West of Hell Omnibus Edition (West of Hell 1-3)

by Brant, Jason

  “So, ‘Mad Dog’, where did you get this infamous title from? It’s certainly not because you’re mad.”

  “I made it up,” he said simply, surprising her. “I paid a couple of pieces of shit to talk about me with their piece of shit friends. It stuck after I did that in a couple of different towns.”

  “But why? Why would you want people to fear you to the point where they won’t even look you in the eyes?”

  He looked back over his shoulder, searching the area. “Because it’s easier to be left alone when everyone is afraid of you. With the bounty over my head, I can’t afford to have people thinking they can capture me. When people think of you as a criminal, they get it in their heads that they can take you in for the reward money. If they look at you as a heartless butcher, they think twice. Scared people tend to put their heads down and mind their own business.”

  Karen never expected him to open up like this. He said more just then than he had the entire time they’d been on the run. She couldn’t help but wonder how lonely he must be, living the life of a vagrant, constantly meeting people who wouldn’t dare look him in the eyes, let alone converse with him.

  “But why make up a story at all? What did you do that put you on the run?”

  “Wrong place at a shitty time, I ‘spose.”

  “You’re as eloquent as ever. What happened?”

  McCall let out a long sigh. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “I didn’t realize you were so busy,” Karen said, looking around at the barren desert to highlight her point.

  Mad Dog stopped and lowered the boy to his feet before draping him over his shoulder at the waist. “I was a lawman, if you can believe it. One day I broke up a robbery and had to put down two of the bandits. Turns out they were crooked federal marshals.” McCall shrugged when he finished as if his situation was no big deal.

  Karen was stunned. Could he be telling the truth? Was the legendary Mad Dog McCall a victim? That would have been unfathomable to her two days ago. Now she thought about the series of heroic acts he performed for complete strangers and discerned that he was likely telling the truth.

  “You’re an outlaw by circumstance...” She said the words aloud, but they were meant for her more than him.

  A short, deep laugh escaped him. “I’ve never heard someone describe my shit life with such pretty words.”

  She felt a deep sorrow for McCall set in. Here was a man that had been on the run for years now, sheltered from any kind of meaningful relationships, because of a couple of crooked marshals. The entire story felt like a Greek tragedy.

  “Besides, why am I getting grilled by a woman that sells herself to strangers?” McCall asked. “I didn’t have a choice. You do.”

  Karen felt her blood pressure rise. “That’s none of your damn business.”

  McCall walked on in silence.

  His comment flustered her. Having anyone question her in any way had always bugged her. It was a character flaw that had plagued her for as long as she could remember. Her father used to get furious with her over her refusal to answer to him.

  “I don’t answer to anyone,” she said through gritted teeth. “Especially not a man.”

  “Unless they pay you.”

  She stomped ahead of him and spun around, pointing her finger in his face. The passive look he gave her only infuriated her more.

  “I will not be berated by a stupid outlaw like you! What would you have me do, wait on a husband hand and foot? Perhaps I could scrub the floors and wash the clothing all day? Fuck that and fuck you.”

  McCall smiled at her fury, which somehow enraged her further. “Taking control of your life is honorable, even if the path followed isn’t.”

  “Then why—”

  “You aren’t the only one who likes to piss people off.” He flashed her a grin before it slid into a grimace as he moved Stephen to his other shoulder.

  “What? You were... asshole!” She stormed ahead and walked by herself for a while, trying to get her anger under control. McCall had read her like an open book. He could sense her fierce desire for independence and used it to poke fun at her. She had to admit that was clever – for a Neanderthal like him.

  She slowed her pace down and allowed him to catch her. His face looked strewn out from exertion, his skin thinning from dehydration. She wondered again how long he could keep going, especially while carrying a child. This exhibition of his stamina was something to marvel at.

  “I hate being told what to do,” Karen said finally. “I would rather run my own life, as shallow and meaningless as some may see it, if that allows me to make my own decisions.”

  “You don’t need to explain anything to me,” McCall said. “I just stabbed a man in the heart. We both have our own set of issues.” He gave her a curt nod and kept walking.

  They walked in silence for what felt like hours. Karen wiped sweat from her forehead constantly. She mulled over what they talked about and concluded that they were both victims in their own way. Odd that their lives led both of them here, running from an ever-growing army of the dead.

  Her thoughts muddled as they trekked further. The constant exposure to the sun felt like it scrambled her brain like a couple of eggs. Her legs moved like rubber. She didn’t dare complain though – McCall pushed forward without so much as a whimper. His pace faltered occasionally, but he always recovered and continued onward.

  They hadn’t seen anything but the occasional cactus since they’d lost sight of the river. Only the tracks were visible, and they extended over the horizon. Karen thought she saw trees several times, but the visual always dissipated after a few minutes. She’d heard of mirages, but had never witnessed one before today. They gave her false hope, before snatching it away.

  McCall stumbled ahead of her and fell to his knees. Stephen slipped from his shoulder and landed roughly on the cracked dirt. He didn’t wake up. Karen wanted to sit down beside them, but she knew she would never be able to get back up.

  Several seconds past as McCall stayed on his knees, looking down at the child. Karen waited to see what he would do. If he gave up, they would all die. She couldn’t leave the boy behind, but she didn’t have the strength to take him with her.

  “McCall,” Karen said.

  He grabbed Stephen and placed him back on his shoulder with a grunt. His knees wobbled as he straightened his legs, but he didn’t fall back down. The first few steps were tentative, but his stride evened out as he got going again.

  Karen walked behind him again, knowing that they didn’t have much time left.

  “Do you see that?” McCall asked. His voice waivered as he spoke, lacking the force it had earlier.

  “Where?” Karen looked around but couldn’t see anything.

  “Straight ahead, to the right of the tracks.”

  She took a shaky step to the right and looked past him. She could see it then; a slight discoloration far in front of them. It looked like a building.

  Chapter 9

  McCall wiped at the sweat stinging his eyes and squinted, trying to focus on the object.

  He thought he saw something ahead before, but he brushed it off as another mirage, of which he’d seen plenty in the past few hours. Now he wasn’t sure. Its coloring darkened the further they walked. It looked like a house or a way station of some sort.

  The boy felt like a horse draped over his shoulder. He switched the child from one arm to the next every few minutes, fearing that his joints would dislocate as soon as his muscles gave out.

  “I think that’s a house,” he said.

  He’d stopped talking a while ago; trying to conserve what little saliva he had left. Walking across the desert was easily the dumbest thing he had ever done. Even still, it seemed better than being eaten alive, though he realized that most likely remained his fate.

  Vultures soared overhead. The beasts had been following them for the last couple of miles, patiently awaiting their deaths. A few swooped down a handful of times, inspecting their w
ould be dinners.

  McCall stole glances at Karen every now and then, trying to determine how much longer she could go on. He truly admired her resolve. Since going on the run, he had met many hard, grizzled men and he didn’t think any of them could maintain the pace that Karen set now.

  Her willpower proved equal to his own, if not stronger. If he fell over dead, he didn’t doubt that she could continue on. In his growing delirium, he imagined her being forged from iron – both inside and out.

  “My God, it is a house!” Karen’s voice sounded as bad as he felt. “They should have water!”

  McCall’s jaw labored as he tried to respond, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He worked at dislodging it rather than speaking. The thought of water ahead made his head spin. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to keep his mind busy, rather than dreaming of lakes and streams.

  The haze in front of the house faded as they trudged along, bringing details into focus. It was definitely a house, and it appeared to be lived in, as it wasn’t in disrepair. A fence sat on the other side of the building, closing off a very large area. McCall assumed it to be for a horse or some kind of livestock, though he doubted that raising cattle would work well in this desolate area.

  “What an odd place to live,” Karen said.

  Mad Dog couldn’t speak so he grunted his agreement. Who would want to live out here? Growing any kind of food would be beyond difficult though the railroad tracks would at least give them a convenient form of transportation.

  What looked like a well appeared behind the house. McCall would have broken into a run had he been able to. He prayed to whatever would listen that it wasn’t dry.

  “Is that a well? Jesus, is that a well?” Karen walked faster, taking a commanding lead ahead of him.

  McCall didn’t try to keep up. He tried his best to focus on the rhythm of his steps and away from the possibility of water, but he failed miserably. It was an odd feeling to know that his entire life hinged on whether or not a well was dry.

  The house loomed ahead, drawing nearer with every passing second. McCall lowered the boy from his shoulder and cradled him in his arms, preparing to lay him down while he looked around the property.

  A horse let out a frightened whinny from somewhere beyond the house and McCall felt his heart sink. The sounds of scared animals didn’t raise his hopes that this would be a safe haven. The horse cried again, causing Karen to look back at him in fear.

  They reached the edge of the house and McCall placed the boy on the ground, hiding him in the shade. His back screamed in agony as he straightened it, but he tried not to let it show on his face. Karen was frightened enough without the realization that he might not be able to fight off whatever lie ahead.

  The paint on the house had faded and cracked under the brutal sun. The front door stood wide open. McCall stuck his head around the corner and looked down the front of the house. Nothing stood out of place beyond the open door. He didn’t want to leave the boy here alone, but he thought it an even worse idea to take him along while he inspected the area.

  “Water,” Karen said, grabbing his forearm.

  He followed her along the side of the house. They paused at the back corner and peered around it, seeing nothing out of place. The well stood fifteen yards away from the house and they carefully crossed the distance while looking in every direction. The fenced off area stood on the other side of the house.

  They reached the well to see a rope dangling over the stones surrounding the opening. McCall grabbed it and shook, listening for the sound of sloshing water. Karen nearly collapsed when they heard splashing coming from the yawning darkness below.

  Mad Dog pulled at the rope, hand over hand, lifting the bucket at its end as fast as his decimated muscles would allow. His forearms burned from the exertion, growing wearier by the second. The rope slide out of his grip and the bucket fell several feet before he could grab hold of it again.

  “Help me! I can’t hold it anymore!” Panic struck at the thought of dying mere feet from a water source, too weak to do anything about it.

  Karen took hold of the rope behind McCall’s hands and pulled. Most of her energy had been sapped from her as well, and she didn’t provide much in the way of help, but it was enough. Together they lifted their salvation inch-by-inch.

  The bucket reached the upper edge of the well, tipping slightly as it did, and spilled some of its water down the side of the stones. McCall walked his hands up the rope, afraid that if they dropped it, they wouldn’t be able to pull it back up again. With the care of a mother holding a newborn, he lifted the bucket from the well and placed it on the ground between them.

  Without hesitation, Karen dunked her face in the water and slurped it down in large gulps. She pulled her head back after several seconds, the pleasure of her gluttony showing in her expression. It looked as if she’d discovered gold.

  McCall followed her lead and submerged his head in the water. It felt cool on his skin, soaking into his dried, cracked lips. He took a long, soothing drink, relishing the cold water as it went down his parched throat. Streams ran up his nose but he didn’t care. He thought this might have been the best moment of his life.

  He pulled his head back and leaned against the well, feeling refreshed already. Karen gave him a broad, but tired smile, sharing in his joy. McCall tried to smile back, but his stomach clenched and he wretched half of the water back up.

  “Dumb ass,” Karen said, still smiling.

  “Yeah, yeah.” McCall drank from the bucket again, not caring if he would vomit it back up or not.

  After he finished, Karen lifted the bucket over her head and poured some of it over her face. She ran her hands through her hair and tilted her face to the sky, exposing her long neck. The water cleaned the dust and grime off her milky skin that had accumulated during their march through the desert.

  McCall realized for the first time how beautiful she was. She’d been covered in blood and gore when he met her a day ago, and the stress of watching people being consumed had turned her features haggard and drawn. Now her face came alive as she basked in the nourishing water, light reflecting from the drops on her cheeks.

  She opened her eyes and caught him ogling her. He felt his cheeks redden as he inspected the ground, pretending he’d been checking out everything in the area and not just her.

  “What were you looking at?” Karen asked, with a sly grin.

  He didn’t say anything. Silence was quickly becoming his catchall answer to any of her questions.

  “Were you just thinking about how pretty I look?” The corners of her mouth stretched from ear to ear.

  McCall didn’t know what to say. Her intelligence far outpaced his and he knew that she would try and twist his words, no matter what he said. So, he did something that he knew all women hated – he pinched off one nostril and blew a wad of snot from the other. It actually felt good to clear his sinuses of the water he’d snorted.

  “You are disgusting,” Karen said. Her smile eroded to a grimace and she looked at him sideways in revulsion.

  “Says the woman with pieces of brain on her dress.”

  “What? Where?” Karen stood up, with difficulty, and inspected her destroyed garment.

  The horse whinnied again from the other side of the house. McCall got to his feet, his rickety knees creaking every inch of the way, and pointed at the water bucket in front of Karen.

  “Give some of that to the boy while I see what’s going on with the horse.”

  Karen glared at him.

  It took McCall a couple of seconds to realize where he erred. “Oh, sorry. Will you please give the boy some water, you know, so he won’t die?” He made sure she could see him roll his eyes as he turned and made his way back to the house.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me, damn it,” Karen mumbled from behind him.

  McCall found a large rod leaning against the house and picked it up, brushing some rust away from the bottom end, givin
g himself a solid handle. He walked along the back wall, making his way to the fence that stood past the corner of the house.

  He stopped at the corner of the wall and peered around the edge. A horse pranced in a small circle, rearing on its back legs and crying at a pair of moaners walking against a piece of the fence. Their arms were outstretched in their usual way, their hands clenching as if they could almost reach the horse.

  Their age appeared to be about the same and McCall figured them to be husband and wife. She had a large section of her throat missing, exposing the cords and muscle beneath the skin. He could see things moving in there as she opened and closed her mouth Her left hand had two fingers missing.

  The husband stood over six feet tall, and had a gaunt, chiseled face. His skin looked like old leather. He had the face and body of a man that knew hard labor, which seemed evident considering the location of their home. The left side of his face was completely gone. The amount of blood covering his wife’s lips, nose, and chin pointed to that being her doing.

  Faded wood made up the fence they pushed against, and it had seen better days. They bounced off of it endlessly, running into it like the mindless animals they now were. McCall didn’t think the fence would have held if there had been one or two more of them. Either way, the horse didn’t appreciate their company.

  McCall stepped around the corner and worked his way across the sparse ground. The moaners stood twenty feet away and he closed the distance quickly. He swung the rod with what little strength remained in him and he connected with the temple of the wife. The side of her head caved in and pink goo splattered the ground underneath her.

  The bar lodged in her head as she crumpled, pulling McCall forward. He fell into the back of the husband and wedged him against the fence. As he stepped back and yanked on the bar, the one-cheeked man lunged at him, gnashing at the front of his shirt. Normally McCall would have swatted him aside like a fly, but he felt nearly defenseless in his tired state.

  He got a forearm up and threw it across the side of the moaner’s face that was missing its cheek. He could feel the teeth in there, brushing against his forearm. The man staggered sideways and tripped over the goo seeping body of his wife, falling to the ground in a heap. He started getting back up when McCall pushed him down with his boot.