ around. Have I got that right?”
She nodded. “It started a few months back. When people died, Jacob Hanley buried ’em out back of his building. They never stayed in the ground more than a few hours before they’d be right back in town, walkin’ around like they never died at all, ’cept you could see they were pale and not thinkin’ too clear anymore.”
“No disrespect, ma’am, but how’s somethin’ like that happen?”
“Some concoction Jacob came up with that was made for preservin’ the dead. I don’t know how it works, but when folks didn’t die fast enough, Jacob helped ’em. The only reason me and the others are still alive is because he uses us to keep the town runnin’. Dead folks ain’t much good with anything but eatin’ peoples’ brains and wanderin’ around. You gotta be real careful around ’em, though. If one bites ya, you might as well know you’ll end up the same way.”
Frank chewed on what she’d told him, then he said, “That’s surely the damnedest story I’ve ever heard, but I’m inclined to believe it.”
“It’s all true, mister, I swear.”
“Problem is, I’ve seen some weird folks in this town, but none I could rightly call dead. Close to it, I can vouch for that, but the ones I’ve seen look like they still got a little life left in ’em.”
“Those are the freshly turned. The ones that are long dead stay in the ground durin’ the day and come out at night.”
It was dark outside now. Frank looked out the window. There were people out there—dead ones, if the girl was right in the head—walking up and down the street, wandering in and out of buildings like it was business as usual.
“You’re tellin’ me those folks are dead?” he asked.
“Every last one of ’em, and they’ll be lookin’ for you next. Drifters always get turned into dead folks right away.”
“This Hanley feller, can he control the dead things?”
“They mostly do what he says. He’s destroyed a couple, but they mostly do what he tells ’em to do.”
“Why haven’t you gotten the hell outta here?”
“It ain’t that easy, mister. Those dead things patrol the outskirts of town. They’ll let you in, but there’s no way of gettin’ out.”
Frank chewed it over in his mind and decided to lend a hand.
“You let the kid know we’re leavin’. I’ll get word to the others. Meet me at the sheriff’s office soon as you can.”
“Thanks so much, mister,” the girl said, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Thank me when we’re long gone from this place,” Frank said, grabbing his rifle. “Right now we got work to do.”
* * *
The sheriff was behind his desk again when Frank barged into the jail. He seemed a little surprised to see Frank, and not all that interested in his presence.
“Let me guess, you expected me to be dinner by now?” Frank said.
“Sounds like you heard about our little problem,” the sheriff said flatly.
“You think maybe it’s your duty as a lawman to warn visitors about what’s goin’ on around here? Was ya just gonna wait for ’em to pick my bones clean?”
“What do you expect me to do about it? I’m grateful to be alive.”
“You can be a man and do your job. Get your big butt up off that chair and let’s go. Grab some guns. We’re gettin’ the hell outta town. You, me, and anybody else that’s still walkin’ around with a heartbeat.”
“I ain’t got no guns. I got nothin’, and if ya think we’re walkin’ outta here, you got another thing comin’. Those are zombies, fella. Walkin’ corpses, and they’re everywhere, and there ain’t a damn horse in town.”
“I got guns and I got a horse.”
“You got nothin’, son. The damn zombies done ate your horse by now, and if ya think you got enough bullets to blast your way out of here, you’re just settin’ yourself up to die disillusioned. You oughta let nature takes it course.”
“Dead folks walkin’ ain’t natural, sheriff, and if ya don’t lift your ass outta that chair, I’ll be fightin’ my way outta town one bullet shy.”
Josh and the girl rushed inside at that moment. The girl was trying to speak and catch her breath at the same time. Josh took over for her.
“They know somethin’s goin’ on,” he said. “When they saw me and Becky leavin’ the hotel, they started groupin’ up and followin’ us. They move slow most times, but they can move faster when they need to, and there’s a whole bunch of ’em. Won’t be long ’fore they circle us in.”
Frank looked at Becky. “You said Hanley had to destroy a few of ’em every now and then. How’s he kill somethin’ that’s dead already?”
“Hell, all ya gotta do is shoot ’em in the head and they stay down,” Josh chimed in. “Burn ’em if ya wanna be extra sure.”
“I’m goin’ to get fetch Potter,” Frank told the kid. “You know how to use this?” He thrust his rifle into Josh’s hands. “It’s fully loaded. I got more shells in my bags. If the sheriff don’t cooperate, blow his damn head off. You got that?”
“Got it,” Josh said, grinning as he leveled the rifle at the sheriff.
A small group of zombies had already gathered in front of the saloon. A couple of them looked Frank’s way when he came outside, but none made a move in his direction. He made a beeline for the livery. When he was just a few yards from the stable, two of the corpses staggered his way. They weren’t moving quick, but Frank readied his Colt just in case.
He smelled more than horse shit when he entered the livery. A kerosene lamp burned bright in one corner, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Something scuffled behind a stack of hay at the rear, beyond the stables. Frank crept toward the back of the building and detected the noise was coming from behind a stack of hay bales.
Three zombies were crouched in a semi-circle. One of them was a half-naked female, the other was one of the card players from the saloon, and the third was just a kid, no more than ten or twelve. Garv Potter lay on his back in the middle of the group, his stomach open and his entrails strung everywhere. The female corpse looked up at Frank with glazed eyes as she stuffed lengths of dripping red meat into her mouth. The other two continued feasting on Potter, not even paying a penny’s worth of attention to Frank.
Frank left the mess and went to find his mare. She was nowhere to be found. The damn things had probably already eaten her, which put a really damper on Frank’s plans for getting out of town.
The two zombies from the saloon finally staggered into the livery. They stood between Frank and the only way out. Behind him, the naked female zombie had given up on Potter in favor of fresher meat. She was Frank’s immediate concern. Her pasty tits sagged and jiggled as she lumbered toward him. Frank briefly noted that hers was the first pair of tits he’d seen in his whole life that didn’t appeal to him.
On that note, he dispatched her with a bullet between the eyes.
Now that Garv Potter was just about tapped out, the other two zombies turned their attention to Frank. He ignored them and blasted the two stiffs blocking his way out. Their heads exploded in a shower of chunky black slime.
“Gotta run,” Frank said to the last two zombies.
He shot the lantern in the corner and flaming kerosene spilled everywhere. The fire spread fast, licking at the hay and eating its way up the side of one wall, engulfing the fairly rotten wood in a matter of seconds.
Frank reloaded as he made his way back to the jail. Three more zombies limped his way. He paused long enough to drop them in quick succession.
A legless corpse clawed its way toward the jail. Frank didn’t feel the need to waste a bullet on it, but the thing grabbed hold of one of his ankles. A gurgling moan escaped its mouth, followed by a fistful of slimy green worms. Frank clobbered the squirming torso with the butt of his pistol, cracking its head like a ripe melon and scattering maggots over the walkway
