The Six-Gun Tarot

by R. S. Belcher

  Gillian’s voice was close to him. “Augustus, we have to go upstairs, now. Come on, darling. Please, we have to go.”

  Blood crawled down the side of her face. He touched her hair; it was wet with blood. Her eyes rolled back into her sockets and she went limp in his arms.

  “Gillian!” he screamed. He lifted her in his massive arms and slammed the door to the stairwell. He secured it with an iron bolt and hurried up the stairs, even as the pounding began on the barred door.

  “Clay! Trouble! Gillian is hurt!”

  Auggie laid her on the bed. Clay had already pulled down Gerta’s case. It rested on the small chest by the water basin.

  “How are we going to get out of here?” Clay asked.

  “Is she all right?” Auggie asked, pushing Gillian’s bloody hair out of her face. “Is she going to be all right?”

  Clay examined her head briefly. “Looks like a nasty scalp wound. She probably has a mild concussion, or she passed out from blood loss. She should be fine, if we get out of here with our skins intact.”

  There was more pounding and another crash; then both men began to smell smoke.

  “Damnation!” Clay said. “They set the place on fire, trying to smoke us out.”

  “We have to get them out of here, Clay! How about the window?”

  Clay pushed back the blinds. “The alley is still clear and I see smoke pouring out of the building. It’s too far to drop either of them. I’ll climb out and go get the wagon. You can lower them down to me.”

  “Go,” Auggie said.

  Clay tried to force the window open, but couldn’t. Finally he smashed it, wincing in pain as a shard of the glass sliced his hand. He climbed through the jagged opening, out onto the narrow awning. Smoke was starting to fill the apartment. The pounding and shouting had stopped, replaced with the snap and crack of approaching flames. Auggie figured the Stained, as he found himself thinking of them, had withdrawn to either let him, Clay and Gillian burn or wait for them to run outside.

  Auggie heard a faint moan. It was from Gerta’s case. He opened it. Part of Gerta’s skin—the part that had covered her jaw and chin—had come loose and was floating at the top of her tank. Her teeth and jawbone were partly exposed and a thin trail of bubbles slipped from her barely moving lips. Auggie wound the key several times and saw her eyes flutter open.

  “I’m going to get you out of here, Gerta; don’t be afraid,” he said.

  She smiled at him.

  “I … was … dreaming,” she said.

  “What were you dreaming about?” he asked, stifling a cough. Smoke was clawing at the back of his throat. On the bed, Gillian stirred, coughing too. He heard the groan of wood giving way below him. He looked out the window—no Clay yet.

  “Please tell me, Gerta.”

  “Do you remember when we rode up Rose Hill and had a picnic for your birthday? That was a beautiful day. I always see that day whenever I think of what Heaven will be like. I fell in love with you again that day, Augustus. I fall in love with you again every time I see you, did you know that?”

  “Ja, Gerta. I know.” He was crying.

  The head pursed her lips. Part of them drifted away in the fluid from the effort. “Don’t be sad, darling. Everyone dies. It is fair. We have had a wonderful time together. We shared pain and joy, anger and comfort. We took two lives and made them into so, so much more.”

  There was a whoosh as a jet of flame erupted in the living room. The Swiss clock continued to tick as it was burning. The whole building breathed and shuddered. The floor was hot now and the smoke was everywhere, becoming thicker.

  “No! You can’t die; I won’t let you die. I’ll save you! I can’t do this alone, Gerta. I can’t bear this alone!”

  The fluid in the tank was beginning to bubble as it started to boil.

  “I can’t stay, Augustus. Please understand, my love. I pray to be free of this pain, of this cage. You can save me, beloved—you can let me go; you can set me free.”

  The flames were licking between the planks of the floor in the bedroom. The whole world now was unbearable heat and smoke. The floor creaked under its own weight.

  “Gerta, I need to tell you something. I love Gillian, very much. I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt you, but you deserved the truth. I love her, and I want a life with her.”

  Gert smiled. “She is a very good woman. I couldn’t ask for a better person to look after you. I just want you to be happy, Augustus. As happy as you made me.”

  The clockwork beneath the tank began to grind to a stop. The lights in the tank dimmed, but the head remained animate.

  “I want that for you too, love. I’ve been selfish for too long,” Auggie said, running his hands along the glass of her jar. It was hot to the touch. “This was never about love; it was about fear, my fear. I’m sorry, Gerta.”

  “Auggie!” It was Clay’s voice shouting above the death knell of the building. “Out here! Get a move on; it’s all coming down!”

  Gert’s eyes were closing. She was still smiling. “I’ll wake from this dream to finally find myself in Heaven. Sing to me again, Augustus. I was dreaming of singing. It was beautiful.”

  The floor was cracking and collapsing by the bed. Auggie ran to Gillian and lifted her up. She groaned and coughed painfully. He tossed the carpetbag out the window.

  “I … love you … Augustus,” Gerta said, her voice beginning to distort. “Thank … you.”

  Auggie pulled Gillian over his shoulder and struggled through the broken window. He looked over his shoulder back at Gerta, wreathed in flames.

  “Rest now, beloved,” he said.

  The floor of the apartment crashed down and part of the wall gave way as well. Auggie fell toward the bed of the wagon below. He managed to turn his body to protect Gillian from the impact with the wooden bed. He groaned in pain as he hit, then turned to cover her from the rain of debris that followed him down.

  “Where’s Gertie?” Clay shouted from the buckboard.

  “She chose,” Auggie said. “She finally got to choose for herself, Clay.”

  Clay opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He looked at Auggie blankly, then to the rapidly collapsing inferno that had been Shultz’s General Store. He climbed down from the wagon.

  “Get Mrs. Proctor out of here, Auggie,” he said. “Be careful and good luck to you. You’ve been a good friend. Better than I deserve.”

  Clay walked toward the burning building. Ash and glowing embers drifted around him, like fireflies. He stopped and looked back at Auggie.

  “I love her. I’ve always loved her.”

  He walked into the fire, vanishing into the smoke.

  Auggie struggled onto the buckboard and took the reins. He watched as his and Gerta’s life here in Golgotha turned to hot ash. He waited for Clay, but he knew he’d never come out. After a moment, Auggie looked back at Gillian, breathing softly in the bed of the wagon. He tugged on the reins and felt the wagon lurch forward. He headed south, out of Golgotha.

  Death

  There were no guards at the entrance to the mine. Highfather, Pratt and Mutt approached cautiously anyway, blades and guns drawn.

  “Where is everyone?” Harry asked.

  “In there,” Mutt said. “Doing what we came to stop, I’d reckon.”

  “Grab some lanterns,” Highfather said as he watched another star flare and fall from the firmament. “We don’t have long.”

  They descended the main tunnel, Highfather and Pratt to the sides, lantern in one hand and sword in the other, Mutt in the middle, taking the advance, his shotgun sweeping across the dark gulf that stretched before them. They paused often to make sure there were no oil-faced sentries waiting for them behind the wooden timbers that framed and supported the massive sloping corridor.

  It took them fifteen minutes to reach the first annex. There were two smaller shafts extending off from the main tunnel in either direction. Crude chalk markings on the wall provided directions to the different sh
aft designations. Highfather examined them for a moment and then nodded to the left.

  “This is the way to the new vein. Bick said that was where the chamber was. What’s our time?”

  “My watch is broken,” Harry said. “I don’t know.”

  “About noon,” Mutt said. “Give or take. I’m pretty good ’bout stuff like that.”

  “All right, keep moving,” Highfather said. They continued down the left corridor. It was narrower, and they had to go single file. Highfather took the lead.

  “Any ideas how we’re going to stop whatever it is we’re supposed to be stopping, Jonathan?” Mutt asked.

  “I’m working on it,” he said.

  The tunnel branched off again. Two of the shafts were sealed with wooden boards and warnings in red paint. The third looked new but poorly braced. The earth tricked down between the shelves of rock and timber; particles of dust floated in the beams of the lanterns.

  “My ears just popped,” Harry said. “We must be deep. I hope there aren’t any gas leaks down here.”

  “It’s getting hotter too,” Highfather said. “I think we’re close.”

  Mutt suddenly cocked his head. He raised a hand and everyone grew silent and still. He sniffed the air and turned back to the tunnel behind them.

  “Talk to me,” Highfather said.

  “Company coming,” Mutt said. “One. Moving fast and damn quiet. It ain’t one of them, though. Smells like—”

  The figure appeared at the edge of the lantern light. Slight, dressed in a heavy black miner’s coat, gloves, pants and boots. White skin, but with long hair, pulled back into a ponytail, Indian-fashion, and half the stranger’s face was hidden by a dirty bandana.

  Jon and Harry leveled their blades, but Mutt sniffed again, shook his head in bewilderment and lowered his scattergun.

  “Bick sent me,” the stranger said. The voice was a low growl, male. “I’m here to rescue one of the infected. I’ll help you as much as I can.”

  “And we’re just supposed to trust you?” Harry said.

  “Malachi Bick as a character reference isn’t exactly the best means of introduction,” Highfather said. “And I don’t know you from town, stranger. Mayor’s got a point.”

  Mutt knew this was Maude Stapleton. He recognized her scent and this was her, but somehow she had changed not only her voice but also her body language, her posture. Everything she presented now was a deception that this stranger was a man, and a damned good deception too.

  “I’m here to save a child, a young girl,” Maude said in her new male voice. “Every second you delay deciding if you want my help is another second people are dying.”

  She looked to Mutt, only for a second, her brown eyes softened just a little.

  “Please,” she said. “Let me help.”

  “It’s okay, Jon,” Mutt said. “I know this fella. He’s solid. We can trust him.”

  Highfather looked at his deputy, frowning.

  Mutt nodded. “I’ll vouch for him,” Mutt said. “He’s my … friend.”

  Highfather lowered his blade and nodded for Harry to do the same. Sheriff extended a hand to the stranger and the two shook. Jon noted the stranger’s grip was strong but odd in some way.

  “Good enough for me,” the sheriff said. “Can use all the help we can get.”

  “Thank you,” Maude said.

  “Let’s go,” Highfather said. “Mutt, you fall back. You and your friend here guard the rear.”

  “Okay, Jon,” Mutt said.

  “And sometime you gonna have to tell me when you got so damned social all of a sudden,” Highfather said.

  They traveled in silence for several more minutes. The shaft opened eventually into a rough-hewn chamber. Wooden crates lined the cave wall to the left, dozens of them. To the right was a jagged cleft of an opening, recently blasted and with only the most basic of support in place.

  “Dynamite,” Highfather said, carefully lifting the lid off one of the straw-filled crates.

  “Never heard of it,” Harry said. “Some kind of explosive?”

  “Fairly new,” Highfather said. “It’s like blasting gelatin, but more stable, and more powerful. Still pretty dicey to mess with, though, but it could be the answer to our problem.”

  “We set this stuff off and seal the chamber they are using to bring this thing up from,” Mutt said. “Can we do that and get out of here in one piece?”

  “Wait a minute,” Harry said. “We’re not blowing anyone up! Those are our friends and family in there; we can’t just write them off as gone. We can save them, Jon; I know we can!”

  “We’re running out of damn options here, Harry,” Mutt said. “I’m powerful sorry about Holly, but we’ve got to stop them, and if that means people got to die, then that’s just the truth of it.”

  “I agree with the mayor,” Maude said. “I may have the means to save them. This may require a more subtle solution, Deputy.”

  “Fellas…,” Highfather said as he placed the lid back on the crate.

  “Right. What do you care?” Harry said to Mutt. “It’s not like you actually give a damn about anyone in this town, do you? You can count the people who even give you the time of day on one dirty hand, can’t you?”

  Mutt looked to Maude, then looked down.

  “Enough!” Highfather said. “ We’re not giving up on those people in there, until we have no other choice. And if that happens, we’ll be ready to blow Ambrose’s god all the way back to Hell.

  “Now it will take me a bit to wire this stuff with some blasting caps and a good, long fuse. You three go in there and try to stop the ritual and save our people. I’ll join you when everything is ready. Agreed?”

  “How you know all this about dynamite, Jon?” Pratt asked.

  The sheriff kept working on the wooden spool of fuse he had found behind a crate. “I’ve had to blow things up from time to time in this job,” he said.

  “That two-legged horse, Phillips, is mine,” Mutt said

  “You be careful,” Highfather said. “He whupped both of us pretty good at the mansion. Didn’t look too tuckered out from the experience either.”

  “I got a little surprise for him this time,” Mutt said with a grin.

  “Watch out for Ambrose too—he’s not a scrapper,” Highfather said, “but he’s the heart of this and he’s a believer. That makes him dangerous.”

  “Very astute,” Maude said. “If he becomes a problem, I can take care of him.”

  “He will be a problem,” Highfather said. “Count on it.”

  “I’ll deal with Holly,” Pratt said.

  “Don’t get yourself killed doing it, Harry,” Highfather said. The mayor was silent.

  “I’ll get the girl and as many of the townsfolk out as I can,” Maude said, fiddling with something in her canvas bag. “You may not see me, but I assure you, I’ll be around if you need me. I won’t let any of you down.”

  “Sounds kinda like a plan,” Highfather said. “Let’s go earn our pay.”

  “See you in a spell, Jonathan,” Mutt said.

  Mutt took the point, lantern and shotgun in hand. Harry followed. They had to turn sideways to squeeze through the narrow, uneven passage. Ahead of them was the sound of chanting, of many throats straining under the cadence of painful words.

  “You ready?” Mutt whispered.

  The mayor nodded; so did Maude.

  “Good luck,” Pratt said.

  “You, too, Harry,” Mutt said. Then to Maude, “You be careful in there, y’hear me?” She smiled beneath the bandana and her eyes smiled too. She nodded.

  They entered the massive chamber, its floor made of polished silver and etched with bizarre symbols, its ceiling lost somewhere to the roots of the world. Burning sconces encircled the chamber, giving everything a dim, shaky, dream-like light. A few dozen of the Stained townsfolk stood around the well at the center of the silver floor. As they continued to sing their blasphemies, one by one they eagerly stepped off into the void
of the well, falling from sight. Constance was in the group awaiting a turn to plunge into the darkness.

  “No!” Maude said, her voice slipping for a second back to her own.

  “The townsfolk, the squatters?” Harry said. “Where are the rest of them?”

  “Gone,” Mutt said. “Already gone.”

  “Ah, gentlemen!” Ambrose’s voice boomed across the chamber. “So glad you could join us. I’m afraid you’re a little too late to stop it, but you are just in time for a splendid view of the end.”

  Promise’s hooves thundered across the cold, still desert. Her breath trailed behind her, like a spectral banner. Jim was crouched low in the saddle. The eye was in his hand, burning with cold, emerald fire. He let it guide him forward. He tugged on the reins, left, then right.

  Ahead was a sloping ridge rising out of the desert. He urged Promise toward it, up it. They reached the apex and Jim brought Promise to a halt. From here he could see across the vast expanse of the 40-Mile. Jim remembered the bleached bones, the discarded personal artifacts, the residue of so many lives and dreams crushed by the wastelands that guarded the promise of the West.

  He recalled how it had felt when he had finally dropped in his tracks while leading Promise across the desert. His last thought was, I came all this way, I went through so much, just to die out here—alone, forgotten.

  The jade eye was growing colder in his palm, colder than the desert night. Jim looked at it. It was glowing green like it had that night with Pa in the graveyard, like it had with Arthur Stapleton. He looked up into the vast dark sky. Only a few stars remained sheltered overhead.

  I know Mr. Huang said you got to believe in something to make it real, Jim said silently to the empty sky. And I rightly don’t know enough about any of you, or this eye of yours, to even figure out what to believe in, but I sure could use your help right now. My friends are back there in that town and they are fighting and dying to save all of this—to save you in whatever Chinaman’s paradise you all are in, to save Heaven, to save Golgotha. To save Ma and Lottie. So I’m asking for help. I don’t know if I believe in you-all, or not, but I believe in my friends. Please, show me the way to do what I set out to do out here. Please, let it be the right thing; please let it work.