by Tonia Brown
“Mortimer!” I shouted, rushing after him.
The town was well lit compared to the gloom of the mines, all but blinding me once I made it past the doors. I took a few steps forward, seeking Mortimer in the glare of torchlight, only to stumble over something, almost falling to my knees. I turned and, to my horror, saw it was a body lying face-down in a dark ring of blood. Lowering myself to the side of the fallen man, I rolled him over to his back and discovered—with some relief—that it wasn’t the scientist.
It was Clinton. Or rather, what was left of him.
“What do we have here?” Dillon said.
I whipped about to find the man waiting for me and backed by a line of his well-armed guards. Of course it was all a setup. I had been played. A small laugh escaped my throat.
“How can you laugh?” Mortimer asked. He stood not more than a few feet beside me, with his hands in the air. Already given up again without so much as a fight.
Well, I wouldn’t give up that simply. Not again. Never again.
Dillon clapped, slow and steady, applauding my actions with just a touch of mockery. “Welcome back from Hell, my little Ishtar. I see you’ve freed your very own Tammuz. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I knew it was too easy,” I said. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it sooner.”
“I can’t say I’m disappointed. I think that, perhaps, if you hadn’t taken the bait, if you hadn’t tried to enact this daring escape plan of yours, I might have been more disappointed. After all, your impetuousness is what I love about you. But I can’t have you showing me up like this, my Lady.” He paused and leaned forward to add in a lower voice, as if we were alone, “It makes me look bad in front of the men.”
“You don’t need my help with that.”
“True. Very true. Yet the game is done. I gave you a chance, and you’ve proven that I can’t trust you. Something I suspected but am glad to know for certain. So put down the guns, and we will decide an appropriate punishment for you, young lady.”
The guns? The guns! I’d almost forgotten I was armed. I moved my hands to the pistols at my sides. “I don’t think so.”
He smiled, cool and carefree. “Come now. Do you really plan on shooting me?”
“Nothing would give me more pleasure.”
“And do you suppose you can draw and fire before my men can take you down?”
I latched on to this idea, turning it back on him. “Why not shoot me yourself?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Shoot me yourself. Or are you not man enough?”
Dillon lost the smile and set his jaw, puffing up his chest in defiance.
“Go on, then,” I said. “You spend all your time having the men around you do your dirty work. I think you’ve forgotten what it’s like to get grime under your nails. I don’t think you can do it.”
“You don’t think so?” Dillon asked.
“No.”
“What are you doing?” Mortimer asked. “He is obviously capable of shooting you. And I’m fairly sure he will.”
In truth, I didn’t know what in the world I was doing. I guess I was just grasping at straws. Trying to delay the inevitable. Not giving up without a fight.
“I’m calling his bluff,” I said as I gripped a pistol in each hand but left them in their respective holsters. “Call off your dogs, and let’s have it out one to one.”
Dillon grinned, as I hoped he would. “You are quite the woman, yes you are. How could I not fall for you? Fine, have it your way.” He motioned for the weapon of the man nearest him. “Give me your gun. The rest of you step back. This is between me and the lady.”
“Are you sure, sir?” the man asked.
“Are you questioning me?”
“No, sir.” The man handed over his weapon and shouted to the other underlings, “Move back!”
As a single unit, the men took a few steps back, but didn’t holster their weapons.
Dillon raised the gun toward me. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, you wanted me to shoot you.”
“Do it then,” I said. “Kill me.”
“Kill you? No. Wing you? Wound you? Make you suffer to teach you a lesson? Yes. I rather think so.” He set the weapon with a loud click. “Or maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just kill you and be done with it.”
“No!” Mortimer shouted.
The scientist threw himself at me, pushing me to the ground just as the gun went off. Mortimer let out a stifled shout, then fell to his knees as he clutched his belly. I scrambled to his side just in time to see the first bit of red swell through his shirt.
“Mortimer,” I said, half-chastising, half-consoling.
He looked down at his wound, that gaping hole in his gut where his life escaped, and groaned. “Oh dear. I do believe I’ve been hit.”
“What were you thinking?”
“That I couldn’t let him shoot you.” He smiled softly, though it pained him. “Not a lady.” He fell back into my arms.
“Hell’s bells,” Dillon said. “Who fired? Come on, who did it?”
One of the men looked to the ground rather than face his angry leader.
“Great,” Dillon said. “Just lovely. Did I say shoot her?”
“No sir,” the man said. “But I thought I saw her draw-”
“Shut up! I’ll deal with you later. For now, you will go below and get Tony. Tell him we have a wounded man up here. And hurry up!”
Meanwhile, I ignored the men running about me as I tried to tend Mortimer’s wound. “It will be okay. Let me put some pressure-”
Mortimer grabbed my hand. “No. Samantha. Let me go. I can’t stay here. I can’t make the cure for these men.”
Once I opened his shirt, I could tell I had no choice in the matter. I could see straight through to his intestines. Mortimer was going to die. And soon. I choked back my tears, not wanting him to see the realization on me. “You’ll be okay.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Be quiet.”
“Funny thing, you know, if you had asked me a week ago, this would’ve been my last guess for my death. Just after being eaten alive by lions.”
“Stop talking; save your strength.”
“I can’t. I have to thank you. You were right to make me stand up.” He laughed, a small bubble of red spilling from his lips as he did. “It’s the only time I ever stood up to anyone.”
“You did well.”
“I did awfully, but thanks anyway.” His breathing became labored and his words excited, as if he had so much left to say but only moments to speak. “You have to get out of here. Get back east, to Boston. Look for a man by the name of Jacob Bowing. He can help you find where my notes are hidden. All of my work is there. The cure. Everything.”
“I’ll try.”
“Tell them the truth. They need to know the truth. Tell them about my father.” Mortimer furrowed his brow and, with his last breath, whispered, “Tell them I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His grip faded from mine as his hand slipped away.
And just like that, he was gone.
I didn’t get a single second to grieve for him. The moment his last breath escaped, Dillon snatched me up by the waist and held me strong.
“Please tell me he isn’t dead,” Dillon demanded.
“Of course he is,” I spat.
“What a waste. Ah, well. Can’t be helped now.”
“You killed him.”
“No, he killed himself.” Dillon stripped me of the gun belts, yanking them over my head with a rough snatch. “Suicide by martyrdom. Took a bullet for you, as it were. Very romantic. Let that rest upon your conscience, my Lady, for it bears nothing on mine.” Now that I was disarmed, he squeezed me tighter to him. “Come, then. It’s time for your punishment.”
I wiggled and kicked and fought, but it was no good. Dillon had a fantastic hold on me, and there was no way I was going to get out of this one. I was bound in the arms of my new master, the only hope for a cure to this ma
dness dead at my feet and my mentor miles away, licking his wounds.
All was lost.
I went limp in Dillon’s arms, forcing him to carry my weight. He lifted me over his shoulder with a grunt, complaining under his breath about how much trouble I had shown him and what a delight he would take in teaching me just how much grime he could get under his nails. Over his complaints, there came a distant scream from the mouth of the mines.
Dillon turned to the stockyard doors. “What was that?” he snapped at the man nearest him. “Go see what that was.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said and scurried off into the dark mines.
In seconds, another strangled scream reached my ears. The men about us shifted in their stances, as nervous as horses with the cries of pain coming from the mine.
“What on earth …” Dillon said, his words fading under more and more cries.
Without warning, several gunshots sounded, and the men around us began to drop, one after the other. Dillon clutched me tighter and took off running for shelter, diving into the nearest building, a saloon. He scrambled behind the bar and shifted me to the front of him, holding me out before him like a living shield. Outside, the screams and shouts filled the streets, accompanied by those eerily familiar growls.
“I’d start running if I were you,” someone said from higher up.
Someone I recognized. Someone I never thought I would hear or see again.
“Theophilus, is that you?” Dillon yelled.
On the staircase above us, Mr. Theo stepped out to the second-floor landing. He stood there reloading his pistols, as casual as if he had been shooting tin cans rather than picking off Dillon’s men. My heart almost stopped at the sight of him. Was he here to rescue me? If so, why in the hell did he let me go with them to begin with?
“You look well,” Dillon said. “Better than I expected.”
He did too. The broken shell of a man I last saw was gone, replaced by the tall, strong Negro I had come to respect. And love, I suppose.
“Oh you know better, son,” Mr. Theo said. “I can take a licking like no one else. Well, no one but you, yes?”
“Yes. Of course. I should’ve known better.”
“You should also let the girl go and get a move on. Those things will be in here any moment.”
“What madness are you spouting now?”
“Not madness. It’s simple enough. Those things you’ve been keeping as pets are out there right now, tearing your men to shreds. And they are hungry for your blood too, Dillon. Can’t say as I blame them.”
“You lie.”
“Do I? While you were all up here jaw jacking, I slipped on down below and pulled the pegs from their pens. It was surprisingly easy.” Mr. Theo chuckled. “You really shouldn’t have moved all your men to one position like that. I guess you thought Sam would be harder to subdue. Can’t say I blame you for that either. She’s a pistol, true enough.”
“Liar!”
“Go on, then, have a look for yourself.”
Dillon gathered me to him as he backed us toward the door. Pushing it open, he leaned out, with me in tow, to take a peek at the madness beyond.
And madness it was.
The undead were everywhere.
They poured from the mouth of the mines, overran the streets and fell upon all those waiting there. An army of rotting corpses scoured any sign of life from the town, snatching men from their strides, pulling apart bodies as easily as one breaks bread. Gore and blood washed the narrow street, painting a gruesome backdrop for a horrifying display.
Dillon ducked back into the saloon, slamming the door closed behind him.
“Well?” Mr. Theo asked.
“You’ve ruined everything!” Dillon shouted.
“I suppose I have.” Mr. Theo snapped closed his pistol and held it out. “Now, let her go, and get on out of here.”
“I don’t think so.”
I felt the cold touch of metal at my neck.
“I think you will come down here,” Dillon said. “You’ll come down here, and we will go together. And you both shall provide a meal for them while I escape.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else I shoot her here and now. Then you.”
“Shoot her.”
Dillon hesitated. “Excuse me?”
I didn’t know what Mr. Theo was playing at, but Dillon shooting me was far preferable to being torn apart by the undead. “You heard him. Go on. Shoot me.”
I felt the gun at my neck trembling as he hesitated once more.
“Shoot me!” I screamed.
But he didn’t.
Mr. Theo made his way down the steps, taking them by twos as he said, “He won’t shoot you, because he can’t. He’s never killed anyone in his life.”
“That’s not true,” Dillon said. “I’m responsible for the deaths of many men. That’s why they fear me. I control their very lives.”
“Sending men to their death at the hands of others is not quite the same as pulling the trigger yourself. Taking a man’s life is a hard thing to do. Far too hard for the likes of a common thief like our Dillon here. I don’t like to do it myself, but sometimes it can’t be helped.” Mr. Theo reached the last step, where he stood and aimed his pistol at Dillon again. “Now, one more time. Let her go, and leave while you still can. If you’re lucky, you might get out of here before they pick up your smell.”
Dillon whimpered as he relaxed his grip on me. The gun slipped from my neck.
“Go on, then,” I said. “Even if you do shoot me, Mr. Theo will drop you before I hit the floor. And knowing him, he’ll make sure not to kill you, so he can toss your broken body from the roof, alive and straight into that hell out there.”
In the face of real terror, in the face of a true survivor, Dillon was a coward. All his talk about his superiority and how much better he was than the average man was all hogwash. At Mr. Theo’s recommendation, Dillon pushed me to the floor, whimpered one more time, and slipped out the door to seek his own escape. He didn’t get the chance. His screams rolled through the saloon as a stream of running crimson leaked into the saloon from beneath the closed door. Surviving may have made him stronger, but it couldn’t save him from his own madness in the end.
There was a moment then, a heartbeat of calm amidst the boiling sea of screams and dying around us. A moment in which I looked up to my mentor and he looked down to me. We locked eyes, a thousand unspoken words passing between us as we each waited for the other to make the first move. I finally broke down, leaping to my feet and running to him with a blubbering cry.
Mr. Theo gathered me to him, hugging me tightly while I buried my face in his broad chest. “Don’t cry. I’m afraid we have no time for tears, little one.”
I stammered, trying to speak and lay blame and ask all of my burning questions at the same time. “I didn’t want to go … they took me from you … why didn’t you …”
Mr. Theo held me at arm’s length. “Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head.
“Hon, did he hurt you?” Mr. Theo asked again.
I understood him this time. “No. He didn’t get a chance.”
He ran a hand across my hair, a gentle movement from father to daughter. “Thank God for small miracles.” This tender moment behind us, he returned to his usual businesslike manner. “Let’s go, then. We’ll slip out the back. I’ve cut a hole in the fence. Buck is already waiting for us on the other side.”
“Yes, sir.”
We left through the back door to the building, and at first it seemed like we were going to get away without trouble. This vision was shattered, of course, as within a few steps from the back door, we were spotted by one of the wandering revenants. It let out a bloodcurdling howl as it bounded toward us. Mr. Theo let off with a round or two, dropping the beast in its tracks, but also announcing our presence.
A half-dozen more of the things sprang around the corner, seeking the sounds of the living.
“Come on, girly!�
�� Mr. Theo shouted as he snatched up my hand.
He pulled me along with him, firing at the oncoming revenants as we made a break for the hole in the fence. I tried my hardest but couldn’t run very fast. My stupid dress flapped around me like a great cotton sail, slowing down my steps. What I wouldn’t have given for a pair of trousers and a pistol!
It didn’t take long before Mr. Theo was out of ammunition and we were powerless to stop the looming danger. This didn’t slow down my mentor, however, as he continued his getaway. Once we came upon the gate, he pushed me through the small hole and followed. And sure enough, Buck was there, complete with a wagon loaded down with a variety of supplies. How on earth did he get all of this out of the town without anyone seeing him? Was Dillon that consumed with cornering me? I didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.
“The wagon!” Mr. Theo shouted as he began to bend the metal fence back into place. “There is a box of bottles. Grab them!”
I followed his instructions, running to the wagon and snatching up the flat of bottles in the front seat. They smelled heavily of lamp oil, and each one bore a wick of cloth poking out of the top. I ran back and handed him the first one. Mr. Theo fumbled in his jacket, pulling forth a metal tin: a box of matches. He struck a match, lighting the oil-soaked cloth just before he tossed it at the hole in the fence.
The revenants immediately backed away, though a few began to climb either side around the rising flames.
Mr. Theo lit a second bottle while he shouted at me, “Reload my pistols. Hurry. There’s another pair on the wagon for you.”
I set to this task as he tossed the second bottle, scattering flames and setting a half-dozen of the climbing beasts on fire. They fell back from the fence, writhing and howling as they burned alive. Or rather, burned unalive.
A third and fourth bottle pushed back the bulk of the undead just as I handed Mr. Theo his loaded guns and went back to the wagon for the second pair. We didn’t need them in the end. The fire was working far better than the weapons, driving the undead away from us until they just lost interest altogether. Why struggle against the rising flames? There was easier prey in the other direction. Away from us.
